Episode 117A – Slayer – Myths Your Teacher Hated

Episode 117A Show Notes

Source: English Folklore

This week on MYTH, it’s off to merry old England for a truly classic folktale trickster. You’ll learn what the going rate is for dealing with a giant, why you shouldn’t nap at a crossroad in a fairytale forest, and why you should apparently never accept hospitality from a Welshman, especially if he has two heads. Then, in Gods and Monsters, it’s the legendary tale behind one of the largest graves you’ll ever see. This is the Myths Your Teacher Hated podcast, where I tell the stories of cultures from around the world in all of their original, bloody, uncensored glory. Modern tellings of these stories have become dry and dusty, but I’ll be trying to breathe new life into them. This is Episode 117A, “Slayer”. As always, this episode is not safe for work.
One of the first mythological creatures many of us encounter as children is the everpresent, often-villainous giant. And when you think giant, one name often comes to mind as well: Jack. Much like the Ivans we met back in Episode 18A and B, Jack is more of an archetypal stock character than a particular individual. You might have seen a viral post going around a while back claiming that all of the Jack tales are actually about the same character. This is not strictly accurate, but it’s not completely off-base. The name ‘Jack’ was used in much the same way that John Doe is used in the modern US to signify an everyman who is everyone and no one. Thus, pretty much every Jack shares a lot of the same traits: he’s often lazy or naive but manages to triumph through cleverness. You know, your classic trickster character.
One of my favorite Jacks comes from a Cornish fairy tale set during King Arthur’s reign and, given that, draws on elements of Breton, Welsh, and Norse mythological giants as well. The earliest allusion to this particular story comes from our old friend Willy Shakes in King Lear, but the earliest written version of the story we have is only from 1711. The one I’m using here today comes from the English Fairy Tales collection from 1918 by Flora Annie Steel.
Once upon a time, when King Arthur and Queen Quinevere reigned over England, there lived a farmer in Land’s End, in Cornwall. This farmer had only one child, a son who was, of course, named Jack. As is typical of all folklore Jacks, he was a clever, active child who loved a challenge more than anything else. The prize mattered less than the simple joy of matching wits with someone and coming out ahead.
Now in those long-ago days, there lived a truly monstrous giant in a lonely cave perched high on Mount St. Michael in Cornwall, a mountainous island just off the coast. He was at least 18 feet tall and had a waist that was a full nine feet around, none of it fat. This dude was an absolute beast in stature and had an attitude to match. He was the unholy terror of the countryside – from his mountain stronghold, he would rampage through the towns and villages, stealing whatever he wanted (especially the vast amounts of food he required to maintain his gigantic bulk). The rich and the poor alike ran screaming from their homes whenever they heard the splish splash of his enormous feet wading through the tide towards the mainland. This was a wise move on their part since the giant was, as many giants are, a cannibal. His favorite breakfast was a dozen broiled townspeople snatched fresh as they fled.
If he couldn’t managed to snag long pork, he’d settle for regular pork. Or beef or mutton or whatever else he could grab. The giant would usually end up wading back to Mount St. Michael with half a dozen oxen tucked under his arms and dozens of sheep and pigs tied to his belt like screaming knapsacks. This raiding and pillaging went on for many years, sinking all of Land’s End into a deep despair since no one could hope to best the enormous giant named Cormoran.
One day, when Jack was still quite a young lad, he found himself headed into town for market day. It was an exciting day but the state of the village when they arrived ruined it a little. Cormoran had made one of his expeditions the day before, leaving the whole place turned upside down. Women were weeping and men were cursing at the damage and destruction while the magistrates sat in council to try and figure out what to do about this goddamned giant. Of course, as it always was, the answer was pretty much jack shit. And speaking of Jack, he was an impetuous little asshole so of course he strutted his tiny legs right up to the council of magistrates. Jack was a clever little shit though, so he knew how to flatter self-important bigwigs and blind them with courtesy. “It sounds like you’ve got yourselves a little giant problem. What, uh, what would be the reward if someone were to solve it for you?”
