Source: @wakeupkitty for contest purpose...
Carefully navigating a path through the alley, he paused at the edge leading to the street and leaned against the structure. He wiped away saliva and swallowed hard, praying his supper wouldn't rise from the stench lining the alley and cause him to erupt into a fit of heaving. He didn't blame the town workers who were paid meager wages to remove the urine and excrement emptied daily.
He quickly surveyed both directions before pulling his hood lower, then stepped onto the narrow cobbled street. The screeching snort followed by a hard swerve directly behind left him no time to react.
"Watch your step young peasant!" the carriage driver yelled, "gave my mare a fright. No courtesy. I've a mind to run you over. Serve you right peddling this late hour and in horrid weather." After calming his steed, the driver cursed loud, then moved on shaking his head all the while.
Thoughts of how the driver surmised his age occupied his thoughts. Immediately, the task that brought him to this town interrupted and reminded him how much father rested the old man's abode. Ten more feet and he'd be safe.
Dark grey clouds overhead rumbled past just as the shrill caw from a large crow approached. He senses both issued warnings. Perhaps of the anticipated meeting or impending assault on the lords. Time and distance hadn't lessened the eerie presence of danger and death if discovered.
Long strides assured he'd spend the least amount of time in the open. In a quarter of an hour, he reached the old man's cottage.
His swift knock in the sequence agreed didn't result in an immediate opening. Instead, the tiny peephole became visible, then closed quickly. Moments later, the door creaked with a slit exposing a small courtyard in the rear.
Stepping just inside the cottage door, the peasant remained silent and cloaked. He froze. A facade. Holding his cloak tightly while staring into the darkness ahead disguised his sudden dread. His mind raced. A trap perhaps, he reasoned, to lure me from the shadows of my mission.
This mysterious individual knew the secret code. But he'd learned early in his peasant life that deception manifested itself in numerous ways. And, when you least expected it.
The old man beckoned him to follow.
The peasant walked briskly close behind. For an old man, the gentleman matched his step. They scurried along the edges of the yard until they reached another alley, then turned left, and descended several stairs.
Once inside the main house, the wooden door was locked in place and barricaded. Reaching up with difficulty, the man lowered the window fabric, then wobbled over to a cluttered table. He brushed aside dust and clutter, and lit the wicker inside the small lamp.
It was at that moment the old man came into full view.
For a long while the peasant stared at the cloaked man.
Not having made the old gentleman's acquaintance, he watched as the scruffy-looking gentleman stood facing him with his arms folded across his heavy stomach. Half his height, the man possessed a long beard with equally long black hair receding in front. A ruddy face, and thick short neck was supported by broad shoulders and a large round girth dressed in a clergy garment.
The peasant jerked his head back and continued to stare upon learning the identity of the resistance group's leader was none other a monk of Gonjolard.
Tensions eased as the man extended his hand before speaking.
"You can call me Vicar Tibost. Did you leave the ride?" He queried rapidly.
"Nay, Vicar. The steed is safe beyond the moors." The peasant brisked when replying, not divulging all.
It was Vicar Tibost's manner and quiet voice that softened the peasant's tone. But his urgency and concern was still present.
"The assignment was more difficult than presumed. My name is Alphonse from Herdeshire Village." Only then did the young peasant pull back his hood, flashing long black locks atop a strong, thin face with emerald eyes.
For a plump man, the Vicar's agility surprised Alphonse as the man turned swiftly with his hand outstretched.
"We've not much time, so let's determine how strong is our plan. How many committed? Tibost poured two cups of wine, sat, then offered Alphonse a seat.
"Of the fifty hoped for, only thirty-six came ready to pledge." Alphonse reached inside his cloak, retrieved the parchment from his pocket, and held it high.
"Gramercy. Perhaps the others received a less cumbersome offer." The Vicar scoured the list and frowned, then released his brow. "Not nearly enough. But we'll suffice. It's not the number of strong men, but the strong will of the men offering sacrifice.
Alphonse's view of the group and their plan felt less encouraging as he countered.
