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In the King's service

by Johnny Crimson

"Egg peeling,
tis tedious work."
Cragali Sentall thought as she performed the meticulous duty,
the shell fragments littering the hiding places of her robe
as she cracked the eggs in her small but sturdy hands.

"Oh what father would think of me now." She thought.
Though she had never truly known her father, it was a pleasant thought
to think him some gallant Knight of the realm or perhaps a Lord, or even
a squire would do. She wouldn't and hadn't entertained the thought of a
low born man, of a lesser house, and certainly her father couldn't have been
a free rider or sellsword, or lastly some dreaded criminal.

Fantasizing about her lineage and the ancestry of the Sentall name
was all she could do to keep herself from cracking, much like these 9 dozen eggs
that now lay bare before her.

After all, it was a miracle she even came to know her last name,
as those in the King's service seldom had family names at all.
It was understood when they took the Servant's Oath
that all named properties and possessions, titles and holdfasts
be surrendered at once.

Though her lucky fortune of knowing her true full name
did not reward her any pleasantries here,
she often found solace in the fact that she was somehow luckier
than the lot around her.

She told herself these lies
as certain members of the King's Guard
took her, in the hen's coop, beneath the great stairs.
Groups of four and sometimes as many as nine or ten men
would have her in turns.

Bloodied, weary and delusional she'd sit.
Was it the morning after, or perhaps days had passed,
she could not know.
Cragali sat in her bloodied robe
cracking and peeling the King's eggs as she hummed
her fantastic lullaby in her feathered prison.

"I'm Cragali Sentall, of house Sentall of the Fevered Keep.
Like my father before me, I am true and brave.
I'm Cragali Sentall, of house Sentall of the Fevered Keep.
Like my father before me, I am true and brave."

Her father, who only went by the name Henhauler,
sighed as he placed more chickens into the coop.
He glanced at his deranged daughter and thought to himself.
"We are no one, her and I. If only she could realize that."




09/17/2014

Posted on 09/17/2014
Copyright © 2024 Johnny Crimson

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 09/21/14 at 12:19 AM

A very tragic tale apparently of medieval times. Life was cheap and women's lives cheaper!

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