The Tale of Rostefoe

An old man sat quietly by the side of a road, drinking from a flask and eating nuts from a cloth sack tied around his shoulder. He was neither vagrant nor gentleman but, rather, only a free man who sat biding his time. His hair was white and his features were marred with deep lines in his face and his nose was slightly disjointed as if it had been beaten many times throughout his life.

This was Rostefoe.

This day was like many others to Rostefoe. He sat, he drank, he slept. Between the drinking and sleeping, however, a most singular occurrence happened beginning with the appearance of three men from a bend in the road who proceeded to walk past the withered figure and disappear into the woods a short distance away.

He watched as these men passed him, for the manner in which they moved and acted demanded his attention. As much of an attraction they were to him, though, he did little to draw their concerns. Other than a sided glance or two, they passed him with little notice.

In his short time of study, Rostefoe took in several attributes of these men.

First, they walked closely together, moving along steadily and purposefully. Second, Rostefoe noticed that they were carrying a large compliment of things including weapons and ropes and sacks. Lastly, they were obviously up to no good. In the sided glances he could see the evil in their beaded eyes. They were roughly dressed and built more for the shadows than the woods.

They were not gentlemen, but thieves.

After the three men had disappeared into the brush, Rostefoe reclined back against his tree and took another drink from his bottle. This he followed by reaching across his breast with his right hand and removing several nuts from his pouch. These he chewed on slowly, thinking nothing more of the odd but minor events which were unfolding before him.

Just as he was about to set his head back and close his eyes, Rostefoe’s serenity was interrupted yet again. This time it was the repetitive clapping of horse’s hooves off in the distance. He tried to focus as the cloud of dust moved toward him, but it was some time before the carriage caught up with its sound.

"My, what a busy road this is!" he thought to himself.

And as the coach was nearly upon where he sat, a gruff looking man jumped out of the bushes and began shouting wildly. This caused the horses to panic, losing their pace and forcing them to reel upward. A second man ran out from the bushes and was on the driver, taking the reigns and forcing him off his perch so that he fell harshly on the ground.

The third man came around the back of the carriage, a short sword in hand, and met the first at the carriage door.

Rostefoe was surprised at the quick and efficient way in which these three men acted. Already, mere moments after the stopping of the carriage, the third man, who seemed the closest to being a leader, was calling the passengers forth.

"Out now- alla yeh. An’ ennyone who don’t do watta say is dead where ‘e stanns!"

The side door slowly opened and a blonde head poked its way out.

"Please, sirs, don't-."

But before the young fellow could finish, the thief grabbed him by his hair and pulled him out.

"Quiet, cur!"

The second thief planted his boot on the fallen passenger’s chest, pinning him to the ground, and lay the tip of his sword at his throat. The young man looked at the silvery blade, then up at his attacker who held a finger to pursed lips.

Suddenly, his hand fell limp and his mouth gaped. The third thief was quickly making his way down from the driver’s perch, his eyes never wavering from the open door. The leader took a step back and waited.