"Perchance the opportunity to remain among the living would be considered less demanding, I'd say. Still, what price is freedom worth?. I'd risk all rather than remain a serf of the lowest quarter with no end to one's debt." Alphonse took a deep swallow of the wine, thumped the cup down hard, then rose and paced, his hands behind his back as though remembering a more recent personal incident in his village.
The Vicar knew far well the consequences of betraying the Crown.
"Sit, Alphonse. How fare ye'? I can imagine your weariness from the long journey collecting pledges. Describe the atmosphere at Herdeshire and surrounding villages. I'd guess the situation has deteriorated more so in the past two years than here at Gonjolard."
No guesswork there, Alphonso reasoned. If only the Vicar knew the extent to which the Crown had abused its power. He reached again into his cloak and pulled out the flyer, handing it to the Vicar, then watched his expression.
"My God. Who's got the ear of the Crown in this ridiculous folly?" The Vicar's eyes widened, astonished at what he read.
Alphonse concurred.
"The situation is dire in the villages. The lords collect by whatever nefarious means they contrive. Bailiffs handing out these leaflets in their bailiwicks demanding a forty percent tax increase. Two additional hours of work with no extra pay. Those poor wretched folks can't pay what they owe now. From where does the crown expect the coins to appear?" His shoulders slumped and his heart felt heavy hurting for his fellow farmers.
Vicar Tibost set the paper on the table. He held his head in his hands. "Only our collective minds and force can overcome this slave system and dismantle the crown. Otherwise, we'll never be free to choose our own system of governance."
He raised his cup. "To the "SONS OF BODARS".
"The S.O.B.s." Alphonse hailed.
No sooner than he spoke, a screeching crash originating from the exterior of the courtyard shattered the outer door of the compound. A small section of the brick wall followed.
The thunderous march of a hundred soldiers bolted toward the locked door.
Panic was not in Alphonse's personality or behavior. His first thought was that of betrayal.
But before he could figure out which villager who refused to sign the pledge if could be, Tibost hid the drink and cups, then grabbed the documents from the table and stuffed them inside his shirt. He had already prepared his home for a surprise inspection and assault.
It could only have been Alphonse they were searching for. Motioning to him, Tibost hurried over to the hearth. They removed the large, round rug. The men lifted the exposed trap door.
Into the cellar they descended, then tugged until the rug again covered the trap door.
Above, the sounds of shuffling feet kicking items about and hands tossing furniture around continued for over ten minutes.
Vicar Tibost knew they still weren't safe. He handed back the papers to Alphonse, then quickly directed his path through one of the narrow tunnels beneath the town.
Himself, he fled through an opposite tunnel.
They'd meet again, the S.O.B's
[to be continued]
Welcome back to my freewrite prompt story for this week. The photo that is the subject of the story spoke to me about a person who is determined not to be recognized.
Describe what you see.
A crow overhead approaches at the same time as a dark thundercloud. Castle buttresses is situated in the distance past the end of the street. Cottages sit on both sides of the street. Items are lined up against the cottages. Perhaps buckets to empty waste. A man dressed in a black, tattered robe is crossing the cobbled street. Two other individuals in the distance appear to be walking in the opposite direction.
Describe what you feel.
I feel that the cloaked man is on a mission. A secret one perhaps.
Write a story or poem about what you think is going on. I leave with you my story for: A Picture is Worth A Thousand Words - 3/22/24.
Image used with permission of contest owner
For your convenience, I have included below a Spanish translation from DeepL for "Uprising In Gongolard" - Freewrite: 3/22/24 | Prompt: A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words.
Spanish Translation Click here
Source: @wakeupkitty for contest purpose...
Sublevación en Gonjolard
Bienvenidos de nuevo a mi historia de libre escritura de esta semana. La foto que es el tema de la historia me habló de una persona que está decidido a no ser reconocido.
Describa lo que ve
Un cuervo se acerca al mismo tiempo que un oscuro nubarrón. Los contrafuertes del castillo se sitúan a lo lejos, pasado el final de la calle. A ambos lados de la calle hay casas de campo. Hay objetos alineados junto a las casas. Tal vez cubos para vaciar los desperdicios. Un hombre vestido con una túnica negra y andrajosa cruza la calle empedrada. A lo lejos, otros dos individuos parecen caminar en dirección contraria.
