They Say He Died

The sun shone through the drapes, diffusing into a soft pale glow, illuminating the room in ethereal light. Laying on the bed was a man, past his prime years but not yet completely useless, stretched on a wood-hewn bed with a straw mattress, covered on a blanket made of assorted furs, jagged at the edges where it was cut with a dulling knife.

His face was a rugged one, hardened with age and the stresses of life, streaks of gray hair running through his hair like trails of snow. His body was cruel, muscular and bulky, but not chiseled, looking more eroded by the winds and waters like sandstone than carved by a sculptor. Imperfect, lumpy, but built with a use, and built well.

His face scrunched, reacting to the light, and with a great inhale through his nose, the man rolled over, and slowly opened his eyes. They were deep brown, and even though he had just woken, they were focused, analyzing every detail despite the fact they were already familiar with the room around them. Seeming to now be satisfied that the room around him was in fact the room he had fallen asleep in the previous night, he sat up. He grunted and held his breath, seemingly sore from something the day before. He wore a braie and an undertunic made of simple white linen. They were slightly dirty and stained with soil but the man didn’t seem to care much. He swung his legs over the side of his bed, yet again grunting, then standing.

He stretched again, raising his arms into the air and lifting onto the tips of his toes. The floor was just dirt, with straw the only layer between it and his feet. There were various things around the room: a chest overstuffed and thus slightly ajar, a half melted candle and its stand, a small wood stove with a pot above it empty and collecting dust, and a longsword, sheathed in leather. He slipped into some leather pattens, right next to him, and parted the drapes.

It was sunny outside, forests of pale green giving way to an azure sky and blinding sun. clouds dotted the sky like blemishes, coasting gently to the horizon. Birds sang to each other, or perhaps to nothing at all, pairing with the atmosphere of the breeze and the rhythmic beating of leaves against each other. The air smelled of pine, sweet and familiar.

However, at this point, a new rhythm came. It seemed the man recognized it instantly, eyes widening slightly, then closing the drapes. He stood for a moment, then lowered himself to the ground, grimacing slightly from the pain. He rested his arms on the bed, and clasped them together, then muttered a prayer. The beating rhythm drew closer, before pattering to a stop. The man stood from his prayer, stepped to the door, and grabbed the longsword leaned next to it.

“You are commanded to step out,” Said a voice on the other side, “By order of God and the law.” The voice was regal and arrogant, timbre so sharp it could cut iron. The man sighed, whether because of exasperation or defeat could not be told. He hefted up the longsword, still in its sheath, and pushed open the door in front of him. In front of him, in a dirt clearing the man had made himself, were three men mounted on horses. The man in the center looked to be of high standing, wearing a black and blue padded jacket with matching pluderhose and a black chaperon. Upon seeing the man exit the small house, he raised his chin in arrogance. The other two men also of no doubt high-born, were in plate with opened sallets on their head, shifted slightly in their saddles, either annoyed by the presence of the man or perhaps uneased.

The man in the center did not shift, however, and gazed at the man with disdain. “You have been charged with the crime of-” However, he was not allowed to speak another word. “It was a righteous act to protect my honor, m’lord,” said the accused, standing strong, unfaltering.

“Honor!” cried the lord, almost as if insulted by the notion, “You speak of honor? That is your defense?”

“You lords start wars about honor, why are my actions inexcusable while yours remain unquestioned?”

The lord recoiled, like he was physically revolted by what just came out of the man’s mouth. “You- how dare you boy! You do not question your lord’s actions, and I will not have them ridiculed by filth like you!” The lord said, visibly angry, yet the man stood firm, unmoving. One could mistake him for a statue if not for his breathing.

“This filth fought your damn wars,” The man said.

“And it seems to have been hit on the head too much during them”

The comment caused the two men next to the lord to chuckle, and come to ease. “What are my charges?” Asked the man flatly, “Teaching a lesson to that stuck up prick?” The lord’s face fell. He looked grave and angry.

“They say he died this morning.”

“They say a lot of things.”

“I have had enough of this,” Said the lord, “Arrest this man, I want this over with.” One of the two armored soldiers began to dismount. “Ah ah ah,” Chided the man, gripping his sword with one hand, tilting his head and looking at the soldier sternly like that of a mother dissuading a child from doing something. The soldier stopped for a moment, looking at the man in fear, and seeming to find his saddle more comfortable than dismounting. The lord looked over. “Are you deaf?” He said, mockingly, “Dismount, or you’ll find yourself awaiting execution with this creature!”

