The Price of a Meal

 

The Price of a Meal

 

The dusted day drags,

The parched pastures pass,

Their parched people peer,

None come this way,

Yet he is now among them.

 

They will not accept him:

He is Outside,

He is Outland,

He cannot know their troubles,

None that have not lived them may.

 

They would drive him,

Were it not for his bearing,

Were it not for his sigil,

And the weapons he carries –

Those speak to worse troubles yet.

 

He seeks the inn,

Little more than a brew-sell,

Thought it speaks of lodge.

He will be overcharged.

He will be overcharged by all.

Until.

 

It has not been a fortnight

That the messenger arrived.

Messenger, ha! A child!

Sent by whom she would not say,

She was not pressed for it,

The fear on her spoke clear.

 

They had come:

Rovers, rogues and robbers,

Long were they tracked,

Their path too uneven,

Their targets too well chosen.

 

Flush with ill gain,

They melted into the crowds of the capital,

But the district had only so many towns,

There were few left to pillage,

And men such as he,

Were dispatched to the better of them.

 

Better! This? Faded paint,

and sun-bleached everything…

Yet there were riches here

To be plundered either by hard toil,

Or by thievery.

He had come in support

Of only the one of these endeavors.

 

Long had this town disguised the wealth of it:

To the unpracticed eye there was nothing of note,

But the beasts were too well fed,

The buildings stood too straight and strong,

And feet were too well shod

Beneath the tattered trouser.

 

A well-placed coin told whisper:

Where the king’s silver came from,

And before now was a secret well kept,

Almost a better guard

Than many soldiers might be,

And less expensive.

 

Now a traitor’s voice had sung for gold,

The mission was given to a hand,

And he had set his way here,

Where he would not find appreciation.

Until.

 

His quarry had waited out the spring rains:

They required dry roads for their escape.

They had begun their probing

And their spying mere weeks past,

They spied even now.

His arrival had been noted.

 

What had not been noted was his own spying:

His discovery of their camp,

His counting of their number,

His laying of cruel snares.

He would begin tonight.

 

They had already begun:

Small violences to cow the defenseless,

Bolder with the lack of resistance.

Unprovoked deaths

Had sent the smallest among them to seek succor,

And perhaps the revenge of some.

 

A needful errand,

And soon answered:

He would begin tonight.

By morning their count would be halved,

Or worse.

 

The remainder would first attempt a fight,

Then a parley,

And finally, an escape.

They would be met.

They would not survive the meeting.

He was but the point of a spear long aimed.

 

Then he would be spoken to.

Then he would be bought a pint or two.

Then he would get a meal at a fair price.

And that would be enough for the likes of he.

That would be enough indeed.

 

Cliff Lake 1/1/2026

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2026