King Of Britain

Chapter Four: Hadrian

Chapter Four: Hadrian

Even as I tacked up yet another horse for the knights that had requested one, I could feel a sense of dread settling in. Those who still lingered around the stables, waiting until the last moment to put on their armour and wield their weapons, couldn’t stay still. They fidgeted and murmured to themselves about things that didn’t make sense. It was like the lower city people said; madness plagues war, and that was why many a knight was haunted by terrible dreams and frightening memories.

Many people had seen their friends or family die. That was nature’s way; whether they died of old age or plague. Nobody, though, wanted to see a loved one fall prey to the mental battle of madness, or watch a friend suffer for days from an infected wound as the strength and life was slowly drained out of them. It was said that one would never reach true spiritual peace if they were murdered by a blade or another of war’s weapons.

Nonetheless, to die fighting was a warrior’s wish, and so many of the knights today did not fear the spiritual unrest that they would experience if they fell by an enemy’s blade. No, they welcomed it, as their culture as noble warriors embraced this as a good thing. If they had known the consequences of their actions, or the pain of dying from infection, they would not think as such. Too many of them had been healed by the remedies of the palace doctors to believe that they could die of such small wounds. If only they knew the truth.

In the lower city, and on the farm, if one cut themselves with an axe while woodchopping or forgot to bandage an old, almost healed wound, they would surely die without the coin needed for the palace doctors to venture from the safety of the castle walls and issue the appropriate medicines for a full recovery. No lower city man could afford such, though, and as a result death was almost certain. If one, by some miracle, pushed through such an infection, then they would never be the same; they would be weak, need more food yet not swallow a bite, and sometimes become so unstable in their minds that they wandered into the forests and never returned.

I surely hoped that I would not die today; that I would not become one of those who died from infection or was forever stuck in a state of spiritual turmoil. Such would cause the stable manager to have reason to stop giving my mother her medicine, and then soon enough she would follow me into the abyss. No, I had to stay strong. I had to follow the stable manager’s lies and, when the time was right, return to the job of a stable boy; something that I knew and did not fear.

“Men, report to the armory,” a commander ordered, standing up and addressing us with harsh authority. “The battle is drawing close. We must be ready.”

There were murmurs and groans as we, all of us, accepted that it was time to face the fears we had been hiding, and stand in the face of battle with our heads held high and our blades at the ready. I handed the reins of the final horse to a passing knight, and followed the slouched forms of my unwilling friends into the armory.

In the end, it was only the knights who were allowed to wield blades. There weren’t enough to go round, and those few that remained after the knights had equipped themselves were handed to whoever had experience in wielding a sword. As I stumbled past the crossbows and arrows, a spear was pushed into my hand and a leather vest shoved against my chest. I looked down at it; was this the extent of my armour? Was I really expected to storm out there in nothing more than a thickened leather vest? I would die within minutes; five, if I was lucky to survive that long. A blade would run clean through me, or perhaps my demise would be by a poison-tipped arrow lodged in my chest.

Of course, I was a pawn. One of the many civilians forced to participate in this battle, this war, and completely expendable in the eyes of the knights and commanders. For all I knew, the king hadn’t even requested a count of the civilians participating in the battle; we were worthless to him, and though his kingdom would not prevail without us, there were many more where we came from. We were a replenishable source.