Shownotes Transcript
Quick disclaimer, there's a discussion of suicide on today's podcast. Please see the post on mythpodcast.com for more info.
This week on Myths and Legends, we tell the legendary story of Cambrinus, the king of beer, and how, if at first you don't succeed, give up. And keep giving up until you meet a sinister stranger in the woods who gives you alcohol. The creature this time is a cute little kitty who will absolutely devastate your entire business and life. This is Myths and Legends, episode 405, Ale to the King.
This is a podcast where we tell stories from mythology and folklore. Some are incredibly popular tales you might think you know, but with surprising origins. Others are stories that might be new to you, but are definitely worth a listen. Today, we're telling the story of Cambrinus, the King of Beer. Cambrinus is something of a patron saint of beer, without the canonization or the saint part.
It's actually kind of the opposite, but we'll get to that. Cambrynus was a jovial bearded man who loved dancing with a mug in his hand. He's representative of the fun, social, celebratory aspects of beer drinking. Apparently, his image graces bars and breweries, and there are statues of him all over the world. Today's story comes from a 19th century telling of a legend by Charles Doolin, kind of set in Flanders, a region in the north of modern-day Belgium...
The story is pretty vague on details, and because borders of various kingdoms and regions were a lot more fluid in the Middle Ages, and the country of Belgium didn't exist until the 1830s, it also appears to be set in both France and the Netherlands at times. But the King of Beers wasn't born a king, or to a king. In fact, he was just like you or me. If you or me were born in the medieval Flemish countryside and desperately wanted to be glassblowers...
In medieval Flanders, there were people and then there were people. There were the common folk like the rest of us,
And then there were the people who were set for life. They had it all. A roof, sustenance, clean drinking water, a.k.a. alcohol. And I'm not talking about rulers or knights. These people didn't have to manage others or go to war. I'm talking, of course, about glassblowers. Everyone in town knew where they were.
and everyone in town needed what they had. Glasses. Glasses for drinking, glasses for storing. Not glasses for glasses, though. Those weren't a thing yet. No one could do what they did. Some tried. They burned their houses down, and the glasses came out weird and misshapen. Is that what you want? Ashes in a bottle that looks like a butt? Because that's how you get both. Stay in your lane, and buy from your local glassblower.
and Cambrianus was so close to the good life he could taste it. The glassblowers, according to the story, were a nobility unto themselves. They didn't get nobility by birth. They got it by sheer talent. And they would keep it and hoard it by birth, though. But we'll get to that. Cambrianus, though, was a worker. He saw glassblowers throwing their cash around town, so he left his father and mother, subsistence farmers in the country, and traveled to the city.
There he begged, and he watched. There was a glassblowing shop that took on a new apprentice, and neither the apprentice nor the master saw the boy on the roof next door. Watching every motion necessary for the apprentice to make half-finished bottles for the master, who would then take them behind closed doors, Cambrianus waited for a big order from the local lord.
when the apprentice had been up most of the night finishing bottles. The apprentice went home and happened to lock himself in his flat from the outside and gave his neighbors and landlord enough money to ignore his cries for several hours. Weird that he would do that. At the glassblowers, the master was growing concerned that he wouldn't be able to complete the order when a kid worthlessly entered the shop and sat down at the apprentice's spot. About to call the guards,
The master stopped his protests when the kid began churning out half-made bottles at twice the rate of his actual apprentice. They finished with time to spare. Like the movie Whiplash, but without the psychological, verbal, and physical abuse, the apprentice was informed that his spot had been taken by a much more talented kid. And from that day on, Kim Brynus was the glassblower's apprentice.
And compared to living on the street, the life of a glassblower's apprentice was amazing. He had money, he had some prestige, and as he grew from an adolescent to a teen, he had the eyes of all the girls in town. Here was an eligible young man whose star was on the rise. He was handsome and kind, and he would someday be a glassblower. But someday wasn't good enough. Not for Flandrine.
Even though everyone in the village named Cambrinus agreed that Cambrinus and Flandrine were the greatest couple ever destined to be blessed by a village priest, she wouldn't even look at him, not unless he was a glassblower. So, just like he became a glassblower's apprentice, he would become a glassblower. One afternoon, taking the box of half-finished bottles to his master, his master tried to close the door to his side of the furnace, but...
found an entire Cambrianus blocking his way. He had to get to work. Cambrianus nodded. Yeah, he was thinking that maybe he could watch his master work today. Maybe he could learn to become a master glassblower himself. But I'm the glassblower, the master chuckled. Yeah, but you have to train a replacement, right? No.
