A Lesson of Economics

Bushels and bushels of hay; load onto the carts, ride a distance to some farm on the way to town, unload some bushels, continue on to town, unload the rest of the hay at the butchers or market. This was Brenin’s routine for the day, and his muscles were raw from the work of it. No doubt they were much stronger than a month ago when he first arrived, but when one did not have time to heal or rest except in sleep, the burn of hard-worked muscles remained. He had come to think fondly on the feel of well worked limbs, however. It seemed that now he almost welcomed the sensation; it was not so much pain as a feeling that your body had come alive and no piece of you was whiling away the day—every nerve in your body was at a heightened level of sensitivity, almost nearing the border to oversensitivity and numbness. That was the best Brenin could do to describe the sensation, and he still felt it inadequate.

“Talvus! I’ve got some business ‘ere, so take a rest lad, and I’ll be back within ten minutes,” shouted Farmer Erlic. Brenin looked up from his finished stack of unloaded bushels and gave a nod of confirmation as Erlic walked off with a man from town. He headed straight for a town well close enough to his charge to keep an eye out for thieves (which were extraordinarily rare in the hay business, the though of which made Brenin laugh inwardly). He took a long drought of cool water and leaned back against the frame of the well. Under the shade of the well, he was free to observe the mingling of the townspeople and outlying farm workers. Here at market all walks of life came and did business, from the highly trained metal craftsman (which is not the same as blacksmith; they worked a finer craft making extremely delicate jewelry fit for fine ladies or fancy metal lacework candleholders and the like) to the poorest farm boy with nothing to their name and a rare possession, more sentimental than a commodity. The only people not seen in such a place, were those like himself—lords and ladies. Once and again there would be one of the like that cared to visit with the people, and even rarer did they come as themselves and not in guise; Brenin’s smile quirked at this. His parents were not the first to mete out that punishment, nor would they be the last. It was much more common than anyone let on or would dare to confess. While some commoners would see it as good means to subdue rowdy lordlings, most would think it entirely inappropriate—the mixing of the classes across that unavoidable invisible barrier. Brenin’s mind dragged him back into month old memories and thoughts from a man-child who seemed alien to the young lord now sitting on the well of a small town known to the good people there as the farm boy Talvus…

Bumping along a dirt road in a rickety cart, Brenin sat, drowsy from many sleepless nights caused by an overload of class work. There had been no goodbyes when Lord Dominic had taken him; no words spoken at all. Looking back over his shoulder though, he thought he had seen a glimpse of his parents in a window. He had not been warned of when he would be leaving, but when he woke from his dream to find Dominic in his doorway dressed in well-worn clothing, he knew what it meant. His bag had been readied when he had first been told what was to be done with him. It was patched, as were his clothes inside; some even threadbare in places. Later, he would learn how to mend those—to the disdain of his fingertips. But that had not yet come to pass. When all that surrounded the cart was an endless sea of farmland, Lord Dominic spoke.

“Your time will be spent as a farm boy working not for pay, but room and board. You may be expected to do various jobs, and the people will give you any training you require. Make sure you do pick it up quickly though; if you slack at all, you will be kicked out. It is possible that you may be loaned to tradesmen in town, so that the family you work for can trade your labor for an item they need. Here you will go under the name of Talvus. You, as most other farm boys, are an orphan who wishes to find himself an apprenticeship with some craftsman while working for your food, shelter, and possibly clothing at the farm. As such, you are expected to be utterly obedient and pick up all you can while working for the craftsmen or tradesmen in town. Make as many connections as you can while in town, and learn from all of them. Do not give any of your true identity away. Be aware of anyone who may recognize you or who may suspect that you are something other than you are claiming to be. If such an event does occur, put on a red bandanna and continue on in your duties. You will be extracted shortly after. Only go with the person that remarks, ‘The runa pelor is rare these days.’”

