Alfred: The Boy Who Would Be King (Alfred the Boy King Book 1)

by Ron Smorynski

  “What is it you want us to do, Lord Alfred?” Abedeyan pushed his way through the peasants.

  “Well, help rebuild the castle.” Alfred stepped aside and with a hand gesture revealed the smoking barren keep.

  Just then, what was left of the wood roof on the burning tower collapsed inward. Alfred shirked. The peasants stared on. Verboden's expression became glummer if that was even possible.

  A larger man spoke quickly to Abedeyan.

  “Speak up Derhman! Your lord is before you!” Verboden burst out angrily, stunning everyone.

  Derhman, a gruff looking farmer, stepped forward. “I am sorry, milord, but we have crops to plant and there are so few of us left.”

  “Well that’s important,” Alfred said with a magnanimous nod. “Verboden and I will help you plant your crops. Then, if we can get enough people together, we’ll work on the castle.”

  Taken by surprise, the people glanced at each other and then nodded agreement.

  “That is most gracious, milord!” said Lady Nihan, as if speaking for everyone.

  Alfred smiled.

  “A king will help us plant?” Derhman shrugged.

  “Yes!” Verboden stepped forward. “Though don’t expect him to be as stubborn as you, Derhman!” A few peasants chuckled. “Or as tough skinned as you, Cory, son of Derhman!” And more laughed. Derhman began to laugh. Cory’s face was red, but he smiled.

  Verboden waved his staff about in a grand manner. “The king will help, and you’ll promise to give him a few blisters on his hands now, won’t you?” The peasants laughed, feeling excited and assured. Alfred’s eyebrows danced.

  Chapter Eleven: A Kingly Farmer?

  And so the days passed that Alfred, King of the Westfold, was out in small cluttered fields doing the best he could. He wasn’t that much help. Even peasant girls had to take up the slack. The work, harder than Alfred had expected, left him daily with a sore aching body. Still, seeing their king out there in the misty fields with them was a blessing to many – and an odd affair to some.

  Alfred spent many moments sitting on a log, resting his aching back and soothing his bandaged hands. The peasants appreciated his willing presence, not minding that he wasn’t on a par with their rugged abilities. Some wondered if he was there to spy on them. Regardless, he did seem to know a lot about farming and provided ideas for how to improve what they were doing.

  Alfred read about the evolution and use of the plow during “The Dark Ages” of history. He thought it odd that the period was called The Dark Ages, when so many incredible advances were made. For ages, people used oxen to rake the ground to remove weeds and plant seeds. This was slow and arduous. During the Dark Ages, farmers invented several different devices to create a plow. Alfred knew this well because he had drawn a picture of one and its parts for an art assignment at school.

  The peasants used crude rakes to plow, which merely dug shallow grooves, leaving many weeds intact. Also, these implements did not loosen and turn the soil. Many farmers would not rake the thicker fields, which have the richest soil because their rakes were too weak.

  The peasants shared one measly ox to rake the fields. Alfred realized that the farmers of this land did not yet know of the horse drawn plow, which needed a well fitted collar and a strong pony to pull it.

  The people had several small ponies in their small barns, but they did not use them because the simple reins and crude wooden yokes, appropriate for oxen, choked the ponies. Alfred spent time with Verboden and the farmers devising a plowing yoke, or collar, that would fit ponies comfortably. With this correctly fashioned collar the ponies could help pull a real plow. The collar took the pressure off their necks and placed it on their shoulders, distributing the strain.

  Alfred showed a farmer handy with metalwork how to make a curved blade for the plow. The farmer's old venerable father was once a blacksmith at the castle. But he was too old to work on anything now. His son did the best he could to make a large curved blade with what metal he had. When the soil was plowed, the blade turned over and uprooted the weeds completely, leaving them to dry in the sun.

  The news about the new plow spread, and many peasant farmers came around to see the ponies pulling it. They were shocked at the speed, strength and efficiency of the horse drawn plow.

  Oxen were slow and prone to wandering. But the ponies, as if blessed for challenges, loved to pull the plow. Unlike the lazy oxen, the ponies were proud and determined to accomplish their task. The curved blade slid fast, dug deep, and made rows ready for planting much more efficiently than the old rake plow.

