A fire burned through the land. No one could see it, but everyone felt the effects of it. The famine had entered its second year in effect. It consumed everything. No one knew where it came from, and no one could guess how it would strike next. The invisible beast wouldn't eat just the food, either. Money began drying up. People began to drop dead, riddled with disease. Fathers and mothers were pushed to their limit, and terrible acts were performed in the name of desperation. Kings pointed fingers at each other. Peasants began to revolt.
Lord Graval had a meeting with Lord Hurlany one day to talk about peace. Three long tables were set up in Lord Hurlany's magnificent hall, forming a U shape. Lord Graval's wife sat beside him, and Lord Hurlany's wife beside him. The two lords sat next to each other, between their wives, and discussed how they could bring peace back to their realm. After all, they were the two lords whose dispute started the damn war.
"We've spilled too much blood," Lord Hurlany said to Lord Graval. They spoke loud enough for only the two of them to hear each other.
"Agreed," Lord Graval nodded. "This is not going according to plan whatsoever."
Lord Hurlany nodded back and they continued chatting. Other prominent nobles from the area were seated at the other tables. Lord Hurlany's eldest daughter and Simon were seated beside his wife, Lady Helena. As they all dined and mingled, a young messenger boy burst into the room, followed by two guards who chased after him.
"My lord! My lord!" The boy cried out, but the guards managed to grab him.
"Apologies, milord," one of the guards said. "He just ran in. We won't let it happen again."
"What is the meaning of this?" Lord Hurlany inquired. "Bring him before me."
The two guards dragged the boy in front of the table where the two lords sat and threw him to the floor. He staggered to his feet, quivering. He anxiously fixed his hair before speaking.
"M—Milord, the people are starving," the young boy began. His knees knocked, and his face went pale. "P—Peasants are dying by the dozens every day. Th—There's talk of rebellion, milord!"
"Rebellion!" Lord Hurlany's voice thundered through his hall as he leapt to his feet and slammed his fists down onto the table, causing Lady Helena to jolt and spill molten hot corn soup right down her blouse.
"Gahh!" She screamed, causing their guests to jump with surprise. "Must you behave like a gorilla, dear?"
"Oh, I'm so sorry, my love," Lord Hurlany apologized as he stood upright and straightened out his flamboyant scarlet sleeves. He cleared his throat, then sat gently back down.
"It's fine," she sighed back, patting her chest down with a napkin. "I only spent three hours preparing myself for this feast, only to have you undo all my efforts in a single second."
A servant girl emerged from a corner of the room and offered to wipe her down, but Lady Helena ordered her away with a graceful flick of the wrist.
"Honey, please. You know I didn't mean to," Lord Hurlany pleaded.
"Then perhaps you shouldn't be slamming tables while people are eating at them."
"My dear, you must understand—"
"All I understand is that my dress is stained, and my breasts now smell like corn, and they wouldn't if you hadn't acted like an animal."
"My love, please try to understand. . .Wait, do they really smell like corn?"
"Yes!" She squealed. "What am I supposed to do now? Spend the rest of the feast in the bath?"
"Well, perhaps—"
"A-hem," Lady Mathilda cleared her throat loudly.
Lord Hurlany and his wife looked up to see their patrons acting like they weren't listening. Lady Helena let out a bashful giggle and dismissed herself, so she could get herself cleaned. Lord Hurlany cleared his throat again, pulled his wife's bowl of corn soup in front of him and returned to eating. The guests pretended not to have their appetite put off.
"Lord Hurlany, I do believe the boy has more to say," Lord Graval interjected, pointing his spoon to the messenger boy who was still standing at attention.
"Ah, yes. Something about my peasants rebelling, I presume?" Lord Hurlany mumbled, playing with the corn chunks in his bowl. "Spit it out, then."
"Milord, your peasants have some d—d—demands," the boy stuttered as he noticed Lord Hurlany's red, hot anger spreading across his face.
"Demands? Peasants?!" He howled with rage. "Who do they think they are, giving me demands? How dare they?"
Lord Hurlany stood again, then snapped his fingers to the two guards and said, "Guards, arrest this boy and have him hanged! He ought to be made an example."
"Milord?" The boy's voice weakened with his legs as he fainted, only to be caught by the guards. Simon looked away, burdened by guilt. The guards dragged the boy and almost reached the door before being stopped by Lady Mathilda.
