The Union 147 Serfs

Harold was carrying a tray filled with juicy roasted lamb. He dared not look at the food lest his growling stomach gets the better of him. The food he was carrying was for the n.o.bles.

He was hungry. Ever since the food supply was cut off about a week ago, the rations allotted for them had been reduced. Only single meal a day was given by the n.o.bles- a single meal of thin stew and moldy bread.

He glanced at the food he was carrying. It was a mistake. His mouth watered. He swallowed his saliva. The brownish leg of the lamb was just too appetizing. It smells good too. The aroma of roasted meat danced inside his nose.

Harold was tempted to pinch a chunk of the meat and put it into his mouth. He was even tempted to eat the entire thing. But he steeled his resolve. He will be flogged if he attempts such a thing. Being flogged in the snow season and with their current situation meant death. A person's body could only accept enough suffering.

n.o.bles, Harold thought. It was unfair. The world was unfair. It was said that all men are equal in the eyes of G.o.d. It was said that n.o.bles and freemen and serfs were all sons and daughters of the Omniscient.

It was a lie. Harold had been a serf his entire life. His father was a gambler. Exhausted coffers and mounting debts had turned his father into a serf. As a son, Harold inherited the status of his father. He had been born a serf- the lowest among the low. Although Castonian law treated serfs as human beings, such was not the experience for Harold. The Baron he served was a cruel man. He was a selfish Baron who would flog his serfs even with the faintest of reasons. Harold had been flogged dozens of times. The worst was when he forgot to cook enough food for the Baron's guests. The Baron was embarra.s.sed in front of his guests and Harold was flogged so harshly that time that he almost died.

But flogging was a thing Harold could accept. He could take the blows of whips against his bare back. Pain would dull and wounds would fade into scars. The worst crime his liege lord had committed against him was when his sister was sold to another n.o.ble. Yes. Them serfs could be sold like livestock. He had never seen his sister again after that. He had heard that his liege lord had lost a wager against another n.o.ble and fifteen household serfs was the penalty. His sister was one of the fifteen. Every time he sees his liege, Harold would have the impulse to strangle him. His hands would sweat and his body would become hot. But he didn't- he couldn't. His liege was a n.o.ble and Harold was a serf. So as for what they say about the Omniscient seeing all men equal- it was a lie. Equality doesn't exist in this world. He had experienced that. He knew that. Because he was a serf.

Harold flapped the tent and entered. He was able to hold himself from eating the roasted leg of a lamb he was carrying. The tent was filled with two dozen men. Most of them were n.o.bles. Some were mercenary captains. And then there was Prince Ivan- or King Ivan. Not that he cares. Serfs don't concern themselves with politics. It doesn't matter who sits on the throne. The n.o.bles were the ones they serve anyway.

Other serfs also entered the tent. All of them were carrying food and wine and other fancy things Harold had never tasted before. The bread was fresh. The soup was aromatic. It was as if they were not suffering from a food crisis.

Harold made his way to the table and laid the tray he was cradling on his arms.

"Anthapis will soon fall. There are grains inside the city. We could feed our army after we take Anthapis" a n.o.ble said while drinking his cup of wine.

"Ah such a wonderful insight from you" The old man beside Prince Ivan said. This was the first time Harold had seen the man "Talented the lot of you. Talented and smart eh? Fools! Anthapis still stands! The Earl of Lards seems to have inexhaustible number of men under him. Now you talk as if taking Anthapis will solve all our problems, and that may be true. But Anthapis is not that easy to take. Our army is withering. We are sitting our b.u.t.ts in this dismal cold"

"Do not be worried Sir Helios" a man said. From his looks Harold identified him as a mercenary captain "My men and the serfs are attacking the city walls of Anthapis everyday. A report revealed that a small breach had been made in the northern wall. Give us a few days and we will have the city."

"Have the city he says. Do it faster" The old man stressed

Harold didn't dally. There was no point in staying a moment later. After he put the tray he bowed and went for the exit. But when he was just a few steps from the exit a n.o.ble's voice called.

"Serf!"

Harold froze. He turned around, afraid of what the n.o.bles would want from him. But to his surprise, the one the n.o.ble called wasn't him. It was another serf. The serf was lanky aged man in his forties. His clothes were soiled like Harold's. His face was a canvas with fear painted on it.

