What do peasants do, some people ask? Well, in the land of Jorland, they spent a great deal of their time farming. Ploughing the fields and to sell those crops. If that was ever so a luxury. They oft needed to feed themselves. But the lords demanded taxes. Ah, taxation. All men had to pay of course, of course. But the poor could hardly do it. Still, how could one complain? It was not their land, but rather, their lords.
Ah, but alas, the peasants did not do well. They were poor and the lowest of the classes. They could not rise up in the world and become a lord one day. What an absurdity! Truly, an absurdity.
But, some never lost dreams. The young children were told stories of low men who became knights and slew dragons. Or berated and loathed women, who when given the chance to let themselves shine in a dress of beauty were seen by the handsome prince and taken away and wedded. Ah, but these were just mere fairy tales. Fabricated lies. Many children yearned to read these stories they heard of. But, there was no way to learn and no one to teach them.
The parents and/or adults did not have the luxury of dreams. They did what they must, to survive. A couple by the name of Roland and Gloria did well for themselves in the village they dwelled in. Odd for peasants, but not uncommon. Roland was a blacksmith and one of the finest at that. Anything that needed fixing or forged, he did it. Whether it be a horseshoe or a sword. Though, one hardly ever needed a sword.
Even though Roland gave out so many 'free tickets,' so to speak, he never went under. He made plenty of money for himself and his wife. That of course included paying the taxes to their Earl. Though this family was not without its grief or loss. Five times, five times, Gloria had gotten pregnant. Every child but one had died thus far.
The first was boring seemingly healthy. He died after four months. The second was stillborn. The third was a miscarriage. The fourth was born and a blessing to the family, but died of disease after eight months. The fifth, the fifth, Gloria currently carried. There was no saying with the number five. Nothing of good luck or bad. But all they had seemed to be bad luck, at least in this area of their life.
Gloria had no love or cheer for anyone anymore. She kept to herself except for her husband. She did all she could to keep her children from dying, but failed, every time. Roland, he cried himself to sleep many nights. Oft he strode alongside the nearby creek, wondering and asking, 'Why, God? Why is it you torment me?' He never received an answer. But he kept his faith. He pursued that faith. His strength was in God.
The day then came at last and the baby was born, a boy. Roland held him high in his hands and wept. There was an aura around the young child. Golden. Roland could not explain it. "This child, he will," Roland said.
Gloria's eyes were heavy. Weak. She stared at Roland and for the first time since she had given birth to her second-born child, smiled. "I believe it to be true too, Roland," she replied.
Roland's face gleamed a smile too. "I shall name you Gabriel. For God is my strength. And I hope he will be yours as well, my son." The baby then cried and the golden aura Roland had seen passed.
But, that was not all that had passed. As Roland held his babe in his arms, his eyes caught his wife's--glassy and gazeless. And so, Roland wept for his wife. He buried his wife. Then he wept more.
Many wept with Roland that day. Even God or whatever gods control the weather seemed to join him in his sorrow. The man stared at his wife's grave, the cross made of steel from his old forge protruding from the ground. He then thought of his baby, Gabriel. Now in the home, warm and dry. Was this his doing? Roland wondered. Did he sap all of her strength for his own? Is this God's irony? Give me a child that will live, but take my wife. Or is this a blessing? That Gloria would die no matter what. But that God decided to let her final child, our final child, live. Whatever Roland decided in his mind and heart, he kept that baby alive. He put his heart, soul, body, and mind into making certain, Gabriel lived.
He hammered away day and night at the forge. He no longer allowed people to have free forgery work done by him. One man even stole from his forge and Roland opened his guts with his blacksmith hammer. Right in the man's home. In front of his wife and children.
"He should not have stolen," Roland said to the family. "May God forgive him." Roland slammed the wooden door behind him. The wife screamed and called him a monster. But Roland did not care. He had to protect his child. He would not allow anyone or anything take his babe from him.
