The Three Peasant Maidens

The Three Peasant Maidens

Once, on a distant island, lived a prosperous farmer. He had three daughters: Alithea, Truda, and the youngest, Herta.

The sisters grew up together, worked on the farm, went to the markets, and liked to sit by the fire in the evenings and imagine what their futures might be.

One day they were walking along a road near the royal palace when they saw the young King Leofric. Beside him rode his secretary and steward.

Alithea said quietly, “I should like to live near the palace one day. I would never miss a single celebration.”

Truda laughed. “I would enjoy working with someone who knows all the royal news.”

Herta looked at the king and said, “I think I would like to meet him himself. He looks kind.”

The sisters did not notice that the men had heard the last words.

The king rode closer.

“It seems that we have become the subjects of your conversation,” he said with a smile. “May I ask why?”

The girls were embarrassed at first, but the king spoke so simply that before long they were all laughing together.

After that they met several more times. Alithea truly became friends with the king’s steward, Truda spoke often with the secretary, and Herta and Leofric discovered that they most enjoyed being together.

Time passed, and each sister chose her own path. Alithea and Truda settled near the palace, while Herta became the king’s wife.

At first the sisters were happy for one another.

But little by little, Alithea began to notice not what she herself had, but what Herta had.

“She has a larger house.”

“And everyone bows to her first,” Truda added.

“At celebrations she sits beside the king.”

“Her dresses are the finest.”

Herta noticed none of this. She invited her sisters to the palace, gave them gifts, and tried to make them feel that they were still one family.

But envy grew quietly, like a crack in ice.

When Herta’s son was born, the whole kingdom celebrated. But that night Alithea and Truda planned a terrible wrong.

They persuaded an old servant to carry the baby from the palace and leave him far from the city. In the morning they claimed that the child had vanished through Herta’s own carelessness.

The servant could not abandon the baby. She wrapped him in a warm blanket and left him beside the path where an old woodcutter named Osric came home each evening.

Osric heard the crying.

“Who could have left you here, little one?” he whispered.

He took the child home and named him Wilhelm.

The following year, Herta had a second son. Again the sisters did the same thing.

Osric found that boy too. He named him Sigurd.

The king was deeply saddened, but he trusted Herta.

“There is some secret here,” he said. “I will not believe that you yourself are to blame for the children’s disappearance.”

A year later a little girl was born.

Herta hardly let her out of her arms.

But one night, when the queen had finally fallen asleep, the envious sisters took the child away again.

This time the servant knew where to bring the baby. She left the girl near Osric’s cottage.

So the old woodcutter found a third child. He named her Olga.

When morning revealed that the daughter too had gone, the king lost his peace of mind.

Alithea and Truda repeated, “Can this truly be an accident? Three times in a row?”

Leofric no longer knew what to think. In his confusion, he did the worst thing a person can do: he made a decision without finding out the truth.

Herta was sent to live apart in the old royal garden, where a great tame lion was kept in a stone pavilion.

The king ordered that no harm should come to her, but he would not let her return to the palace until the truth was known.

At first Herta was terribly afraid of the lion.

But the great creature came near, lay at her feet, and put his head on his paws.

From then on he became her silent guardian. When food was brought to Herta, the lion waited until she had eaten before he touched his own bowl.

Everyone in the palace thought the queen lived alone and harshly. But little by little, she learned not to fear her extraordinary companion.

Meanwhile Wilhelm, Sigurd, and Olga grew up in Osric’s cottage.

The woodcutter was not rich, but he was kind. He taught the children to work, not to waste food, to help one another, and never to pass by someone who needed help.

Wilhelm became strong and determined. Sigurd was observant and quick. Olga had astonishing patience: once she began a task, she did not give up until she had seen it through.

When the children had grown, Osric fell gravely ill.

One evening he called them to him.

“You must know the truth,” the old man said. “I found each of you as a baby beside the road. I do not know who your parents are. But I have always felt that your story is not yet finished.”

Soon afterward Osric died peacefully at home. The children buried him near the forest and mourned long for the man who had become their true father.

After that they decided to seek their past.

That very day an old traveller in a green cloak came to their cottage. Olga gave him milk and oatcakes, and her brothers told their story.

The traveller thought for a while.

“I do not know who you are,” he said. “But three days from here lies the Valley of Stones. In its midst stands a high cliff, and on its summit lives a wise bird. It remembers the past and can answer questions.”