The n.o.ble rose. He opened his palm towards the serf.

"Stealing is a crime. Give back what you stole"

The serf's face became downcast. He looked around as if begging for help. He grabbed something inside his tunic and handed it to the n.o.ble. It was a bread. The serf then knelt.

"I'm sorry sire! I'm sorry" he begged "My son is with me and he has a sick. Me boy can't survive this campaign with no food. Sire forgive this humble one. Please!"

The n.o.ble gave a proud grunt. He grabbed the serf's hair.

"Stealing is a crime. Stealing food during the a food crisis is an even bigger crime" He looked behind "What should we do to him?"

"He's one of mine. Punish him. Flog him. Execute him. I don't really care" another n.o.ble from the table said.

"Just punish him and be done with it. We don't have time to dwell on the matter" The old man whose name was Helios said

The n.o.ble who was grabbing the serf's hair gave a sneer towards the serf.

"Lucky. You are lucky" He then looked at Harold. "You. Serf. Give this man five punches to the face"

"Sire?" Harold asked, confused. He then remembered that asking such a question was a mistake. He eyed the other serf. The aged man nodded slightly.

Harold stepped towards the serf. He balled his hand into a fist and punched.

"You have the guts to disobey us boy?" The n.o.ble said beside him. "Punch with strength. You are holding back"

Harold again looked at the serf. The aged man looked at him in a way as if giving his permission. He again balled a fist and punched. This time he put force into it.

Every single strike from him would draw blood from the serf's face. It was horrible. He could feel the moment the serf's jaw broke after the fourth punch. The fifth made Harold's fist b.l.o.o.d.y.

The aged serf was reduced to a laying on ground. He was still conscious but he was hurt by Harold's strikes.

"Drag him outside" The n.o.ble said to Harold's face. "And remember this boy. Remember this for the rest of your life. Stealing is a crime. This man is lucky we are busy today. Next time I catch him he won't be so lucky"

Harold complied. He grabbed the serf and slumped him on his back. He then went outside.

It was cold outside, unlike the inside of the tent of the n.o.bles. The aged man was on his back.

"I'm sorry. I had no choice but to follow them"

"It is alright" The serf replied despite hi broken jaw.

The was a long silence as Harold carried the serf towards a tree. He laid him to rest leaning on the trunk.

"I would have given you food for your son but I myself am starving"

"Forget it. Me son is done for"

"But..."

"He will die" the serf said shedding a single tear "My son will die. That just now was my last attempt"

"So you are giving up? Is that it?" Harold asked, perhaps a little harshly. The serf's decision to give up angered him as it reminded him of his decision all those years ago. He also gave up on his sister.

The serf smiled. His bloodied teeth showed. A pained expression followed.

"Because we are just serfs"

The answer surprised Harold a bit. He had heard of that phrase many times before. He had even said that phrase to himself.

Because we are just serfs.

A little better than slaves and treated like property. It was true. Even if the law prohibits n.o.bles from abusing their serfs, n.o.body could accuse the n.o.bles of such crimes. The King's eyes could only see so much. The King's s.h.i.+eld could not protect everyone. They are just serfs, nothing more.

"No. We are Castonians! We are the King's subjects" Harold blurted. He himself doesn't know why he was this agitated.

"The King's subjects. While you were being used to punish me, King Ivan did nothing. He just watched"

"Ivan is not King. He will never be King. And we are more than just serfs" Harold said. He then realized that his words just now could be treated as rebellious. He was a fool.

He shook his head and turned around. He started walking the other way. He looked from left to right, examining if someone had heard his rebellious blurt. He would be punished or even killed if someone loyal to the n.o.bles heard him say that Ivan is not the King.

He was relieved after seeing that n.o.body cared. The serfs just worked. Those who were a.s.signed for the city a.s.sault tomorrow trained with spears. He heaved a sigh of relief.

"You are right. We are more than just serfs" A voice suddenly said.

Harold became frantic. He looked behind and saw a man he was not familiar with. From his clothes Harold deduced that he was also a serf. The man offered his hand to Harold.

"Come with me. A new day awaits us brother"