  As Alfred hiked about, he saw patches of land he knew would be good for crops and wondered why they were ignored by the farmers. He gathered the farmers with Abedeyan and Verboden at one of these pastures, asking why lands like it were not being farmed. He was told these were the king’s lands, for hunting only.

  Alfred responded, “No, no, no! From now on you will plow and plant on the best land. We can hunt anywhere.”

  Abedeyan spoke up, “But sir, this land has been part of the King’s Royal House for generations!”

  “Look, this is clover and there’s a stream nearby for irrigation. This is perfect. I read that clover and alfalfa make for very fertile soil.”

  “Fertile? What’s that?” a farmer asked.

  “Its soil that is rich with, you know, nutrients, things that are very good for growing crops. If the soil is fertile, it will yield better crops. Cow manure helps make a soil fertile, although we don’t have any, right?” Alfred looked about at the farmers present. “Pony manure should be saved and spread on any soil that seems barren. And pond scum or any stagnant water is good, as well as dead fish and rotting vegetables. “

  “Rotting vegetables? We stay away from all things foul!” a farmer said.

  “No, rotting things are good for the soil,” Alfred responded firmly. “You should bury anything rotting, fish and plants that is, and let the crops grow on top. If there’s a pond near a field, dig a ditch and drain that water into a field, or at least some of it. Just do not use our waste, you know, our own bathroom stuff... heh heh… because that can cause disease and plague.”

  A farmer raised his hand.

  Alfred answered, “Yes?”

  “Ahhh... what's a bath-roohhhm?”

  “Oh... ahh... a room where you go...”

  “Yesss?” the farmer waited for the answer.

  “Go to the potty?”

  “Potty?”

  “Where you... you know.. poopy dooh?” Alfred's face reddened.

  “Poopy dooh? What's that?” The farmers looked at each other. Alfred was unsure of what to say. Someone giggled.

  “Hey!?” Alfred suddenly realized.

  Everyone began to laugh. “He said poopy dooh!?” The farmers' laughter became uproarious. Alfred's face was red.

  “Silence! You are in court with your king!” Verboden hit a nearby tree with his staff. It was a powerful knock that shook the tree. The farmers settled down. Alfred sighed and nodded thanks to Verboden.

  Someone chortled. They all began to laugh again! Verboden couldn't help himself either. He tried to hit the tree again but missed. The laughter increased.

  Alfred waited.

  Finally, they got their breath back.

  Nope... they began laughing again. Verboden waved for Alfred not to look at him as he chuckled.

  Finally...

  Abedeyan was able to bring it back, “Milord, you say our own waste can cause disease to us? Yet you want us to use foul things to add 'nutrients' to the soil?”

  “Yes, other animal waste is okay because they do not have the same diseases we do. But our body gets rid of, uh bad things, and our waste can carry diseases. Even if we put it in the soil, it can stay and make us sick through the crops. So our waste must be removed from our water supplies and crops! Plagues in history have been known to be caused because humans did not keep their waste away from their crops and food.”

  “Makes sense,” a
farmer said.

  The farmers began talking excitedly about manure. They had goats, chickens and pigs and so a lot of manure.

  Verboden quickly tapped on the tree again to bring back order.

  “Ah, yes... thanks, Verboden. Now where was I? Oh... rotting stuff... yes... the other stuff is good, cow and horse waste, dead fish, pond water, and so on. You see, it’s important to fertilize, or give back to the soil, so that whatever crops you grow, they will have nutrients to use for growing.”

  Abedeyan, Verboden and the farmers gazed at him with amazement. The farmers seemed eager to learn more.

  “Tell all the farmers they can plow any field or patch of land they think will grow crops, king’s hunting ground or not!” Alfred declared. Abedeyan wished to speak but merely opened, then closed his mouth. The farmers were already down the road yelling out the news.

  The land was alive again. Many, who had not seen each other in years, once again rejoiced to be in each other's presence. There were still many difficulties. Many had not survived the wars, and those who remained suffered from lack of food and disease. There were few elderly left, as they had difficulty surviving the winters. There were fewer women than men, and most of the women seemed sickly and weak. The winter wheat storage was sparse, so all were focused on farming above all else.