The magistrates looked over at the tiny but incredibly confident little man. “Well kiddo, if someone was able to rid the town of Cormoran’s ravages, they would be entitled to the treasure of Giant’s Cave.” Jack whistled. “A treasure, huh? The whole treasure? Like the entire treasure would be the reward?” “Every last farthing of it.” Jack nodded decisively. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say. Alright, I’ll do it! I’ll get rid of the giant.” And he set out immediately to get to work.
Now it was deep in the winter at this particular point in time, which meant that the ground was pretty densely frozen. Thus, Jack obtained a horn, a shovel, and a pickaxe before making his way out to the island mountain, arriving there just as evening was setting in. By the time the first blush of dawn brushed the peak, he’d dug a pit over twenty-two feet deep and almost as big across. That’s an impressive night’s labor for an actual fucking child. Eat your heart out, John Henry. This enormous goddamned hole being successfully dug, Jack covered the pit with thin sticks and straw and then sprinkled loose soil over it until it looked a whole lot like any other patch of ground. And yeah, it’s exactly what you think it is.
Once he was satisfied with everything, he posted up on the far side of the hidden pit from the giant’s mountaintop cave and raised the horn to his lips. He’d deliberately picked an especially loud and obnoxious one for this part, so the brassy, off-key notes of the classic fox hunt call were extremely irritsting. The giant had been deeply asleep, and he didn’t take especially kindly to be awoken in such a shitty way. Sleepy, disgruntled, and enraged, Cormoran stumbled out of bed and towards the door, blinking angrily to see who the fuck was making all that racket. It wasn’t hard to spot the small form of Jack still blowing away on his horn with as much of an arrogant swagger as he could manage.
It worked. The giant hated the little shit ruining his beauty rest and he began running down the mountainside with murderous intent. “I’ll teach you to wake a sleeping giant, you little asshole! I’ll break your spine and crush your skull then boil you alive for…” But before he could finish his cannibalistic threat, Cormoran stepped onto the disguised pit trap and crashed through the sticks into it with a surprised shriek. He hit the bottom with such force that it literally shook the mountain.
Jack sauntered over to the lip of the pit and laughed uproariously. “How do you like them apples, Mr. Giant? Maybe you can serve them with my bloody corpse when you catch me. Did you want me broiled, boiled, or baked? I’m guessing nothing’s gonna hit the spot for you except for ol’ Jack though, which is too bad. Guess you’re gonna have to starve. You’ve been a very naughty giant and you’ve been sentenced to the stocks, which means I can torture you as much as I like. I really wish I had some rotten eggs or old tomatoes to throw at you, but I’m a clever guy – I can make do.” Cormoran was, of course, doing his level best to climb out of the pit and murder his tormenter, which made it so much easier for Jack to bring his pickaxe whistling down on the giant’s skull. It shouldn’t come as much of a shock that the kid who dug an impossibly huge pit in a single night also managed to split the giant’s fucking skull in a single blow.
Whistling a little victory music, Jack filled the pit up around the corpse, turning it into the giant’s grave. That done, he went up to the dead Cormoran’s cave and found the fabled treasure of Mount St. Michael, which was his by right of conquest. He returned to the village as a conquering hero, thus earning him the name by which we know him today – Jack the Giant-Killer. In celebration for his epic accomplishment, the council had a sword and belt made for the tiny adventurer. Its golden buckle was embossed with the phrase: ‘Here’s the valiant Cornishman who slew the giant Cormoran.’
As is only fair, news of this incredible feat soon spread far and wide across England. In time, it even reached the enormous ears of another giant named Blunderbore who lived in the northern part of Wales. He was shocked at the brutal murder of his kinsman and vowed revenge on Jack if he was ever lucky enough to find the little fucker. I mean, Jack definitely meted out a particularly brutal form of justice but Cormoran had himself murdered lots and lots of innocent people, as well as stealing countless livestock for his own belly. I get why Blunderbore is angry but Cormoran definitely brought this bloody fate on himself.
Given the very rustic, primitive life that the former giant lived, you might be assuming that he’s typical of all giants. He’s very much not. For instance, Blunderbore lived in an enchanted castle that stood in the middle of an isolated forest. He’s kind of a giant lord to Cormoran’s giant peasant.
