Sword & Duty

He holds his sword, He has his vows. He’s but a knight in his king’s eyes. For in this world you climb or die. The rich they thrive, the poor they drown.

Matthew didn’t start as a knight, nor a Prince. Not even a soldier. But a boy, he lived poorly, rich in love and overworked to dawn to sell. There were ten people to feed including him, eight children in total . And after the fifth little bundle was born, Matthew knew he had to grow up and help.

By nine the boy had hustled his way with the guards, managed to bargain deals.

“For each five gold I sell, I’ll give you both one gold each.” What else could underpaid guards say to money but yes? He knew what his folk needed, money and food.

Like many others, their home was muddy, Ashen and forgotten by the business aristocrats who simply sold more and more land, leaving less and less for the people of Pyte. Even some of their own folk started working for them richer folk. And the income of his family of ten? It came from selling bread. Good days would be a shiny twelve gold for their entire stock that day.

The younger three would stay home and bake. Some days water flooded in their hole-filled boots, tedious plucking of the wheats with the huffing and puffing of carrying them indoors with water logged firewood for heat. Pricked, bruised and tired the three would whisk and pound to make that bread, from morning to night. Whilst the older four busied the streets of the selling parts of town, what the rich threw the poor kids took.

Here, was Matthew sorting the loaves of yesterday on his home made stand, now and again helping his brother who wasn’t the most eager to help, “It is this or no food” he’d say, just like his Mama said to him when he was their age.

“Hold it here, and put a smaller bun under so the customers can look at them better.” He said, pushing the whittled basket of buns to his brother's feet with a thud. “That’s too much work!” his brother groaned “Why can’t I just put them flat?” As always his little brother had no choice, everyone had to help, no matter how many times he whined or cried, he’d be regretting it when the food left the table. Small things like this could matter.

The shops around here weren’t for the poor, Pyte was the outskirts where the rich went to gamble and sell land. Who would cater to the poor, when the rich come to parade their wealth for free? Like the routine of the market, they all heard the customers sweeping in, the clack of wood on the stone floors echoed, canes of elder men or fancier men even. All walked these paths, with women, with family, or simply alone. Today a man dressed in a trench coat with white soft fur cuffs and collar stood by their walkway. With more than merrier stalls of jewelry, food and butcheries, the man stopped at their little shop.

“I hear y'all selling fresh loaves here?” The man chimed, the sound of money clunking into Matthew’s ears.

“We sure do sir, would ya’ like any?” He smiled, Bright and joyful, just like the customers preferred him to look, many would kill to still keep their teeth here. The man grinned, he smelled like some sort of smoke and sap of the trees. Well trimmed stash, teeth grim and crocked, heavy eye sockets from years of back arching paperwork and hard cash.

This man touched more money than he’d seen around here. “Sure would, young man, any daily specials?” Daily specials? All around here was always just bread. But an opportunity was an opportunity, who knew how much he’d pay.

“Uh…Yes sir, we have these new batches, straight off the fire,” He passes his younger brother, keeping a silent eye on the man as he pulls the bread out his Ma wrapped in the cleanest cloth they had. “Just state a price and it’s yours.”

None of the other baked goods were covered, they were either soggy and dirty, or stale and barely edible. But not these, these were for special occasions, just..like..these.

“Do you take experience as a payment?” The man now leaned, like those bridges near the entrance gates, now face to face, he can only muster a mumble. “Experience say?..”

“Why yes, I’ma scout you see,” Just like that all the riches made sense, why he came to the kids and not the adults.

“You kids lookin’ for some real cash?” Reaching for his pockets he gave Matthew and his brothers and sisters each a bag of gold, each time they were put into their small calloused hands. They sang with the lovely sound of gold.

Righting his posture and tophat, he checked his pocket watch. By the expression he showed, it seemed it was time to wrap up.

“I am out on the behalf of the royal family of Bethan, King Casper is hiring. And It would be a shame to not see you there.” Bethan? That wasn’t far from here, but it wasn’t for boys like him, not for any of his siblings either and he knew that.

“Thank you sir, here’s your bread.” But the man shook his head before he could hand it to him, so he tipped his hat, and left.

He sold these loaves, He had this gold. He’s but a child in the stranger's eyes.

There were many men and boys waiting to meet the king, to show they had what it took to serve. Many were older men, too old to even stand in line, tripping and aching for an ounce of rest for their weary bones. And then there were boys, some of them Matthew knew.

He’d seen them on the streets, some were younger than him, some older. A boy at Thirteen, meant to serve the country.

“We can just work more Matt, you don’t have to do this.” His father cried, oh, how he wished his little boy wasn’t so grown.

“We need the money Pa, Elliot knows how to handle the streets. You know I’ve taught him myself." Stubborn as a mule, he saw no other option for his family. His brothers hid the day after his announcement, his sisters never left his side, following him like ducklings. All of them had heard and even the younger kids seemed to understand that something was off.

In the same alley, no stands, no bread, no customers. Just two boys, sat in the dead grassy street behind a collapsed building. Face to face but so far away. He knew he made a big choice, perhaps a big mistake.

“We need.. the money, Elliot..” Elliot’s eyes were red, red like his hands after all these grulling days of pulling carts, yet there were so many times where Matthew didn’t even want him to come along.

‘If you get hurt, who helps Ma and Pa?’ Matthew never thought about who’d help him. He'd cried as much as the rest, his eyes burned as he watches his brother's arms crossed and shoulders shake from the thought he’d leave them like this.

“We need you..I..need you, brother…” Perhaps his choice was too big, too great for just a boy. He’d leave behind so much, so many.

But he’d be giving them more. And the line would move, kids would cry, elders would eventually give up, but many still stood tall. They all had the same determination, to not give up. He stood up, dusting his pants, plucking a handful of pebbles from the dry soil.

“Try to be strong for me..I’ll be back, I’ll be alright I swear.” But the sniffling and coughing didn't stop. Whatever tears and snot fell down, he managed to get close enough to clean them before Elliot shoved him away, he didn’t have a chance putting those pebbles in his hands. He still wouldn’t accept closure, his stubborn little brother.

“..Just be careful…Stay safe for us…” That he would, with each little step forward, that’s what he knew he had to do. That same night he said his farewell and the man found him again, and gave a time and place. The man and unfamiliar guards picked him and other kids up by carriage to the city capital. A cold and harsh month. Guards and knights alike grow louder the closer the rattle of chains and metal became; “Come forth!”

Three steps forward. There were multiple people before but finally he stood before the grandiose door of the castle. “Name and age.” The knight rolls up a new paper, dipping his quill in ink.

“Matthew, thirteen"

He dips his pen back into the black ink, motioning to the guard in front of him to call for the next person. “Left door, second guard in green.”