  One night at a farm while Alfred was having dinner with a few farmers, he noticed how small and gaunt the women were. They tended to have coughs and frail demeanors.

  “I remember reading about men and women of the dark ages. The women were known to not have enough iron in their diet,” Alfred said.

  The farmers gazed at him with confusion. One finally queried, “Iron, milord?”

  Alfred realized he had to talk to them differently, not like someone who watches TV and goes to school and has a biology class. He needed to talk to them as if he was talking to a child. “Well, it's a certain thing in our blood that helps give us strength. It’s actually iron, very small bits of it. It's dust... iron dust. The way to get it is by eating red meat, you know, cow or rabbit. Women actually need more of it than men. Without this nutrient, this food, they become weaker and sick. I want everyone who wants to hunt to do so wherever they choose, including the king’s hunting grounds. So whatever you can catch, wherever, is fine. And make sure the women get plenty of this kind of food.”

  The quiet farmers gazed at him. Their eyes twinkled with orange stars from the fire. They looked at their wives with hope and love. Verboden sat near the fire, smoking his pipe, staring into the flames. The warmth in the room was more than heat from the fire. The people had hope. Verboden glanced about to see it in their eyes as they talked softly to each other. He looked back into the fire, adjusting his position, clearing his throat.

  Verboden was busy each day giving strength and blessings to the people, healing their aches and pains, ridding them of rashes and disease. He saved a young girl from a deathly fever and mended the bones of an old lady. His work was exhausting in a good way. He could not help but smile as he prayed quietly late into each night.

  Chapter Twelve: Of Arms and Armour

  Alfred resided at the castle. Abedeyan insisted that Alfred, as king, stay there. In his small clammy room, Alfred woke up each day with Abedeyan entering with a bowl of steamy hot water. “Wake up, my lord, my king! King Alfred!”

  “I don't feel like a king! I'm just a kid,” Alfred yawned.

  “You are not a goat! You are a boy whose line comes from glorious kings of old!” Abedeyan said, setting the bowl of hot water down.

  “I'm just a kid.. uh boy. I… well I just know a few medieval things. I mean, I know I'm being helpful, but I'm not a king! I don't even know what that is, Abedeyan.”Alfred somberly went to the steaming bowl of hot water.

  “Most kings don't know what it is! They are born into it, thrust into it, usually at a young age, and die with the crown on their head! And even then, at the end of their lives, they still don’t know!” Abedyean said, unwraveling towels.

  “Gulp... well…” Alfred scrubbed his face with the hot water. “I don't know. I'm not even sure I should stay here. I mean, what about my mom? She probably misses me!”

  “I'm sure she does, Alfred. I miss her. She was a young lady last I saw her, and even then, only at a distance. She was as beautiful as the evening stars and as the morning sun.” Abedeyan stood silent a long while, staring out the window as the morning light filled the room.

  Alfred's face was dripping wet. His eyes closed as he reached blindly for a towel. Abedeyan instinctively handed him a linen.

  “I miss her. How can I see her or visit her or go back to where I came from?” Alfred said, drying his face.

  “You'll have to ask the wizard that! I am merely the Steward of this Castle.”

  “Yes, I should ask Tirnalth!” Alfred said, feeling refreshed.

  “Yes indeed you should, King Alfred. If he should ever return!”

  Alfred was going to speak but Abedeyan did not give him the chance.

  “But before that, we still have much to do here! Verboden is busy rooting out more spiders and those ghastly gargoyles. I'm still sweeping and hiring. Lots of the families, who survived and once served the king and his castle, are returning. They need you now, Alfred!”

  “Well, I'll do my best... But I still don't feel like a king.”

  “Ah hah... tah tah… don't you worry... it will grow on you! Let us begin a new day!” Abedeyan led Alfred out of his small stone-walled room and into a new day of fantastical medieval endeavors!

  People all across the land were hearing of the king's return. Craftsmen and laborers came, most living in squalor with local farmers. Many still had their tools though they were dusty and worn.

