Throwback Thursday: The Best Booty

He'd been a duke, but had been left for dead
Upon the battlefield, where all had failed
To save the land from raiders. Now his red
And battered body is all ours -- not jailed,
But put to work, a carl in northern fields
Of stony earth, so cold and wind-swept. Luc,
His hands without a sword, each day, must yield
To hauling on a plow until he pukes
Or passes out. Look now on him. Does fear
Or pity move you? Would it change if you
Knew he'd once sold whole villages of folk
To slavery, like he endures? Too few
Learn how it is to live without the cloak
Of privilege that birthright makes. Don't give
Your tears to him. Enough we let him live.