The scraping sound of a blade on a whetstone always put me at ease, the sharpening of my weapons had become an important daily ritual for me. My mother had always told me that a dull knife wouldn't cut even the softest purse and she took extra care to teach me how to maintain my blades when I was just a boy. I could still hear her voice, "Gilbert," she would tell me, "keep your eyes sharp and your daggers sharper. You never know when some fat merchant with more gold than he needs is going to take a wrong turn and give us an opportunity." Every morning now, I would maintain my weapons with the old whetstone she had given me, clear my head and enjoy the few precious happy memories I had of my mother.
Sometimes the bad memories would start to rear their ugly heads, unwanted flashes of what had happened forcing their way into my thoughts. I always took that as a signal to get on with the day, focus my mind on something more productive. Nowadays, something productive meant leaving my camp in the woods and heading to the road. I stood from the stump I was using as a rough stool and tucked my now razor sharp daggers away before grabbing my shortsword and setting off in the direction of the dirt track that connected the province's villages to the nearby city.
My well honed bandit senses had selected a good spot on the road, far enough away from the city of Helmstadt to avoid any serious guard patrols, but close enough to sometimes catch more lucrative prey like merchants or even minor nobles. Most of the time though, I would just catch poor peasants and farmers. They were easy to intimidate, but you could never take more than just a small percentage of their crop. Impoverished stick farmers don't have much to spare and if you take too much they'll be forced to choose between fighting or starvation and even the lowliest serf is dangerous when he's desperate.
Not to mention it was the mark of a good shepherd to shear his sheep, not slaughter them. An ugly low chuckle slipped from my lips. Nobles really weren't so different from a highwayman like me. We both coerced the poor and weak into sharing the fruits of their labors, I was just more honest about my robbery. Before long I had reached my current favorite spot. There was a huge old oak that sat right next to the road, its long limbs casting the immediate vicinity into dark shade and its thick trunk providing an excellent ambush location.
Taking position behind the old tree and hiding in its shade, I settled in to wait like a spider for whatever poor fly was next to come down my section of the road. Within an hour, I could see a single man leading an old draft horse down the road, a simple wooden cart hitched to the trotting workhorse. Just what I was waiting for. When the man came close enough, I drew my shortsword and slipped out from behind the trunk and caught him by surprise.
"There's a toll for passing through here friend." I growled, brandishing my sword and advancing on the man with deliberate steps.
"Please, don't hurt me!" The peasant stammered, clearly unarmed and unprepared to deal with an armed criminal. "I don't have anything valuable, just some vegetables and fruits!"
"Well then," I commanded, "kneel there and don't move. We'll see what you can afford to part with." Years of shaking people down had given me the ability to quickly assess what cargo people had and what valuables they might be hiding. The trembling farmer was indeed hauling produce, likely to the market in town. He had ten good sized baskets of various fruits and vegetables so I took one from his cart and set it on the side of the road, then made my way over to him. A dagger on his neck kept him compliant while I searched his pockets and the satchel he had slung over his shoulder.
Luckily for me, I found the silver necklace he had wrapped in a cloth and stuffed in his satchel. He whimpered as he watched me examine it, obviously it held some significance to him. It was a simple thing, a basic silver pendant on a chain, but it would have been quite valuable for just a farmer. "Where did you get this?" I pressed the distraught peasant.
"It was a gift!" He blubbered. "The lord gave it to me when I helped his son in a hunt. Oh please have mercy sir, I was going to give that to my wife!"
"You're lucky she isn't with you," I snarled, "or I would have taken her instead." The man fought back tears as I pocketed the necklace and went to retrieve the basket I had left on the road. "Looks like you've paid the fine. Now get lost." The man hopped up and continued to lead his horse and cart down the road, fearfully glancing over his shoulder at me as he moved further and further away before disappearing around a bend in the path.
With my ill-gotten goods in hand I set off back to my camp, eager to disappear into the woods in case the farmer reported the incident and some novice guard was sent to poke around for a bit as a token response. Dinner that night was quite a bit better than usual, the fresh vegetables making for a rather nice stew. With my belly full and the day's larceny done, I lounged near the small campfire I kept and relaxed, idly pulling out the necklace I had liberated from the poor peasant.
