The Great Turnip Defense

Hundreds of turnips rained upon General Herbert's troops from the battlements above.

Just that morning he had decided that the siege of this little castle should be over. This decision was partly motivated by tactics, but mostly he had grown bored of sieging and wanted to have a go at attacking once more. He had ordered all his troops to converge on the castle with siege ladders and a particularly impressive battering ram. Surely the soldiers inside had starved by now.

They hadn't. From the look of things, they had food to spare.

Round, red, and about the size of a young girl's fist, the turnips poured from the parapets, machicolations, murder holes, and arrow loops. The men, confused, raised their shields, but then lowered them as they saw the vegetables piling up at their feet. The turnips were much too light to cause damage, especially considering the shiny steel helmets worn by each of General Herbert’s finely dressed soldiers.

From his horse a half-mile away, General Herbert smiled. He knew those helmets had been a good idea. He squinted up at the castles defenders. He could make out their rough leather armor and squat copper helmets. How unseemly. He had known from the beginning of this siege that his victory was certain. How could anyone win a battle in such silly-looking armor?

A few of his men tripped, as the ground below the walls was now mostly covered in turnips. Seeing this, the general ordered all his reserve troops to rush in and finish the whole thing off quickly. It was nearly lunchtime. Just as he did this, however, he noticed that a figure had appeared on the highest turret of the tallest tower of the castle. He at once recognized the long white beard, unfashionably soiled red cloak, and gnarled wooden staff of Merlin. That thrice damned ugly bent old rabble-rouser had been in the castle all along? Or maybe he had snuck in somehow, with magic or something?

General Herbert opened his mouth to give a clever order to his lieutenants that would undo his aged nemesis forever, but all his lieutenants had just charged at the castle with the rest of reserves. Besides, he realized darkly, he had no idea what to tell them to do anyway. Before he could think of anything else, Merlin raised his staff over his head and cried out in an impossibly loud voice for all to hear, “nunc praemium rapa!”

A sound like a thunderclap. A shudder like an earthquake. Billowing clouds of dust like a god had sneezed upon the earth. The entire attacking army in their shining armor was swallowed in uncountable explosions all around the castle.

The general’s horse rose up on its hind legs, casting him off like unwanted luggage. He scrambled to his feet to see that the horse was gone, and one of his lieutenants was approaching on horseback, bleeding horribly. The younger man fell off his steed at the general’s feet. “The turnips!” he gasped as he coughed blood all over the general’s shining leather boots, “The turnips exploded beneath us like gunpowder! All is lost!” Those were his last words.

General Herbert stood transfixed for nearly an hour. When the smoke cleared, there remained nothing but bodies, bits of red vegetable, and the cheers from within the castle. “Merlin! Merlin! Merlin!” they chanted. Save for the general, all the besiegers were dead.

General Herbert returned to his king without a castle, without an army, and without an explanation. He never spoke a word to anyone about what had happened, even after he was arrested for misplacing the king’s entire army. He never quite accepted that it had not been a horrible dream. But he never ate another turnip as long as he lived.