Hot blood gushed towards white sheets held high by the lucky onlookers from the first rows. Applause rolled from the front of the stage to the back, followed by cheers and shouts from tens of throats as the head hit the desks with a wet thud.

"He did it! He did it! One cut!" the bookmakers cried out with excitement and joy. Some were already calculating the income they made today. Very few gamers bet on the young lad's first attempt, most were predicting three, four or even five blows of the heavy axe.

Women gathered in small groups already started commenting on the main character of today's show.

"He got some muscles, right? Look at those arms and chest. How old is he now? Sixteen? Seventeen?"

"Seventeen, more or less. I don't think it's appropriate for a headsman to smile like that, don't you think? He should remain professional."

"You can't expect him not to feel proud. He performed excellently. Didn't even shake a bit."

"Didn't he? I was not looking. It's too much for me to look at. All this blood and the head... awful."

"You don't mind blood when you chop off chickens' heads."

"There's a difference between animal blood and human blood. He killed a man."

"That is a lot of exaggeration. He raped and murdered this little girl last month. I wish they tortured him first."

"Yes, why didn't they? Isn't it required from executioners?"

"It is not. The previous one was doing that but Cyril does not. It's not compulsory but that's why he never earns good money."

"There is a torturer in Marcusville."

"That's far. The victim's family wanted the murderer to be killed quickly."

"Look at his smile. He's so young. You wouldn't want him to be a torturer."

"He's already an executioner. Not much difference for me. I know he's young and we've known him since he was born. Still... an executioner. Why did he want to be one?"

"He didn't. There was no choice for him. They don't have a farm or land, they don't have money for an apprenticeship. He grew up looking at his father killing and burying the bodies, he's used to all that. Like you are used to killing and gutting chickens."

"But still, to kill a man..."

"He raped and murdered a child. I would like to put a knife in someone like that. Basil got the part many would like to do."

"Why didn't he let the scum suffer under his blade?"

"Come on, he needed to prove himself! It was his final test. He wanted to do a clean cut and he did it! I'm so proud of our little Basil."

"Not so little. But you're right, he's not as tall as his father."

"Glory be to God that he doesn't take after his mother!"

All the women laughed thinking about Anne, the old executioner's wife.

After the crowd dispersed, some people started approaching Basil with congratulations. The convict's body was still lying on the desks, his head was put in a basket and taken away by soldiers garrisoned in the town. It will be stuck on a spear and presented to the onlookers at the Gates with a board stating his crime. The body will be taken shortly by Basil and Cyril, the two town's executioners, and buried outside the walls in an unmarked grave.

Some of the people congratulating Basil were genuinely happy about how the execution went, but many were just making fun. Basil, in his teenage naivety, didn't notice sarcasm and bad jeering. He smiled and nodded at everyone feeling proud that his hands remained stable, his mind stayed clear and he was focused all the time. The applause still rang in his ears, he truly believed he did something he could be proud of. The years of practising on animal corpses and recently on two hanged looters paid off. What also helped, something nobody knew about, was sword fighting lessons with his father, away from the passersby's eyes. They did not have a real sword, they used wooden sticks and iron bars.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

His father wished for Basil a different path. His only surviving son practised fighting since he was ten and learnt everything about his family. He knew his father's story and no detail was kept a secret. Basil knew the house and land in Agrippina Minor was his by right but not by law; he knew he would be in a military school for highborn sons if it wasn't for a certain judge who instead of seeing his father's deed as a "provoked accident" decided to use his power for personal profit and convinced the rich man that he disliked.

Born and raised in poverty but surrounded by love, Basil did not think of his low status as something affecting his life. For Cyril it was different. He was watching his son exhibiting the characteristics of a knight and nobleman, with a sharp mind, gentle heart, conscious soul and strong will. He wished for him to make his path towards a better life yet the years were passing and there was no hope for his family to miraculously change the fate. His children's future was bound by the sentence that was passed twenty years ago. Basil had no chance to become a knight or get a formal education. But the boy grew up watching executions, having seen all those is such a young age made him immune to the sight of blood, splashed brains and hearing convicts' screams. It did not take away his compassion either. If there was anyone who would be a perfect executioner it would either be a heartless murderer or... someone like Basil. That's why the decision was made. Cyril's son needs to start earning money. He will not dine on his honour or pride. He needs coins to live. He needs to earn them somehow.

One hour later the place was quiet. People went back to their homes, two or three started setting stalls for tomorrow's market. Some rooks followed the severed head, some other kind returned to planning their business. The priest was the last to leave the blood-soaked platform. He said quietly a prayer for the man's victim and then for the murderer. Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine. God the Father and the Holy Spirit. His mind drifted away from today's event, the priest remembered his youth, when his faith was not so deep as is now, and he almost, just almost joined a heretical sect of Trinitarians who believed there are three Persons of the Almighty. Three! How could he believe such nonsense!

His mind drifted away again towards the last Saturnalia. It was so cold that December that two criminals didn't survive a night in frozen cells. There was a discussion about what to do with the bodies, as they couldn't according to some law, belong to the executioner. The problem was solved by undiggible soil. Nobody wanted to deal with the dead women till thawing weather so they were presented to Cyril the executioner in his remoted shack.

The priest took the last look at the paddle of blood. The cleaners with buckets of water were approaching from the well. He stepped down and soon disappeared from view. He was not the main character in this show.