  As they walked out to the King's Hall or Great Hall, Alfred saw a handful of young men and a carpenter. Abedeyan was overseeing the repair of doors, shuttering windows, and replacing floors within the towers.

  All were welcome. Families came by the wagonload and were quickly enjoined to become involved in cleaning, repairing or building. A starving stonemason came, remembering his trade only after receiving a warm meal.

  Alfred noticed that Lady Nihan had several men carrying out large bundles of strange dusty stuff. They were climbing up from the darkest halls, burdened with tied bundles. Alfred rubbed his eyes and yawned as two were passing. He was still getting used to his bed, which was just hay with a coarse linen covering. They tried to bow, but with their loads it was awkward.

  “Ah, carry on,” Alfred said, hoping they would.

  They heaved to adjust their loads. As they trudged by him, Alfred saw a small, decrepit, clawed hand protruding from one of the bundles.

  “Hey, what’s that?”

  One of the loaders replied quickly. “Lady Nihan is clearing out the dungeon, milord. We are carrying out the foul filth.”

  “Let me see?” Alfred peered inside the bundle. “I didn’t really examine it all before. I want to see it.”

  Sweating in the early morning, standing in the Great Hall just after a stair climb, both hesitated. As the first loader’s knees gave out, his load came down with a crash. All sorts of goblin things spilled out. There were small bits of armour and bone, bows and spears, all darkened from age and dust.

  Alfred saw a broken spear. He picked it up. It was similar to the one he had.

  “Careful, milord. That could still have poison on it. Goblin spears are also very sharp!” Abedeyan bent over to look at a few items.

  “Hey there, men. What is amiss up there?” Lady Nihan climbed up the stairs to see. The two loaders rolled their eyes. The second gently, if one can call it that, leaned his load against a column and then slid it down. Neither man was strong enough to stand with such loads for long.

  Lady Nihan with a broom in her hand crossed the hall quickly and peered at the fallen bundles. “Aye, what’s this? Oh, hello milord. Good ’morrow. Aye, hey? Don’t touch that foul filth, milord. It’s goblin vermin! Don’t touch! Unclean!”


  Alfred picked up an unstrung bow. It appeared to be in good shape, though the string had rotted away long ago. He closely examined the bow’s strange black grain. It seemed to be made from strands of thick hair glued together. He bent the bow. It held well. It was light and felt strong in his hands. He imagined it notched with an arrow and aimed it as if about to fire it. The two laborers acquiesced, ducking playfully when his aim crossed their path.

  “Milord! Filthy, foul, unclean, pest, vermin!” Lady Nihan helplessly swept the air with her broom, trying to remove the foul litter’s unclean curse.

  “What are you doing with this stuff?” Alfred gazed intently on the bow, feeling it with his hands.

  “Burning it!” said Lady Nihan, stiffening.

  Alfred ignored her and picked up a cruddy curved dagger. “Hmm… how much stuff is there?”

  “Oh, there is a huge pile out in the yard!” the second loader huffed, clearing his nozzle with his sleeve, gulping as his eyes met Lady Nihan’s cold stare.

  “What? More like this? A big pile? Where is it?!” Alfred hurried out.

  “But sir! It’s foul goblin!” Lady Nihan chased after him.

  “Foul goblin or not, if this stuff works, we’ll need it!” Alfred, huffing, exited the hall and stared at the pile of ancient refuse in the courtyard. “Do not burn any of it until I look through it!”

  Lady Nihan was beside herself but did what any old lady would do under such conditions. She huffed and puffed and went back into the hall to sweep and clean.

  Alfred became excited as he looked through the debris. The peasant folk looked at him, with his black greasy face and hands, as if he were mad. Indeed, he looked a bit crazed, giggling with delight while pulling out small spears, blades and bows. Most of the items seemed to be in excellent condition. They just needed a sharpening here or a restringing there. All were of small goblin or ratkin design so they were light and sturdy!

  Alfred recalled hearing about the old blacksmith who used to do fletching and archery work. He had shaky hands and a mumbling disposition and now sat next to his son while his son did what smithing work he could. Alfred quickly rushed to find him. The son was busy chopping wood for a new furnace. It was the same man who made the new plow.