Arthur swore silently to himself. He cursed himself for putting on his armour this morning. In the stifling heat of the early September afternoon sun he felt like he was slowly turning into a well cooked piece of meat. However, they were getting closer to the edges of the kingdom and the border country was always riddled with robbers and smugglers. The prince nudged his horse into an easy canter, sprinted ahead for a few metres and then stopped to let the troupe of knights pass him. The horses and men had seen better days. After weeks on the roads they were all tired, hungry and more than one of them sported some sort of injury. Nothing serious, thankfully, but enough to hamper them should the group encounter anyone with less than benevolent intents.
Sir Leon at the rear of the Caravan settled his horse next to his Lord's.. "Leon, I think we should make camp early tonight. Give the men a chance to rest before we cross the border into Gaelith's kingdom."
The knight nodded. " It's been a while since I've been in the area, but there should be a little hamlet a few miles from here. We should be able to get some fresh food there, maybe shelter for the night. It would make a change from sleeping under the stars and eating nothing but dry rations-."
"That's a good idea, Leon. Let's hope your memory doesn't deceive you. I could do with a nice bath and maybe some fruit?"
Soon the men emerged into an area of fields, a few apple trees dotted the hillsides here and there and it wasn't long before they were spotted by a group of men working in the fields. A shout of alarm could be heard and the workers stopped, stared at them for a few seconds and then quickly set off towards the village that Arthur could just make out behind the next hill.
Bewildered, the knights moved on at a slow walk, carefully looking around, checking for a possible ambush . As soon as they entered the village, they were greeted by silence. Not a single person could be seen, the paddocks and stables appeared void of animals, only a lost chicken picked at the ground off to one side.
Arthur signalled his men to stop. The men dismounted, split into several groups and started to search the houses and buildings. One after the other turned up empty, until they turned a corner and there they were: what seemed to be every single able-bodied man and even some women. What struck the king immediately was how ragged and malnourished these villagers looked like. Arthur knew that it was normal for the country population to be a lot poorer than the city folk of Camelot, but this - this was bad.
One of the men- Arthur suspected him to be the village blacksmith, judging by the large hammer he was wielding and the bulk of muscles on his frame, stepped forward a couple of steps and shouted.
"Who are you? If you've come to steal our food you're too late. Your friends have already taken everything we own."
"We won't harm you- we're only passing through and we were hoping to find some shelter for the night. I am Arthur, the king of Camelot."
A gasp and a murmur went through the group of villagers at the mention of Arthur's name.
"How do we know that's the truth? For all we know you could be one of those brigands posing as the king!"
Suddenly a young woman pushed through the crowd and stepped up to the blacksmith. She spoke to him quietly and the burly blacksmith turned back to Arthur and shouted " I've been told that you are indeed Arthur of Camelot. We will offer you a roof for the night, Sire. Welcome to this sad part of the world."
The young woman nodded and turned back through the crowd. She offered her arm to an old, hunched over man who had a hood drawn deep into his face. Together, the pair slowly made their unsteady way in the direction of the last hovel at the end of the village.
Arthur didn't know why he had noticed the young woman, and there was something about the old man- he couldn't put his finger on it but he had the feeling he had seen that man before. Right now though he had other matters to attend to.
Several hours later the knights were camped in one of the large, painfully empty barns of the village, his manservant Jasper had prepared his bedroll in a secluded corner and Arthur's men sat around a fire chewing on their dried rations, James, the blacksmith, who appeared to be the headman of the village, had apologized profusely for being unable to offer the King and his men a meal, but Arthur had calmed the man, given him some jerky and got him to tell them about the brigands who had stolen their food stores.
Apparently a band of men had appeared just days after they'd finished bringing in the harvest, taking the children and some of the women as hostages and demanding food in exchange for their lives. The villagers, too surprised and unprepared for such an attack, had had no choice but to yield to the demands after the robbers had killed one of the women.
That night, Arthur slept fitfully. Images of starving children, dead and bloody women intermingled with memories of sorcerers and witches burned at the stake by his father. When he could make out the first glimpses of morning through the barn door the king gave up on trying to sleep. He knew his conscience wouldn't allow him to rest until they had caught the band of robbers. Having made his decision Arthur carefully stepped around his sleeping men to catch some of the fresh morning air. He needed a clear mind if he wanted to come up with a decent plan for justice.
Strolling through the village, Arthur was soon lost in thought. The attack came so suddenly that he didn't get the chance to see his assailant before he was bowled over and they landed in a tangled heap of limbs and fabric.