Given that this is a folktale, I didn’t bring up Blunderbore for no reason. Just four months after Cormoran’s death, Jack found himself traveling to Wales and indeed to the very forest where the enchanted castle lay. He’d come quite a ways and stopped at a fountain along the forest road to quench his thirst. Tired and footsore and finding the area around the fountain quite pleasant, Jack stretched out to rest and promptly fell asleep. This well, located as it was along the main path, just so happened to be the main source of fresh water for the area. Thus, it wasn’t long before Blunderbore himself came to the well in search of water and spotted the sleeping child. Given the large decorate belt he wore proclaiming him the slayer of Cormoran, Blunderbore was certain that this indeed was Jack the Giant-Killer, the same lad that he had sworn vengeance against.
The lordly giant was thrilled at his good fortune at not only finding the target of his bloody ire but to find him so close to home and dead asleep to boot. This was going to be the easiest oath of vengeance anyone had ever fulfilled! Blunderbore scooped the sleeping Jack up off the ground, threw him over his shoulder, and began trotting back home to his enchanted castle.
This was hardly the subtlest of abductions and Jack was soon awakened from his slumber by the shaking of the giant’s footsteps and the swishing of the tree branches past his head as they made their way deep into the forest, well off the main road. Waking up in the middle of being kidnapped by a giant, the lad was understandably terrified. His fear was not at all assuaged when they arrived at the enchanted castle and entered the courtyard, which was strewn with the bones of countless dead men. They cracked and crunched under the giant’s steps, empty eye sockets leering at Jack and skeletal grins promising that he would soon join them in death.
Blunderbore noticed his captive’s stirring and chuckled cruelly. “Not to worry, little giant-slayer – your bones will join theirs soon enough.” He tossed the boy into a cell, an immense, empty room above the castle gate. The enormous high-ceilinged room was almost completely empty and lit only by the dappled sunlight streaming in from a single window, which overlooked the small road that led to the castle. Pretty much everyone avoided that road for obvious reasons, so it was overgrown and rutted by the weight of the giant’s passage.
Having secured his prisoner in an inescapable prison, Blunderbore headed merrily down that very road towards the home of his brother. They had commiserated together over the murder of their kinsman so it was only right that they also share in the vengeful murder of his killer and the bloody feast of his small body. They’d have to supplement it of course, but his meat would be a delicacy and centerpiece of their celebration. Jack was left alone with nothing but his thoughts for company. He explored his spacious prison and soon found that, much to his dismay, there was indeed no way out. He couldn’t escape, so he’d have to think his way out instead.
Jack kept a careful eye on the road through the window and so he saw when the two giant brothers neared the castle, ready to murder him and eat his flesh. Jack took a deep breath and reviewed his hopefully clever scheme in his head. “Okay Jack, this is it, do or die.You’re only gonna get one shot at this, so make it count.” I mentioned that Jack’s prison was only mostly empty. The one thing it did have was a pair of strong ropes (which would have been more like twine compared to the giant Blunderbore).
Jack had used the time to tie these two ropes into strong nooses and looped the other ends around the central beam of the room. He watched the two approach carefully and with a dextrous flick of his wrist, Jack dropped the two nooses over the necks of the two giants without either noticing. He rushed back to the loose ends and tied them off to the beam with very little slack. It only took a couple of giant-sized steps to take out what little slack there was and tighten the nooses around their throats. The thin cords bit deep into their flesh and they clawed at their own throats as their eyes bulged and their skin turned blue. It’s entirely possible that they would have died from simple strangulation, but Jack wasn’t planning on taking chances.
The story doesn’t explain, but I like to think that the force of the two giants suddenly pulling against the ropes through the window broke the bars enough for Jack to slip through. It’s possible the window was just kind of open, but if so then why didn’t Jack just use the rope to climb down and escape? Maybe his ire was up and his pride demanded vengeance in the form of dead giant. Either way, with the two giants caught and incapacitated, the young lad slid down the rope and onto their backs. Blunderbore hadn’t bothered to disarm his young captive either because he was arrogant or because he was simply unobservant, so Jack drew his wickedly sharp blade and slit both of their throats. They collapsed in a twitching heap, drawing the ropes even tighter around their ruined necks and ensuring that they were dead dead dead.