“Then we shall go to it,” said Wilhelm.

The old man shook his head.

“The path has trials. As you climb the cliff, you will hear voices, rumbling, and pleas to look back. Whoever turns their head will be enchanted into a stone figure. But the one who reaches the summit will find water that can undo the spell.”

The next morning Wilhelm set out first.

Before leaving, he placed a silver coin on the table.

“If it darkens, the enchantment has held me.”

Three days later, the coin turned grey.

“I will go after him,” said Sigurd.

He placed a second coin beside it.

A few days later, it too darkened.

Olga remained alone.

She was afraid—not of having to travel far, but of losing her brothers forever.

“That is why I must go,” she told herself.

The road to the Valley of Stones led through a forest and over rocky hills. On the evening of the third day, Olga saw a strange place. Stones stood everywhere, shaped like people, horses, travelling bags, and even chests.

In the middle of the valley rose a cliff. On its summit sat a great bird with shining feathers.

Olga stepped onto the upward path.

At once she heard Wilhelm’s voice behind her.

“Olga! Turn back! I am here!”

She shuddered, but did not look around.

Then Sigurd’s voice cried, “Help me!”

Olga clasped her hands and kept her eyes only on the path ahead.

Thunder rumbled around her, the wind tugged at her cloak, and in the darkness it seemed that someone was running behind her over the stones.

One step.

Then another.

And another.

Olga reached the summit.

At once, everything grew quiet.

The wise bird lowered its wings.

“You did not let fear govern you,” it said. “Ask what you wish.”

Olga saw a great stone jug filled with clear water.

“First I want to free everyone whom this valley has enchanted.”

The bird nodded.

Olga filled a vessel with water and ran down the cliff. She touched the stone figures with it, and one after another they came alive.

There was Wilhelm, opening his eyes in astonishment.

There was Sigurd, stretching as though he had awakened from a long sleep.

Nearby other travellers came to life, people whom the enchantment had held for many years.

Among them was a young Prince Odo, who had travelled with several chests and had once looked back at the voices of the valley as well.

When all were free, Olga returned to the bird.

“Now tell me: who are we?”

The bird told them everything.

“You are the children of King Leofric and Queen Herta. Your two aunts took you from the palace out of envy and blamed your mother. Your mother is alive. She still lives in the old garden beside the lion.”

The brothers and sister wasted no time.

When they reached the garden, the lion rose and growled. But Herta said, “Be calm. They have not come with harm.”

Olga came closer.

Mother and daughter looked at one another and at once noticed familiar features.

“Mother?” Olga said softly.

Herta pressed her hands to her heart.

Then all four embraced one another as tightly as though they were trying to give back all the lost years.

The next day they went to the palace.

King Leofric listened to their story. He saw Herta alive, saw his three grown children, and understood how dearly his hasty judgment had cost them all.

“I should have searched for the truth instead of yielding to fear,” he said. “Forgive me.”

Herta replied, “Forgiveness does not erase the past. But it can help us not repeat it.”

Alithea and Truda were called into the hall.

At first they tried to blame one another. But when they saw Wilhelm, Sigurd, and Olga grown to adulthood, they understood that there was no point in hiding the truth any longer.

They confessed.

The king took away all their palace privileges. The sisters returned to ordinary life and had to earn their own bread. They were also ordered to repay the old servant and everyone they had drawn into their deceit for the harm they had caused.

In time Alithea and Truda sent Herta a letter of apology. She did not forget what had happened, but replied that true repentance is proved not by words, but by the actions that follow.

A great celebration was held at the palace for the family’s return. But Olga asked that, this time, tables be set not only in the royal hall but in the courtyard for all who needed a warm meal.

“We ourselves grew up in a little cottage,” she said. “We must not forget people simply because we now have a palace.”

Prince Odo, whom Olga had saved in the Valley of Stones, became her close friend. They travelled together many times, and some years later, when both wished it, they married.

Wilhelm and Sigurd found their own paths as well, but often returned home.

And King Leofric made a new rule: when a matter is serious, decisions are not made in anger, nor are they based only on someone’s word.

Herta no longer looked at her children as lost babies. Before her stood three grown people, each strong in a different way.

Wilhelm had determination.

Sigurd had attentiveness.

And Olga had the special kind of courage that does not shout louder than anyone else, but simply takes the next step even when fear is roaring behind her.

So envy nearly tore a family apart, but truth, patience, and courage brought it together again.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