Yulia could not estimate how long she had collapsed there, in the middle of that field, sobbing her heart out. Tears, mixing dust and blood, had traced deep furrows on her cheeks. Her linen dress, once a simple work outfit, now looked like an old heap of rags. As she wiped her face, she realized that her hands were smeared with blood.

With extreme difficulty, she tried to gather her courage and carefully stood up, scanning over the wheat spikes. In the distance, she saw familiar silhouettes, fellow villagers working under the same scorching sun. She knew that if she showed herself to them in her current state, she would stir up questions she could not answer.

Gossip would spread quickly in their small community, and she risked becoming an outcast, especially if it was learned that he had abused her, they would see in her nothing more than a defiled woman. Moreover, she knew that Joe had influential friends in the village - friends who might seek revenge. Finally, she didn't have the strength to move Joe's body without drawing attention.

Fleeing seemed at that moment the only rational decision available to her. With a painful sigh, she began to crawl on the ground, scraping her knees against the dry earth. The incessant stridulations of the cicadas, coupled with the frantic beat of her heart, caused an unbearable migraine in her.

Yulia moved like this over several rows, distancing herself from Joe's lifeless body. The dryness of her mouth made her almost nauseous, she forced herself to swallow, despite the metallic taste that lingered on her tongue.

Time passed, marked by the unyielding rhythm of the sun progressing in the sky. Soon, sweat dripped on foreheads, backs bent more under the weight of work in the fields.

It was then that a young peasant in his twenties, his cheeks flushed from the effort and the sun, stumbled upon something heavy and unexpected among the wheat stalks. His eyes widened in surprise when he discovered Joe's lifeless body lying on the ground, a trickle of blood still escaping from his throat and spreading on the parched earth. He fell backward, finding himself on his backside, short of breath.

"G-God..."

He stammered, shocked.

"Come see this! It's... it's Joe..."

The reaction was immediate. The other workers rushed towards him, confusion and disbelief mixing on their tanned faces. When they saw the body, several stepped back, horrified.

As Joe's corpse was discovered by the villagers, their faces marked the passage from incomprehension to horror, disrupting the idyllic scene. Hidden a few rows further, between the tall wheat stalks, Yulia trembled. The rumor of the macabre discovery began to spread through the fields like a fierce fire, prompting Yulia to curl up even more.

"Who could have done such a thing?"

Asked Pierre, a middle-aged man with broad shoulders and calloused hands. His gaze was feverishly searching around him as if he expected the perpetrator to burst out of the wheat field at any moment.

"And where is Yulia?"

Questioned Marie, a woman of more advanced age. Her eyes, usually filled with softness, betrayed palpable worry today.

"Wasn't she with him this morning?"

A heavy silence fell over the group, Marie's question hanging in the heavy, stifling air. Their eyes turned to the row of wheat where Yulia had last been seen, but they discerned nothing more than a field of wheat gently undulating under the caress of the warm breeze.

"There are traces on the ground! As if someone crawled!"

The villagers present responded with a burdened silence as Marie rushed to the village to alert the elders. Sure, Ys had known its share of violence and murders, usually the result of nighttime disputes or under-the-table score-settling. However, such a sinister act in broad daylight, and during the sacred harvest season, was a first. The culprit was likely among them, hidden behind a familiar face.

Yulia, hiding nearby, heard the screams. Her chest constricted. Why hadn't they shown up earlier, when she was grappling with Joe? If someone had witnessed his harassment, she could have made him the culprit. But now that he lay lifeless, she was the only plausible suspect. The sound of footsteps crushing the wheat spikes was getting closer. Time had slipped through her fingers.

The whisper of the wind was broken by a powerful scream that vibrated the wheat stalks.

"Yulia!"

The young woman instantly froze at the sound of the deep voice calling her. This authoritative voice belonged to the village chief. A robust and imposing man whose aura was enough to instill fear. Many times, he had shown a marked interest in Yulia. And as many times, she had pushed him away, wary of his intentions, even before she knew Tom. The fear he inspired was deeply ingrained.

Searching carefully, Jack, the village chief, spotted a trembling silhouette not far away. It was Yulia. His heart jumped as he discovered her there, clothes in tatters and body covered in scratches. He knelt down next to her, a mix of worry and disgust overwhelming him, someone had dared to act before him.

"I... Joe..."

Before she could finish her sentence, she broke down in tears. Jack scratched his head, perplexed as to what to do. Normally, he would have concealed her until things calmed down, but the situation forbade it, part of the village was already searching for her.

Heaving an evident sigh of exasperation, he grabbed her firmly by the arm and forced her to her feet. The few shreds of cloth she had left fluttered in the wind, revealing a bruised body, covered in dirt and blood. There was no doubt about the culprit's identity.

"You're coming with me! The elders will decide your fate!"

Yulia sighed inwardly, she knew full well what her fate would be from now on.