I don't. The master stood tall in the doorway. But what happens to the village after you die? They'll be without a glassblower. What do I care? I'll be dead, he laughed and pushed harder on the door. But what do the other glassblowers do in this situation? Cambrynus was working the master around until he saw things his way. Oh, they teach their kids, the glassblower said. But I don't have any kids, so...
"'Yeah, but you have me,' Combrinus smiled. With a sharp inhale, the glassblower said that Combrinus wasn't his kid. Combrinus got the job by locking the old apprentice in his house, and while he appreciated that striving when he was the direct beneficiary of it, if the snake that eats the mice in your house starts laying next to you to measure if it can eat you next, you don't keep feeding that snake.'
Combrinus might have said that that was a common myth, that snakes stretch out next to people for warmth, and it shows they're actually secure in their environment, but only replied that he would never betray his master. He would treat his master like the father he didn't abandon. "'And I mostly believe you,' the master said. But the way he didn't end up competing with his own former apprentice, or, if things took a gruesome turn, disposed in his own furnace,'
was to not allow this little cuckoo to grow past a certain point. Cambrinus would stay an apprentice forever. He gave Cambrinus a shove, and the door closed. Before Cambrinus did anything drastic, he had to know.
"'I want to marry you,' is a bold way to begin a conversation with a girl you barely know. She had walked in that day to pick up some bottles for her father, a local noble on the same level of the glassblower, so kind of a big deal. And Comprinus, well, he was going to shoot his shot, as the kids say. And it went wide, really wide. Say you're aiming at a target, and then turn completely around and then point at the ground.'
Flandrine smiled sheepishly. Oh, no. No, the answer is no. You don't have to say no so many times, Cambrinus winced. Don't I, though? For you to not just ask that, but let alone think it? That you could marry me. You and me, Flandrine chuckled to the point of laughter.
Kim Bryna sat there for a bit while she laughed. It was very funny, she said, him putting himself out there, despite being so impoverished and beneath her. And really, she had to make him feel it. Mainly because it was so ingrained in her as to be ridiculous, but also because social conventions are just things that we've made up, and her own standing might deteriorate if not reinforced. So she laughed, and she said,
laughed so hard that she didn't even realize the object of her derision was no longer sitting in front of her. He had risen and left. And he never returned. To the glassblowing shop, that is. Combrinus knew there was no future for him there, mainly because his boss had literally said that thanks to spite on his part, and dauntless ambition on the part of Combrinus, there was absolutely no future for him there.
He cleared out his flat and sold all that he owned, which netted him enough for a viola. Now, our son started orchestra at school this year, and I tried out the violin, and it's really hard. A guitar or piano, you can make sounds that aren't horrible, even if you have no idea what you're doing.
But a viola is closer to an ocarina I'm forbidden from playing in the house because of how shrill and terrible it sounds in my untrained hands, even though it was a gift and has a cool triforce on it. In the same way, no movement I make with that bow across those strings sounds good. Combrinus was the same way, but he was way more interested in becoming a famous musician than I am.
Well, he was interested in earning enough clout to woo Flandrine, and, after Glassblower, musicians seemed like the next best avenue to do so. Couple things. As someone who picked up the guitar in college with the sole intention of wooing girls, I get the general idea. That being said, if someone laughs in your face when you propose marriage to them, and continues laughing to the point where they don't even realize you've left the room, it's probably a sign you should move on.
We know Cambrianus is extremely smart and determined, so we'll skip through him finding an old canon at a church in the region, who was well-known enough for his ability to play the viola, telling his tale of woe about how his love rejected him, probably leaving out that it was like the fourth time they ever spoke, and over the course of several months to a few years, the story is indistinct when it comes to time, Cambrianus learned the viola.
He learned it so well that he would invite girls out into the forest to dance with him, which, I know, but he only had eyes for Flandrine. Still, no one in this town would respect this glassblower's apprentice, who was now a musician, but remember, Cambrynus was determined. So, one Sunday, Cambrynus rolled an old beer barrel into the center of town and climbed atop it. The people scoffed, taking one look and then returning to their conversations.
Standing up straight and squaring his shoulders, Combrinus took a deep breath and drew his bow across the strings. One by one, the people of the town managed to look at the young man and the beautiful music that was somehow flowing from his bow. He swayed gently and his fingers flew across the strings and slowly, a wave of glances turned to bobbing admiration, then dancing. The young people in the square found each other
and the others cleared the area right in front of Cambrinus, and the party started. Song after song flowed from Cambrinus' viola, until, opening his eyes, he saw the love and the admiration from the village that he had always sought. And then he saw her, Flandrine. She looked on him with, well, not contempt and mockery, so it might as well have been love.