Nine months passed and the child still lived. Roland blessed God that the child had endured. He had lived longer than any of his children before. He knew in his heart of hearts--Gabriel would live for a very long time.
At the age of three, Gabriel began to walk and talk. The boy would be handsome. Roland just knew, he would be handsome.
As one might imagine, people began to hate and fear Roland. They did not boycott his forge however. They needed his talents and soon, those talents became recognized by those of higher power. This day, made everyone hate and fear Roland even more.
Approaching was a golden carriage drawn by a pair of white steeds. Several armed guards accompanied it. They wore yellow tunics over their chain-link mail. Their helmets dark and curvature. Most soldiers of Jorland wore such colors. But on their shields and plastered on the side of the carriage was the coat of arms of their lord. Earl Talan. A red shield checkered yellow and a sword of gold floating behind.
The Earl stepped from his carriage into the mud. In fact, he seemed to sail down into it. The mud flew up to greet the Earl before any villager could, slapping his black boots and white pants. But the man dressed in a red tunic seemed not to care. He was not your typical run of the mill Earl. He was muscular and had a lean looking face. A curled mustache sat above his lips and a smile spread as he saw Roland outside his home, working at the forge.
Roland turned his attention toward the Earl as he approached with his guards.
"Are you the man I want to see?" Earl Talan asked.
"Perhaps," Roland replied honestly. He rubbed his hands with a towel to remove his soot. Little good it did with the blackened towel. "My lord." Roland nearly forgot to add that etiquette. He then thought if a bow was necessary, but decided not.
"Is this your forge here?" Talan raised a ringed finger up at the large brazier of coals. Smoke streaming from it.
"Aye, it is, my lord." Roland glanced back, as if he didn't believe his own forgery was still there.
"Good. Then I want you to begin working for me."
"What, my lord?" Roland was shocked, but not displeased. "What do you desire?"
"I want you to forge swords. Only swords, you hear?"
Roland nodded, understanding. "Yes, my lord. How many and how will you pay me?"
Earl Talan rumbled into laughter. "I will pay you fine payment for fine work. Your talents are wasted for doing mere farm work. Put swords as your precedence. I have an order of, hmm, let's say thirty swords a month."
"Thirty swords a month," Roland echoed. He thought. It was manageable. Hard work, but manageable. He'd indeed have to lay off work for the others. But this was a lord, his lord, in fact. "Very well, my lord, I will do this."
Earl Talan gave an amusing smirk and twitched up his eyebrow. Almost as if he thought, of course you plebeian, you ponder as if you have a choice. "That's all then. I trust I don't need to examine your forge or monitor your work?"
"No, my lord."
"Good. I'll send men to retrieve swords every first day of the month. Beginning next month." This month had only just begun, he had time.
Roland bowed, not sure if that was necessary and Earl Talan climbed back into his carriage. It rocked as he adjusted himself within. In a matter of a few seconds, the carriage and riders took off, heading toward their manor.
Roland soon found the other villagers staring at him. Eyes smoldering with hatred and envy. He shook his head and began to work on the swords.
The beginning of the next month came and Roland gave the swords over to the soldiers. They examined them and nodded. "This is fine craftsmanship, Blacksmith."
"Thank you," Roland replied.
The solider then dropped a coin purse into Roland's palm.They were beginning to leave, but the same solider from before returned. He had four more coin purses, dangling from his hands. He dropped them at Roland's feet.
"You are doing well," he said. "Far better than expected. You will continue to earn this much if you keep doing the same quality." The solider then departed, joining his fellow soldiers.
The villagers again stared angrily at Roland. He feared they would not do business with him. For he did not with them much anymore.
Month after month came and Roland had been rolling in gold. He soon began to help those around him again, for he could afford to. The villagers began to like Roland once more. Again he was a friend, a man they could rely on. He began working more for them too as he began to get ahead of schedule with his bladework. He did more for free too, because he could afford to.
Roland's name was sung and he finally felt he had brought himself back to where he wanted. He hoped Gloria smiled down upon him from Heaven.
