The brigands had captives from several villages nearby. We brought them to the Camp.
There are many who have moved to the security of the Campfire and Camp this morning. Many of them have been robbed and terrorised by the brigands.
Word of last night’s raid moved fast. It has been the topic of conversation all afternoon
Inspired by our success, there is talk from some small farmers of banding together and standing up for themselves.
I have heard tell that when common people become committed to a cause, it is time to pay attention. I do not have anything in my heart for these robbers and they need to be removed if there are any left.
We led the captives to the Camp last night. We offered food and shelter. They can come and go as they please provided they follow the rules of the Camp.
There is room enough if they wish to stay. It is almost time to plant winter wheat and garlic.
I wonder where the Man with the Shepherds Crook went. I dropped by his place and he was not there. Perhaps he is at the church he asked about.
I would like to see him around the campfire more often. Perhaps I will have to schedule a regular time where I visit.
He was the true driving force behind our raid. He planted a seed.
Where are my manners? Sit, have a cup of coffee. Mine is hot, black, and bitter.
The Bard approaches. A moderate size group has gathered. He is in the mood to sing. He does so with energy and with power.
He was in fine spirits after the battle and he is tuning his instrument.
Sing I have dear Brother,
Sit down tight, I’ll sing another
The young men they did fight,
With power and with might.
The thieves they have been slain
The blows an endless rain.
The cowards they were caught,
From Grandma they did steal,
They should have cooked a feast,
For they ate their last meal.
Who robs a dead man’s tooth and cane?
Who would do our ancients shame?
We don’t know, we did not shake their hand or greet,
We simply introduced fallen head to feet.
The Bard’s song,
The young men vigor,
Sing long tale of
Courage and rigor.
Today we honor those who served,
Living and fighting,
And those whose death was not deserved. ( not in this case!)
I speak of the Warriors of the Camp,
Who live by a creed and keep lit the lamp,
Of freedom to live without fear or despair,
The Warriors protect us,
For them do lift a prayer.
Blood on the soil,
Feeling alone,
Our Warriors do fight,
So we can call this place home.
Author: Benjamin
Benjamin Thiel is a husband, father, correctional professional and author of The Ongoing Tale at Brothers Campfire.
The Bard seems appropriately named.