And Cambrynus' hand slipped. When it comes to the viola, there is a fine line between the most beautiful music ever to grace your ears and the absolute worst screeching you've ever heard. Cambrynus leapt from the former to the latter in an instant. The dancers all stopped and looked up at him.
"'Cambrinus watched the smile on Flendering's face fade, "'and, though he tried to regain his composure, "'all that came out of the viola was scraping and screeching. "'If you or I saw this happen, "'you would assume something went wrong, like a string snapped.'
The dancers, though, they knew what this was. He was making fun of them, luring them out for a fun afternoon of dancing in the square, and just when they had begun to forget that they were peasants in medieval Europe and life was horrible, he brought them back to reality with that. Cambrytus didn't care about any of them, though. He watched Flandrine chuckle and turn.
I'd like to say that we could move on to the next scene, but the dancers would have their due. Probably saying something like, I hate being alive in this time period! One man kicked the empty beer barrel and sent Cambrinus sprawling to the ground. Cambrinus didn't remember much from the ensuing beating. The kick was the spark that lit the crowd to a blaze, and what began as angry words grew to kicks and punches. And when they broke his viola over his head...
Everything went dark for Cambrianus. He awoke among the debris of both his beating and his dreams somewhere around midnight, cold in the square, as the night watchman shook him and asked him if he needed help. He took Cambrianus home and, looking back over his shoulder as Cambrianus limped alongside him, he said he would report this. The people who did this would pay.
The dancers were just normal people in town, young people, sons and daughters of merchants and artisans, and they were quickly rounded up and arrested, all while Cambrinus healed at home. It wasn't long before that same watchman returned, saying it had arrived, Cambrinus' day in court, justice would be done. As they walked through town, the guard glanced over,
and his glances increased in both frequency and intensity as they walked up to the courthouse. Climbing the stairs, the guard said, Um, Cambrinus had a troubling number of fat chickens in his arms. If he was going to go before Judge Jocko, Cambrinus looked down at his arms. He had no fat chickens in his arms. Yeah, that's what I'm saying. Why don't you have any chickens? The guard was growing panicked.
"'This him?' the bailiff said, looking Cambrianus up and down. "'Yes.' The guard swallowed, stepped back, and ran under the courtroom as fast as possible. Curious choice, no chickens. The man walked Cambrianus into the courtroom. "'You could be forgiven for thinking Judge Jocko's courtroom was a chicken coop, because while there weren't as many chickens as people, there were as many chickens as defendants.'
"'I'm gonna name you Rotisserie. I'm gonna name you Chicken Parmesan. I'm gonna call you Nugget because you're gonna be Nuggets. I'm gonna—' He stopped when he came to Cambrianus. "'Oh, so no fat chicken from you? And who are you?' "'He's the—the victim, Your Honor,' the bailiff said, and also stepped back from Cambrianus.'
as if the judge's displeasure would spread from him and stick to anyone who might be seen with him. Cambrianus was no babe in the woods, though, and if someone, anyone, had told him he needed to bribe the judge with a chicken to get a fair trial, he was the first to understand that there was no level playing field. Everything rolled in one direction or another, and it was up to you to make sure it was your direction.
"'I am so sorry, Your Honor. I seem to have forgot my bribe. Mmm, he froze. Nope, nope, nope, nope.' "'Who said anything about a bribe?' The judge was incensed, indignant. This insolence was inconceivable. He didn't take bribes. These were his chickens that the defendants were holding for him. "'Bribes? You know what? He thought he understood this case well enough. He stood back. Switch sides.'
Cambrinus stood nonplussed as a flurry of elbows and feathers rushed past him. The last shoved him over to the defendant's side of the court. He was now on trial for being beaten within an inch of his life. We'll see Cambrinus get out of jail for being beaten up, but that will be right after this.
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Tree update, because I know you need it. I checked the weather and there's still frost on the horizon, so our Korean lilac tree from Fast Growing Trees is still in my office. And this thing has leaves now and offshoots that are at least 6 inches high. Little flowers are starting to come out. There are more pictures on the website this week. I cannot believe this thing came to us in a box, completely bare just a few weeks ago. It is super obvious how well they care for these trees.
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using the code LEGENDS at checkout. Fastgrowingtrees.com code LEGENDS. Now's the perfect time to plant. Use LEGENDS to save today. Offer is valid for a limited time. Terms and conditions apply. 30 days later, when he was set free from jail for disturbing the peace with the sounds of his cries as he was being beaten, he turned. Did they have his possessions?
