Erik tried to muster as much courage as he could. ‘We’ll still see what the Prince has to say.’
‘Of course,’ said Manfred. ‘If you do somehow come out of this without being hung, and after you’ve spent your time on the prison gang, send me a letter.’ He turned and walked away, then turned to look back at Erik. ‘But don’t enter Darkmoor if you wish to stay alive.’
Erik stood alone for a minute after Manfred left, then returned to his place next to the sleeping Roo.
Time dragged on and Erik found himself unable to sleep. Several others fell into fitful dozes, and only Biggo and the Isalani seemed able to sleep comfortably. A couple of the men sat in silent prayer.
At midnight, the door opened and a handful of priests entered, from various orders, and each stood across from the prisoner who wished to take comfort. This continued for an hour or more; then the priests left, and still no word from Lender.
Erik at last fell into a half-sleep, with panic waking him up several times, his heart pounding and his chest constricted, as he fought against the rising terror.
Suddenly a loud clang echoed in the otherwise silent cell block and Erik was on his feet as Sebastian Lender entered the room. Erik lightly kicked Roo awake, and the two hurried to the far end of the cell.
Erik looked at what Lender carried and his chest constricted in terror. A pair of boots, fashioned out of soft leather, with high tops that folded down, were clutched in the old man’s hands. They were a horseman’s boots, well made and artfully crafted, and Erik knew why Lender carried them.
Erik said, ‘We’re to die?’
Lender said, ‘Yes. The Prince gave the order less than an hour ago.’ Lender handed the boots through the bars to Erik. ‘I’m sorry. I thought I had built a persuasive brief, but the mother of the man you killed is the daughter of the Duke of Ran and has much influence in this court as well as the King’s. The King himself was consulted, and in the end you were both sentenced to death. There is nothing that can be done.’ He pointed to the boots that Erik now clutched before him. ‘These were your father’s last gift to you; I thought it would be unfitting for you not to have them at least for a few hours before …’
‘They hang us,’ whispered Roo.
Erik pushed the boots back through the bars. ‘Sell them, Master Lender. You said the gold he left me wouldn’t cover your fees.’
Lender pushed them back toward Erik. ‘No, I failed and I will give your gold to whoever you instruct me to. There is no fee, Erik.’
Erik said, ‘Then send the gold to my mother, at Ravensburg. She’s at the Inn of the Pintail and she has no one to care for her. Tell her to use the gold wisely, for it is all I will ever be able to give her.’
Lender nodded and said, ‘I pray the gods will be gentle with you, Erik, and you as well, Rupert. You have no evil in your hearts, even if you have done this violent thing.’
Lender looked close to tears as he turned away, leaving the two young men from Darkmoor alone in the far corner of the death cell.
Erik looked at his boyhood friend and said nothing. There was nothing to say. He sat and stripped off his common boots, and pulled on the rider’s boots. They fit as if they had been fashioned for him. High, to mid-calf, they were soft and clung like soft velvet instead of harsh hides. Erik knew that if he worked for a lifetime he would not have been able to afford their like.
He sighed. He would at least wear them for part of one day, from the cell to the gallows. He only regretted he didn’t have at least one opportunity to test them on horseback.
Roo sat on the floor, back against the bars. He looked at Erik, his eyes wide with fear, and whispered, ‘What do we do now?’
Erik tried to smile reassuringly at his friend, but the best he could manage was a crooked grimace. ‘We wait.’
Nothing more was said.
• Chapter Eight • Choice
The door opened.
Erik blinked, surprised to discover he had dozed, in a numb, emotionally exhausted sleep. Guards, heavily armed against the possible rebellion of the condemned, entered. Last through the door was the strange man Robert de Loungville.
‘Listen, you dogs!’ he shouted, his gravelly voice striking them like a leather glove. With a twisted smile he said, ‘You come when bidden and die like men!’ He called six names, and the last of the six was Slippery Tom. Tom held back, as if somehow he could hide among the group who would be hung second. ‘Thomas Reed! Get out here!’ commanded de Loungville.
When Slippery Tom only crouched lower behind his friend Biggo, de Loungville sent in a pair of guards, swords drawn. The other prisoners stepped aside, and the two grappled with Tom a moment, then dragged him from the cell. He started to cry out for mercy and wailed the entire way to the gallows.
