Chapter 23: Executed

Councilman Jurand shouted over the massed crowd. In the golden hour of sunset, his robes grew resplendent with the yellow light. He address the crowd in his most bombastic voice:

“Tonight, we shall witness the death of two criminals. Both of these men have been accused of murder. Both of these men have brought discord into our community. They have sullied the peace of these lands, and order of our community. All of you should look upon these men and their punishment as a reminder for good conduct. They die not with our hands, but by their own. Their sins have purchased death. Thus, in accordance with our government, we shall mete justice. Witness their final hour!”

The crowd applauded the speech, more out of an excitement of beholding an execution rather than any particular desire for justice. Councilman Jurand moved to the side of the platform and took his seat with the other councilmen.

The execution, an axeman, whose face had been covered by a bandana and ski goggles, stepped onto the platform. First, the other man, the brute, had been pulled from his pillory by the guards of the outskirts. Despite his struggling, they brought the man to heel. They forced him to his knees before the chopping block. One of the guard stepped upon the man’s back in order to keep him down upon the block.

The executioner approached his position. He carried a large axe, whose blade had been formed from the dense metal of a manhole cover. Its ends had been sharpened into the a devastatingly thin end. The handle, however, had been a new creation, a well-polish chunk of wood that had girth of a man’s forearm.

As the executioner readied himself. An ominous silence seized the air. One voice raised above the rest: ‘Kill him!’ Others shouted their approval of the command and began to chant alongside the first voice.

“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”

The public madness gripped almost everyone in the crowd. Tybalt looked out at his friends. He saw Desdemona weeping into Stanimir, and Lukasz standing beside them with a soldier’s attention.

A sudden roar of satisfaction.

Tybalt saw only a blur as the head of the brute stubbled off of the platform and into the mud below it. The darkness of the evening continued to approach, casting its shadow over the whole spectacle. In this new darkness, the head seemed to be engulfed by darkness. The man’s body, severed from the seat of its wisdom, dropped against the platform. His blood trickled through the thin gaps of the platform’s planks. It leaked into the pit beneath the platform which had imbibed the blood of many criminals.

Then, Tybalt felt the guards unlock his pillory and pry him from his place. Unlike the previous man, Tybalt did not struggle. He did not try to fight against the guards or the city officials. He wanted to meet his death with dignity. He lifted his chin into the air. He moved with slow deliberate steps. Since he had complied with his guards, they felt no need to rush him or hurry him onto his death. He simply moved with a grace befitting the last hour of one’s life.

“Papa, please! Save him!”

Tybalt heard the shrill voice of the seven-year-old girl over every other sound. He looked to the face of Councilman Jurand. His face did not change in the slightest. Again, the plea was made.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“Save him, Papa! Save him!”

Councilman Jurand’s face twitched a little. His cheeks grew red in embarrassment. He did not like that his own daughter sought the obstruction of justice.

Then, another voice.

“Save him! Oh, save him!” Desdemona’s withered voice called from the back.

The two women repeated their pleas in unison.

Tybalt stood before the chopping block. He looked out at the large crowd gathered at the foot of the platform. His eyes scanned the crowd. He saw an assembly of the young and the old, of women and children, of the rich and the poor. They had all gathered in the evening. His eyes caught three men at the back, who stood with their arms crossed. Erik, Njal, and Sten watched apart from the crowd. They would bear witness to his death. Whether they wanted him to die, he did not know.

Tybalt genuflected and went on one knee. He dropped his other knee. From his new height, he looked into the faces of those closest to him. Amid the sea of unfamiliar faces was the face of the woman with a headscarf. Tybalt’s heart skipped a beat. He stared into her gorgeous eyes, lost in their gaze. They had been coated by a heavy pall of tears. A drop rolled over her cheek.

The sight broke Tybalt. He thought back to their brief encounter, her tenderness toward his pain. Now, she would witness his death. Her lips moved.

Tybalt felt the hand of one of the guards on his shoulder. With a little pressure, the guard wanted Tybalt to place his head on the chopping block. He did so, catching the woman’s voice.

“Save him.”

She repeated her words louder.

“Save him.”

Then, she shouted.

“Save him!”

In a slow crescendo, the crowd began to repeat the phrase.

“Save him! Save him! Save him!”

The words were ignored. Tybalt saw nothing except the bloody planks where upon his head would fall, disjointed from his body. He heard the executioner readied his axe.

The chants grew louder and louder. The executioner seemed to hesitate.

“Wait!” Councilman Jurand’s voice called out. “Wait! Wait!”

Tybalt heard the executioner’s axe fall to the wayside.

“We cannot proceed. Gentlemen of the council, consider staying this execution. Clearly, this man is favoured by the people. We cannot kill a man so beloved.”

Tybalt felt hands pull him back to his knees. The guards allowed him to witness the change.

“Councilman Jurand, this man has been presented to us by Vassilos. He has committed crimes in the Outer Ring.”

“Then why do they push their concerns onto us? What injury has he done to us?”

“He saved my life!” Tybalt recognized Desdemona’s life in the distance.

“He’s a good man!” Councilman Jurand’s daughter shouted.

“A good soldier!” Lukasz shouted.

“A good friend!” Stanimir added.

“A loyal man!” Njal’s voice thundered in the distance.

“See, gentlemen,” Councilman Jurand appealed to his fellow officials. “Shall we allow the men of the Outer and Inner Ring to dictate to us every matter?”

A voice in the crowd shouted ‘No!’

“Shall we be forced under their thumb and slaves to their will?”

“Jurand, you speak dangerous things.”

“It is a dangerous thing to bring a good man to his death.” Councilman Jurand responded.

“He is guilty of murder,” cried a different councilman.

“So is Vassilos and Zoltan and Rubio. So are all the men of the Inner Ring. Let us not deceive ourselves. Our age is one marked by blood. Shall you continue this cruelty or shall you act out of mercy? What good is vengeance if it brings wrongdoing to our hands?”

The councilmen conferred amongst themselves. They feared the power of the inner and outer ring, but they respected Councilman Jurand for his wisdom and conduct. He had been one of the savviest of their lot.

“Let him go,” said one of the councilmen. A few others nodded.

“Friends, tonight, you have witnessed the glory of mercy. Of a man forgiven for his crimes for the good that he has done. In his wickedness, he condemned himself to death. In his goodness, he found himself new life. It is none but your kindness, your goodness, that he is spared. We have heard our hearts cry out for the death of the truly wicked, and so they have died. So too have we heard our hearts cry out for the mercy of the truly redeemed. Rejoice, friends, for you have earned yourself worthy of a crown greater than any monarch. We have witnessed the gentle rain from heaven.”

The crowd applauded as the city guards lifted Tybalt from his knees. Not knowing what to do, they left him standing there, by himself.

Tybalt looked over all of those gather and began to cry.

He fell upon his knees and wept.