The money and clothes he came in with? The jailers laughed. What? No, we steal those things. Come on. So, he was exactly where he started when he entered town. Broke and alone. He wandered the woods. He could try again, of course. He could be a mason or artisan or even a glassblower, but no. No matter how smart or skilled he was, he was doomed from the start, thanks to where and to whom he had been born.
Cambrinus might be able to turn that skill into something else, like he had with the viola, but there was no future in that. One misstep and a corrupt judge, and he would be right back here. And all the while, there was Flandrine. Try as he might, his heart couldn't stop aching for her. All of this was for her, but as long as he remained himself, she would never love him.
Combrinus found the rope holding the bucket in a long-forgotten well, and it told him what to do. He climbed the tree, tied it tight on the branch beneath him, and began tying the noose. He would die here and linger, as alone and forgotten in death as he had been in life. Or maybe not as alone as he thought. Shoot! He heard from the bushes that he just saw move. Um, hello? Combrinus said.
The bushes were still. I see you in there. Your silver horn is dangling down beneath the bushes. The huntsman swore and rose. He was tall, wearing a green coat with brass buttons, with a hunting knife and the aforementioned silver horn hanging off his belt. Just passing through, out on a hunt in these woods, the stranger shrugged. You sure? You sure you're not...
"'A demon?' Kim Brynus asked, pointing to his own forehead. The stranger looked up and felt his forehead. "'Horns! Yep, of course, he forgot the horns. The demon apologized. He had come to collect Jocko's soul.' "'Wait, Judge Jocko? He died?' Kim Brynus asked. "'Yeah, choked on a chicken bone. Who could have guessed that one, right?' The green huntsman laughed. "'Oh, I can't say I'm sad to hear it, but what are you doing here?'
Kim Brynys asked. The city was about two miles back that way, and he was another mile from any road. The green huntsman said that he was ahead of schedule. Emphasis on was. But as soon as Kim Brynys stepped from the branch, he could get out of here. Kim Brynys steadied himself. Wait, the demon was here for him? The huntsman shrugged. They didn't need to get into the theology of it all, but yeah...
Cambrinus took off the noose and the demon groaned. Come on. Laughing, Cambrinus said, what? The demon just said his fate was hell if he continued. Growing serious, the demon pointed back toward town and what's back down that road? Cambrinus sighed, looking to the ground. That's what I thought. The huntsman nodded, but Cambrinus raised his gaze to meet the demons. Cambrinus
Let's make a deal. Cambrynus was as serious and as focused as the demon was. The stranger cracked an infernal smile. Can you make Flandrine want to marry me? The huntsman chuckled that was, unfortunately, out of his control. What a woman wants, God alone wills. Then make me stop loving her, Cambrynus said. The huntsman snapped his fingers and pointed. That he could do.
But he would need Cambrinus' soul in exchange. Right away? Smiling the way Jocko had smiled before so many chicken dinners, the demon said, of course not. Cambrinus could have 30 years. Deal. Cambrinus began uncoiling the noose. One more thing. The people of Faizna. He wanted revenge on them. All of them. The devil said that he would throw that in for free. But first, Cambrinus' heartache.
And he did see Cambrinus soon.
Over the next several months, Cambrianus traveled the countryside, competing in everything. And he found that he wasn't just good, he was lucky. He competed in archery competitions and won some very nice spoons and a coffee pot, and quickly realized that he could do more. Showing his newfound skill to a local ball team, he was immediately taken on as their captain. And his local town went all the way to the tournament and won.
And Cambrinus kept on winning. He also adopted a blind finch, a bird, and taught it to sing, and won in singing competitions all around Europe. He competed in every sporting event, and he won every sporting event, and he became rich. As far as I understand it, it would be like winning the Super Bowl, the NBA Finals, a Grand Slam, the Premier League title, and like...
the World Table Tennis Championship, all in a matter of months, while also training a blind finch to absolutely devastate singing competitions, because I don't think that has any modern comparison. But the problem with winning everything you do without even trying is exactly that thing that I just said.
It's the reason cheats get so old in video games, or why creative mode in Minecraft is only fun for like a week or two. I don't think, as Agent Smith in The Matrix asserts, that we're defined by our suffering. But I do think that humans need to be working towards something. Combrinus, with all of his piles of sports and bird singing cash, and his overwhelming boredom and ennui, remembered why he had been asked to be so great at everything. Flandrine.
Surely being extremely rich and famous would make up for whatever silliness a noble name would be worth. Nope. No, nope, Flandrine said, and started to close the door. Combrinus shoved his foot in to block a literal door in the face. What? Flandrine said she thought she had been pretty clear. Yes, he was handsome and rich and charming and intelligent, and they frankly got along, and he adored her, but he wasn't a noble person.