"One moment!" She called out. "How old is that boy?"
The guards froze and looked closely at the boy's face, but he was still unconscious. Lord Hurlany shot a look at her, but he kept quiet.
"My wife, please," Lord Graval tried to reason with her. "This is Lord Hurlany's hall."
"Yes, my husband, and Lord Hurlany is still bound by his king's law," she said loud enough for all to hear, "And his king's law says boys below the age of fifteen may not be executed without an order from the High Court."
Lord Hurlany grumbled and slouched back into his chair. "Can't I execute my own subjects anymore?" He mumbled bitterly, then spoke up again. "Bring him before me."
Once again, the guards carried the boy's limp body in front of the lords' table and dropped him on the floor. The boy was still unresponsive. Lord Hurlany grabbed his pitcher of ale and tossed it at the boy's face.
"Ow!" The boy cried as the pitcher hit him.
"How old are you, boy?" Lord Hurlany interrogated.
"I—I'm fourteen," the boy answered. Lady Mathilda sat back, pleased with herself. Just then, a commotion was heard from outside the doors of the great hall. A maiden screamed for help, and the clashing of iron and steel could be heard. The sound of boots marching flooded the halls.
"What the hell is going on?" Lord Hurlany demanded. The two guards glanced at one another. Lord Graval and the other nobles grew anxious and signaled to their personal bodyguards to remain alert. They were allowed one soldier each to guard their persons, which meant there were a total of fourteen soldiers, including Lord Hurlany's two guards.
"Go and see what is happening," he barked at his guards. Just as one of them reached for the handle of the door to open it, a group of seven peasants burst in, donning gambeson and armed with farming tools.
"Hold there!" Lord Hurlany roared before any blood could be spilled. His voice was intimidating enough to make everyone in the room go quiet. The peasants formed a small circle in the middle of the room, pointing their 'weapons' outward. The nobles' guards surrounded them, wearing far superior chainmail and wielding swords, which were held out in front of them and pointed toward the peasants.
"Who dares disturb the Hall of House Hurlany, on a day of peace talks, no less?" Lord Hurlany asked. Simon shivered with anticipation—and shame.
"We're hungry!" The only woman of the seven peasants shouted. "Our families starve while you're up here in your castle, enjoying the fruit of our labor!"
"You're starving?" Lord Hurlany wondered, looking suspiciously at Simon. Then he asked his son, "Simon, do you know what these commoners are talking about?"
"N—No, father," Simon replied.
"Truly? As administrator of provisions, I'd expect you to know about things like this."
"Yes, father, and I still don't know what these peasants are talking about," Simon defended.
"Liar!" The peasant woman shouted.
"Silence, wench!" Lord Hurlany ordered, then turned to Simon. "Are you accusing these people of lying?"
"Yes, father," Simon quickly replied, then hung his head in shame.
Lord Hurlany inspected Simon's face deeply before waving a hand to the soldiers and giving the order: "Kill them."
"Wait!" Lady Mathilda shrieked, but not before one of the peasant men was stabbed through the chest. He fell to the floor and curled into a fetal position, moaning and groaning and gurgling in his own blood. Simon almost fainted at the sight.
"Oh, what now?" Lord Hurlany yelled, cocking his neck sharply toward Lady Mathilda.
"Let us at least hear their demands," Lady Mathilda suggested.
"You've heard my son, who has proven himself very capable of handling our food shortage. He says these people are liars," Lord Hurlany said, absolving himself of any responsibility.
"Yes, perhaps," Lady Mathilda thought carefully. "But wouldn't it be better to let these people live?"
"Why would I let any of them live after breaking into my hall and threatening my friends and family?" Lord Hurlany asked, as the peasant who was stabbed in the chest moaned for help.
"If they can fight, they can work your land, my lord. They could fight in your army. The famine is hard enough on the people, and able-bodied peasants are hard to come by these days," she reasoned. The peasant who was stabbed in the chest pleaded for a healer.
"These people have committed treason against their liege," Lord Hurlany declared. "They ought to die a traitor's death."
