Aldwin's Lessons -- Flash Fiction 2

In a small kingdom, a fat old King ruled wisely. He had three sons.

Tristan, the first was tall, broad, and strong. He was so handsome; the local maids all swooned when he passed. He won most of his contests through brawn.

James, the second son, was smaller and quicker than the first. Sly and crafty he won contests by cunning.

The third son, Aldwin, was thought by many to be a disappointment to the crown. Small, frail, and slow of speech, he rarely won anything.

The two older brothers often tormented the third. Once, he asked his father why his brothers did this.

“They are teaching you a lesson,” he replied.

“What lesson?” the youngest brother asked.

“That is for you to find out,” said the king, his father.

The King also had three councilors; the Battle Master, the High Priest, and the Spymaster. One day, the most wanted criminal in the kingdom escaped the prison. During his escape, he killed six guards by sheer brute force. When the surviving guards were questioned about the debacle, they unanimously agreed the criminal had a silver tongue. He had talked the dead guards into opening the cell for just a moment. And that was all it took to ensure their doom.

The King met with his counselors and advisors. They said they King must send out an entire regiment to capture the fleeing criminal. The King dissented. He instead chose to send his sons. “I am getting old,” he told the gathered men, “instead of sending the military I will send my sons.”

“They will not be able to capture the prisoner alone,” pleaded the Battle Master. “At least send them with a squad of men to defend them.”

The King thought about it for a few moments. “It is true, they may not be able to do it alone,” he agreed.

Encouraged by this favorable response, the High Priest stood up, “Sire, your sons are quite blessed and favored of the Gods, but if they die on this quest, who will look after their death rites?”

The King sat staring.

“If it please your Highness,” continued the Minister of Faith, “send a friar with your sons so that if they are vanquished they will go on to the Mead Hall of the Gods and serve them well.”

“That is true,” responded the King.

“You cannot risk them,” said the King’s Spymaster.

“Cannot?” questioned the King with a cold tone.

The Spymaster bowed his head and sat down again.

The King nodded.

Then the King cleared his throat. “Tomorrow, I shall set forth the conditions of the hunt.”

And he ate supper with his three sons. No one spoke of the criminal. Instead, they ate in silence.

In the morning, the King rose early and called his council. He raised his fat arms for silence.

“Today, the Hunt begins. Each of my sons can gather what resources they desire. The oldest may leave as soon as he wishes, the second will leave one day after that, and the third will leave one day after the second. The son who brings back the criminal will be the next King. This is my word, I say it with my mouth, and it is law.” And the King sat down in his throne. He felt quite old.

The gathered councilors gasped.

Finally, the fat old man will be done with, thought the Battle Master. When the oldest takes the reins, we will conquer our ill mannered neighbors and the kingdom will finally begin to increase. For his heart longed after bloodshed and battle.

The High Priest rubbed his hands together. “The oldest is certain to fail, and when he does, the second will swoop in and take the prize. Under his rule, I shall convert the entire Kingdom to the True Faith. They will listen to my words and shall obey.”

The Spymaster bowed his head. In his mind, he mourned the news.

Word of the contest spread throughout the land. Many wagers were placed. Many thought that Tristan would succeed and become the King. Others felt that James was more likely to win. No one thought that Aldwin had a chance.

The first son, Tristan, who was strong of heart and body, met with his mentor, the Battle Master. “What shall I do?” he asked.

“Take many men with you. When you find the criminal, immediately attack with all your forces. With your strength and the men at your command, you are certain to succeed.”

Tristan bowed his head. “I shall bring back the head of the criminal and with it I shall rule.”

Tristan gathered 100 men and left the next morning.

James clapped his hands with joy at the news. For he was nothing, if he was not confident. Upon hearing the news, he went and met with the High Priest.

“You have always advised me well, High Priest. Tell me now, what must I do to win this contest?” asked James.

The High Priest paused a holy moment. “I believe that you will best serve the Gods by using your skills. When you find the criminal, seek to coax him out of his hiding with your tongue. It has served you well in the past, and is certain to serve you well in this endeavor. “

James smiled. “That is exactly what I shall do,” he said and turned to leave the Chapel.

“My son,” said the High Priest.

James paused. “Yes?” he said.

“Take a pair of my Holy Guard with you. They will see to your comfort and safety.”

James smiled again. “Thank you, Your Grace.” And as he left, two quiet men walked behind him, their faces covered by cowls.

Aldwin, the third son went to the Spymaster.

“What shall I do?” he asked of the Spymaster.

“Speak to your father, the King. He will advise you well,” answered the Spymaster.

Aldwin went and asked his father, “What advice would you give me?”

The King sat silent for a long moment. “My son, the most important asset you have is up here,” he said as he tapped his son’s forehead with his fat forefinger. “Use it, and you will inherit all I have. Fail to use it, and you will die.”

With that piece of advice, the Aldwin gathered his meager gear. A small sword, a buckler, and a cape his mother had given him two years prior, before she had died. He took a small bottle of water and a loaf of Cook’s fine wheat bread. These he placed in his saddle bags. He led his horse to the castle courtyard.

As he reached the castle gates, the Spymaster was waiting.

“Did you speak to the King?” he asked Aldwin.

“Yes.”

“What did he tell you?”

“To use my brain,” said Aldwin.

The Spymaster smiled and nodded. “I told you he would give you good advice.

“What kind of advice is that?” asked Aldwin in the heat of his disappointment. He felt as if he were doomed to die. “I hope Tristan or James succeed, for if they do, I shall not have to try.”

The Spymaster patted him on the back. “Go now. It never pays to tarry.”

Aldwin nodded, feeling miserable still, and walked out into the kingdom.

As he walked, he passed several people. He stopped and talked with each of them. He had always enjoyed talking with people.