The one thing he didn't have was pretty much the only thing she was looking for. Comprinus said, but everything he had given up doesn't matter. So just to be clear, a crusty, mean old duke. Yep, Flandrine said. Okay, let's say it's a 23-year-old waster of a squire who only exists to spend his family's generational wealth.
I really don't see what's so hard to grasp here, Flandrin said. Yes, absolutely. So, I was born in the U.S. in the 20th century, and I'll confess that there's a lot I don't understand about aristocracy, but throughout history, there does seem to be only one general reason the nobility would lower themselves to associate with the rest of us.
And that's because they're low on cash, and by marrying into enterprising merchant families to make their commoner money their own money, they can thus kick the destitution can down the road for a few more generations. Flandrine's family apparently did not need the money, so several burly men helped Cambrynus off the family estate with their boots, which was how Cambrynus ended up back in the forest.
back in the tree. "'Ah, my boy,' he heard from the forest as the green huntsman emerged, this time with his horns covered. "'I had completely forgotten about the old proverb. "'Unlucky in love, lucky in games. "'Do you want me to show you a way to lose?' "'Cambryna said he was listening.'
The huntsman said he would lose, all right. He would lose his memory, and with it, all the torments of his past. All he had to do was drink. Wine was the father of forgetfulness. He should pour himself floods of joy. Nothing drowns human sorrow like a bottle of cheap wine. That's nearly a direct quote. Cambrinus said, "'Drinking alcohol to not feel things.' How had he not thought of that?'
So, some disclaimers here real quickly. Don't listen to the devil for mental health advice. He's obviously preying on a vulnerable young man, and when you drink to forget, you still end up sad but with a terrible hangover. Cambrinus, though, had to go through that phase, so he rolled up his rope and headed back to town. Having the money to indulge in hobbies...
Cambrinus immediately commissioned a 600-foot-long, four-story-deep wine cellar and stocked it with every type of wine he could find, sure, but also Norman cider, Scottish whiskeys, English gin, mead from Scandinavia, and more. But, like I warned, it did not help. In addition to making him feel like dirt the next day, he spent most of his nights crying because...
His mind unmoored in an ocean of anguish. The only thing he could see was legions of Flandrines dancing with handsome dudes. So when Cambrinus dropped into the arms of the waiting huntsman, the rope having snapped, he looked up in shock and horror to the stranger smiling, who said that he was waiting to see how far Cambrinus would actually go. Cambrinus said the man let him jump. He was terrible.
Yeah, no, I've been very clear about who I am the whole time. I'm literally the devil. He let Cambrinus down onto the ground as the young man took the rope from around his neck. You see, I've been thinking about your problem, the green huntsman started to say. But Cambrinus interrupted, yeah, drinking alcohol didn't work. Then it was the devil's turn to interrupt. Oh, no, that was where he was wrong. Drinking the wrong type of alcohol didn't work. Walk with me.
He parted the trees to reveal 400 women plucking something from nearly as many plants and rows that led up to a large brick building. Cambrinus learned that this was a field of hops. Was this here the whole time? Cambrinus asked. The green huntsman stopped him. He was focused on the wrong thing here. Come inside. It was a brewery.
Some vats were boiling, others were cooling and being poured into barrels, barrels that were rolled down below and stored. The devil explained that this was beer, the invention of beer. I feel like beer is famously old.
Kembrinus said, like as old as ancient Egypt old. Nope, invented here, medieval Flanders. The devil opened up a barrel and golden liquid formed as it found the tankard. Drink, the devil demanded. And as we've established, Kembrinus does not make great decisions. He listened to the devil and drank.
Again, the devil said a few more times, and a few more times Cambrinus drank. Now, are you not as happy as a god, the green huntsman said, and Cambrinus, swaying a bit, thought about it. Yeah, yes, he felt great, and not at all bloated and hot and tired, but one thing was missing, the supreme pleasure of the gods, revenge.
The green huntsman grinned, oh, wanting to violently settle petty grievances. The pleasures of the Greek gods, then, nice. What did he have in mind? Cambrinus said the town of his shame, Fresna, hadn't danced to his viola. He wanted an instrument where they would dance at his command. The devil bobbed his head back and forth. You know, Cambrinus might not realize it, but that was a bit of a cliché. But it was popular for a reason.
torturing people with something they think they'll love was good stuff. He stopped talking and pointed to the air. Hear that? Cabrinha said, yeah. Bells? The green huntsman nodded. Yes, bells. Each bell had its own distinct sound. You get several bells, tune them just so, set them in motion using two keyboards, one of keys, one of pedals, and it would be the most marvelous instrument of them all.
