The spring earth had been turned several times and was now soft and loose. It was ready for sowing.
Grain after grain of wheat was scattered into the soil, then carefully covered. The farmer's rough, scarred hands dared not neglect a single one. He covered every seed himself. The weather had been dry these past two days, with no rain at all. There was not really enough moisture in the soil to keep the seeds alive.
But the lords above him had run out of patience. They would not tolerate their slaves dawdling like this. How could such a small amount of work still not be done after two whole days? They could not understand it...
As punishment, all their tools had been taken away. And they had to sow the seeds today...
Running his hand through the dry soil, how could the slave not know how few seeds would survive if planted like this...? His only option was to water as much as he could while sowing, keeping the soil moist. But under the sun, it would soon dry out again...
There was nothing else he could do. Most of the grain would be taken away, but what remained was his only means of staying alive and feeding his family... He had to make the seeds sprout. He had to make the crops bear grain.
With two wooden buckets, he brought water from the river and slowly poured it onto the ground. Hunger gnawed at his stomach. His whole body felt weak and sore, but he dared not pause even for a moment. What was growing in this soil was not seeds, but life. Fragile life that had to go on.
Caravans large and small flowed endlessly in and out of the city. They would take great quantities of grain from here to other places ravaged by war or famine. A single round trip could more than double their money.
Even after all the costs, large and small, of hiring guards and buying supplies, they could still make a great deal of money.
The city was so prosperous. Banners of every kind filled its battlements, and its marble walls were as white and bright as clouds. But none of it had anything to do with them...
Merchants carried away the grain they grew, cartload after cartload. They could barely get by on the pitiful little left over. Or rather, even being allowed to live was a gift from their masters.
He could not let his thoughts wander anymore... It would delay his work. Then, even if he escaped his master's whip, he would starve to death.
The two wooden buckets were large and heavy. A wooden pole passed through the middle, with iron nails sticking out to keep the buckets from sliding. Together, he and his wife could carry two buckets of water. That was enough to soak one twentieth of the field.
To keep all the seeds alive, they would have to water the whole field three times, without stopping...
They had already put every ounce of strength into the work, but plenty of water still spilled from the buckets. It made the slope up from the riverbank terribly wet and slippery. To keep from falling, he had simply left off his crude straw sandals and stepped barefoot onto the stony ground beside the river.
Years of hard labor had covered his feet in thick calluses. At least the stones would not cut them and make them bleed.
Trip after trip, the darker color of damp soil gradually spread across the field. By the time he raised his head, the first patch they had watered had already turned pale again.
He let out a long breath, as though trying to squeeze something out of his lungs. He was just about to go back to the river with his wife for more water when hurried hoofbeats suddenly sounded from the road...
A cavalryman with blood and grime all over his face was desperately whipping his warhorse. His comrades were doing the same. Every one of them was terrified out of his wits. Their whips had already lashed the horses' rumps raw and bloody, yet they still thought they were too slow and kept shouting for more speed.
The neat, clean green cloaks, covered in embroidered patterns, were now stained with blood. That shocking, glaring red made the slave's eyes widen. As though by some inborn instinct, he suddenly sensed that something was about to happen...
The soldiers guarding the gate stared at the knights in disbelief. Only yesterday, they had been so splendid. How had they ended up like this? Still, the guards hurriedly cleared the checkpoint and sent the merchants' caravans aside to wait.
The bedraggled cavalrymen charged through the gate as though their lives depended on it. They shouted in panic, each yelling something different. Their voices tangled together until no one else could make out what they were trying to say.
They rode headlong through the streets to the city's central square, then tumbled and scrambled off their horses. Only then did they regain a little calm and start shouting the same words together. Words that threw the city's people into chaos...
"The imperials are coming! The imperials are coming! The Empire's cavalry have fought their way here!"
The dozen or so cavalrymen paid no more attention to the uproar in the marketplace. But the city's nobles and merchants hurried over, surrounded them, and began asking questions all at once. Every face was filled with alarm.
At the news that war had come, these slave owners, who had lived in luxury without ever worrying about food or clothing, felt their hearts skip a beat. Something like an inborn instinct drove them to seek out more news.
"What happened? You've only been gone a day! How did you end up like this?!"
"What did you run into?! Where is the imperial army now? Where are the others? Where's my son?!!"
...
The cavalrymen were already at a loss, not knowing what to do. Now these nobles and merchants were blocking their way. Worse still, they were people of high standing. The men could only try to explain, all talking at once.
When they reached the horrors they had encountered in the valley, the nervous cavalrymen were suddenly overcome by fear and grief. Some even burst into loud sobs right there in the square, without a thought for how they looked.
The survivors' accounts were confused and unclear, yet everyone who heard them felt cold all over...
The marvelous human imagination played a crucial role at that moment. Each person arrived at their own version of the answer, and the whole city began descending into chaos.
Merchants who had still been doing business hurriedly packed up their stalls and moved their goods somewhere safe.
Citizens who had been shopping for food began frantically buying up whatever the market had. The soldiers guarding the city moved from place to place on their officers' orders.
Pots, bowls, ladles, basins and all sorts of other things clattered together across the city. Fear and panic made everyone turn on one another. Dozens of violent incidents broke out in an instant. Plenty of people seized the chance to profit from the confusion or loot in the chaos...
Some of the older people turned pale. They realized what terrible disaster was about to strike. Not the imperial troops, who were still nowhere to be seen, but the city itself, already in turmoil...
No one knew why it happened, but once this kind of disorder began in a city, it would soon become a terrible riot. Neighbors who were normally gentle and polite would turn into lawless mobs, setting fires and looting at will...
Just as the garrison was preparing to act, their fellow soldiers on the walls suddenly shouted in panic:
"Cavalry approaching! Cavalry approaching! At least a thousand men!!"
At that, the whole city fell utterly silent. Everyone stared at him, their faces blank...
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