Back to a time of savage lands, maidens fair and the actions of honourable Knights. Looking to a time & tale of a young maiden named Morgan.
Abandoned as a child, Morgan had been brought into the care & servitude of the land-owner, John Marke. A man notorious for his ill-treatment of women; caring only for himself and the land he tends. Morgan was a young woman of 18 years. Her service to John Marke had begun when she was only 5. It was from this age, the barbaric daily-beatings had also first begun. John Marke taking much pleasure and glee from whipping her frail body until the crimson of her blood ran free. Yet her body survived. For all the beatings John Marke could subject on the young Morgan. She was a most beautiful woman. Not just the obvious beauty that existed on the outside. It was the ever-present sunny disposition that never failed to glow from the inside & out. In truth, Morgan believed this is what John Marke despised the most of her. That despite his most torturous actions, Morgan did not break. Still she remained faithful, loyal & grateful for her position.
Here then our story begins. It was a brisk morning when Morgan awoke. The light had not yet dawned, as she rose from her cot. As normal, she began her daily chores within the house; scrubbing clean the concrete floors, preparing the master his breakfast. The porridge boiled, as did the bacon fry, all in tune to the snoring of John Marke who writhed uncomfortably in his bed.
As dawn broke, so too did John Marke from his slumber. From the doorway of his bedroom, he watched as the young Morgan poured his morning porridge into a bowl. In doing so, the young-girl accidentally spilled some of the gruel over the side of the pot.
“Stupid wrench, are you not more careful when serving your master?” John Marke growled. Walking toward Morgan & landing his hand across her left cheek as a reminder of the mistake. John Marke sat down at the table, as Morgan served up the bowl of porridge to her master, leaving beside the porridge a plate of bacon. Greedily, John Marke ravaged the food, leaving no scraps.
“We need oxen!” John Marke shouted angrily across to Morgan.
“You will walk to town, gather my oxen.” With that John Marke shoved across the table a pouch of coins for Morgan to buy the beasts at the town-market. Bowing her head, Morgan collected the pouch of coins from off the table. John Marke stood up from the table, grabbing Morgan toward him. His fowl breath burned the scolded cheek of Morgan.
“Be warned woman, should them coins fall to anything more than oxen, it shall be more than a cheek be reddened!” Warning given, John Marke released his grip. Cautiously, Morgan backed away, leaving the presence of her master to gather what she would need for her journey into town. Morgan took with her the coins & a handful of dry biscuits.
Feeling the sharpness of the air, the woman put on her calf-skin coat that she had made last winter. She placed both the biscuits and coins inside each side pocket of the coat. Fully prepared, Morgan began walking along the path into town. She passed by the paddock, looking across to the beasts in the field. Like Morgan, John Marke treated his cattle with equal disrespect. As with the cattle, Morgan was merely a commodity to be used. As Morgan continued to walk along the path, rain began to sleet down, muddying the path before her. Just in sight, Morgan could see an image. Unsure, but it looked to be the appearance of two children.
Hurriedly, Morgan rushed toward the fleshy-shapes. Mud splashing up her legs, as her legs bounded hastily down the path. Sure enough, as Morgan reached the appearance, it was indeed two children. As she would gather they were Brother and Sister. Their frail, emaciated bodies exposed to the elements. Yet it was not the weather that should find them harm. The children were starving!
“Please milady we have not eaten in many a day. Will you end our hunger?”
The children's plight struck deep into the heart of Morgan. Once upon a time, she too had been hungry like the children before her. Morgan drove her hand inside her left pocket, pulling out the cache of biscuits she had taken with her. Without thought to herself, she handed over the biscuits equally to the children.
“May this end your hunger?” Morgan softly said. She watched as the children ravished the salty biscuits, a relieving smile forming to their faces. Looking back to the house of John Marke that lay up the hill, she turned back to the children, warning them not to go up the hill. To do so would surely alert John Marke, who of equal assurance would steal the children to his servitude. A fate Morgan had released herself to, but not for these children. Trembling from the warning given, the children scattered to the East of the mountainous outcrop. Morgan feared for the children, but not as much as if John Marke came to find them. The rocky terrain would offer good shelter to the children as would it good hunting. The children would easily be able to snare rabbits and catch fish from the many springs. Morgan watched until the distant figures of the children vanished. For all the cold weather, she felt much warmth. She had given the chance of life, a no greater good.
