Page 3 of Dancing On Air

The crowd cheered and shouted, and some even threw rotten fruit at Connor’s father as he passed by. These bloodthirsty fools wanted a beheading. They all fought for a spot in the front so they wouldn’t miss every gory detail. What was wrong with them? Why should anyone want to see a single person die? Connor could never get used to this, and neither would he ever understand this as long as he lived. Life was to be celebrated, but not someone’s death.

The dungeon guard hauled Connor’s father up to the top of the platform where the executioner awaited them. He used a stone to sharpen his massive sword that would be used for the beheading. This was the weapon used by executioners in instances such as this.

“Nay,” mumbled Connor, as the guard pushed his father to his knees, fastening a bag over his head. He then held his head down atop the stump. A basket was strategically placed on the ground in front of the platform to aid in the decapitation.

Connor felt as if he were going to retch. The shouts from the crowd got louder. Many of the men raised tankards of ale to their mouths, and others were even laughing. To them, this was naught but a form of entertainment.

“Nay. This is wrong,” mumbled Connor, not willing to stand here and watch as his father’s life was ended. Connor needed to at least try to do something to save him, even if his efforts were not fruitful.

Running to the platform, he pushed several people aside and climbed the stairs, only stopping when he came toe-to-toe with the feared hangman—or executioner, as the man was called by both titles.

“Don’t hurt my father,” shouted Connor with his hand on the hilt of his own sword. He supposed his action was taken as a threat because a guard ran up the stairs after him, taking away his sword and throwing it down. He gripped Connor tightly by the shoulder.

“Go home, boy,” said the executioner, lifting his sword to show that he meant what he said. The sun made a glare from the shiny metal, hitting Connor directly in the eyes. “There is nothing you can do to stop this. You don’t want to watch it, I assure you. It won’t be pretty.”

“But that’s my father!” exclaimed Connor, seeing the first guard holding his father in the kneeling position with his foot against his back now.

“Go to your mother, boy, where you belong,” snarled the guard in a gruff voice. He still held on to Connor although Connor struggled against him to try to help his father.

“My mother is dead,” said Connor. “And stop calling me boy! I swear to God I will not let you take my father’s life.” He tried to reach for his sword, but the guard pulled him over to the steps of the platform.

“Kill him! Kill him!” chanted the crowd, growing into a frenzy. Connor looked down at the faces of the people, hating each one of them right now for wanting to see his father beheaded. Some of the women even brought along their children and baskets of food. It all made him want to retch.

“Get him off the platform,” yelled a man, swishing his hand through the air. When Connor looked closer, he realized the man speaking was Lord Sampson. He was lord of Marvane Castle, and also the one who commanded the executions of the prisoners. “Remove him and continue with the execution.”

“What? Nay, please, Lord Sampson,” begged Connor. “You cannot kill my father. He hasn’t even had a trial. This isn’t fair.”

“Fair?” asked Sampson. “Your father killed my brother, and for that he has been condemned to death. He killed a noble and no trial is needed. He will die for his crime, and it will happen today with everyone watching.”

“I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding,” yelled Connor.

“The only misunderstanding is your foolish notion that you can stop this, boy. Guard, get the fool off the platform before I have to come up there and do it myself.”

“Don’t call me boy,” shouted Connor, hating how everyone seemed to dismiss him because they didn’t think his opinion was important.

“Come, boy. You’re about to become a man when you witness what is about to happen,” laughed the dungeon guard, kicking Connor’s sword down the stairs.

“Nay,” spat Connor. “I’ll be a knight someday, just like my father.”

The guard laughed, hauling Connor to the stairs now. “You had better hope you’re nothing like your bloody father. Unless you want to be beheaded as well.”

He pushed Connor and sent him tumbling down the stairs, head over heels. Connor landed on his back on the ground next to his sword. So many angry faces stared down at him. He swore he could feel their hatred, yet they had no real reason to want his father dead since it didn’t involve them. Connor could barely breathe from the force of the fall and was surprised he hadn’t broken his neck.

“Move out of the way! Let me through.” Eleanor pushed people aside and fell to her knees next to him. “Connor, are you all right?” Her bright red hair had become loose and blew past her face in the breeze. Her eyes that held all the concern in the world stared directly at him. He felt as if she could see down to his very soul.

“Eleanor?” He pushed up to a sitting position, feeling achy and dizzy. “I told you to stay with my brothers and sisters and to keep them away from here.” He reached out and rubbed his throbbing arm.

“They are in the stable and are fine; don’t worry. Connor, I want to remind you that my father is here. He will help you. I am sure he will do something, since he is friends with your father.”

Connor got to his feet to see Lord Warden Garrett Blackmore, Eleanor’s father and also his mentor, making his way over to Lord Sampson.

“What is going on, here?” growled Garrett.

“This man killed my brother,” snapped Sampson.

“Sir Wensel is a noble and an honored knight,” Garrett told him. “Why is he on the executioner’s block?”

“He’s a noble and a knight, that’s right,” said Sampson. “He also killed another noble, and because of it, he will die,” snapped Sampson. “It’s the law.”