Chivalry ♛ King Arthur

σnє

"INSPECTION!" The blackleg shouted through the storefront's door. The baker and his assistant looked at one another with a weary expression as they both wiped flour from their hands and made their way to the counter, as was routine.

"What can I do for you gentlemen today?" The baker asked. Edwyn was his name and over the course of twenty-some years, he had made a reputation for himself as an honest and hard worker. A pillar of a dying community.

Jack's Eye rounded the corner and entered the bakery with his hand resting on the hilt of a sword. "Search the back," he commanded, and there came no resistance from neither the baker nor his young assistant as the guards rushed behind the counter and into the ally via the shop's back entrance.

This was commonplace, though. The blacklegs came looking for criminals and coffers that had managed to escape the king's taxes. Neither of those items was present in the bakery. "There was a scuffle in the market earlier," Jack's Eye explained, "one of the perpetrators got away with an arrow to the thigh." Edwyn digressed there had been no unrest on his street that morning. It had been quiet, with the usual customers coming and going in the early hours.

A whiff of burning bread wafted through the air and immediately his assistant was sent into a panic. It was their busiest day of the week, and they couldn't afford to let that much profit slip away, not with the way Vortigern's taxes were squeezing their already light purses.

When the blacklegs left, Edwyn found his young assistant attempting to wrap her hands, burned by the hot loaves of sourdough and pastries. They had been salvaged though, and now sat on the butchers' block to cool. The baker shook his head, frowning. "You must be more careful, Ida," he chided.

She bit down on her lips and flexed her burned fingers with a grimace. "I know, but the entire batch was going to burn!"

The old baker took her wrists into his hands, mindful of the blistering skin of her palms. "Burnt bread can be tossed in a pinch, Frida," he assured with a slight smile before looking down at her red hands, "but it takes longer for burnt skin to heal."

Ida leaned against the wooden counter, watching as Edwyn drizzled a sweet honey glaze over a batch of cooled sticky buns. The baker glanced up, but then slid one of the smaller pastries toward her. "For managing to save most of the day's wages." It was the oat, and sourdough bread baked daily that brought in most of their earnings. She smiled and gave him a slight nod before picking up the deformed bun with a bandaged hand.

She worked the counter for the rest of the day, unable to mix and knead the dough with burned hands. When all the goods had been sold, asides from two loaves of bread and a handful of sweets, Edwyn gathered up what was left for weekly errands. "Here," the baker said, pressing a woven basket of bread and pastries into her bandaged hands, "take these around town."

The paths around the city had been ingrained in her muscles by now. She knew the handful of streets to avoid and the backways that led to an old widow's apartment, to a new mother and her children, to a crippled elderly man. The king did not look after the people of Londinium so she and Edwyn made sure to look after them.

An arm wrapped around her waist. She would have screamed if it wasn't a common occurrence, but it was, and she knew the troublesome man that the arm belonged to. "Art!" She threw her hands up to her chest, steadying her now frantic breathing. Frida hated when he did that, she turned and scowled, almost having forgotten the empty basket that she had dropped.

Arthur gripped onto both her wrists and looked at the rugged bandages wrapped around her palms and fingers. "What've you done now?" He asked. There was concern in his eyes, despite the mirth in his voice. He didn't give her time to respond, though. "Let me guess," he began, smirking almost, "the bread was burning." He bent down and picked up the basket.

Frida sighed and tugged her hands free of his grasp, trying to conceal the ratty linens with the sleeves of her dress. He worried too much about her when she was more than capable of taking care of herself. "Jack's Eye came barreling in looking for a common thief. We all lost track of the time." She eyed Arthur, knowing he had half the blacklegs in the city in his pocket. "Edwyn couldn't afford to lose that much coin because of a folly."

He shook his head and draped his arm around her shoulders. "Let's get you properly patched up, I think Lu still has some of that salve mixed up."

The only hint of color on the bleak stone wall was the bright red doors and stained red lanterns on either side. At this early hour of the evening, most the girls were unoccupied with customers and instead they gossiped about the word on the street while braiding and brushing one another's hair. "Ida, darling!"

She waved to them with one of her bandaged hands. Arthur shook his head, amused, and gently nudged Ida toward the stairs. "I've got to get her patched-up, sorry girls." He led her straight up to his small room and motioned toward the small table in the corner.

Arthur knelt before her, laying out clean linens and opening the tin of salve. It smelled sweet, like honey and roses. "You're too good to me, Art," Ida muttered as she unbound the soiled bandages. She flinched when he brushed the worst of the burns, but Arthur took her discomfort as a sign of his own inadequacy. "I know," he said looking up to meet her gaze, "my hands are rough."

She shook her head, "It's not that." Truthfully, her hands were just as rough as his, working in a bakery had given resulted in a fair share of scars. Arthur wrapped the linen around her fingers and palm, securing it in place with a small knot. He repeated the process on her left hand in mindful silence.

When he finished, he held onto her hand for a moment. "Thank you," Frida muttered in response, still feeling foolish she had tried to save the bread with her bare hands. Arthur nodded, rising to his feet to return the armful of supplies back to their places.

Frida stood too, smoothing down the front of her apron and shift. "I should be getting back." She moved to gather up her empty basket when Arthur gripped onto her wrist, not ready to see her go. He pointed over his shoulder at the old chess game tucked away in a corner. "Want to have a go?"

Between them was a chess board, neatly set with all the small, chipped, wooden pieces. Arthur steepled his fingers and looked down at the board with deep contemplation. "What if I win?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ida shook her head, stifling a bout of laughter. "You never win." If by pure luck alone, she had always been able to tell what his next move was and so he had yet to win one of their games. She doubted this time it would be any different. He always improved and had picked up a couple tricks, but Frida was always one step ahead.

"True," Arthur shrugged, "maybe I just need some motivation."

She sighed and leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms. "If you win?" She inquired. He tapped his chin as if in deep thought but then smirked. "You have to give me a fat kiss and pretend to like it."

Frida laughed. "And if I win you never say anything like that again," she countered, to which he agreed and so their game began. Time passed and pawns were removed from the board in a systematic way. Bishops and rooks joined the pile next until all that was left were five pieces between the two. Arthur had his queen and king. Frida had those two and a knight remaining.

Thinking he had the upper hand, Arthur moved his queen in place to check her king on her next turn, thinking that she would move the knight next. Frida smiled and slid her queen piece down the board. "Ha," she smirked, moving her queen in place to prevent his checkmate, "the Queen saves the King."