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''The Law Is Hard''
The humid summer heat stirred the miasmal odor of the chamber pot across the cell.
He stood looking from his dark cell through the small hand sized porthole at face level of the thick iron cell door, marveling at the rough laid stone wall, soot marks cast dancing in the flickering torch light across the brightly lit hall.
He thought, 'are not the smallest of things beautiful in the face of death.'
The sound of water trickling echoed ominously through the hall carried by the shrieks of the insane and sobs of the dead man.
His charge; blasphemy.
Beaten and imprisoned for teaching in the streets that the earth was a sphere.
Tried in his majesty's court, and ordered to recant to all he taught in exchange for a lighter sentence of a severed tongue.
Sentenced to death by hanging in the public square upon refusal.
This was his final hour.
What ran through his burdened mind in these final moments were the things in life which he felt passion for. His love for his wife, Ethel Rose. His adoration for his daughter, Lellow. His thirst for knowledge and truth. His devotion to God.
The calm nights his daughter slept peacefully dreaming in the cottage as his wife lay bare breasted beside him as he smoked his pipe after making love to her in the field of the countryside in which he called home.
The toil and work taken to feed his heart and reason with wisdom.
The smell of his wife's bread fresh from the kiln.
The loving pride of teaching his daughter and wife the ways of the naked enrichment of life.
The act of helping his neighbor through a troublesome plight.
Now, even the scent of sweat and urine were of value to his senses. He deeply breathed in the foul air in appreciation as the guard approached his chamber door and unlocked it with the loud clunking of lock and key.
''Come forth'', sniffed the guard as he opened the door. His sweat stained tunic wreaking of barley malt.
The belly of a glutton prominent beside his sheathed blade on his belt.
Shackles were placed as the guard manhandled him in position for the donning of his restraints.
The halls seemed endless on his way out, echoing screams from the dungeon pierced his ears with the screams of the current torture victim.
At the emergence to the castles courtyard, the light blinded eyes that haven't seen the sun for months.
Escorted by 4 guards with weapons drawn, they exited the courtyard into the town square to a large restless crowd of 200 or so villagers, creating a faint roar of people discussing amongst each other, gathered loosely at the foot of the gallows platform.
He approached, ushered toward the gallows where a stocky hooded executioner stood readied by the trap door lever next to a readied noose that whispered his lullaby.
He was greeted at the top step by a priest that ingenuinely gave his last rights.
Next to the executioner stood a well dressed man holding a scroll open in his right hand which bore a gold ring with the crest seal of the kingdom.
He was shoved forth and pushed onto the trap door where his noose was fit and tightened around his neck.
He looked into the crowd and saw his wife and daughter at the foot of the platform.
Dingy white dresses clothed them, looking more beautiful than he had ever seen them.
His daughters face, beet red and sobbing uncontrollably in grief, screaming ''Father!''
His wife silently standing behind her, her hands calmingly massaging her shoulders in front of her, tears pouring one after another from swollen eyes.
They both appeared sleepless. His wife's brunette bun was unkempt and dirty. His daughters blonde hair neatly braided into two center parted braids.
He smiled at them and remained tearless to soothe his family through his courage.
The well dressed man stepped forward and silence swept over the crowd.
He held the scroll high and spoke loudly,
'Maximilian Hatchley, I have been given agency of the church and courts of York and his Majesty to hand down execution by hanging from the neck until death.
I am to urge you sir, if you concede now, you will receive a sentence of lesser severity.
What say you, sir?''
He stoicly said loudly, ''The truth is what I have spoken, I will not consede!'' his voice echoing through the silenced town.
''Then it is my duty on the behalf of his Majesty and God to hand down your execution sir, have you any last words?''
He raised his chin as he looked down at his wife and daughter, bravery carved into his jutting jaw.
He said firmly in a loud tone, ''Ethel Rose, Lellow, my loves. Be not saddened. My love is yours, everlasting. Mustn't you grieve longly for I am with the Lord. Live happily as did we once. To the Lord, take my soul.''
After a moment of silence the well dressed man spoke, ''God be merciful on your soul sir.''
There was a pause of silence before his wife blurted forth, ''Please find it in you to free my husband, sir. We need his support us to survive! How am I to feed our daughter without her father?''
The executioner said in a stern deep voice,
''The law is hard.''
He flipped the lever releasing the trap door, the loud breaking crack of his neck from the noose upon his drop beckoning a screaming wail from his wife and daughter as sorrow gripped their hearts.