For a rather simple piece of jewelry, it was still quite beautiful. A silver chain with a matching silver heart functioning as a pendant. My mind wandered and I could picture the farmer's wife that he had meant to give the necklace to. She would be a comely woman, her body healthy from working the fields and nicely filled out from enjoying the bountiful harvests. The farmer would give her the pendant and she would wear it proudly, showing off the rare sign of wealth to the other women and displaying her generous cleavage in the process.
I snapped out of my daydream and sighed heavily, cursing my luck. The necklace was nice, but if I had been truly lucky, I would have got my hands on that farmer's wife! My cock twitched at the thought of the things I would do to her and my body yearned for the soft touch of a nubile woman. Someone to tidy the camp and cook the food I stole, someone to sleep with during the cold nights and talk to when the woods became silent and foreboding.
Life had been lonely since I lost my mother. She had been the only person in my life that I trusted, the only person that looked out for me and cared about my health. She had raised me in the poor part of the city, stealing and cheating and lying just to keep us fed. She was my guardian and my tutor, teaching me the art of pick-pocketing and how to handle a dagger from a very young age. When she was taken from me, I learned that the world was a cruel place, where the powerful abused the weak and only those willing to fight dirty survived.
Gradually I became conscious of the foul mood I had worked myself into and I went to my stump, producing the weathered old whetstone that was the only thing of my mother's that I had left. The bad thoughts were chased away as I poured my focus into the activity and organized my mental state. Eventually I managed to quiet my mind and I turned in for the night, wrapping up in the animal skins that rested on my bedroll.
Morning came and I went through my daily routine and chores, gathering firewood and water, eating breakfast and of course, sharpening my weapons. With the daily tasks done and my camp meticulously managed, I set off once again to the road, moving extra cautiously to see if any guards had come to chase me from my hunting ground. No one but the old oak greeted me when I arrived, the farmer either hadn't told anyone or more likely, the city guard was simply too busy or too incompetent to care.
Nibbling on some of the leftover stolen fruit, I huddled up with the old oak once more, waiting to see what fish I would catch today. Two or three hours later I could hear many feet marching and the clanking of metal arms and armor. Hastily I retreated into the woods, finding a more secluded hiding spot to watch the road from. Soon a troop of around a dozen soldiers marched down the road, serious looking halberds held high in their hands and heavy armor jostling as they went. Behind them a regal looking man on an armored warhorse followed along, the arrogance of a noble practically oozing from his pores.
Unconsciously my hand gripped a dagger, an impulse to kill the regal bastard flitting through my head before I quashed it. There was no way I could face off against a dozen royal soldiers and live. Patiently, I waited for the procession to pass, only relaxing when the sound of heavy boots faded away. I scowled as I looked down the way they had went, spitting on the ground for good measure. I hated nobles. Nobles thought they were better than everyone, thinking they had the moral high ground when they were just thieves and crooks like the rest of us. Nobles took more than the poor could give, nobles kicked people while they were down, nobles killed my-
Shaking my head, I collected myself. No good worrying about the past, I couldn't change it. I went back to the old oak and settled down, hoping less tenacious prey would come down the road. Sadly nothing did and when evening started to fade to night, I went back to the camp empty-handed. Such an outcome wasn't uncommon, so the little setback didn't bother me much, there was always tomorrow after all.
The next day I was back at the old oak, watching and waiting like always. Now a smart and energetic guard captain would notice that I was a creature of habit and have a trap waiting for me, but in all my years living in these woods, I had never seen much of a response from the city. My guess is that my thefts and robberies were small-time enough that they simply didn't think I was worth catching, which suited me just fine. Lost in thought, I almost didn't notice the horse and cart approaching, the clopping of the horse's hooves alerting me. When the cart came closer, I recognized the man driving it and stepped out from my hiding spot, raising an arm in greeting.
"Good morning Alberic!" I called out.
"Morning, Gilbert." Alberic replied, the merchant stopping his cart and hopping off. The cool and collected man fetched a small sack from his cart and handed it to me, the glass bottles within softly chiming as they were jostled about. Alberic had come down my road many times and after robbing him over and over, we had finally grown so used to each other that we sat down and hashed out an agreement. Alberic would bring me whatever sort of payment he could when he made a trip to the city and I would keep the road clear of any other thieves or brigands as well as sell him not-so-legal goods at an excellent price. Additionally, I would sometimes help protect his wares in town when the gangs were getting especially uppity and the city guard refused to lend him a hand.
