The Ransom

Hey, look what I found!”

A man brought his heavily burdened donkey to a halt and reached down to grab a small leather sack off of the cobblestone road before him. He and his traveling companion gazed at first curiously and then in delight as he upended the bag, from which cascaded a pile of heavy silver coins. He grabbed a handful and let them slide out of his grip as he greedily rubbed a few pieces together. The other man stood transfixed by the money. “We’re gonna split it fifty-fifty, right?”

The man with the bag gave him a withering look. “Not a chance; I barely had enough to make the journey to the feast last week. This donkey is the only thing I have to sell in the market today, and that’s only because my cousin gifted it to me out of pity. Your family is well off, while I need all the money I can get to survive, so this treasure is—”

But before he could say what exactly the treasure was, the man collapsed as the donkey suddenly lashed out with a vicious kick to the back. He gasped as he fell forward, smashing his head on a particularly sharp cobblestone. Fatally.

***

The other man pressed on through the town with his companion’s newfound riches, saddened by the death of his friend but unwilling to delay his journey, for he had important business to attend to. He passed other travelers and merchants and beasts of burden. He passed the marketplace, filled with fruits and herbs, healing balms and oils, clay pots and haggling customers. He passed dozens of rotting invalids huddled against the decrepit walls: leprous and lame and blind and with the palsy. He even passed soldiers and Zealots and Epicureans and publicans.

But the man took notice of none of these things, for his attention was utterly absorbed by the meager pile of coins he held in his hand like some enticingly priceless pearl. So fascinated was he by the currency that he unwittingly bumped right into something hard and metal. He looked up in surprise, the bag slipping out of his hands to the ground with a regretful jangle. Before him was an armored soldier glaring down at him as if the man had just murdered his son.

“You there,” the soldier barked, gripping him roughly by the shirt. “A witness just reported finding a peasant dead on the street with no money on his person. He also mentioned sighting another man hurrying away with a sack of coins and a donkey. What do you have to say for yourself?”

The man was frozen in shock. He’d been caught in unfavorably suspicious circumstances; even he had to admit with the donkey and money in hand there would be a strong case for his guilt in slaughtering an innocent traveler. There was only one thing for it.

He ran.

Sprinting back through the marketplace, he scarcely made it to the oil lamps before finding himself on the ground with a spear thrust through his heart from behind.

***

The soldier laughed to himself as he tossed the sack of coins in one hand, strolling up the road leading to the next village through the warm night. These scraps of metal weren’t worth much to him alone, but a little hazard dice with his fellow soldiers could, with a little luck, multiply his earnings quickly.

Passing between two steep, sandy ridges, he abruptly stopped and drew his sword. He could have sworn he’d heard something from over the two ridges. Nothing moved or made a sound for minutes. No matter. He moved on warily with his sword in one hand and treasure clutched to his chest in the other.

A host of black silhouettes leapt and crawled over the ridges on both sides of the road and ambushed the soldier, killing him mercilessly and leaving his corpse destitute of valuables.

***

The turbaned leader of the bandits examined the bag of silver that had now been won with death five times. He counted the pieces: 26…27…28…29….

“You!” He rasped, grabbing the arm of the nearest man.

“Yes, sir?”

“Take these and toss them into the depths of the well.”

“But sir—”

“DO IT.” The bandit gave no further explanation, merely waiting impatiently until his henchman went off to carry out the deed. He breathed out in relief, for the man had heard stories of recent events, and he would sooner hang himself on a tree than accept the curse of a God-forsaken bounty.