The Elders of the village formed a stern group of gray-haired old men. Far from the hustle and bustle of daily life, they kept in the background, carefully overseeing their community. Their reputation for indifference and bias towards women was well known.

These men were the supreme authority in the village and their judgment was unquestionable. By a simple decision, they had the power to condemn, enslave, or conversely, pardon. The acquittal was rare, however, and often the fruit of a generous bribe. No one was ignorant of their tendency to favor those who could afford to grease the palm. The system was clearly skewed in favor of those who had the means.

Moreover, they were the only ones to hold the power to choose the village chief. Their choice usually reflected more on their personal will than the real interest of the village.

As they moved away from the wheat field, Jack firmly holding Yulia's arm, a shock wave spread among the villagers who watched them pass. The harvesters stopped their labor, their eyes widened at the sight of the young woman with an ashen face, her slumped silhouette, and her torn clothes barely covering her nudity. A collective murmur of horror and pity ran through the crowd.

The path from the field to the village was a narrow, winding trail, lined with bushes, thorns, and small trees. This path that she had walked so many times before, today, Yulia felt like she was traveling it for the first time, each step seemed a superhuman effort. The stares fixed on her were like arrows piercing her through and through. The villagers they passed could not help but stop and stare at the scene. Their faces expressed a multitude of emotions: from shock to sorrow, morbid curiosity to shame, or even excitement.

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It was a walk of humiliation. A tide of shame overwhelmed Yulia as she progressed painfully, her eyes downcast, trying in vain to escape the inquisitive gazes. She felt every drop of dried blood on her skin as an indelible mark of her presumed guilt. Her ears buzzed with the echo of the whispers and murmurs she heard on her way, each adding extra weight to the heavy chain of shame she was dragging behind her. She wanted to disappear, to melt into the earth under her feet, but she could only follow Jack, like a lamb being led to the slaughter.

Once they crossed the borders of the village, Yulia thought her heart would stop. The village which, in normal times, was a place of comfort and familiarity, now turned into an arena of humiliation. The streets which were usually calm and welcoming, were now filled with villagers gathered to watch the spectacle. Women stopped their household chores, children abandoned their games, and all eyes were on her.

Among the faces, she recognized those of her childhood friends, workmates, neighbors, and acquaintances. People with whom she had shared laughter and memories. Their shocked and bewildered expressions further bled her already wounded heart. The children, too young to understand the gravity of the situation, pointed out and asked questions to their parents who didn't know what to answer.

And then there were the stares of the other women in the village. Some looked away, too uncomfortable to meet her gaze, while others gawked at her, their looks full of judgment and silent reproaches. Her only comfort was the silence, no accusations were yet voiced aloud. Only the silent echo of her humiliation resonated in the village streets.

The sound of the hammer striking the anvil echoed in the smithy, oblivious to the tragedy unfolding a few steps away. Sparks flew in the air, illuminating the concentrated face of Tom, Yulia's husband. His sweat-soaked shirt clung to his skin as he tirelessly hammered the glowing iron.

Across the street, a wind of panic was starting to rise. The whispering voices of the villagers were becoming more and more audible, mixing with the dull echoes of the hammer on the anvil. Despite the racket he was causing, Tom lifted his head, his intuition whispering that something was not right. His steel-grey eyes scanned the crowd that was gathering at the entrance of the central square, his chest tightening with a foreboding feeling.

A piercing scream interrupted his focus. It was the voice of Marie, a close friend of Yulia's. She was running towards the forge, tears streaking down her flushed face.

"Tom!"

She cried out, out of breath.

"It's Yulia... They've taken her..."

The anvil rang out one last time before silence enveloped the forge. The hammer fell heavily to the ground, the piece of metal that was still glowing a moment ago was abandoned on the edge of the anvil. Tom's face drained of all color, and he rushed out of the forge, leaving behind a trail of dying sparks.

His heavy leather boots echoed on the cobblestones of the narrow alley as he dashed towards the central square, his heart pounding in his chest. The mass of villagers had gathered there, forming a circle around a point that the blacksmith could not yet distinguish. His throat tightened, a sense of dull fear creeping into every part of his being.

Shattering the spectator's circle, he made his way inside, the audience's gaze turning towards him with a sorry sympathetic glow. But what he saw then hit him like a sledgehammer.

Yulia, his beautiful and courageous Yulia, stood there, more vulnerable than he had ever seen her. Her naked body, stained with dirt and blood, was under everyone's inquisitive eye, brutal and abominable marks attesting to recent violence. Her clothing, once a simple linen dress, was now nothing more than torn rags, exposing her skin marbled with bruises and scratches.

The village chief, Jack, held her arm firmly, preventing her from collapsing on the ground. His gaze was hard, devoid of compassion, but Tom could detect a trace of malicious satisfaction.

"They accuse Yulia..."