Cabrinus said, would it be, though? It's just like, when was the last time you heard a bell or a bunch of bells and didn't think that it just sounded like noise? I mean, is it even possible to dance to bells? Especially a lot of them going off at once? The demon nodded, oh, it's possible. Cabrinus took a deep breath. He felt like this was a very specific taste thing for his demonic friend here, but he
One that might not translate to a general audience, but as long as the instrument was cursed to make everyone dance and he could play it, they were good. They didn't need to do this back and forth thing. Different strokes. He loved that the demon loved...
Bells? Oh, one more thing, and we should have done this from the start. But now that we've settled on our direction, we should really get things down on paper. The huntsman smiled, and with a wave of his fingers, a quill and parchment appeared floating in the air between them. It's just boilerplate. Everything we've talked about. We'll start the 30 years from today so that the other stuff is just a bonus, the huntsman said. Has Cambrinus studied his quill? Huh.
Lot of arcane and vaguely threatening symbols on this thing. The demon noted that it did just come directly from hell, so... Combrinus looked around, oh, where was the ink? Ah! Blood. He signed with blood, right? Sorry. He was embarrassed. After signing a contract with a demon in his own blood, everything disappeared. The huntsman, the fields, the brewery. And Combrinus was left standing, alone, in the forest.
Still pretty drunk from all that beer.
We'll see Kim Bryness construct the world's first brewery dance club. But that will, once again, be right after this. Pizza, tomato, and apple. There are three weird little roommates, our cats, who, yes, are named after food because our son named them when he was four. Long-time listeners will remember that I did not like cats ten years ago. Carissa and our son convinced me to get one, and the other two are my fault. I love cats now. Apple is actually on my feet as I record.
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I love all these bells. It's like a tower of bells. One dancer said to the other, Yeah, what did he call this thing? A carillon? You think it would just be like a cacophony of garbled clanging. And it really is, but I love it. Can't help but dance, the other said.
I don't know how common it would have been back then that the brewery would also be a dance club. It was the first brewery ever in the world, though, that this rich kid built when he bought up all the land and planted the hops and such, and after a few years, they found him standing outside the church after mass on a Sunday. He had something for them. Free alcohol. That's enough to get anyone's attention in the Middle Ages, and probably now. So they all followed him to his brewery, with the tower and the bells.
the Tower of Bells that was the Carillon. It was all shaped like a giant stein with a golden rooster at the top, so not at all tacky and gaudy. I remember my first sip of beer, and like everyone that afternoon, I thought that it was horrible. It was unexpectedly bitter, it was not as delicious as the Simpsons made it look, and, like I said, the town had the same reaction.
Cambrinus smiled into his beard, the story says, and cried out that, well, if they wouldn't drink, they would dance. And the dancing was fun, at first, when the people thought that it was voluntary. It's said that everyone, parents and children, rich and beggars, young and old, even the dogs got up on their hind legs and danced.
The horses traveling the road pulling the carts began to dance, and the bells rang out across the countryside, and people in their houses danced. Even the furniture danced. All this lasted for about an hour, which doesn't sound like a long time, but if you tossed me into a non-consensual Zumba class right now, I would probably last about 15 minutes. The people begged him to stop, and Cambrianus only laughed.
They wouldn't dance for him before, but they would dance now. He commanded them to jump, and they did until their heads knocked together, according to the text.
Then the bells were still and the DJ cried out for them to drink. And now they loved it so much. And eventually, after three or four pints, they actually did. A lot of that was probably the beer helping them to love the beer, but roughly five beers deep each, they were ready to turn the music back on.
and the town danced into the night. The next day, and for many days that followed, the word spread. People flocked from all over to drink this weird, bubbly new beverage, with the promise that they would develop a taste for it. Soon, breweries popped up all over Europe, and then the world, and Carillon's too, which there appear to be hundreds now worldwide, which is impressive for an instrument that's an entire building.
Cambrianus was hailed as a local hero and the King of the Netherlands, grateful for the man's contribution of music and alcohol, made him Duke of Brabant, Count of Flanders, and Lord of Flesne. Finally having the noble title he had so longed for back in the old days, he could see how silly it had all been. There was only one title he received from the people, and it was the only one that meant anything to him.
And that was the king of beer. When you drink 20 pints of beer a night, it changes you. Cybar, don't drink 20 pints of beer a night. It will literally kill you, possibly after the first night. Cambrinus wouldn't die until the green huntsman came for him, though. But like I said, it changes you.