Describe lo que sientes
Siento que el hombre encapotado está en una misión. Una secreta tal vez.
Escribe una historia o un poema sobre lo que crees que está pasando. Os dejo mi historia para:
A Picture is Worth A Thousand Words - 3/22/24.
Recorrió con cuidado el callejón, se detuvo en el borde que daba a la calle y se apoyó en la estructura. Se secó la saliva y tragó saliva, rezando para que su cena no surgiera del hedor que cubría el callejón y le provocara un ataque de vómitos. No culpaba a los trabajadores del pueblo a los que se pagaba un mísero sueldo por eliminar la orina y los excrementos que se vaciaban a diario.
Rápidamente observó en ambas direcciones antes de bajarse la capucha, y luego se adentró en la estrecha calle adoquinada. El chirriante resoplido seguido de un brusco volantazo justo detrás no le dejó tiempo para reaccionar.
"¡Cuidado, joven campesino!", le gritó el cochero, "le ha dado un susto a mi yegua. Sin cortesía. Tengo ganas de atropellarte. Te está bien empleado pedaleando a estas horas y con este tiempo horrible". Tras calmar a su corcel, el conductor maldijo en voz alta y siguió adelante meneando la cabeza.
Sus pensamientos se centraban en cómo el conductor había adivinado su edad. Inmediatamente, la tarea que lo había traído a este pueblo lo interrumpió y le recordó cuánto padre descansaba la morada del anciano. Tres metros más y estaría a salvo.
Unas nubes grises y oscuras retumbaron justo cuando se acercaba el estridente graznido de un gran cuervo. Presintió que ambos lanzaban advertencias. Tal vez de la esperada reunión o del inminente asalto a los señores. El tiempo y la distancia no habían disminuido la inquietante presencia del peligro y la muerte en caso de ser descubierto.
Las largas zancadas le aseguraban pasar el menor tiempo posible a la intemperie. En un cuarto de hora llegó a la casa del anciano.
Su rápido golpe en la secuencia acordada no resultó en una apertura inmediata. En cambio, la diminuta mirilla se hizo visible y luego se cerró rápidamente. Momentos después, la puerta crujió y una rendija dejó al descubierto un pequeño patio en la parte trasera.
Al entrar por la puerta de la cabaña, el campesino permaneció en silencio y embozado. Se quedó inmóvil. Una fachada. Sujetando con fuerza su capa y mirando fijamente a la oscuridad, disimuló su repentino temor. Su mente se agitó. Quizás una trampa, razonó, para sacarme de las sombras de mi misión.
Este misterioso individuo conocía el código secreto. Pero había aprendido muy pronto en su vida de campesino que el engaño se manifestaba de numerosas maneras. Y, cuando menos te lo esperabas.
El anciano le hizo señas para que le siguiera.
El campesino caminó a paso ligero tras él. Para ser un anciano, el caballero igualaba su paso. Se escabulleron por los bordes del patio hasta llegar a otro callejón, luego giraron a la izquierda y bajaron varias escaleras.
Una vez dentro de la casa principal, la puerta de madera estaba cerrada y atrancada. Con dificultad, el hombre bajó la tela de la ventana y se tambaleó hasta una mesa desordenada. Apartó el polvo y el desorden, y encendió el mimbre del interior de la pequeña lámpara.
En ese momento apareció el anciano.
Durante un largo rato, el campesino se quedó mirando al hombre embozado.
Sin conocer al anciano caballero, observó cómo éste, de aspecto desaliñado, se colocaba frente a él con los brazos cruzados sobre su pesado estómago. El hombre, de la mitad de su estatura, tenía una larga barba y el pelo negro, igual de largo, le caía por delante. Un rostro rubicundo y un cuello grueso y corto se apoyaban en unos hombros anchos y una gran circunferencia redonda vestida con un traje de clérigo.
El campesino echó la cabeza hacia atrás y continuó mirando fijamente al enterarse de que la identidad del líder del grupo de resistencia no era otra que la de un monje de Gonjolard.