Avoiding the gore as much as possible, Jack scampered down the cooling bodies and snagged the keys off Blunderbore’s belt. Figuring that a giant living in an enchanted castle must have some pretty sweet loot, he meandered through the corridors to see what he could see. What he found was a trio of young women who he could tell were probably beautiful though their looks were somewhat ruined by the gaunt, hollow hunger in their cheeks. The trio had been bound together by their hair to an iron ring and had nearly starved to death in their terrible bondage. Setting them free with minimal damage to their long locks, Jack knelt politely before them and offered up the castle keys. “My fair ladies, you are free. Here are the keys to this enchanted castle. Have no fear – the brutish Blunderbore and his equally bloodthirsty brother are dead, so they won’t trouble you again. You are free, and these keys should provide you with everything else you require.” Satisfied, Jack left the castle behind and continued on his journey to Wales.
Having lost a decent bit of time being, you know, a prisoner, Jack picked up the pace. Indeed, he probably hurried a bit too fast because he managed to get himself completely lost. Oops. By the time he realized he’d gotten his ass completely turned around, he was way out in the middle of fucking nowhere without any sign of human habitation anywhere to be seen. Without any better idea, Jack picked a random direction and set out with a heart full of hope. And not much else.
In time, Jack came to a deep, narrow valley with a faint path running into it. Inside, he found a dreary, dilapidated house standing all by its lonesome. It wasn’t much but it was pretty much the only option so he marched up to the door and knocked. Jack was nothing if not polite. His knock was answered almost immediately, the door swinging wide to reveal yet another goddamned giant and, even stranger, he had two heads. You can imagine Jack’s shock at this unexpected revelation but, much to his surprise, the giant was exceedingly polite and friendly and invited the child in out of the cold. He might look every bit as terrifying as the three giants Jack had thus far slain, but he appeared to be a kind soul.
The story goes out of its way to make sure you understand that this giant is Welsh, as opposed to the Cornish and English giants we’ve already met, and his modus operandi was, quite literally, being two-faced. It feels a bit like a dig at the Welsh, but whatever. The two-headed giant is a great big liar, pretending to be your friend before butchering you in your sleep. In his strong Welsh accent (see what I mean about it feeling like a dig?), the giant welcomed Jack heartily and offered to make up a room for him. He was welcome to stay the night and rest his bones safely out of the darkness. The young lad was exhausted and not terribly interested in sleeping rough tonight, so he gratefully accepted the hospitality. “Goodnight, Jack. Sweet dreams. Don’t let the bedbugs bite!” Both heads smiled as the giant closed the door to let Jack drift off to sleep.
Jack was exhausted but nearly being murdered made it hard for him to sleep well. He tossed and turned and drifted in and out but never really fell asleep. Not properly anyhow, so he was awake enough to hear the giant’s heads talking to each other. Or maybe plotting was more accurate. “Not long now, little lad. Though you rest beneath my roof tonight, you shall not see the morning light. My club will bash your brains outright!” It’s not the most clever rhyme ever but none of the giants we’ve met so far have exactly been the brightest crayons in the box.
Jack nodded silently to himself. “So that’s your game, you sneaky Welsh bastard, huh? Nice try but now it’s my turn. Let the games begin.” Moving slowly to avoid any give-away squeaks, he climbed out of the bed and looked around. There was a pile of wood stacked up in the corner for a fire that wasn’t lit, so Jack put a few in his place in bed with blankets piled up to look like a sleeping boy. Kind of. If you squinted. Keeping one blanket aside for himself, Jack wrapped himself up in the corner to stay warm, sat down, and snored very loudly and theatrically to make it sound like he was dead asleep. If that two-faced giant was going to make a move, it would be when his guest was defenseless.
