Hero: A short Story

I wrote this story a few years ago for fun. I almost used it for my Intro to the Arts class project. When I opted for a different story, this story remained unread. I feel bad that it has remained alone for so long . So today I will post it, without further ado. The Hero.
I found her on the side of the road. The rain had nearly pulled her limp body down into the rank sewer. The layers of muck and mildew seemed to coat all of her skin. I knew I could lose my station for carrying her home to my master's house, but I could not leave her out there to die. I thought maybe I could treat her in my quarters, but she needed a healer’s skill. With all the courage I could muster I brought her before my master to beg him to save her. My master asked me how I knew the thing in my arms was a woman. I told him that I could tell by the softness still in her face. My master asked me why someone washed away by the gutter deserves to live. I replied because we do not have the right to deal out death to such an innocent. My master praised my words and ordered his maidservants to take the woman from my arms. It was only then that I felt discomfort in the dampness that was residing in my clothes.

It has been three weeks now and only now have I been given permission to see her. I march up the marble stairs to the second floor. I pass by many single doors leading to small bedchambers reserved for the servants of visiting guests. However, at the end of the hallway stood double doors, suddenly a fear grips me. I know not why. I reach my hand out to pull open the door only to have it burst forth on its own. Light floods the floor before me. I strain my eyes to see. The window behind a large oak bed is wide open, and its white cotton curtains blow wistfully in the breeze, as well as an enchanting lock of warm brown curls across a pale face. She smiles as a person does when new life is brought into this glum world, I wonder how such a thing is possible. She is so lovely, as lovely as the women of the courts of Florence. If not more so.

It has been yet another three weeks and the lady I found has yet to be discharged from my master’s care. I see her rarely. She smiles at me closed mouthed with healthy pink lips. I remember that when I found her they were a bluish white. It may seem odd but I find myself embarrassed to think of the day I found her. To think I had carried such a lady? I wonder why my master has not released her. If she has no place to go why has he not employed her among his servants? I asked if it had been discovered that she was a lady of good blood. My fellow keeper scoffed at me and made a crude comment referring to our master's blood. It has been hours now since he said those words to me and they still irk me! Surely, Master will release her soon.

The battle has reached the western front. Our fair city is now being filled not only with refugees, but wounded soldiers as well. There is fear that diseases will start to spread. The Master has taken care that his household has limited contact with the city. I, for one am totally forbidden from entering. Since rescuing the fair lady I am known mockingly as “hero."

Six months from the day when I found my fair lady a great banquet was held. It was supposedly in honor of the end of the war. I was pleased to have an evening off, and I was not going to trouble myself with the festivities, until I was told by a kitchen maid that my fair lady was to be attending. I had scarcely seen her in months. I had to attend. Surely she would be seated with the household women. It would not be terribly against decorum to speak to her in passing if she sat there. When I arrived at the banquet she was nowhere to be seen. I felt pain. I was startled at this. Then I remembered the moment when I carried her life in my hands. I was afraid she would die before I could get her home. I could hear my own heart beating loudly in my head. I remembered how I had hoped that her heart was still beating. I even had the idiotic notion that maybe by virtue of the fact that my heart was beating hers would too. Oh look, my Master has made his grand entrance. It cannot be...

A wedding is considered a joy. The city is rejoicing and relishing the gossip over the identity of the bride. I loathe their prattle. You should hear the things they say! They claim that my Master found her half-drowned in a brothel. They call her whore and harlot. Even those that defend her do not do her justice. They claim she comes from an ancient royal family, and that she has a secret map tattooed on her to untold treasures. They are disgraceful! Vile! Evil! Oh how could she be any of those things? She cannot be, can she?

It is odd. Today is my Masters wedding day. I should be happy to have a new... Well when the last mistress died things were never as nice around here. So this is a good thing. However, he could have asked me. After all I am the one that brought her to him. She has no Father to ask. He ought to have asked me! Me? A common man, that has nothing to offer a bride? Did I say bride? I meant, well, it does not matter what I meant.

The hour draws near and I have been sent to tend to the garden terrace. I guess today everyone has forgotten that I am not the gardener. I arrive, clippers in hand ready to trim the massive amount of vines that twist and creep around the terrace. To my astonishment I see my gentle fair lady sitting alone. I drop my clippers. She laughs lightly, and proceeds to my horror to stand up and then bend down to reach for the clippers! I quickly snatch them up. "After all mi lady it is not your place to be touching grimy things like me. I mean like these. Those have been touched by me and that made them grimy to begin with because they were clean because they had not been used today and..." I stopped talking. Her eyes look sad. Not like they did the day I saw her first well. That day they were radiant.
"I want to thank you again for rescuing me."
Air swirled in my wind pipe causing a guttural wheezing noise to exit my mouth. Yet she continues.
"I was ready to die that day. Years before my parents had left me in the care of one of our vanquished enemy households. Not a household like this but an ordinary family. I lived with them until the grain rationing. They required me to work very hard to obtain my share of bread. I have never been very strong. I could not work hard enough to earn bread. So I ran away to the woods hoping maybe I could live off of wild berries I used to find as a child. That was fine for a few nights. Then the rains came, and the only warm dry places were in the bandit camps. So I chose to die that day rather than to be taken in as a woman for the bandits. At first I thought I would freeze to death, but then the stream flooded. Its current took me away. That is when I thought that I would drown. Little did I know that I had been taken into the city? The first thing I remember after that is the feel of your breath. It was first warmth that I had felt in a long time. Do you remember what you said to me?"
I shake my head as though I was trying to rattle out the memory. "I did not know I said anything."
Her eyes lost their sadness as she said "You said 'God please save her. I want her to live.' You said it over and over again." The sadness in her eyes return."Moments from now I wed. After the celebration the master and I are going to live in the west."
I wonder at this. It will be dangerous to live in reclaimed territory. Why would the master want to risk her life?
"I chose what household I desired to become mistress over. I chose it in the hopes of finding my family. I have no ties here."
A bubbly lump of blue poison stirred up at these words, but as though her mouth dripped magic she banished that grief with these words.
"My only tie is to you. You renewed my faith in God and people. I am most honored to have been in your presence, and though I will receive a high status in this world upon my marriage to the master of this land that status is nothing next to a heroic heart."
These words are too much to bear, and if we were to be seen alone together what then?
"I see that I have upset you. I am sure it is because of your humility, and sense of propriety. Please remember I am just a common girl that does not know her place."
At this I gained my words. I told that she spoke the truth in part. She was right when she said that she did not know her place. I told her she did not belong next to our noble master, but next to great Kings. I told her how her graceful gentleness to household servants had raised the moral of everyone during her months with us. I told her that it was an honor for me to have carried her.

She smiled, but there were tears in her eyes. Did I offend? I hope not. No wait she has taken my hands in hers. How are they still soft after so many struggles? Perhaps she really is a princess. Is she speaking again? What did she say? Or is God showing me mercy by making me deaf?

I did not tend to the terraces. I did not attend the wedding.

It has been years now. I have not seen her since that day on the terrace. However, I have received letters telling me of her. They are from her children. Every few years I receive a letter from one of them in honor of their birthdays. The letters thank me for being a hero.