I’m going to tell a story. You don’t have to listen. You don’t even have to stay. If you walk away right now, I won’t stop you.
This story is about a boy.
The boy lived in a city, and you must forgive me but I can’t recall the name of that city. Every day, that boy’s father would rise with the sun and leave to work in the lord’s manor. The boy would wake with him and eat a breakfast that consisted of bread and nettles. His father was so generous that he would often skip his own meal so that his child could eat a little more. He loved to be around his father, but his father had to work the lord’s land from sunrise to sunset.
During the day, the boy would play with his sister. They would chase each other around the dank streets of their district but they never strayed too far from home. The lord’s manor was off limits - children weren’t allowed. One day after dark, the boy waited patiently for his father to return. When he did not, the boy made supper for his sister and put her to bed. He fell asleep on the floor before his father returned late that night.
The next day, the boy overheard an argument between his father and a magistrate. He was too young and uneducated to understand the fancy words but he gleaned that if his father did not pay more money to the man, they would take his home and his possessions. His father did not speak of this to his children - he continued on as normal. But in the coming days, meals became scarcer. In fact his father didn’t eat at all. He made sure that the boy and his sister were fed and then spent more long days and nights at the manor.
It pained the boy to see his father overworked, when he saw him at all. He decided that he could help. Someday he would be a man after all and a man provides for his family. He told his sister to stay at home one day and then ventured towards the lord’s manor. There were many servants bustling about, some working the land, others cooking the food. The boy was unassuming and he knew that he would fare better unnoticed. He found his way inside the kitchen and crept along the floor to avoid notice. When the servants left the room, the boy peered his head over the counter and was bombarded with a savory scent. He had never seen so much food in all his life!
Before he knew what he was doing, the boy began to devour the fare. Fruits, and breads, and cheeses. Meats, and soup, and vegetables. It was too much. He ate until he felt sick and then abruptly remembered where he was. A noise in the hall frightened him into action. He grabbed what he could stuff in his shirt and ran.
He and his sister feasted that night. He laid her to bed with a full stomach and awaited his father’s return. A few hours later, with his eyes barely open, the boy saw his father. His eyes lit up as he showed his father what he had done. Now you can eat papa, he said. His father grew irate at the sight of the food. Where have you gotten this food? he asked sternly. I took it from the manor, said the boy. With that his father unhinged. He struck the boy out of fear as much as anger. The boy was confused as tears streamed down his face. His father regained his composure and embraced his son. I’m so sorry. I should not have hit you, his father’s words pleaded for forgiveness. But you can not return to the manor. Do you understand me? But, you were hungry, pried the boy. It is not our place to decide the fates of men, his father explained, that is work for the gods.
But the boy refused to accept this. How could the ladies and lords of the manor walk around fat in the belly while he and his sister and father starved to death? There was enough food in that kitchen to feed the whole town. And so he returned to the manor despite his father’s insistence. He did so again, and again. He and his sister ate like lords and when his father asked why they would not eat the dinner he provided the boy explained that the baker’s wife had shown mercy to them or that an apple had fallen from a nearby tree. Any excuse so that his father would eat. And perhaps it was his father’s naivete that kept him from learning the truth or perhaps it was his refusal to watch his children shrivel into dust that he held his tongue. Whatever the case, their lives improved.
Until one day, the boy wasn’t so careful.
A heavy knock woke the family up late into the night. The magistrate had returned with a cadre of guards. The boy’s father feigned indignance for the intrusion, but he had no right to stop the men. They forced their way into the house overturning what little furniture they had until they found what they were looking for. The boy had a stash of stolen food underneath his cot. The guard seized the boy by the arm but his father spoke up. I stole the food, he said, leave the boy alone. Despite the boy’s pleading, the guards took his father away.
He could not sleep that night, his conscious had caught up with him. He didn’t know how to explain to his sister what happened, so he lied. Father will be back in the morning, he told her. But he did not return in the morning, nor the next day. In fact, his father would not be returning at all. He was to be hanged.
On the morning of the hanging, the boy made his sister stay home. He pushed his way through the crowded streets until he could see his father standing at the gallows. The hangman stood ready to throw the switch when the magistrate finished his reading of the crime. The boy ran towards his father but was intercepted by a guard. The boy screamed to the magistrate, it wasn’t him! I stole the food!
The magistrate bent down and waived the guard off. He spoke so that only the boy could hear. A father is responsible for his child. And you are responsible for his death. With that he stood and motioned the hangman. The switch was thrown and the boy watched as his father dropped.
We all have defining moments in our lives. Moments when we are faced with a diverging path. It is in these moments that we choose the men we want to be. The boy’s world was shattered on that day and he made a choice. His father was wrong - a man can choose his own fate. His father chose his own death long ago; for living as a slave was not life. And so the boy left with his sister in tow, determined to make a better life. He was not consumed with thoughts of revenge against the magistrate, nor did he burn with a righteous ambition to right the imbalance of wealth in that small city. The corruption there would rot the foundations of that aristocracy until only decay remained. The boy chose another path.
What became of the boy you ask? He became a man as boys are ought to do. But that is a story for another time. Let us sit in silence for a while and watch the fire dance.
The Paladin's Story: Choice was written by Daniel Weinell and illustrated by Maribel Navarro.
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