No one in the cell spoke. They all listened to the sound of Tom’s screaming as he was carried farther and farther from them, then turned as one to look out the cell window as the screaming grew again in volume. The first six prisoners were marched in line, save for Tom, who was still being dragged; his voice reached a near shriek in terror. Repeated cuffing from the guards who carried him only seemed to increase his panic, and short of knocking him senseless, they had no way to shut him up. If they were put off by the screaming, they showed no sign; Tom obviously wasn’t the first man they had dragged shrieking to his death; he would be silent soon enough.
Through the bars, Erik watched with a mixture of revulsion and fascination as the first five men plodded up the six wooden steps that led to the gallows. In some distant corner of his mind he knew he would soon be following them, but he couldn’t bring himself to accept that reality in his heart. This was all happening to someone else, not to him.
The men stepped up on the high boxes placed under the nooses, and Tom was carried up to where he would die. He kicked and spit and tried to bite the guards, who held on to him tightly. Then they lifted him up to the box, while another jumped up beside him and quickly placed the rope around his neck. Two more guards held him in place lest he kick the box over and die before the order was given.
Erik didn’t know what to expect – an announcement of some sort or reading of a formal verdict – but without ceremony Robert de Loungville came to stand directly in front of the condemned, his back to the men still in the cell. His voice carried across the yard as he said, ‘Hang them!’
Guards kicked hard at the boxes under the men’s feet, in one case twice to move it from under the man who slumped down in a faint at de Loungville’s command. Slippery Tom’s screaming was choked off abruptly.
Erik felt his stomach knot at the sight before him; three men went limp, a sign their necks had snapped; one jerked twice, then died; but the last two kicked as they were slowly choked to death. Slippery Tom was one of the two, and it seemed to Erik he took an impossibly long time to die. The slender thief kicked, striking one of his guards with a heel, and Biggo said, ‘Should tie a man’s legs, you’d think. Robs him of dignity, kicking around like that.’
Roo stood next to Erik, tears of terror streaming down his face as he said, ‘Dignity?’
Biggo said, ‘Not much else left to a man now, laddie. Man comes into the world naked, and leaves the same way. Clothes on his body don’t mean anything. He’s naked in his soul. But bravery and dignity, that counts for something, I’m thinking. Maybe nothing to anyone, but someday, you never know, one of these guards might be telling his wife, “I remember this big fellow we hung once; he knew how to die.”’
Erik watched as Slippery Tom kicked, then twitched, then at last ceased moving. Robert de Loungville waited for what seemed a long time to Erik before, with a motion of his hand, he shouted, ‘Cut them down!’
The soldiers cut the dead men from the gibbet, and while they were being carried down to be placed on the ground, other soldiers hurried with fresh nooses and put them in place.
Suddenly Erik realized they were coming to get him. His knees began to shake and he put out a hand to steady himself, pressing his palm against the rough stone. This is the last time I’ll feel stone against my hand, crossed his mind. Robert de Loungville motioned for a company of guards to form up, and they marched out of sight of the waiting prisoners.
Through the walls they could hear the tread of boots upon stone as the guards marched from the yard to the death cell. Closer and closer they came, and Erik alternately wished that they were here and it was over and that they would never reach the death cell. He pressed his hand hard against the wall as if the rough feel of it against his flesh somehow denied the approaching end of his life.
Then the door at the end of the hall opened and the guards marched through. The cell door was opened and de Loungville was calling their names. Roo was called fourth, Erik fifth, and Sho Pi, as the only one who would not be hung, was last.
Roo got into line and looked around, panic on his face. ‘Wait, can’t we … isn’t there …’
One of the guards put a firm hand on his shoulder. ‘Stay in line, lad. That’s a good fellow.’
Roo stopped moving, but his eyes were wide, with tears running down his face, while his mouth moved, saying nothing that Erik could understand.
Erik glanced around and felt a sick numbness in his stomach, as if he had been poisoned. Then his bowel tightened and he felt the need to relieve himself and was suddenly fearful he would fill his pants when he died. He found his chest tight and had to will himself to breathe. Sweat dripped down his face and ran from his armpits and groin. He was going to die.
‘I didn’t mean it …’ said Roo, pleading with men who had no power to save him.