© Sebastian Grey
He stood looking from his dark cell through the small hand sized porthole at face level of the thick iron cell door, marveling at the rough laid stone wall, soot marks cast dancing in the flickering torch light across the brightly lit hall.
He thought, 'are not the smallest of things beautiful in the face of death.'
The sound of water trickling echoed ominously through the hall carried by the shrieks of the insane and sobs of the dead man.
His charge; blasphemy.
Beaten and imprisoned for teaching in the streets that the earth was a sphere.
Tried in his majesty's court, and ordered to recant to all he taught in exchange for a lighter sentence of a severed tongue.
Sentenced to death by hanging in the public square upon refusal.
This was his final hour.
What ran through his burdened mind in these final moments were the things in life which he felt passion for. His love for his wife, Ethel Rose. His adoration for his daughter, Lellow. His thirst for knowledge and truth. His devotion to God.
The calm nights his daughter slept peacefully dreaming in the cottage as his wife lay bare breasted beside him as he smoked his pipe after making love to her in the field of the countryside in which he called home.
The toil and work taken to feed his heart and reason with wisdom.
The smell of his wife's bread fresh from the kiln.
The loving pride of teaching his daughter and wife the ways of the naked enrichment of life.
The act of helping his neighbor through a troublesome plight.
Now, even the scent of sweat and urine were of value to his senses. He deeply breathed in the foul air in appreciation as the guard approached his chamber door and unlocked it with the loud clunking of lock and key.
''Come forth'', sniffed the guard as he opened the door. His sweat stained tunic wreaking of barley malt.
The belly of a glutton prominent beside his sheathed blade on his belt.
Shackles were placed as the guard manhandled him in position for the donning of his restraints.
The halls seemed endless on his way out, echoing screams from the dungeon pierced his ears with the screams of the current torture victim.
At the emergence to the castles courtyard, the light blinded eyes that haven't seen the sun for months.
Escorted by 4 guards with weapons drawn, they exited the courtyard into the town square to a large restless crowd of 200 or so villagers, creating a faint roar of people discussing amongst each other, gathered loosely at the foot of the gallows platform.
He approached, ushered toward the gallows where a stocky hooded executioner stood readied by the trap door lever next to a readied noose that whispered his lullaby.
He was greeted at the top step by a priest that ingenuinely gave his last rights.
Next to the executioner stood a well dressed man holding a scroll open in his right hand which bore a gold ring with the crest seal of the kingdom.
He was shoved forth and pushed onto the trap door where his noose was fit and tightened around his neck.
He looked into the crowd and saw his wife and daughter at the foot of the platform.
Dingy white dresses clothed them, looking more beautiful than he had ever seen them.
His daughters face, beet red and sobbing uncontrollably in grief, screaming ''Father!''
His wife silently standing behind her, her hands calmingly massaging her shoulders in front of her, tears pouring one after another from swollen eyes.
They both appeared sleepless. His wife's brunette bun was unkempt and dirty. His daughters blonde hair neatly braided into two center parted braids.
He smiled at them and remained tearless to soothe his family through his courage.
The well dressed man stepped forward and silence swept over the crowd.
He held the scroll high and spoke loudly,
'Maximilian Hatchley, I have been given agency of the church and courts of York and his Majesty to hand down execution by hanging from the neck until death.
I am to urge you sir, if you concede now, you will receive a sentence of lesser severity.
What say you, sir?''
He stoicly said loudly, ''The truth is what I have spoken, I will not consede!'' his voice echoing through the silenced town.
''Then it is my duty on the behalf of his Majesty and God to hand down your execution sir, have you any last words?''
He raised his chin as he looked down at his wife and daughter, bravery carved into his jutting jaw.
He said firmly in a loud tone, ''Ethel Rose, Lellow, my loves. Be not saddened. My love is yours, everlasting. Mustn't you grieve longly for I am with the Lord. Live happily as did we once. To the Lord, take my soul.''
After a moment of silence the well dressed man spoke, ''God be merciful on your soul sir.''
There was a pause of silence before his wife blurted forth, ''Please find it in you to free my husband, sir. We need his support us to survive! How am I to feed our daughter without her father?''
The executioner said in a stern deep voice,
''The law is hard.''
He flipped the lever releasing the trap door, the loud breaking crack of his neck from the noose upon his drop beckoning a screaming wail from his wife and daughter as sorrow gripped their hearts.
© Sebastian Grey