Marie's trembling voice reached him like a distant echo.

"They say she killed Joe..."

Tom's world toppled over. He stared at his wife, his eyes filled with despair seeking hers. She seemed broken. Remorse-filled Tom. He should have insisted more, he had given up too easily, wanting to avoid yet another argument with the woman he loved, but now, it was too late, he should have acted sooner.

The village chief raised his hand for silence, a somber expression on his weathered face.

"Citizens of Ys..."

He began in a booming voice, his gaze sweeping over the silent assembly.

"We are gathered here today in front of an act of senseless violence. Joe, one of ours, was found dead in the fields, brutally murdered."

Worried murmurs ran through the crowd as two men emerged from the throng, carrying between them the body of Joe. His lean and bent body looked even frailer now, traces of clotted blood staining his once white linen shirt. A grimace of pain was frozen on his face, his eyes wide open, frozen in an expression of horror.

"We have overwhelming evidence that Yulia is responsible for this heinous crime!"

Jack continued, his voice rumbling over the square.

"She was found near the body, covered in his blood..."

The tension was palpable as Tom approached Jack, his hard and determined gaze fixed on the mayor. Jack, usually unflappable, appeared slightly uncomfortable in the face of Tom's visible anger.

"Jack!"

Tom growled, his voice hoarse with frustration.

"Yulia is not a murderer. I know her better than anyone here and I can assure you she would never harm a fly."

Murmurs among the crowd amplified as Tom continued.

"I acknowledge that she was found in a compromising situation. But have you ever considered another explanation? Did you even bother to question her before casting stones at her?"

Silence fell over the crowd, all eyes riveted on Tom, who stood there, his face reddened with anger, but also by the love he bore for his wife.

"What I see before me is not an assembly of justice, but a blood-thirsty crowd. This is not about delivering justice for Joe, but about satisfying your thirst for scandal."

Tom's voice boomed over the square, echoing against the stone walls of the village. His plea for Yulia had come to an end, and as he faced the crowd, one thing was clear: he would fight for his wife until his last breath.

Yulia watched Tom from her uncomfortable place. The sight of her husband bravely defending her honor despite the damning accusation had awakened in her a mix of pain, admiration, and love. She had always known that Tom was a strong man, a man of principles, but she had never thought that he would go as far as to confront an entire village for her.

But she also knew that his courage, while admirable, was not enough to save her. The evidence was damning, the accusations were severe, and the crowd was thirsting for revenge.

At this moment, Yulia felt lonelier than ever.

"It's not me who's accusing your wife, Tom. The facts speak for themselves. And she was found fleeing, covered in blood, why would an innocent person run?"

Tom felt his heart tighten as he looked at Yulia. Her eyes, usually so full of life and energy, were now vacant, her gaze fixed on the ground before her. Yet, despite the accusation, a part of him refused to believe it. But this conviction wavered when he saw Joe's body and Yulia covered in his blood.

A heavy silence fell over the square as Tom looked at Yulia. The scene before him was so chaotic, so unreal. His mind was struggling to understand how Yulia, his Yulia, could have been involved in such an act. What had happened for her to be covered in blood... Joe's blood. There had to be an explanation.

Jack then turned towards Yulia, his gaze hard as steel.

"Yulia, can you explain what happened?"

His voice carried across the silent square, each word resonating like a hammer blow.

Yulia slowly raised her head to meet Jack's gaze. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out at first. Then, in a barely audible voice, she began to recount what had happened in the field, how Joe had lunged at her, how she had struggled, how she had ended up seizing his sickle...

As she finished her confession, a withered apple landed at her feet, thrown by one of the villagers in the crowd. Then another, a tomato this time, smashed against her chest, leaving a red stain on her torn dress. Insults began to fly, some voices shouting: "Harlot! It's because of the behavior that Joe lunged at you!"

These cruel words added to the cacophony of the crowd, the anger, and accusation increasing by the moment.

A deafening uproar broke out across the square as her confession spread among the villagers. Shouts of disbelief, rage, and fear mingled into a chaotic cacophony. Some voices demanded justice, others screamed accusations, and others still remained silent, shocked by what they had just heard.

As the chaos escalated, the elders of the village rose. Their presence alone, with their aura of power and authority, was enough to quell the tumult. One of them, the eldest, announced in a trembling yet strong voice:

"We hear your voices, but a decision will be made later, once we have had time to deliberate."

The crowd, although visibly unsatisfied, began to disperse, leaving behind a heavy and tense atmosphere. The villagers returned to their homes, each carrying with them the weight of what had just transpired.

Tom remained alone in the square, frozen in his shock. The robust and determined man seemed to have been replaced by a bewildered and lost stranger. Around him, the village resumed its daily routine, but for him, the world had shifted. Yulia's words replayed over and over in his head, his heart was pounding uncontrollably, and he realized that nothing would ever be the same again.