Sure enough, the door creaked open quietly not long after to reveal the dual heads of the murderous giant. He tiptoed in as sneakily as he could manage in classic cartoon fashion, a massive club held in his hands. He crept up to the bed where he thought Jack was sleeping, raised his club, and beat the everloving shit out of what he thought was a human child. It’s very much that scene from The Fellowship of the Ring where the Nazgul stab the shit out of a bunch of pillows thinking they’re hobbits. Except the giant didn’t have a moment of realization that he’d been duped at the end. He whacked and whacked the bed, grinning at the cracking and breaking of what he thought was every bone in Jack’s tiny body. This was apparently a sturdy goddamned bed because it managed to survive this vicious beating in one piece. Once the Welsh giant was sure his guest was dead, he went to bed. Jack slipped out of his corner and climbed back into the bed (after cleaning out all the splinters, I presume) and immediately fell into a deep, restful slumber.
The Welsh giant sat himself down at the breakfast table the next morning and was utterly shocked to see a very much alive Jack saunter in to join him. The giant sputtered in disbelief, trying to find the words. “Oh uh hey there me lad, good morning. Sleep well? No problems last night, no bites or any other uncomfortable moments?” Jack fought down the urge to giggle, the sparkle in his eyes the only giveaway at the delight he felt at such a fantastic trick. “I mean, I slept great but now that you mention it, I think a tiny little mouse might have crept in and given me a couple of nibbles, maybe tickled me with his tail. It wasn’t a big deal. What’s for breakfast?”
At a complete loss for words, the two-headed giant set about fetching food for the both of them, which he had absolutely not planned on. Being a fairytale giant, what he had for breakfast was porridge and lots of it. Being a literal giant, he had an appetite to match and no real notion of how much a human child should be expected to eat so he set a bowl with at least four gallons of porridge in it in front of Jack. He had at least a notion that this was a metric fuckton of food for a human and was curious to see if someone as tough as Jack seemed to be could keep up with the giant’s own prodigious appetite. “Dig in, me lad.”
Being a very clever trickster, Jack knew what was up. He needed to down all of this mediocre porridge or the giant was liable to decide he was strong enough to take down a small child and attack. If it came to a straight-up brawl, Jack knew he would lose so he’d need to do what he did best – cheat. As part of his standard adventurer’s gear, Jack wore a leather travel bag under his cloak to hold his spare clothes and maybe some cool rocks. While the giant was busy getting his own porridge, Jack slipped the bag around to his front so that the opening was just under his chin but still hidden under his voluminous cloak. Thus, he was able to dump most of the porridge into the bag while he ate without getting caught by either of the giant’s heads. I guess two heads isn’t always better than one. It definitely made a mess of literally everything Jack owned, but that was a small price to pay to avoid being murdered. Besides, he had the beginnings of a scheme going.
The two ate noisily until both of the bowls were completely empty. The Welsh giant was astounded that his tiny guest managed to eat every bit as much as he did. Where the hell did such a tiny lad put it all? Wiping his mouth and patting his full bag that he pretended was a full belly, Jack stretched. “Thanks for brekkie, friend. I don’t have much to pay you back, so how about I show you a super cool trick instead?” Both of the giant’s heads leaned in with interest. They didn’t get many shows out in the middle of nowhere. Smiling hugely, Jack picked up a wicked-looking carving knife, raised it high, and stabbed deep into his “belly”. The leather ripped with a gross wet sound and all of the porridge spilled out onto the floor. Still grinning madly, Jack pulled the knife back out and set it deliberately back on the table and sat down again.
The giant looked at Jack, the puddle of porridge, and the knife, his dual brains smoking with the effort of thinking. After a moment, he came to a decision. “Well fuck it – if you can do that, I can too!” He snatched up the knife and rammed it deep into his own belly, tearing open a ragged hole. His guts spilled out onto the floor, gray twisted ropes of porridge and gore. Both heads smiled triumphantly through the pain for a short moment before the giant collapsed to the ground in a bloody heap. Thus did Jack slay his fourth giant.
And that’s where we’re going to leave Jack for now, already well on his way to earning the moniker ‘Giant Killer.’ There’s still an awful lot of tale to tell, but now it’s time for Gods and Monsters. This is a segment where I get into a little more detail about the personalities and history of one of the gods or monsters from this week’s pantheon that was not discussed in the main story. This week’s monster is Jack o’ Legs.
