The Baron

War had come to the Kingdom, and with it had come gentlefolk from all across the Known World. Mighty armies battled by day and reveled together by night. As noon approached on the third day, MiLord went forth from his camp to find food and visit his many friends. Passing by the Royal camp, he saw the Princess sitting within, her eyes red from much weeping.

“Your Highness, I beg pardon for disturbing you. Is something wrong?”

The Princess wiped her eyes and smiled shakily at MiLord. “Hello, MiLord. I fear we have received ill news. Last night, most suddenly, the Baron passed away.”

MiLord said, “Your Highness, I am sad to hear this. In all honesty, however, I fear I cannot recall who the Baron is. What can you tell me of him?”

To MiLord’s great surprise, the Princess laughed. “Oh, MiLord, you have seen him, that is certain. Do you remember the day the Prince won the list that set this coronet on my head? It had rained that day, and I had to cross a mud puddle to get back to my cabin. Out of nowhere appeared the Baron, and without hesitation he threw himself down onto the puddle, crying, ‘Your Highness! If you must dirty your feet, let it be on my most unworthy back rather than in mere mud and slime!’”

MiLord laughed with her then, and this led to more tears. Then from afar the Herald was heard to cry, and the Princess jumped up with alarm. “I am late! Oh, no! Unless...MiLord, could you carry a message to the Duke for me?”

“Your Highness, of course I will.”

MiLord hurried off and found the Duke near the field, where he and his House were waiting out the heat of the day in the shade of the trees. “Your Grace, a message from Her Highness!”

“Thank you, MiLord! Now sit down and have some water—you shouldn’t run in this heat! Anyhow, lads, as I was saying: the Mercenaries had refused to choose sides in that year’s War, at least not openly. The Captain had told Their Majesties that they would know with whom they stood when they saw the Mercenary banner on the field. Well! That night the Merc camp was in quite an uproar, for all that they wouldn’t tell anyone what was wrong. Rumor spread, however, that something important had...disappeared! Well, the next morning they found it! Standing right beside the King, holding their banner—there was the Baron! They didn’t say a word, but just formed up behind him as if they had planned it all along. Quite the character, he was, the Baron!”

The fighting men of the Duke’s House laughed long and loud at this, though many faces were long and sad. The Duke read the message, and Lady Waterbearer spoke up. “Yes, a regular thief he could be. Last year at War I was getting as red in the face as MiLord here—won’t you drink, MiLord?—and I had laid down my water jugs and my blue sash for but a moment. Well, I found them, alright. The Baron was wearing the one and carrying the others, out on the field! He was always so funny, but so very gentlemanly, too.” Then she wiped her eyes, and held out the bottle. “MiLord...won’t you?”

MiLord saw this was a fight he could not hope to win, and so with a gracious nod and “Thank you” he took the offered water and drank deep. The Duke turned to him, “MiLord, have you eaten?” When MiLord replied that he had not, the Duke said, “Then go to my camp. The Duchess made too much for lunch, and told me to send anyone along who looked hungry. And I, lads, need to go speak with the Autocrat. If you will excuse me?”

MiLord then wandered off to find the Duke’s camp. There he found the Duchess rinsing off a few plates, singing as she worked. When she finished, he said, “Your Grace, that was beautiful.”

The Duchess nodded her thanks, and said simply, “The Baron wrote it.” She gestured toward the table half-filled with food, and began another song.

MiLord enjoyed the hospitality of the Duke and Duchess, staying to wash dishes and hear more of this Baron that he had never been properly introduced to. He excused himself and headed toward the Rapier field, hoping to see the melee. Along the way, he saw Little Girl sitting on a bench. She was holding a flat tablet of wood and some round stones, and she, too, seemed taken by sadness.

“What’s that, Little Girl?” he asked, gesturing toward the board and stones.

“It’s a game, Fox and Geese. The Baron made it and gave it to me. But he can’t play with me any more.”

MiLord quietly took the other end of the bench. “Can you teach me to play?”

That night the camps were dark and quiet. The dancers’ feet were still, no song of victory was heard. Even the fireflies seemed subdued in their flickering. Yet beside the water, a gathering could be found. People moved from group to group, offering hugs, sharing tears, telling stories. To this gathering came MiLord, and the first to see him was the Countess.

“Be welcome here, MiLord. Were you, too, a friend of the Baron’s?”

MiLord looked about him, at all the people whose lives had been touched by this one man. He heard crying, and laughter, and felt the great love that lives on when a good man must leave. He realized that, while he had not met the Baron, he would miss him. He nodded to the Countess.

“Yes, Your Excellency. I believe I have known the Baron very well.”