He was very sleepy. Additionally, an extra 4,000 calories per night will change how you look. He was no longer quite as athletic. He kind of went full Henry VIII, but with a more luscious beard and without the stinky leg in wife murder. Combrinus actually never married, even when a woman who waited for the Lord of Fresna to come calling after her realized that he wouldn't come seeking her hand.
and thus showed up at the brewery and started hanging around there. And then, one day, she walked up to the table when he was serving beers. Flandrine could finally answer him. Yes, yes, they could finally be together.
"'Cambrianus chuckled through half-closed eyelids "'at the woman who stood before him. "'Wow, she loved her beer even more than he did. "'The stein sloshed on her dress as he slid it across the table. "'Flandrine said she didn't come here for the beer. "'She came for him. "'They could finally marry. "'But he had moved on. "'He... Cambrianus didn't reject her. "'In fact, he didn't notice or remember her at all.'
His deal with the devil was complete. The green huntsman looked at the clock. So much paperwork. Okay, he was never going to get out of here. It would be another microwave dinner and another fight. And he still had to go get that beer guy? Had it been 30 years already? Man, all right. Delegating time. Jocko!
Jocko ran to his boss's office. "Yep, here he was. You were just promoted to demon, right?" Jocko said. "Yes. You should be proud." "Should I be, though?" Jocko might have thought about saying, but didn't. The green huntsman didn't care.
He had a job for Jocko. Jocko would get to go back home and pick up the soul of Cambrynus, the king of beer. That Sunday, Cambrynus was on top of the tower dancing when, down below, he spotted a familiar face. It was a surprising choice for the huntsman to send that one, and Jocko skulked along the party's edge until he arrived at the table. Cambrynus climbed down. Now, over the years, Cambrynus found that he had some measure of control over the music.
He could play it now to target one person. That person, this time, would be Jocko, the man who was absolutely the emissary of the devil who had come to claim his soul. Sitting before the keys and the pedals, Cambrinus began to play, and Jocko began to dance. I'm not sure exactly what rules were following here. I feel like if you're dead, it's probably hard to get out of breath, but Jocko proved otherwise.
An hour or so later, when Cambrinus was convinced that Jocko wouldn't be able to move enough to come get him, he finally let the old judge collapse. Panting and struggling, Jocko crawled toward Cambrinus, but Cambrinus met him halfway. "Hi, your honor," Cambrinus smiled. Gasping for air, Jocko reached toward him and Cambrinus told the judge not to worry. He would come with the man to meet his fate.
A deal was a deal. Jocko smiled and exhaled. Oh, good. But first, you know what? You look thirsty. How about a beer? Five hours and, yes, fifty pints later, Jocko was leading a conga line back toward town.
The group, steins in hands, managed the dance line back to town, and then some. Except that, after a couple miles back toward town, four times around the village square, and out to the other side of town, Jocko found that he was the only one dancing. Taking his last swig, Jocko looked back, hey, where'd everyone go? Then, he passed out.
Three days and three nights later, Jocko woke up on the side of the road. He sat up and stretched, then squinted. Oh, it was day? Oh, no.
His first day on the job and he completely messed it up. Okay, okay, okay. Maybe the devil will be the forgiving type. Nope, nope, that didn't work in any way on any level. Okay, plan, new plan. Jocko spotted a beggar down the road, holding out his purse. He had an idea. The beggar looked at Jocko as he approached. Hey, uh, if you have any money, I could really use the help. Jocko shoved his hand in his pocket and made a show of searching for something, and then he pulled it back out.
pretending like he had a coin. What are you doing? The beggar said. Jocko pointed to the hand that looked like it was holding a coin. There's nothing in that hand. You're just pretending there's a coin. Why are you doing this? Is my hardship funny to you? Like, what's going on? The beggar said. As Jocko smiled, approached with his clearly pantomimed coin, fake put it in the purse and vanished in a puff of smoke. The
The beggar sat there wide-eyed. Um, what? He looked around. Where did that weird guy go? Leaning over and daring a look in his purse, he saw a face at the bottom beneath some of the coins. It filled the purse. Looking at him, it whispered a...
I'm hiding. The man got up. Nope. Did not need this. He left his purse sitting by the side of the road, and it's said that Jocko remains in the purse to this day. And that's why people say, when someone has no money, that they, quote, keep the devil in their purse.
The green huntsman looked over his spreadsheets again. Why were his books not balancing? This didn't make sense. He never lost a debt. He called in his assistant, who brought in more ledgers because, whatever this was, it went back farther than the last hundred years. It was a debt that kept carrying over. Several more ledgers and even more hours later, a clawed fist pumped in the air in excitement. Yes! Found it!