La tensión se relajó cuando el hombre extendió la mano antes de hablar.
"Puedes llamarme vicario Tibost. ¿Dejaste el viaje?" Preguntó rápidamente.
"No, Vicario. El corcel está a salvo más allá de los páramos " El campesino se apresuró a responder, sin divulgarlo todo.
Fueron los modales y la voz tranquila del vicario Tibost los que suavizaron el tono del campesino. Pero su urgencia y preocupación seguían presentes.
"El encargo era más difícil de lo presumido. Mi nombre es Alphonse, de la aldea de Herdeshire " Sólo entonces el joven campesino se quitó la capucha, mostrando unos largos mechones negros sobre un rostro fuerte y delgado de ojos esmeralda.
Para ser un hombre regordete, la agilidad del vicario sorprendió a Alphonse cuando el hombre se giró rápidamente con la mano extendida.
"No tenemos mucho tiempo, así que vamos a determinar la fuerza de nuestro plan. ¿Cuántos comprometidos? Tibost sirvió dos copas de vino, se sentó y ofreció asiento a Alphonse.
"De los cincuenta esperados, sólo treinta y seis vinieron dispuestos a comprometerse ". Alphonse se metió la mano en la capa, sacó el pergamino del bolsillo y lo sostuvo en alto.
"Gramercy. Quizá los demás recibieron una oferta menos engorrosa". El Vicario recorrió la lista y frunció el ceño, luego lo soltó. "Ni de lejos. Pero será suficiente. No se trata del número de hombres fuertes, sino de la fuerte voluntad de los hombres que ofrecen el sacrificio".
La opinión de Alphonse sobre el grupo y su plan resultó menos alentadora cuando contraatacó.
"Tal vez la oportunidad de permanecer entre los vivos se consideraría menos exigente, diría yo. Aun así, ¿qué precio vale la libertad? Yo lo arriesgaría todo antes que seguir siendo un siervo del barrio más bajo sin fin de deudas " Alphonse dio un profundo trago al vino, golpeó con fuerza la copa, luego se levantó y se puso a caminar, con las manos a la espalda, como si recordara un incidente personal más reciente en su pueblo.
El vicario conocía muy bien las consecuencias de traicionar a la Corona.
"Siéntate, Alphonse. ¿Cómo estás? Imagino tu cansancio por el largo viaje recogiendo promesas. Descríbeme el ambiente en Herdeshire y los pueblos de alrededor. Supongo que la situación se ha deteriorado más en los últimos dos años que aquí en Gonjolard."
Nada de conjeturas, razonó Alfonso. Ojalá el vicario supiera hasta qué punto la Corona había abusado de su poder. Volvió a meter la mano en su capa y sacó el folleto, entregándoselo al Vicario, luego observó su expresión.
"Dios mío. ¿Quién tiene el oído de la Corona en esta ridícula locura?" Los ojos del vicario se abrieron de par en par, asombrado por lo que leía.
Alphonse coincidió.
"La situación es calamitosa en los pueblos. Los señores recaudan por cualquier medio nefasto que se les ocurra. Los alguaciles reparten estos panfletos en sus bailíos exigiendo un aumento de impuestos del cuarenta por ciento. Dos horas más de trabajo sin paga extra. Esos pobres desgraciados no pueden pagar lo que deben ahora. ¿De dónde espera la corona que salgan las monedas? " Sus hombros se hundieron y sintió que le dolía el corazón por sus compañeros campesinos.
El vicario Tibost dejó el papel sobre la mesa. Se sujetó la cabeza con las manos. "Sólo nuestras mentes y nuestra fuerza colectivas pueden vencer este sistema esclavista y desmantelar la corona. De lo contrario, nunca seremos libres para elegir nuestro propio sistema de gobierno".
Levantó su copa. "A los "HIJOS DE BODARS ".
"Los S.O.B.s " aclamó Alphonse.
Nada más hablar, un estruendo procedente del exterior del patio hizo añicos la puerta exterior del recinto. Le siguió una pequeña sección del muro de ladrillo.
La estruendosa marcha de un centenar de soldados se dirigió hacia la puerta cerrada.
