John Paul Cacioppo

All I Can Offer You Are Complications

3: A Fine Soldier

1465 A.D.

They didn’t want to leave for another city, while she was pregnant, but Grigorii and his wife had to do so for his work. Being a fighting hand from a foreign country, the condontierre were afforded these sorts of liberties over his life. It wasn’t out of malice that the decisions was made, simply necessity; yet, the result was the same – Grigorii had to deliver his own baby while his wife leaned against the mossy stone of a farmer’s home. The farmer and his family allowed Grigorii this kindness due to the extremity of the situation, but to do anything more would be considered an insult to the farmer who considered those from the east, like Grigorii, to be worth less than the cattle.

This fact would be what remained in Grigorii’s mind, as he laid next to his deceased wife, holding their baby, after the birth. Even though the farmer’s wife pulled them inside the home to rest and eat, after the event. Even when she explained to him how to feed his baby with goat’s milk and a cloth, Grigorii could only hold a deep resentment for these people. The conqueror’s and the fighters, he understood. The way the blood boiled on the battlefield, he could comprehend the atrocities that led you there, but as he held his baby girl in his arms and left the farmer’s house the next day, he stopped to stare at his wife’s corpse. The farmer had said he’d tend to it, and yet, Grigorii could have sworn he saw pieces of her in the pigs pen and bits of her soul shredded the dirt and even her clothes, hanging of signposts like flags. It might’ve all been wrong and make believe, he couldn’t be sure, but he’d remember the smell of her corpse mixed with the farm, so whenever he neared anything that resembled this place, he’d go manic.

It would prove useful when raising money to feed his child. The way he conquered battles in the farmlands was, apparently, a sight to behold. He’d go again and again, finding his way to new condontierre whenever he must and always presenting himself as an asset with his blade. He’d be gone so much during those first years that he’d worry about whether he’d forget his own daughter’s name through the rage. It was always for her, his girl, his daughter, his love, but he’d never dare to speak his name, so that’s why he’d come to consider the injury a blessing. The way his back got thrown about and cracked would’ve killed most horse riders, and even though Grigorii has almost no recollection of this event either, he’d never want to stand near a moat ever again – that much he did know.

What he didn’t know, was what he would do to feed his daughter, Lily. At first he beggared, but as time went on and as his daughter grew older, he feared the mock stares that would come from a handful of unsavory men. Grigorii didn’t know enough of the language to be helpful in anything else, and his back only got worse with each day her grew older, so he decided to do the only thing he could. He traveled with Lily to find his old home, the home of his father and mother, where his whole family should be. Fortunately for him, he’d never get there, instead he’d find himself becoming the guard and attend to a wealthy land owner’s children. The exploits of Grigorii’s battles would have gotten him through that door, and his daughter’s charm would have kept them at this place, making it their new home.

Grigorii would never hear of what happened to his family after he’d left, and when he told stories to his daughter about them – he’d have them both imagine where they’d be now or who’d they become. As for his wife’s family, they had disowned her, but Grigorii still found it important to tell Lily about them and their ways, at least of what little he knew of it. It’s in this way, that the two of them would stay happy and in this way that Grigorii would try not to think of the horrors that life had bestowed him. Live in the moment and enjoy what you’re given: He’d cling onto that statement during his days with Lily, never realizing that it was his wife who’d said it on her last breath.

The whole birth was a fragmented mystery that would forever go unexplored in his mind, even when the world challenged him to think it through. There’d be two instances in particular where this would happen to Grigorii. The first would be when his daughter was pulled into her own marriage and eventually childbirth; the second would be when he found himself on his own deathbed, laying on a street that smelled just like a pig’s pen and damp clothes.

His daughter’s marriage would be first. She catch the eye of an older man, a noble, but Grigorii wouldn’t know this and neither would Lily – they’d only know about the noble’s employee who offered their hand in marriage, who was an exceptional young man and kind to everyone he passed by. This marriage would pull father and daughter apart, as she would be taken to the Papal States, further south, but Grigorii would trust this man to take care of her. He’d be there for the wedding, a simple affair, and then he’d be apart from his daughter for the rest of his life, only bound by the letters she’d send him via her husband’s own hand, which would then be read by Grigorii’s employer. Details would be tailored to the joyful when Grigorii told his employer what to writer her back. The letters sent would be short and infrequent. For Grigorii, it would be a matter of money – he’d save all his up to send messages when he could; for his daughter, he assumed the same.

The only times he truly had room to worry over his daughter would be when she announced a pregnancy. This would be the times that thoughts of his own daughter’s birth would creep up into his mind, which would prompt him to get on his knees and pray to the god he’d been told to pray to. He didn’t know this god’s name, nor did he truly come to understand its statutes, but he heard that they were powerful and that’s what he needed for his daughter. The prayers for her strength were endless, even growing to the point that he’d pray in his sleep, wake up with a prayer breathing off his lips, find the praying swirling inside his mouth as he tended to his duties. Most individuals would leave him to be on his own during this time, so it would be thought that with all of this thought and isolation that somehow, someway, the memories of his wife would come circling back, but they never took hold. Whenever they drew closer, he’d remember his daughter instead. Remember his daughter more fully than he ever did before, as if he forced her their as protection from some other memories.

The fondest way that he’d see his daughter in his mind would be as a little girl, searching out for flowers. She’s pick them up and pick off the petals, giving out thanks as she pulled each one, until the final petal hangs off the stem. She’d pause to make a wish, silently plucking that final one with a wide-eyed grin. The best way to remember her like this was for him to go in search of flowers and for him to go and do the same. This helped keep him on the earth, not straying too far from the loveliness of now and of the gift that was his daughter.

But even with all this, there was still the day of his death where he’d have to evade that memory of his child’s birth, once again. It was right after he’d had his employer write out a letter. This was not supposed to be the last, but it became just that when a pain sent Grigorii to the ground. The back that had given him so much trouble too over and gifted him pain from all over. He knew it was the injury, so he did nothing for it – just like he’d done for over twenty years. No one was around to see him struggle to stand up, or the way he walked the town or how he went to a pond for some water or how he fell over again and began to drown. If they had, they would have tried to call a doctor, but Grigorii was fine and got up once more and returned to the streets to get to his home, a small little abode. People could see him then and how he slowed. How his clothes were dripping wet and how his breathing became labored.

Something had gone wrong. Grigorii realized it when he closed his eyes for a moment and saw that farm and his wife. He pushed it away and fell to the ground where he saw a pig, sniffing its snout at his head. One of the locals gave a scream. Soon enough, there were many people around him and faces all around. Everything was pulling against him and soon he ran out of strength. He knew he was going to die. His wife was calling, her body decaying. Something sinister leapt at him, so he staved it off by thinking of a song his mother used to sing. His voice had disappeared by then, but he hummed it in his head until the world went dark. He smiled when he was dead, as if he had a secret to say.

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