The Baker-Maid
While carting goods along the road, a maiden did espy
A soldier, weakness in his limbs, and pain there, in his eye
So she to him did bring her goods (a baker-maid was she)
And so she thought to strengthen him with breads and fine pastry
“Nay, bring me not thy pastries fine,“ did come the soldier’s cries
And with a start the baker-maid did look on him, surprised.
“Lord I had thought thee lacked the strength, such vehemence to show.
Thy limbs, they fail. Thy life, it fades. How can one such say no?
“It is some strength I offer thee, The chance to rise renew’d
Why, how can one as starved as thee refuse to take my food?“
The soldier, weary as he was, reached out his hand and said,
“I ask where was this bounty when my liege Lord went unfed?”
He lay back down and closed his eyes. The girl, she thought him gone,
But as she turned he spoke again. His tale he carried on.
“Our foes they had entrenched themselves. Our castle was surrounded.
Our noble King called men to arms. The battle horn was sounded.
“Into the night the swords they rang, the arrows sick as flies.
But all they had to do was wait, and stop up all supplies.
The story here, gets hard to tell. The mem’ries fall behind,
For when the body starts to fade, so too then does the mind.
“But finally, in direst straits, my king did deign to parlay,
Beginning with his first demand: some wheat, perhaps some barley.
Victorious, our conqueror turned us out to the street,
And I, for my defeated Lord, begged of his men some meat
“Without some food, we’ll not get far. You’ve won, spare him,” I said.
“You have his fort, his land, his pride, must he as well be dead?”
With arrogance of vict’ry born, they laughed and turned away.
All but for one who’s kindly heart did on his conscience play.
“With a quick look all around to be sure none would see,
A loaf of bread pulled from his pack, discreetly tossed to me.
I quickly hit it in my coat and from that place we went.
That loaf of bread, though dry and stale, was truly heaven sent.
“My king I served and followed till his mother's kin we found.
He lives yet though but for that bread, he’d now be in the ground.
And I, myself, as you find me, so weak and almost dead,
Shall not presume to dine on food more fine than my king’s bread.”
The last words of his sad tale said, his eyes, they seemed to dim
He gestured to the maid once more, a sign to harken him.
“My life, I fear, is at an end. I’m weary to the bone.
My Lord is safe and, oh my heart! I'll never more see home.
“Save thy bread, fair maiden, but this pledge I’d ask of thee;
If thou should meet one in dire need, please, with the thy bread, be free.”
With the setting of the sun, both light and soldier passed.
And when the maid laid him to rest, he’d found some peace at last.
Now, when the baker-maid went home she took his pledge to heart.
As well, she also told the tale to all who stopped her cart.
Now there are many others who have vowed that they will, too.
And as my tale comes to its close, I ask the same of you.
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