Runa Pelor, Brenin thought. Exquisite red bird of prey almost hunted to extinction for its beautiful feathers and the high level of difficulty in the kill. It is also the only bird unwilling to be tamed, especially during the height of popularity of hawking. The only documented case of taming the runa pelor was by the ancient king, Menethius, whose descendant is no other than King Wayland, and thus, oddly enough, Brenin mused sarcastically, his son Brenin, “that’s me,” he said under his breath and shook his head. For all these very reasons, it is considered the King of all birds. How very appropriate. Sure enough, when Brenin peeked inside his bag, there was a red bandanna, a perfect match for the plume of a runa pelor, stuck right on top.

Lord Dominic eventually nudged the cart horse onto a narrow road that went through a field of growing hay. They pulled up to a small cottage and extremely large barn, painted the classic barn green, as most Narokians do. A man and woman came out of the quant cottage to welcome them. They seemed to recognize Dominic as an old friend, though how that could be, Brenin could only wonder at as he looked on his mentors common clothes and warm smile.

Dominic waved him over while still exchanging pleasantries. When Brenin came to stand beside him, he gave introductions.

“Erlic, Brena, this is the boy I spoke to you about—Talvus. He’s a fast learner; don’t be afraid to work him to the full day, he can do it.”

Shaking hands with them he found himself being pulled towards the barn by Erlic. Looking back, Brenin could already see Dominic making his way back. What about that promised chaperone? There’s no way my parents would send me here without protection…maybe they were hidden and guised like commoners too… Brenin had assumed it would have been Dominic. As he was about to pose a question, Erlic unknowingly answered it for him with, “It’s awful kind of men like Daven to find places for ye boys ta work. Then again, if ye do find yeself in a ‘prenticeship, them colrites do get some ‘er ya fir’s wages, eh?” Brenin just nodded. He knew Erlic did not ask for a response. So Dominic was posing as a colrite, hmm? Generally good men, dedicated to helping those that could not help themselves. They often found beneficiaries for widows or very young orphaned children. If the orphan was no longer wanted by the family they had been staying with (usually some blood relative) or was too old to stay in the church and did not wish to take vows, colrites came and found work for them. Usually it was on some farm where they received room and board, and on the rare occasion a small salary when the year was profitable and the money strings loose. When the youths were not apprenticed, they were usually adopted by the family they worked for and when old enough, started farms of their own.

“Our last farm help got ‘prenticed out in the next town over as a barrel maker. That was ‘bout two seasons ago. It’s been real difficult for Bre and me since. You came in perfect time.”

Brenin was sure that after he left, they would never find themselves needing again. His father would take care of that. Just call it a kick-back for taking in a royal brat.

Erlic gestured at what would be his living quarters for the next…however long he had to be there. Brenin knew how house servants lived, and his surroundings appalled him. It was just a bunch of hay on the ground with a few blankets over a pile of it. He supposed it must be meant as a bed. There was also one small window, not even made from glass but wooden panels that shut closed. If it rained there was still a good chance a few rouge raindrops would fall on him in his sleep; if, that was, he could sleep. The only decent thing he could think of was that the smell of the animals below and their manure did not waft up to the loft. Lo and behold, he would find himself mistaken when the heat came up and the air grew stale, but it was not time for such discoveries yet.

His first day on the farm consisted of mucking the barn and laying fresh hay, bringing the animals in for the night, and other various “chores.” Despite the time he had once spent doing the like at the palace stables, Brenin was stiff all over. He had stopped such chores years ago in order to have more time for intellectual challenges. And those bloody goats! What farmer in his right mind would have a herd of giant senile stomachs! They are worse than mules. Who knew they ate hats and the hair right off your head? What purpose could they possibly have? Erlic had merely laughed when he saw the affronted Talvus and culprit goat and promised him a new hat from his wife in a few days. As far as Brenin was concerned, the matter had never occurred, though the jokes that ensued left him with a red face and tight lips until he learned to laugh at his own expense.

Dinner was a welcome surprise; simplistic, yet flavorful and rich. Brenin thanked Brena profusely before taking leave and heading to his barn loft to sleep—a sleep that came with a mighty toll. The bed of hay and old blankets would have been haven for any normal orphan, but for one so used to horsehair mattress it was hard and extremely pokey. Brenin had been so tired the night before he fell into a deep sleep the moment he lay his head down. As anyone knows who had been so in want of sleep, it was quite reasonable and to be expected that he hardly moved in the night and thus as he woke to the cocks crow, he was even more stiff than the day before and where hay found its way through blanket weaves Brenin felt stinging scratches. Perhaps, he thought, the day would not be so pleasant.