The sergeant in command gave the order. The prisoners were marched from the cell, and Erik wondered how he was managing to keep in step, for his feet were leaden and his knees trembled. Roo shivered visibly and Erik wished he could have touched his friend’s shoulder, but the shackles and manacles prevented such movement. They left the long hall next to the death cell.
The condemned moved down a long corridor, to another that led to a short flight of steps. They walked up them, turned another corner, and out through a door into daylight. The sun was still not above the walls, so they moved through shadow, but above them a blue sky promised a beautiful day. Erik’s heart almost broke wishing he could see that day.
Roo cried openly, making inarticulate noises punctuated by a single word, ‘Please,’ but he managed to walk. They moved past where the first six bodies lay in the yard, as a charnel wagon was being drawn close enough for the dead to be loaded into it. Erik glanced down at the dead men.
He almost stumbled. He had seen death before, having found Milo and having looked at Stefan and the nameless bandit after he killed them, but he had never seen this. The men’s faces were contorted, especially those of Tom and the other man who had strangled, their eyes bulging from their sockets. The other four whose necks had broken still looked ghastly, with eyes staring lifelessly at the sky. Flies were already gathering on the corpses, and no one was bothering to shoo them away.
All at once Erik was being moved up the steps and he felt his bladder weaken. He had not needed to relieve himself, and suddenly he felt an overwhelming urge to ask for permission to do so before he was hung. A wave of childish embarrassment swept up from some deep well of memory and he felt tears coursing down his cheeks. His mother had scolded him at an early age for messing his bed during the night, and for reasons beyond his ability to understand, the thought of messing himself now was the worst fate he could imagine. From the reek of urine and excrement, others had already lost control; he didn’t know if it was those ahead of him or those who had already died. He felt a desperate need not to lose control and have his mother get mad.
He tried to look at Roo, but suddenly he was stepping up on the box, a guard stepping up next to him to place the noose expertly around Erik’s neck without hesitation, then step down without upsetting the box below Erik’s feet. He tried to look over, but for some reason, he couldn’t see Roo.
Erik felt himself tremble. He couldn’t make his eyes work, and images of bright sky overhead and dark shadows under the walls made no sense. He heard a few mumbled prayers and what he thought was Roo’s softly pleading ‘… No … please … no … please,’ over and over.
He wondered if he should say something at the end to his friend, but before he could think of anything to say, Robert de Loungville came to stand before the condemned men. With astonishing clarity, Erik could see every detail of this man who was to order his death. He had shaved in a hurry that morning, for a slight stubble had turned his cheeks dark, and there was a slight scar above his right eye Erik hadn’t noticed before. He wore a fine red tunic, with a badge that Erik could now see depicted the Seal of Krondor, an eagle soaring over a peak above the sea. He had blue eyes and dark brows, and his hair needed to be trimmed. Erik wondered how he could see so much so quickly, and felt his stomach rebel. He was about to be sick from fear.
The only prisoner not slated to die was brought to stand beside de Loungville, who turned to him and said, ‘Watch this and learn something, Keshian.’
Nodding once to the men on the gibbet, he ordered, ‘Hang them!’
Erik sucked in his breath in terror as he felt a powerful blow knock the box from beneath his feet. He heard Roo’s shriek of terror, and then he fell.
The sky spun for Erik as he moved through the air. His only thought was of the blue above, and he heard himself cry, ‘Mommy!’ as he felt his body hit the end of the rope. A sudden jerk made his skin burn as the rope tightened around his neck, then with another jerk he continued to fall. Instead of the expected crack of his own neck or the sudden choking as his windpipe was crushed, he felt a numbing slam along his face and body as he fell hard against the wooden floor of the gibbet.
Suddenly Robert de Loungville was shouting, ‘Get them to their feet!’
Rough hands dragged Erik upright, and with a half-dazed sense of being somewhere else, he looked around and saw stunned men returning his confused expression. Roo gaped like a just-landed fish and his face was sporting a red mark from where it had struck the boards. His eyes were puffy and red, and snot ran down from his nose as he cried like a baby.
Biggo glanced around, blood running from a cut on his forehead, as if trying to understand this evil prank that robbed him of his meeting with the Goddess of Death. The man next to him, Billy Goodwin, closed his eyes and sucked in breath as if he were still choking. Erik didn’t know the name of the man at the far end of the gibbet, but he stood silently, his expression as stunned as the others’.