El pánico no estaba en la personalidad ni en el comportamiento de Alphonse. Su primer pensamiento fue el de la traición.
Pero antes de que pudiera averiguar qué aldeano se negaba a firmar el compromiso si podía ser, Tibost escondió la bebida y las tazas, luego cogió los documentos de la mesa y se los metió dentro de la camisa. Ya había preparado su casa para una inspección y un asalto por sorpresa.
Sólo podían buscar a Alphonse. Haciéndole una seña, Tibost se apresuró a acercarse a la chimenea. Retiraron la gran alfombra redonda. Los hombres levantaron la trampilla.
Descendieron al sótano y tiraron hasta que la alfombra volvió a cubrir la trampilla.
Arriba, durante más de diez minutos, se oyó el ruido de pies que arrastraban las cosas y manos que sacudían los muebles.
El vicario Tibost sabía que aún no estaban a salvo. Le devolvió los papeles a Alphonse y dirigió rápidamente su camino por uno de los estrechos túneles bajo la ciudad.
Él mismo, huyó por un túnel opuesto.
Se encontrarían de nuevo, los S.O.B.
[continuará]
SOURCES:
a) JustClickindiva's Footer created in Canva utilizing its free background and images used with permission from discord admins.
b) Unless otherwise noted, all photos taken by me with my (i) Samsung Galaxy 10" Tablet, (ii) Samsung Phone, & (iii) FUJI FinePix S3380 - 14 Mega Pixels Digital Camera
c) Purple Butterfly part of purchased set of Spiritual Clip Art for my Personal Use
d) All Community logos, banners, page dividers used with permission of Discord Channel admins.
e) Ladies of Hive banner used with permission of and in accordance with the admin's guidelines
f) Thumbnail Image created by me in Canva.
g) "Flames." What is Apophysis 2.09. https://flam3.com/
If translation included, I use DeepL to assist my readers.
Thanks for your patience an understanding.
Si se incluye traducción, utilizo DeepL para ayudar a mis lectores.
Gracias por su paciencia y comprensión.
Intriguing and suspenseful! A resistance movement is steadily building, and Vicar Tibost and Alphonse are at the heart of it. Their ruler, the Crown, is cruel and oppressive. The citizens are suffering and these two are determined to carve a way out of the mess!
You build the tension so well from the beginning, making me wonder where the peasant aka Alphonse is heading to. And Vicar Tibost, though scruffy-looking, is smart and strategic. You have me on the edge of my seat hoping the soldiers don't find these characters and they can successfully free their people from the oppression.
I enjoy stories set in historical or medieval times. Beautifully written! Looking forward to the continuing part. !PIMP 💕
Yes, a resistance movement is slowly underway in the town. However, asking people to join in and risk their lives, even for freedom from their own bondage, is a tricky avenue to navigate without assurance of success.
As always, it starts with an idea of change. Then someone willing to risk all to see the change takes place. I applaud Alphonse and Vicar Tibost for their courage to at least try. But is it enough to carry out the plan of resistance? I hope so.
Thanks so much for your visit and lovely compliment for my story. I'm pleased your found it suspenseful and interesting. I appreciate your thorough analysis of the plot.
Again, I appreciate your support of my writings. Take care and have a good rest of your week.
!ALIVE
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Ahhh, such a delight this story is, back in time. The time that feels more familiar to me than the present. I am looking forward to hearing more about SOB, those who hear the crying if the people of are willing to fight the crown.
🍀❤️
Hello @wakeupkitty. I also love this time period. The traditions, people, societies and how they conduct them with their own particular troubles. It can be a gory tale when it comes to the brutality of conflicts. But for the time period, they defended their beliefs with the tools that existed. Not really to different from today with advanced weaponry that can inflict a massive amount of destruction.
Change as it is today starts with individuals willing to make a sacrifice for various reasons. I'm pleased that you enjoyed the story so far.
Thanks for your visit, engagement and support. Take care and have a good rest of your week.
!ALIVE
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I always enjoy your stories very much and learn a lot.
Hello @djbravo. I'm so pleased you enjoyed my story. I appreciate you taking the time to visit and engage. Thanks so much for your support. Take care.
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