The dilemma between possible death and certain death seemed to have an easy answer for the soldier, and he dismounted. He was armed with a longsword, and on his hip was a stiletto, swaying in its sheath as he walked. “Your mother will be crying tonight,” sighed the man, drawing his blade. “If you have no intention of coming peacefully,” said the lord, “We have no qualms killing you here instead of on the chopping block.”

“Ah,” said the man, readying himself as the soldier drew nearer, “Easier for both of us anyways.”

The soldier approached with clear apprehension, seemingly undecided on his approach. The man, sensing this, lunged with his leading foot extending into a thrust. The soldier, caught off guard, stepped back and thrust his sword up to the sky, using his crossguard to carry the man’s blade up with his own. The man, seeing that much of the soldier’s body was now exposed, stepped to the left of the soldier, dislodging his blade and slicing across the inner side of the man’s arms. While much of the soldier was unharmed, where the man’s underclothing was exposed, particularly at the inner side of the elbow, where articulation was needed thus there was no armor, he sustained a wound.

The man quickly retreated, keeping his sword diagonal to his body so most of him was protected. The soldier hissed in pain, blood trickling from his arm. It was at this point the other soldier realized that his comrade might need some help, so he began to dismount. The Lord retreated a little away from the scene so as not to get caught within it. The man understood by the injured soldier standing frozen and breathing through gritted teeth that he was unable to carry his sword effectively. Seeming to believe he was out of action the man turned his gaze to the other soldier. This soldier, armed with a billhook and a stiletto, sauntered forth with an air of apprehensive confidence. The man, understanding he was outmatched in terms of reach, stayed outside of the measure of the soldier as he advanced.

The soldier, apparently sensing he was at an advantage, thrust his point forward towards his opponent. The man sidestepped, sending his blade down over the billhook so as to disrupt its path and keep it from stabbing him. The man now pressed his advantage, grabbing hold of the pole of the billhook, so as to gain control of the weapon. The soldier wrenched backwards with all of his might. The hook caught the man’s leg, cutting deeply and tripping him, causing him to fall onto the dirt beneath him. Air rushed out of his lungs and he laid stunned for a moment, sword still in hand. The soldier came forth, now with true confidence, and raised his billhook to deliver a coup de grace. The man raised his sword parallel to the earth and braced the blade with his hand as the billhook fell. The man took the opportunity to push the billhook away from him, then rolled over, tucking the billhook’s pole under his arm. The soldier attempted to wrench the billhook from the man’s grasp, but the man had a firm grip. The soldier released the billhook and drew his stiletto, jumping onto the man, who rolled over to face him just in time.

Grappling each other, both the soldier and the man fought for their lives. They grunted and panted, the soldier pushing his feet onto the loose soil hoping to find purchase. The man, with his good leg, planted his foot on the belly of the soldier, and with a great push, threw the soldier over him. The soldier, landing with a harsh thud, lost grip of the stiletto. The man scrambled, crawling to grab the dagger. He reached it before the soldier, who was still writhing and stunned. Crawled on top of the soldier, reaching for his helm. The soldier, still dazed, reached up and clasped his hands around the man’s neck, while the man fiddled with the latch on the soldier’s helmet. The man gasped for air, trying, with his waning dexterity, to get purchase of the latch and open the helmet. His fingers struggled to find purchase as his face turned a deep shade, and his gasps became more desperate.

On the edge of consciousness, he found purchase, and unlatched the visor. He clumsily flung it open, revealing the wide, fearful eyes of the soldier. The man plunged the stiletto into the man’s face, flecks of crimson flying onto his own. The soldier’s hands lost their strength and fell limp, and his once heaving breath now was silent.

The man, exhausted and wounded, rolled over onto his back, and laid there, coughing. He tilted his head backwards, the ruddy brown of the soil now up instead of the azure sky. He saw the other soldier, laying on the ground. He must have passed out from blood loss, and in all likelihood the man would be joining him soon. He saw the lord, dismounting his horse and approaching the man, looking irritated.

“If you survive your wounds,” said the lord, looking at his fingernails as if they were more interesting than what lay before him, “You will pay dearly for what happened here.” He began walking back to his horse. “Wh…Who am I indebted to,” said the man, in between gasps for air, his neck beginning to bruise, “The town or you?” The noble mounted his horse, and began to turn away.

“They’re the same damn thing.”