Then he squinted and called for his readers. Wait, Combrinus? The beer guy? He sent... He called out for Jocko and then called out a second time. Hey, where was Jocko?
Oh, one of the souls peeked in the doorway, the fires glowing behind him. No one had seen that guy in like a hundred years? The demon swore, all right, they were going up. With a lightning crack, the demon was instantly in the courtyard of the brewery. But while he expected to terrify dancers and partiers...
he found it empty. The tables and chairs that were still standing were rotting, and the paint was peeling on the parts of the brewery that weren't crumbling in disrepair. Taking his green huntsman form, the demon strode toward the room in the brewery, where he knew Cambrinus, the king of beer, lived. Everything inside was covered in dust and cobwebs. It had been years.
decades. The beer was gone and the hops and barley had long since rotted away, so there wasn't even enough left for the rats. Cockroaches managed, though, and they scattered from the lantern light that the demon's assistant carried. Finally, in the back corner of the brewery, they found a slumped form wearing Kim Brynus' hat and his ermine cloak. There you are, the huntsman said. It's time to pay up. But
He wasn't moving. The huntsman pointed to his assistant, who rushed over and poked the cloak and then cocked his head. Wait. He turned the whole thing around and it was a beer barrel. A beer barrel wearing Cambrynus' clothes. What? The huntsman froed his brow.
Then he nodded. Yeah, that's right. That's the thing that he did. He was so angry that this guy tried to get away that he changed him into a beer barrel. Are you sure? It looks like he just dressed up a beer barrel in his own clothes and left. He's probably like still out there. The assistant shook his head.
Nope, not him, not this one. Huntsman shrugged. Nah, he was... He turned into a beer barrel. That's punishment. That's definitely a thing. Is it?
The assistant asked. It's definitely a thing. The huntsman made it clear that this conversation was over. Grumbling, he took the ledger and cleared out Cambrianus' debt, writing that he did a contrapasso thing with Cambrianus, turning the beer drinker who never wanted to be sad into an unfeeling barrel that only holds beer, and that Cambrianus was definitely not still out there, walking the world forever, having one big party.
So that's one story of Cambrianus. The barrel thing at the end does feel random, but I like to think that Cambrianus still had that old spark in him, and at the end, outwitted even the devil, and, like his image and iconography, is still out there partying it up. That's it for today's story. Next time, in two weeks, we're back in Slavic folklore. We'll see how that water from the fish dinner you made might get you pregnant.
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The creature this week is the Coco from Peru. Okay, so the Coco is a two-foot-long cat god from the Andes. And I know what you're thinking, that sounds adorable. A tiny cat named Coco? Probably the least malicious cat we've talked about on this segment. Well, it turns out that Coco might look cute, but it will ruin your crops, pelt you with hail, and give wizards the ability to strike things with lightning.
Before you start to think that the cocoa sounds too evil,
I'll say that it does only attack people in poverty, so yes, that is evil and then some. It's not that it has any implicit or explicit biases. It just enjoys bribes. It said that there are two types of reactions to the cocoa: serving it or fighting it. Serving it is leaving sacrifices out for it, and it will gladly take payment in the form of gold, wine, llama tallow, and various grains. People who choose not to serve cocoa the cat god
i.e. who don't have the money to bribe it, end up with their fields ruined by hail and storms that it apparently shoots from its mouth and eyes. According to Incan mythology, this creature also jumps from cloud to cloud and its urine is our rain, which I guess would make the world its litter box. And the wizard thing. To paraphrase Frank Herbert and Douglas Adams, those who seek power are probably the people we should be the most suspicious of having it.
And I think the same thing goes with shooting lightning bolts. Because there's no good practical application for shooting lightning bolts from your hands. You're only doing that so you can electrocute animals or people.
Only the Sith get lightning fingers, and if you have to bribe a cat god who only attacks people in poverty to get a power that pretty much only has malevolent uses, you might want to do an honest assessment of where you're sitting on the old alignment chart. And if you were worried that the Coco still wasn't evil enough, don't. There are zombie children.
Yeah, so if a child dies unbaptized in this particular mythology, and they're not buried properly, you have something of a Frankenstein situation, with the Coco finding them, shocking them with lightning, and having an eternal servant. So yeah, if you find yourself in the Peruvian Andes, and you meet an adorable, sparkling cat, give it absolutely anything it wants, because it can always get worse.
That's it for this time. Myths and Legends is by Jason and Carissa Weiser. Our theme song is by Broke for Free, and the Creature of the Week music is by Steve Combs. There are links to even more of the music we used in the show notes. Thank you so much for listening, and we'll see you next time.