"They're just hungry. Perhaps showing mercy would win their favor," Lady Mathilda argued. The peasant who was stabbed through the chest began to bleed profusely and started begging for a doctor or nurse, or anyone at this point really, even a little alcohol would help. "Oh, be quiet, you," Lady Mathilda said to the peasant who was stabbed in the chest. "We all know you're hurt."
"If I show mercy, that'll show them they can get what they want if they do something about it!" Lord Hurlany scowled. "I absolutely will not have it."
"At least let them stand trial!" Lady Mathilda pleaded.
"Lady Graval, are you forgetting your place in my court?" He finally snapped. "Lord Graval, control your wife this instant. This is my hall, and I shall decide how to deal with traitors."
"Yes, Lord Hurlany," Lord Graval sucked up, jumping to attention and pulling his wife back, covering her lips with his hand. "Hush, you."
"Watch this and learn, Lady Graval," Lord Hurlany spoke loudly, then turned his attention to his son. "You watch too, Simon." He turned and addressed the other nobles. "Do you all bear witness to the treachery of these seven peasants, who did threaten our lives in my own hall during a peaceful negotiation?" Everyone in the hall, except Lady Mathilda, nodded their heads in agreement and shouted "aye!"
"Then it is settled," he continued.
The peasants braced their weapons, Simon bit his nails, and Lady Graval looked away. "Do it already!" The peasant who was stabbed through the chest pleaded desperately. Then Lord Hurlany finally gave the order: "Kill them."
To someone like Lord Graval, the display was magnificent. The peasants were no match for this elite unit of soldiers, who were well-versed in the art of combat. The commoners were cut down, and blood flowed freely like wine from the tap. To someone like Simon, the display was horrifying.
Lord Hurlany dismissed his guests, so the hall could be cleaned, and so everyone could settle down again. They reconvened for supper, where Lady Helena was able to join them again. Gossip began to spread about Simon and his methods of dealing with the famine. Surely, they can't have been very effective if the peasants are hungry enough to attack their lord directly.
"Attention!" Lord Hurlany said as he tapped his goblet with his spoon. "Lords and ladies, please give your attention to my son, the administrator of provisions, who will explain the situation you've just witnessed."
Simon sat up and began to panic, since he had not prepared to say anything. Especially not about the situation that could cost him his head. He preferred to forget about it and drank himself silly. Now he was tipsy and totally unprepared.
"Ah, yes," Simon said as he stood. "Uh, but first, I'd like to propose a toast!" He raised his cup to his father. "To my father, who handled the situation at lunch so well."
Everyone toasted to Lord Hurlany's health, then waited for Simon to continue.
"Ah, yes. About those peasants complaining. It's not something I wished to address here to avoid any panic, but I see there's no avoiding it now."
"What are you talking about?" Lord Hurlany inquired.
"While the food shortage has been under control, we have another, more pressing issue!" Simon announced, then took a long swig of his wine.
"What? What is it?" His father asked impatiently.
"A, uh, flu. Yes, a flu, which is carried by the birds. Yes, a bird flu!"
"A bird flu?" Lord Hurlany asked.
"Yes, a bird flu," Simon repeated. "We have managed to contain it, but I fear there may be an epidemic. I just need more time—"
"A bird flu?" Lord Graval interrupted, clearly panicked. "There's a bird flu?"
"Forgive him," Lady Mathilda said, rubbing her husband on the back. "He's been terrified of birds and bird-related illnesses since birds have a tendency to crap on his head."
"One time!" Lord Graval raised his voice. "It was one time!"
Everyone in the room laughed nervously, then looked back to Simon for more information.
"What do you suggest we do?" Lord Hurlany asked him.
"Well, I just need more time to study the situation and gather information—" Simon started. "It may be too late, Lord Hurlany," Lord Graval interrupted again. "Birds are notorious for spreading disease. If there's a plague, it may kill us all!"
The room erupted into panicked murmuring.
"Now, now," Simon tried to calm them down.
"Simon!" Lord Hurlany shouted. "We must control this situation at once. I'm afraid we can't risk wasting any more time. Give the order to cull every bird in my realm."
"W—What?" Simon stammered.
"Did I stutter, boy? Kill all the birds!"
"B—But father, that's a little drastic. Don't you think so?"
"Nothing is too drastic for the good of the realm," Lord Hurlany replied.
"Go now, Simon. Listen to your father," Lady Helena told him.
"Ah, geez," Simon muttered.