He slowly walked through the crowd of people, his eyes roving everywhere. He had expected there to be more noise from the crowd, more jeers and ugly insults hurled, but they were silent and watching him, moving aside without saying a word, too scared to touch or be anywhere near him, as if he were a leper. As he ascended the stairs of the platform he had to hold the railing to stop himself from tripping over and making a fool of himself. That was the last thing he wanted, to make a fool of himself. He marvelled at the fact that even in his darkest moment, his pride was still there, still silently controlling him.
Once he was up on the platform, he looked out at the sea of faces. A lot of the people he recognized. Kinsmen and men he had served the King with, who had all attested to his guilt, even though he was an innocent man. They put their loyalty to the Sovereign before their loyalty to family and friends, in this time of neighbour telling on neighbour and brother telling on brother. Yet he faulted these people nothing. He found that he did not have it within himself to blame them and be bitter in his final moments.
He felt strangely content as he stood up there, breathing in the last of the air his body would take and seeing the last things his eyes would see. He wanted for nothing in that moment. Well, that was not entirely true, one thing he wished for, was better weather and a nicer view. It seemed a shame to him that the last things his eyes would see were grey skies and expressionless people, silently condemning him. But this was his punishment, and he had to take it.
"Would you like to say a few words?" asked the Priest, leaning in and whispering to him.
"I wouldn't know what to say," he murmured in return.
"Very well," answered the Priest, wishing that this whole exercise could be done with.
"Wait," he said, after he had looked out and scanned the crowd, his gaze narrowing in on his favourite nephew, who had swiped a silent tear away. "I know what I must say."
The Priest nodded at the convicted and stood back, waiting for him to say his piece, standing next to Master Kingston, the Constable of the Tower, who was a witness.
"Some of you may grieve for me," he started, seeing that others were wiping away tears and trying to hide it. God forbid you should be seen to be sympathetic to the cause of a traitor. "But I beg of you, do not grieve for me. Indeed it is I who grieves for you, to have to be stuck in a world such as this one. As I take my leave of you, and of this world, I desire you to pray for the good health and long life of the King, who has always been to me the most gracious and kindest of Princes."
"LONG LIVE THE KING!" People in the crowd jeered in response to the convicted man's desire. Taking a deep breath in and out, in and out, he took his last look at the crowd before getting down on his knees and closing his eyes, his lips mumbling in prayer. The last thing he heard was the sound of the birds twittering and flying above, and then the sound of the axe as it swooshed through the air.
Once he was up on the platform, he looked out at the sea of faces. A lot of the people he recognized. Kinsmen and men he had served the King with, who had all attested to his guilt, even though he was an innocent man. They put their loyalty to the Sovereign before their loyalty to family and friends, in this time of neighbour telling on neighbour and brother telling on brother. Yet he faulted these people nothing. He found that he did not have it within himself to blame them and be bitter in his final moments.
He felt strangely content as he stood up there, breathing in the last of the air his body would take and seeing the last things his eyes would see. He wanted for nothing in that moment. Well, that was not entirely true, one thing he wished for, was better weather and a nicer view. It seemed a shame to him that the last things his eyes would see were grey skies and expressionless people, silently condemning him. But this was his punishment, and he had to take it.
"Would you like to say a few words?" asked the Priest, leaning in and whispering to him.
"I wouldn't know what to say," he murmured in return.
"Very well," answered the Priest, wishing that this whole exercise could be done with.
"Wait," he said, after he had looked out and scanned the crowd, his gaze narrowing in on his favourite nephew, who had swiped a silent tear away. "I know what I must say."
The Priest nodded at the convicted and stood back, waiting for him to say his piece, standing next to Master Kingston, the Constable of the Tower, who was a witness.
"Some of you may grieve for me," he started, seeing that others were wiping away tears and trying to hide it. God forbid you should be seen to be sympathetic to the cause of a traitor. "But I beg of you, do not grieve for me. Indeed it is I who grieves for you, to have to be stuck in a world such as this one. As I take my leave of you, and of this world, I desire you to pray for the good health and long life of the King, who has always been to me the most gracious and kindest of Princes."
"LONG LIVE THE KING!" People in the crowd jeered in response to the convicted man's desire. Taking a deep breath in and out, in and out, he took his last look at the crowd before getting down on his knees and closing his eyes, his lips mumbling in prayer. The last thing he heard was the sound of the birds twittering and flying above, and then the sound of the axe as it swooshed through the air.
