Today
on Drabble Wednesday, we go medieval...
Warning: today’s post gets a bit icky.
Boy in the
Kitchens
Turn
the spit, turn the spit, turn the spit.
Alfred watched the meat sizzle, and cranked
the handle round and round. Day after day, he sat, stared, and spun the roast.
“You boy! At the spit! We’ve a new job for
you!”
Alfred looked up with glee, and eagerly
relinquished his place to another kitchen lad. The royal butcher ushered him into
a back pantry.
“Sorry boy, but the king wants special meat
for his supper.”
Poor Alfred never saw the cleaver fall.
Come supper, another boy sat watching the
sizzling meat that used to be Alfred.
Turn
the spit.
~*~
Vantage Point
The old room atop the temple held the
perfect view of the queen’s procession route.
He watched her horse drawn, open carriage
meandering its way up the street.
He took his time, lined up his bow, and let
the arrow fly.
The projectile pierced the queen’s chest,
and she crumpled like a doll.
The assassin patted his purse. The payment
of the king's gold rattled with a beautiful sound, and he chuckled with proud satisfaction.
Then he stepped over the body of the snooping priest he killed, snuck down the
back stairs onto the street, and disappeared into the crowd.
~*~
King’s Decree
Arabella stared at her reflection in the
mirror, tucking a stray lock of hair into place. She applied red colour to her
lips and cheeks. She mustn’t appear sallow on this day. Her audience with the
king.
How
lives turn on the will of that man.
She appraised her appearance. She looked
thinner than a few months ago, but not gaunt. That was good. The newest royal
concubine best not look sickly.
Can I
do this?
She closed her eyes, taking a breath.
You
don’t have a choice. You lost the rebellion. You become his, or die like your
husband.
© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved
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