The first person he met was an old forester. He asked Aldwin if he could help him gather some sticks for his fire. Aldwin happily agreed to help. As they gathered fallen wood from the forest, they conversed.

“Did you see my brothers pass?” he asked.

“Aye,” said the old man. “The first was big and strong. The second was small and fast. They passed by a few days ago without a word.”

The old forester told Aldwin that he had been in the War of Foxglove.

“How was it?” asked Aldwin.

“Terrible,” the old man said. “War is terrible. Full of blood and body parts, screaming and crying, anger and viciousness.” The old man nodded with a faraway look in his eye.

“What shall I do?” asked Aldwin of the old man. “I am to capture this violent criminal. He has killed six men already in his escape. I certainly cannot win against him.”

“Like as not, you will die,” said the old man.

Aldwin nodded in agreement. As he turned to go on his way, the old man tapped him on his shoulder. “But here’s a piece of advice for you,” he said, “when things look darkest, look to the light.” At that, he handed Aldwin a small, shiny dirk. “In case the big one fails,” he told Aldwin with his crooked smile as he gestured towards Aldwin’s sword.

Aldwin thanked the old man, strapped the dirk in his belt, and continued along the road.

The next person he met was an old crone gleaning seeds from a harvested field. Aldwin greeted her. “Good afternoon,” he said.

“It is a good afternoon,” she replied. “Can you help me for a moment?” she asked.

Aldwin nodded and knelt down beside her. Slowly they gathered up the fallen and forgotten wheat kernels from the harvest.

“Did you see my brothers pass here?” he asked.

“I did,” she answered. “The first was just half a day ahead of the second. They passed without a word.”

“This is hard work,” said Aldwin by way of conversation.

The old crone looked up. “That it is. But it is what God has given us. And for that I am grateful.”

Aldwin wondered how she could be grateful for this hard lot she had been given. And as he wondered she looked on his face and knew his unspoken question.

“I am grateful, because as hard as it is, I know it can always be worse,” she said.

As they finished, he stood up and thanked her for the lesson. She said that it was nothing and sent him on his way with a generous gift of a small, flat Bazlama bread that the peasants ate.

The third person Aldwin met on the road was a small child. The young boy had ragged pants and no shirt. “Sir, can you spare some bread?” he asked Aldwin.

Aldwin nodded and handed him some of the fresh baked bread he carried in his saddle bags. As they sat and ate, they talked.

“Why did you give me this nice bread when I saw you had a Bazlama in your pouch? That would have been fine,” said the young lad.

Aldwin thought a moment. “I gave you the fine wheat bread because I wanted you to have a taste of the best bread in the world. I know when I am hungry; there is nothing I like better than a bit of Cook’s fine bread.”

“Thank you,” said the young lad as they finished their shared meal.

He looked up at Aldwin and said, “I want you to have this,” as he handed Aldwin a small shell necklace with one shiny bead that hung as a pendant.

“It’s beautiful,” said Aldwin. “I don’t feel right, taking it.”

“Please,” said the young boy.

And Aldwin consented. He put it around his neck and wore it with pride in his heart.

They parted and Aldwin’s heart grew heavy with the knowledge that soon, he would have to battle the criminal. He bedded down for the evening in some soft grass and slept comfortable through the night. In the morning, he prepared for battle.

As he arrived where the criminal was hiding, he saw no sign of his brothers. He called out to the criminal, “Have you seen my brothers?”

A slight rustling in the woods and a voice called back, “I did.”

“Do you know where they are now?” Aldwin asked.

“I do,” the criminal answered. “They are dead by my sword.”

“Where are the men that were with them?” he asked.

“They ran away after I killed your brothers.”

Aldwin sighed. He strapped on his buckler and drew his small sword. Then it is my turn I guess, he thought to himself. “Are you ready?” he asked the criminal.

“I am. Are you?”

“I am. And here I come.” With that, Aldwin began to walk towards the woods. Out stepped the criminal. He was a tall, strong man who moved with the ease of a born soldier. He laughed at Aldwin.

“Why are you laughing?” asked Aldwin.

“I beat both your brothers. The first was strong like a bull. The second was fast like a cobra. If I can beat them, how do you think you will win?” asked the criminal.

“I’m not sure,” replied Aldwin.

The criminal stepped closer. “Do you have any food?” he asked.

“I have a small Bazlama. Would you like it?” Aldwin asked.

The criminal nodded. “I am very hungry,” he said. “Your brothers carried no food with them.”

Aldwin set the Bazlama with the little bit of water he had left on the ground. And then he stepped back. The criminal stepped forward and ate. He watched Aldwin as he ate.

“You are kind, for someone who is about to die,” he said.

“It never hurts to be kind,” said Aldwin.

“I disagree.”

Aldwin nodded. As he nodded, the shell pendant caught the sunlight just so.

“What is that you are wearing?” asked the criminal.

“A small pendant a young lad gifted to me.”

The criminal stared as if he had seen a ghost. “My son,” he whispered.

“Excuse me?” asked Aldwin.

“They told me my son was dead. That was his, I gave it to him myself,” the criminal stepped closer.

Aldwin waved his sword up in front of him.

“Bah,” said the criminal. “You don’t even hold your sword right. May I look at the pendant?” he asked.

Aldwin put his sword back in its sheath, feeling just a bit foolish. He nodded.

As he lifted the pendant off his neck, the criminal grabbed him and held his sword across his throat. “Stupid prince,” he said, “didn’t anyone ever tell you to never let down your guard?”

Aldwin nodded again. And with that, he drew the dirk and stabbed the criminal in the heart. “My brother’s taught me that lesson,” he said to the criminal as he lay dying.

Aldwin returned to his father the King. There was a grand celebration, and he who was least expected to succeed, became King. And he ruled with great wisdom.