Not all Jacks are created equal, and Jack o’ Legs is definitely less trickster hero of folklore and more creeping creeper of legend. He was a real historical person – in theory at least – with a purported grave in the churchyard of Holy Trinity Church in Weston, Hertfordshire, England. He was also a giant, supposedly tall enough to look into second story windows while walking down the streets of Baldock, where he lived. Ol’ Jack was quite fond of this particular habit and made little secret of peering into the windows as he passed. If he saw a friend of his inside, he’d lean against the windowsill and have a nice chat with his buddy on the second floor. He much preferred finding a pretty young woman walking around naked in the privacy of her own home though, and would just as obviously stop and leer in through the window. When she noticed the giant face watching her with a lecherous smile, he’d laugh at her fear and shock at being peeped on. He’s not a good dude is what I’m saying.
The town had pretty mixed opinions of him, with the good ol’ boys he was friends with defending him as a pretty swell guy who never hurt anyone; the poor women he sexually harassed had a very different opinion. It was for the best therefore that he lived in a cave outside the small town of Weston, not far from Baldock. This wasn’t from any sense of personal shame or pressure from the townsfolk you understand, but simply because there wasn’t a house built big enough for his enormous frame. As we saw in the main tale, giants like Jack require a truly enormous amount of food to keep them fed. Unfortunately, he was a lazy piece of shit and didn’t do any work to support his gigantic appetite. Being, as already noted, an all-around shitstain, Jack had a tendency to see anything he could carry away as fair game. Other people might call it theft, but Jack just called it finders keepers (even if he found it in your upstairs room). Since he was as strong as he was tall, no one dared to say a word against him.
None of the surrounding villages were particularly wealthy places and the poor villagers barely had enough to feed their own families, let alone a freeloading giant. They forced a smile to his face, but they were all quite bitter about his bullshit behind closed doors. If his poor “friends” didn’t have things he could yoink, Jack would wander down to the village of Gravely and wait for wealthy travelers to wander along the road from London. Stepping out, he would leer down from on high. “Your money or your life.” It was kind of a lie though because he was just as likely to kill his victims after taking everything they had anyway. The dread of the giant highwayman spread up and down the road with the fatal place becoming known as Jack’s Hill.
He didn’t bother with any kind of honest work but he wasn’t without skills. He was a crack shot with an English longbow and loved to boast that he could fire an arrow three miles over a flat stretch. He was accurate too, claiming to be able to hit a raven sitting in a tree half a mile away. The fact that he was much more clever and skilled than the giants from our main tale just made his neighbors even more bitter about his immoral predations. Jack knew he was disliked and straight up didn’t care – might made right, and no one was mightier than he.
It took years, but eventually people got fed up with Jack o’ Legs and began to plot together to do something about the problem. It was still true that no one was strong enough to take him in a standup fight, so they decided to take a page from our good buddy Jack the Giant-Killer and try trickery. Since pretty much everyone in every town for miles around had suffered at the giant’s meaty fist, they all flocked to the whispered news that a scheme was being hatched and offered to pitch in.
To Jack’s face, they maintained their strained smiles and feigned friendship to keep him from catching on that something was afoot. A date was set and, the night before everything was to go down, word went around town to everyone involved (which was pretty much everyone). The women, children, and any men who didn’t want to be part of the fracas were to stay safely locked inside come morning. Anyone with a stout heart (or at least an ax to grind) would meet in the Baldock churchyard before dawn and hide themselves wherever they could.
Jack wandered out of his cave at dawn and strolled towards Baldock with his bow slung over his shoulder as usual. Being a cocky SOB, Jack didn’t pay much attention to other people and, since he didn’t have any reason to suspect treachery, he didn’t pick up on how deserted the town was. He wandered along towards the church, coming to a fork in the road. He paused for a long time there considering which path to take. Eventually, he came to a decision and headed down the one that led to Randwell. Behind him, the hidden men crept out in his wake and followed.