‘Now listen, you swine!’ commanded Robert de Loungville. ‘You are dead men!’ He glanced from face to face. He raised his voice, ‘Do you understand me?’
They nodded, but it was clear none of them did.
‘You are officially dead. I can have anyone who doubts my word hauled up again, and this time we’ll tie the rope to the crosspiece of the gibbet. Or if you’d prefer, I will happily cut your throat.’
Turning to the Keshian prisoner, he said, ‘Get over there with the others.’ The shackled men were being pulled roughly down the steps to stand next to the bodies of the dead.
Soldiers cut short the rope hanging from each of the five men, and two placed a similar noose around Sho Pi’s neck. ‘You’ll leave those on until I tell you to take them off,’ shouted de Loungville.
He came up to the five still-stunned men and looked each in the eyes as he walked slowly before them. ‘I own you! You’re not even slaves! Slaves have rights! You have no rights. From now on, you will draw each breath at my whim. If I decide I don’t want you breathing my air any longer, I’ll have the guards close that noose around your neck and you will stop breathing. Do you understand me?’
Some of the men nodded, and Erik said, ‘Yes,’ softly.
De Loungville nearly roared when he said, ‘When I ask you a question, you will answer loudly so I can hear you! Do you understand me?’
This time all six men said, ‘Yes!’
De Loungville turned and began walking along before the men again. ‘I am waiting!’
It was Erik who said, ‘Yes, sir!’
Coming to stand before Erik, de Loungville put his face before Erik’s, so their noses were less than an inch apart. ‘Sir! I am more than a sir, you toads! I am more than your mothers, your wives, your fathers, and your brothers! I am your god from this moment on! If I snap my fingers, you’re dead men in truth. Now, when I ask you a question, you will answer, “Yes, Sergeant de Loungville!” Is that clear!’
‘Yes, Sergeant de Loungville!’ they said, almost shouting, despite raw throats from the mock hanging.
‘Now load those men into the wagon, you swine,’ de Loungville commanded. ‘Each of you take one.’
Biggo stepped forward, picked up the body of Slippery Tom, and carried him as a man might a child, loading him into the wagon. Two gravediggers stood in the charnel wagon and dragged the corpse deeper into the wagon bed to make room for the next.
Erik picked up a body, not sure what the man’s name or crime had been, and carried it to the wagon, placing it where the gravediggers could grab it. He looked at the man’s face and didn’t recognize him. He knew it was one of six men he had seen for two days and probably spoken to, but he couldn’t recall who this man was.
Roo looked down at the man at his feet, then tried to pick up the body. He struggled, tears from an apparently inexhaustible fount streaming down his face. Erik hesitated, then moved to help him.
‘Get back there, von Darkmoor,’ commanded de Loungville.
‘He can’t do it,’ said Erik, discovering his voice still hoarse and his neck sore from the rope burn. De Loungville’s eyes narrowed menacingly, and Erik quickly added, ‘Sergeant de Loungville!’
‘Well, he’d better,’ said de Loungville, ‘or he’ll be the first one of you sent back to hang.’ He pointed back up the steps with a dagger he now held.
Erik watched as Roo struggled to find strength enough to drag the corpse to the wagon. The ten feet must have looked like a mile. Erik knew Roo had never been a strong boy, and whatever vitality was usual, his had fled days before. He looked as if his arms were damp rope, and he had no power in his legs as he dragged hopelessly on the corpse.
Finally it moved, first a foot, then two, and after a moment more, another. Grunting as if he were carrying suits of armor up a mountain, Roo pulled until he got the body to the foot of the wagon. Then he collapsed.
De Loungville came to stand over him, crouching down so his face was level with Roo’s. He shouted so loud he nearly screamed, ‘What? Do you expect those honest workmen to climb down from there and finish your job for you?’ Roo looked up at the short man, silently pleading to die.
De Loungville reached down and gripped Roo by the hair, pulling him to his feet, holding the dagger to his throat. ‘You’re not going to die, you useless piece of pig snot,’ he said, as if reading the boy’s mind. ‘You’re mine, and you will die when I tell you it is my pleasure that you die. Not before. If you die before I tell you, I will reach into the Death Goddess’s hall and yank you back to life, and then I will kill you. I will cut your belly open and eat your liver for dinner if you don’t do as I tell you. Now get that dead meat into that wagon!’