A week went by in such a manner, and as his body became used to the grueling tasks he came to find his body numbed, or perhaps hardened, by the work. Brena never gave Brenin’s tongue and stomach any grief, but in fact, as he complimented her so eloquently, she was putting out her very best before him just to please the bright boy they had taken in.

At the end of this week was the first that Brenin viewed the town. He and Erlic brought the goat herd and barrels of goat milk, some of them already having been converted into cheese. Many of the goats would be sold to the butcher and others to those who desired a milking goat. The majority would only be making the trip for exercise and a means to keep an eye on the troublesome. There was little theft in a town of this size; it was more prominent in the city or large town. However, damages caused by owned animals made for heavy fines, and since the goats needed more grazing room than the night corral (which was mostly dirt anyway) Erlic had need of Brenin to watch them as he conducted business.

Arriving at town, Brenin’s very first observation was that there were no more than three pretty girls. Of course, there were more girls than that, but he took notice of only the three which he felt worthy of physical admiration. Most of the other young men in town had also arrived at the same conclusion, and all but one or two of them chose one girl to woo or show signs of interest towards. Brenin went along with those that made no obvious preference. Of the young ladies paraded before him in court, Brenin had found that not many of the attractive ones could even hold their own in a conversation. They were bred exquisitely, and taught how to win husbands, but they were not allowed to truly develop a personality beyond the shy, pure, and innocent that was supposedly so irresistible to other men (as well as being the fashion). But Brenin had an exquisitely bred and very intelligent mother that had shown him the wisdom in finding a girl with something much more inside the lovely shell. For this reason, he would certainly look at pretty girls, but he would go no further than flirting. Though his flirtations had caused a few hearts to break in hopeful, attached girls in the past, he tended to dismiss the heart problems he caused in those that took his actions seriously. He believed that they should realize that much more than flirting was necessary to begin to be serious and that as Prince, they must understand that they needed good breeding and many other qualities to be Queen. Flirting was common in upper circles, as marriages were not normally based on love, but connections, position, and wealth. All three had to be correct, and the families agreeable. Parents encouraged flirting so that the children would be able to have some romantic enjoyment before being forced into a marriage they had no choice in. Flirting kept spirits up and gave people something to gossip about; commoners included. For all one knew, if when the parents heard the gossip, they may approve and a marriage become likely as the couple would already have a base for a good relationship. Last of all, flirting was an outlet for pent up physical and emotional strain caused by the adolescents new found sensuality—as long as it did not go to far; into scandal. If the marriage was not enjoyable, the couple was expected to fondly remember freer days, but not go back to them. There were few scandals of infidelity, especially after marriage, and they were always kept quiet. They always ended the same: a hurried and unprofitable marriage for one party and always quickly fulfilled punishments. Once and again a couple would ignore duty and forget family, creating a scandal to fit their own desires, but children were raised strongly with the knowledge of how important their marriage alliance would be for all parties involved. Most followed their duty. Brenin had thus known even more so this responsibility for the future of Narok and strictly went no further than flirting, though he wished he was allowed the enjoyment of kissing, which was expressly off limits to the royal line before marriage, as to not give the wrong impression. A lack of self-restraint just once, would signify the Choice, and the girl would be acknowledged Chosen and thus his bride. He admitted that he greatly enjoyed the chase (not being chased), and the win, while satisfying, was not as exciting. He eventually won them all anyway—if any girl could tempt him into a scandal, her family would be extremely smug.

Brenin smiled with the idea of a chase without the advantage of his blood. The sudden thought crossed his mind that perhaps he never won from his sheer charm or looks, but status only. The girls only ran in order to try to snag him. It was a new concept he did not wish to dwell on—the idea was a blow to his manhood. Well, I’ll make time to find out. And with that, he went about his work and did make the time he needed.