The posse was led by the biggest, tallest man among them. He was at least a head taller than the other villagers though still quite tiny compared to Jack himself. He was given their best weapon – a massive wooden club. It was tough for everyone to keep up with the giant’s massive strides while also being stealthy enough not to draw his attention as they followed in his footsteps, but they managed. It helped that Jack was lost in dreamy contemplation of what he might be able to steal for breakfast this morning. Their leader crept up behind Jack and, when he paused for a moment, smashed the enormous club down on the base of his skull, which he could just barely reach.
Jack was a powerful guy, but he was caught completely by surprise and the village leader packed one hell of a wallop. The two-story tall thief crashed to the earth like a felled tree with a sound like roaring thunder. Instantly, every man there leapt upon the fallen giant, pinning him to the earth with the weight of their numbers. Many had brought stout ropes and got busy tying him up while he was still dazed and buried. With so many hands, it didn’t take long for Jack to be trussed up like a chicken.
Within a few minutes, the giant moaned groggily as he shook off the whack to the head and struggled against his bonds. He looked around at his captors and flexed, testing the knots, but even he wasn’t strong enough to escape that much rope. He was well and truly caught, and he knew it. An asshole he might be, but no one could say he was a coward. “Alright lads, you caught me now what are you gonna do with me?” The leader stepped forward as spokesman. “Your time is up, Jack. You die this day for all the thieving and murdering you’ve done.” Jack nodded, accepting his fate. There was no way out of this alive, so he might as well die with dignity. “So be it. May I make one request?” Taking silence for assent, he continued. “Unbind my arms and give me my bow. You can leave my legs tied down so I can’t run – I just want to fire one last arrow from my bow for old time’s sake. Wherever the arrow falls, bury my body there, yeah?”
Cautious but honorable, the group warily decided to honor Jack’s last request. They unbound his arms and stepped away nervously, handing over his bow and a single arrow. With a smile, Jack set the arrow, drew, and let fly. It soared up, up, up – over the hedges and beyond the fields until it struck the tower of the church in Weston and dropped to the ground beside it. No man there had ever seen an arrow fly so far (and I have to imagine that they didn’t know until a little later just where the arrow came to rest since it had flown so very far away). They were impressed with Jack’s skill, but that didn’t mean he got a stay of execution.
The story doesn’t say exactly how Jack died, but that crowd seems like the kind to give him a quick death rather than ripping him to bloody shreds. Once he lay dead, there was nothing left but to honor his request. It took the combined strength of every man there to carry his incredibly heavy corpse all the way to Weston, but they managed. There, they took turns digging a grave big enough to hold Jack o’ Legs. It took hours, but at last they had a grave twelve feet wide to lay him in. They looked at the grave and looked at the corpse and realized it wasn’t really big enough but there wasn’t any more room to dig at the spot the arrow had fallen. Shrugging collectively, they decided to make the best of it. Jack was folded in half at the waist like a jack-knife, making him just small enough to fit in the huge grave. If you visit Weston to this day, you can see the spot where Jack o’ Legs is said to be buried, a pair of stones twelve feet apart marking either edge of the grave.
That’s it for this episode of Myths Your Teacher Hated. Keep up with new episodes on our Facebook page, on iTunes, on TuneIn, on Vurbl, and on Spotify, or you can follow us on Twitter as @HardcoreMyth, on Instagram as Myths Your Teacher Hated Pod, and on Tumblr as MythsYourTeacherHated. You can also find news and episodes on our website at myths your teacher hated dot com. If you have any questions, any gods or monsters you’d want to learn about, or any ideas for future stories that you’d like to hear, feel free to drop me a line. I’m trying to pull as much material from as many different cultures as possible, but there are all sorts of stories I’ve never heard, so suggestions are appreciated. The theme music is by Tiny Cheese Puff.
Next time, Jack will get up to more murderous mayhem mostly involving giants. You’ll see that King Arthur had kids you didn’t know about, that you should never make open-ended promises, and that Jack can trick more than giants. Then, in Gods and Monsters, we’ll meet a giant who is probably a cyclops who will meet his own multiverse version of Jack. That’s all for now. Thanks for listening.