Roo fell backwards, hard against the wagon’s tailgate, and barely kept himself from falling. He leaned down, got his arms under the body’s arms, and heaved.
‘You’re no good to me, boy!’ bellowed de Loungville. ‘If you don’t get him in that wagon by the time I count to ten, you worthless slug, I’ll cut your heart out before your eyes! One!’
Roo heaved and his face betrayed panic. ‘Two!’ He forced his own weight forward, and got the corpse sitting up. ‘Three!’
He lifted with his legs and somehow got himself half turned around, so that the dead man rested against the tailgate. ‘Four!’ Roo took a breath and heaved again, and suddenly the man was halfway into the wagon. ‘Five!’ Roo let the body go and reached down quickly, gripping the corpse around the hips. He ignored the reek of urine and feces as he heaved with his last reserve of strength. Then he collapsed.
‘Six!’ screamed de Loungville, leaning over the boy, who sat at the base of the wagon.
Roo looked up and saw the man’s legs were hanging over the end of the tailgate. He struggled to his feet as de Loungville shouted, ‘Seven!’ and pushed as hard on the legs as he could.
They bent and he half pushed, half rolled the dead man all the way into the wagon as de Loungville reached the count of eight.
Then he fainted.
Erik took a step forward. De Loungville turned, took a single step, and delivered a backhanded blow to Erik that brought him to his knees. Lowering his head to lock gazes with the stunned Erik, Robert de Loungville said, ‘You will learn, dog meat, that no matter what happens to your friends, you will do what you’re told when you are told and nothing else. If that’s not the first thing you learn, you’ll be crow bait before the sun sets.’
Straightening up, he shouted, ‘Get them back to their cell!’
The still-stunned men moved raggedly along, not certain what had happened. Erik’s ears rang from the blow to his head, but he risked a glance back at Roo and saw that two guards had picked him up and were bringing him along.
In silence the men were taken back to the death cell and herded in. Roo was unceremoniously tossed in, and the door slammed shut behind.
The man from Kesh, Sho Pi, came to look at Roo and said, ‘He’ll recover. It is mostly shock and fear.’
Then he turned to Erik and smiled, a dangerous look around his eyes. ‘Didn’t I tell you it might be something else?’
‘But what?’ asked Biggo. ‘What was all this vicious mummery?’
The Keshian sat down, crossing his legs before him. ‘It was what is called an object lesson. This man de Loungville, who works, I imagine, for the Prince, he wishes you to know something without any doubt whatsoever.’
‘Know what?’ asked Billy Goodwin, a slender fellow with curly brown hair.
‘He wants you to know that he will kill you without hesitation if you do not do what he wants.’
‘But what does he want?’ asked the man whose name Erik didn’t know, a thin man with a grey beard and red hair.
Closing his eyes as if he were about to take a rest, Sho Pi said, ‘I do not know, but I think it will be interesting.’
Erik sat back and suddenly giggled.
Biggo said, ‘What is it?’
Finding himself embarrassed before these men, he said, ‘I loaded my pants.’ Then he started to laugh, and the laughter had a hysterical edge to it.
Billy Goodwin said, ‘I dirtied myself, too.’
Erik nodded, and suddenly the laughter was gone and he found to his amazement he was crying. His mother would be so angry with him if she found out.
Roo roused when food appeared, and to their astonishment it was not only abundant but good. Before, they had gotten a vegetable stew in a heavy beef stock, but now they were served steaming vegetables and slabs of bread, heavy with butter, and cheese and meat. Rather than the usual bucket of water, there were cold pewter mugs, and a large pitcher of chilled white wine – enough to slake thirst and ease the tension, but not enough to get anyone drunk. They ate and considered their fortune.
‘Do you think this is some cruel thing the Prince is doing to us?’ asked the grey-bearded man, a Rodezian named Luis de Savona.
Biggo shook his head. ‘I’m a fair judge of men. That Robert de Loungville could be cruel like this if it suited his needs, but the Prince isn’t that sort of man, I’m thinking. No, like our Keshian friend here says –’
