The Peasant’s Path to Wealth: A 14th Century Tale of War and Commerce

It was the late 14th century in England, and I, a son of a peasant farmer, found myself at a crossroads. My prospects of leaving my life tied to a plot of land and becoming a merchant seemed slim. However, one extraordinary opportunity emerged amidst the chaos of the ongoing 100 Years War.

The war was in full swing, and the king decided to launch a campaign to reclaim lost lands from the French. As a loyal peasant, I had practiced with my longbow every Sunday and Saint's day, fulfilling the law. When the call to arms sounded, I quickly assembled a group of fellow peasants, and together we set out to enjoy the fruits of the king's bounty – the best food, the finest ale, and even Bordeaux wine if we were lucky.

We brought our skills and luck to the battlefield. Learning the art of hand-to-hand combat, we charged headlong into France, indulging in the traditional "rape and pillage". Unfortune for any French peasants; if they remained, they faced a grim fate. However, the French king soon gathered his forces, outnumbering ours, and blocked our path home.

The French knights, draped in armor and wielding sharp weapons, seemed almost invincible. But our leader had knowledge that gave us an edge: the impact of a well-placed arrow storm. On his command, 'Nestroque!', we unleashed a barrage of arrows, each one fired at 250 meters, darkening the sky. The horses reared, the foot soldiers with inferior crossbows were trampled, and chaos reigned among the French ranks.

Quickly, a contingent of knights had turned our flank, and the ensuing battle saw a great deal of unpleasant screaming, bleeding, and dying. As the French retreated, we secured a valuable prize: a destrier, a war horse worth a great deal of money, and the rider himself, whom we turned over to our captain.

The French noble was taken to the king, who arranged a suitable ransom, from which we received a reasonable share. Additionally, we captured his armor, a costly piece of equipment, perhaps as valuable as a modern car. Relieved and enriched, we marched back home, where I declared, 'Dad, I have the spondoolicks. I’m not staying a peasant like you all my life.'

Dad, with a sigh, likely responded, 'Well done son, how about building a decent cottage, marrying a local lass, and employing a couple of the family to become a yeoman farmer.' But I envisioned something grand – heading to the local city, where I would purchase girls, small businesses, and an array of goods to sell to the townspeople. My father and less warlike brothers would continue their farming life.

That, of course, was if the French didn’t kill me in the front lines. But that was the risk I took. In the end, I not only became wealthy but also died of the plague or syphilis in the town, while my father and brothers remained in the countryside. This tale of a peasant’s journey to wealth and the trials and tribulations that came with it teaches us the precious value of opportunity and the risks that come with war.