Wheel of Fortunatus

The castle’s large portico creaked and groaned from the weight of the sturdy wood. The grand entrance opened on a small bridge that spanned the marshy moat surrounding the Castle. The clear passage now endured the theatrical display of Sir Richard Moncton as he strutted across, pomposity dripping from his outlandish costume. This was the latest fashion worn by the court: completely out of place in the country side, this pretender to the style of rich and important men, tried his best to imitate a courtier. However you stretched your imagination, Muncton did not match the opulent clothing. He was in a good mood, for tomorrow was the day he left for Cornwall to collect his yearly stipend of 3 thousand gold sovereigns. His ridiculous stride always prompted snide comments behind his back.


With acres of fertile fields, a community of free and endentured serfs to till the land, he was in a good position. A lovely dense forest provided room for private hunting, and he was promised the yearly allowance, just because he was in the right place at the right time. He wanted more, and tried to make a profit selling his crops at the market. A pinchpenny by nature, he was well known for ordering a whipping for the smallest infraction. The other day he had a man he had known for a long time whipped for eating a carrot because he was starving. Moncton barely gave his serfs enough to live on. His hard features squinting in the sunshine, he marveled at how quickly fortune changed. Fate changed his entire life, for he was born into fielty, toiling for a hard master in fields similar to his own. Muncton learned how to treat serfs from that man; he now realised the different lives they had. He was a landowner now; propriety demanded he act like the gentry.

Muncton’s life changed three years ago. He stumbled across the aftermath of a vicious highway robbery, and rescued the wounded man in the carriage. He uncoupled the horses, carefully secured the victim a horse, then rode as fast as he could for the nearest town, London. The King’s own Physician, Dr. Theodore De Mayerne saved the lad, who was actually Lord Salisbury’s son, Charles, a high-ranking member of the peerage. Salisbury was overwhelmed with joy, thanking Muncton for his humanitarian act. To show his appreciation, he gave Muncton one of his Castles. A generous man, Salisbury gave him a rather stately home called Cardiff Manor, a fief with one thousand acres, along with a yearly allowance of 3,000 gold sovereigns. Muncton couldn't believe his luck. Now he was the master, woefully filled with a long term sense of rage. Some might have remembered their humble origins, but Cardiff’s new Knight was a greedy parvenu, instantly thinking how his new fortune would fulfill his dream.

The next day broke overcast, and threatened rain. He dressed quickly and went downstairs to meet his carriage and driver, who had been ordered to be ready at first light. He glanced at the dreary sky, grumbled a good morning to the waiting driver and slammed the carriage door. The carriage rumbled away, leaving Cardiff behind, and Muncton settled down to read a book. To move in rich company, one had to be cultured and educated; still struggling to read, he worked hard at learning the social graces. Refinement and sophistication were a necessity for his aspirations.

They arrived at Cornwall, and Sir Muncton received his bag of gold, engaged in brief chit-chat, then hurried to his coach and started the trip back, hoping to avoid the rain. The sky looked black and ominous, so they began their return trip trying to beat the rain. After a mad dash across the countryside, they just entered the hilly woods of Cardiff Manor when the clouds opened and unleashed a downpour.

Winding their way through the narrow forest lane, Muncton yelled for the driver to hurry. Puddles and muddy slopes were forming. The driver ran the team all out, as per his master’s wishes, and he knew the man's brutality. Soon they approached a steep incline with a sharp turn at the bottom. The driver tried braking against the carriage’s wild momentum, but the cab’s speed pushed it out of control when they came to the turn at the bottom. He tried to make the turn, but the carriage hit a rock and flipped over.

The driver was instantly crushed and Sir Muncton was trapped in the shattered cab, a sharp piece of wood piercing his ribs. Trapped and in pain, he plaintively called for help. Despite his injuries, he still clutched his precious gold to his side. An hour later, someone appeared. Soaked to the skin, Muncton could barely recognize Warren Penrose, the serf he had flogged the other day for eating a carrot.

“Well now,” drawled Penrose, looking over the scene, “we seem to be in a bit of a situation. My lucky day, and fortune let you run out. Eyeing the bag of gold under Muncton’s arm, Warren clucked, “Terrible accident.” Reaching in to take the bag, he mused, “With this and that hoard stashed in your room, I’ll have enough to make me a regular ‘Gentleman’...Looks like I found Fortunatus’s purse." He leaned into the cab and whispered in Muncton’s ear. “Fate’s strange: here one day and gone the next,” He grabbed the thick splinter, and firmly thrust it into Muncton’s heart, killing him instantly.

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...