An important message

Contains themes of war.

A fresh horse was what Matthias really needed, the one under him had borne his weight since daybreak breathing hard and less responsive to his pull, nevertheless the loyal beast galloped onward. Though he didn’t want to exhaust the animal he had departed Hinderton castle with a message of vital importance to deliver and the night was creeping up on him. The Sergeant had grumbled and slammed his fist over the yellowed parchment before abandoning his attempts to make the letters and instead relaying the message to Matthias. Dictating loud and brashly before telling him to strike it before rambling out an entirely different report.

“…Reinforcements needed. Rebel forces fled to the countryside. Need men to search the surrounding area. Peasants could be hiding them.” Matthias stared at the jowly man mouthing the words spoken at him trying to take in what he was saying whilst organising it in his head.

“What’s that, lad?” The Sergeant asked, his spittle falling just shy of Matthias’s boots.

“Just remembering the orders, Sir.” He memory already losing parts of the message.

“See that you bloody do! For the Lord Upton’s ears only. It will be light in an hour I’ll see you on a horse and gone.” The Sergeant gave him a wave of dismissal. He left down the ramparts whispering the order to himself as soldiers clanked and rattled past him. True to his word he was gone, galloping past the scorched countryside the message repeating in his head.

He knew of an inn where he would be spending the night and swapping out his horse. It wasn’t much farther and was too isolated to have been affected by the recent conflict, at least that’s what he prayed. The innkeeper would not have a warm welcome for him, these peasants preferred the feel of coin in hand to the promises of a royal decree. Even so, the old man would honour the writing he couldn’t understand with room and board and come the morning he would provide his most spritely of horses, doing his small part for his king and country.

A small child covered in dirt was poking a dead horse with a stick just off the track ahead of him. Matthias slowed to a trot and pulled his crossbow from the saddlebag. He was no fool, having ridden messages the length of the country he had not once fallen prey to the low tactics of highway men, never above using children in their ambushes. Nestling the weapon in the crook of the saddle he cranked back the string and slotted a bolt.

“You there boy, who’s out here with you?” The arm on the boy looked as thin as the stick he was using, matted black hair clung to his face and the only clothing covering his bony frame looked like a potato sack. The boy’s sunken eyes seemed to have trouble focusing on him, after a moment he went back to poking.

When no bandit’s burst from the brush he tugged the reigns and shifted his weight, the horse came to a standstill.

“No need to be afraid boy, are you alone out here?” He called over, this time the boy didn’t look up just continued jabbing at the swollen belly of the horse.

“I say lad are you hungry?”

Matthias had a wedge of cheese he had been saving, a little reward for a hard day’s ride. But deciding it was his good Christian duty to feed the poor child, he looked behind him before rooting around in the saddle bag. He held it up and unwrapped it for the boy, but again the boy didn’t even look in his direction. He looped the crossbow strap over his shoulder and got down from his horse. As he did the horse let out a whinny, bucking his head and pawing at the ground.

“Shh, we’ll be away soon.”

Matthias offered some soothing pats, before turning his attention back to the boy. He approached slowly sliding the crossbow behind his back. He was less than a foot away when the boy dropped his stick.

He was staring at Matthias’ outstretched hand.

A sudden jolt of fear went through him, something about the boy’s eyes reminded him of the starving dogs that often roamed around, when a village was sacked homes would be burned to the ground, the inhabitants slaughtered. The dogs would get little more than a kick in the ribs before being left to die. They would form packs and hunt, no longer in fear of their masters.

The boy snatched the cheese from him and bolted.

Matthias fell backward on his arse as the boy ducked into the woods. His horse reared up but stayed where she was. Scrambling to his feet he clutched the crossbow close as he went after the boy.

Whacking his way through the thicket he could hear rustling ahead of him, branches hit his face and snagged his clothes. When he finally fought his way through, he was bleeding from a half dozen cuts. Wiping away the trickle of blood from his eye Matthias found himself in the remains of a wheat field.

Running a stalk through his hands the wheat was sodden and musty smelling, he threw it aside and wiped his hands clean on his tunic. In the far corner he spotted the only place the boy could have run to, a small stone cottage, thin black smoke trailing from its chimney. He made a bee line toward it, trampling the useless crop into the mud, thinking he should have tied his horse up before embarking on this ridiculous distraction. Plenty of children were made orphans after war, he couldn’t be expected to help everyone.

“Hello?!” he cried out.

A small pale face appeared at the window before vanishing, it wasn’t the boy he had chased here but it was most certainly a child.

“I’m bound for Dawstone, I can speak with the monks there once I have done my duty, see about them maybe taking you in.”

Something small and black sailed through the air, just as Matthias looked up, it hit him in the forehead.

“Bloody children!” He hissed as he rubbed the spot, his hand came away black with oily coal tar. “I’m trying to help you.”

In pain but undeterred he walked toward the cottage door, when he tried to push it open, the door resisted. Small hands on the other side stopping him from entering. He pushed with his shoulder, shoving his way inside. Facing him as he entered were four very small and very dirty children. Three of them cowered behind the eldest, a girl, no more than twelve with dark black matted hair just like the boy’s, giving him a steeled glare.

Matthias put up both his hands and knelt, his crossbow slid off his back and dangled off his shoulder.

“Leave it and piss off!” A hoarse voice said behind him.

He turned to see the boy he had followed here pointing a crossbow at him, except his was unloaded and was missing a bow string.

“How long have you been out here?” was all Matthias could think to ask.

“What’s it to you?” the boy tired to jab the crossbow at him but he could scarcely lift its weight, already it was dipping toward the floor.

“You’re back to kill us?” The eldest girl asked.

He spun back around in horror.

“My dear girl, no, I bear messages, see.” He pointed at the badge on his tunic, three lions on a red field now smeared with rotten wheat and coal.

The girl stared at the crest and furrowed her brow.

The smallest child, who had been clutching the girls skirt started wailing, he lay on his stomach and sobbed into the floor. The girl looked down at him before her eyes darted back to Matthias.

“What’s your name?” Matthias tried.

The girl stroked the head of the other orphan still holding on to her.

“Alma.” The girl uttered.

“Alma, shall I relight the fire for you?”

The girl bit her lip and nodded, Matthias cleared the ash and picked up a handful of kindling from a pile nearby and struck his flint. It took more than ten times before it finally caught, Matthias gave it a gentle blow and the fire came alive, the flames soon licking at the sides of the hanging pot.

When he looked back over at them Alma was soothing the frightened boy who had stopped crying and had wrapped his arms around her neck. The boy with the crossbow had lowered it but his mistrustful eyes still bored into him.

Matthias unslung his crossbow and placed it down next to him as he sat on a bench watching the fire grow. The boy seemed to have calmed down now as Alma whispered kind words to him. The other girl still had a hand on Alma’s dress but was staring at Matthias, he smiled at her, she smiled back. She watched him as he put a hand into his belt pouch and pulled out half an apple, the other half he had given to the horse some miles back. He held it out to her still smiling as she stepped forward, letting go of Alma’s skirt.

 She reached out to him and took the apple with both hands.

“Leave her!” Alma screeched.

She let go of the boy and snatched up the fire poker resting by the door and swung it at him. Matthias lept from the bench, snatching up his crossbow.

“Leave her alone!”

She jabbed the poker at him as he backed away, the dark-haired boy struggled to raise his crossbow up at him.

“An apple! An apple was all!” Matthias said as he pointed to the girl.

Still aiming the poker at him Alma looked to the girl who was still holding the apple, she had wasted no time in taking a bite. Her shoulders dropped as she lowered the poker, Matthias looked toward the door.

“I’m a message bearer for his Lordship, I can send soldiers here, they’ll keep you safe.

Alma’s eyes grew cold.

“Soldiers came to our village; we’ve seen what soldiers do.”

Matthias held his head in his hands, the sergeant’s plea for reinforcements was ringing in his ears.

“Just leave, your soldiers came and took what they want, now were alone, leave us be!” Alma cried out at him, tears were streaking down her cheeks, the two children were back hiding behind her. His weapon being too heavy for him the boy at the window had dropped his crossbow. Matthias racked his brain for some consoling words or gestures, he felt nothing but intense shame.

“I’m sorry this had to happen to you, I will be back to help, no soldiers, I promise.”

“PISS OFF!” The boy by the window bellowed at him. Alma stoked the heads of the two children attached to her, she refused to meet Matthias’ eyes. The fire he had built was roaring now, enough to get a stew boiling providing the larder had any provisions left. Judging by the condition the children were in he thought any food supply must have long since been exhausted.

A knife that looked like it had been sharpened hundreds of times over the years lay on a board near the hearth, less than a thin strip to what it must have been he picked it up and undone his belt. Unadorned, undyed leather of two strips sown together that held his pouch, he slid the blade in between, slicing through the stitches one by one as they each in turn popped open. Between them lay a row of coins, to be used in case of a ransom he had been lucky enough to avoid so far. He lifted the belt up and gave it a shake, coins clanked on the bare wooden floor rolling in every direction.

The boy abandoned his crossbow and picked one up, he bit down hard on it, something he had probably seen traders do. He looked to Alma the coin still wedged in his mouth.

There were words on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t share them instead he placed down the knife as well as his broken belt. As he walked past Alma drew the children in closer. This time the door didn’t offer any resistance; he opened it into a dark night. As he crossed the Wheat field he looked back, the children had come to the door they were little more than black silhouettes behind the fires glow. Despite the darkness he made it back to the main road although he couldn’t have said how he had done it as his mind hadn’t entirely left. He felt almost drunk his head was swimming, without any of the merriment or the company. It would be another two days before he reached Dawstone.

He wet his lips and put two fingers into his mouth, a high whistle pierced the air and for a few moments he stood in chilly silence until he heard hooves amble toward him. His horse bent her head on her approach, and he gave her mane a stroke. Swinging back up to the saddle, he gave out a silent prayer for the children. The crescent moon gave him some small vision despite the overhanging of the trees.

From atop his horse he could see the road ahead, it would be a clear run alongside a great river. Matthias wheeled his horse around and dug in his spurs.