The Executioner's Daughter (9 page)

Couldn't life be simple once again, when she believed that the condemned should die? When she imagined all criminals to be evil? When her father's duty to Lord Dunsworth was honorable and just? She knew her father only did his duty as executioner, but if someone as kind as her mother, no matter what her crime was, could be sentenced to death, how could he bear to live with himself? He was not the judge nor jury, but he did impart the final blow.

And she was destined to be his assistant. How would she ever be able to live with herself?

She spread her arms wide, fingers stretched as far as they would reach, wishing she had the wings of a dove with which to fly away.

CHAPTER NINE

Her father was not home when Lily returned. She paced from the hearth to the door to the apothecary, and back to the hearth again. Occasionally she stopped to add a log to the fire, or to peek out the front door, or to take a pinch of dried mint to chew on, but she couldn't concentrate on any one thing. She mostly dreaded her father's arrival, and yet she wished he'd come home soon. She had much to tell him.

Lily twisted her fingers together as she walked back and forth. Blossom yipped, calling for attention from her mistress. Lily knelt down and scratched her dog's belly as the pups jumped and nipped. Lily picked up her favorite pup. She loved the runt best of all because he needed her to feed him. He often followed her around while the others played together with growls and rough tumbling.

Now he licked Lily's nose and then tried to chew on it. All at once, she knew what she must do. She bundled up the extra nipples she had made, and dropped the runt into a small sack.

Outside, the afternoon sun glowed orange. She didn't have much time for her errand. Pulling the hood over her head she hurried into town. John had once told her he lived with his mother and father and two older brothers near the north wall, so she headed in that direction. She kept her head low, glancing up occasionally so that she wouldn't run into others.

The sack in her arms squirmed and whined till a cold little nose poked through the neck of her cloak and rubbed against her chin. She laughed quietly, not wanting to draw attention to herself. “Aye, I'll miss you, too,” she whispered.

As she neared the north wall, she kept watch for John. His father was a tailor, and when she saw the sign hanging above a door, she knew she had found the boy's house. But now what? She had never visited another's home.

With a sigh of relief, she saw John walking down the road toward her, kicking a stone ahead of him. As soon as he saw Lily, he stopped and glared. Then he ran away and slipped down an alley. Lily hurried after him.

“John, wait,” she called.

The boy abruptly turned around. “What do you want?” He stared at her, anger and hurt pulling his face into a scowl.

Lily hesitated. How could she blame the boy? Last he'd seen her, she had been hurling rocks at him.

She brought the pup out from under her cloak. “This is for you.” She held her breath and waited. What if he rebuffed her? What if he didn't want this gift?

John looked at her suspiciously. Then he looked at the pup and his expression softened. He took the runt from her hands.

“He needs extra care, and I don't have time to do it.” She handed him the sack with the nipples. “You have to feed him twice a day, though he's nearly weaned.”

“What's his name?”

“Whatever you choose,” Lily said. She pulled her hood tighter around her face. “I have to go now. Take good care of him.”

“Why are you giving him to me?”

“I've already told you,” she said. “Because I am so busy in the apothecary. I have no time for him.”

Lily turned and hurried to the end of the alley, looking both ways before stepping out onto the narrow road. John did not call after her. She walked quickly through the roads, only getting lost once as she tried to keep the setting sun to her right in order to find her way to the gates. As she left the town behind, she breathed easier and loosened her hood. She knew John would love and care for the pup. Still, sadness sat across her shoulders like a heavy yoke.

As she approached the cottage, she knew her father was inside. But now that he was home, she wasn't ready to see him. Stepping carefully, she crept to the side of the cottage. The dove cooed and the rabbits skittered in their cages. Since her mother had passed, Lily had taken in fewer injured animals. She simply didn't have the leisure to find and care for them.

Lily squatted next to the cages. Two rabbits, one dove, a quail, and the hedgehog were all that were left. First, she let the rabbits go. When she put them on the ground, they sat for a moment. Lily stomped right behind them and they hopped off and out of sight. Next, she carried the quail to a thicket at the edge of the forest. It would find its way in its own time, she knew. The hedgehog had lost a foot, but now he got around quite well. It shuffled off as soon as she released it.

Finally, the dove. Lily had removed the wrapping from its wing two weeks earlier. She had exercised the bird so it had stretched its wings to regain its power. The wing didn't look deformed, but that didn't mean the bird would be able to fly. So far all she had seen it do was flap from one perch to another as it strengthened its wing. Cautiously, so as not to alarm the dove, she reached in and caught it between her hands. She kept its wings pressed to its side so that it couldn't flap them in panic.

Lily carried the dove close to her chest and walked away from the cottage. She found a space where the trees were sparsely scattered. A perfect place to release the bird.

Holding her breath, she lightly tossed the dove up into the air. It spread its wings and flapped higher and higher, lifting Lily's heart with it. The bird was free. She, Lily Goodman, had healed it! The bird swooped out of sight. Gazing into the empty sky, she imagined herself healing not only birds and rabbits, but children with broken bones, and women who had trouble birthing babies, and even crabby old men who were careless with a whittling knife. She could do it. She looked at her hands in wonder, realizing they were no longer clumsy. Though not slender and delicate, they nevertheless held the power to heal.

Abruptly, she remembered her father. She could no longer put off going inside.

Lily hesitated in the doorway of the cottage before entering, still uncertain what exactly she wanted to say to him.

Will sat at the table drinking ale. He looked up at her uncertainly. “Where were you, child?”

“Just now I was outside freeing the animals. They're all healed. And the dove flew away.” She couldn't help the pleasure that came out with her words.

“You have your mother's touch.”

Lily heard the sad timbre in his voice as she hung her cloak on a peg near the door. She moved to push the pot of lamb stew over the fire and stirred it. Master Baker had given the meat in exchange for medicine for his wife.

“And I gave the runt to the town boy.”

“Why? He was your favorite.”

She paused in her stirring. The answer came as clear and pure as a bird's song, but the words would not come out. Lily let the question hang in the air until it was swept away by the sound of bubbling stew and the pups suckling in the corner. Her father didn't ask again, and though she tried for the rest of the night, Lily couldn't bring herself to utter the final words.

CHAPTER TEN

The next morning, Lily dressed carefully. She rubbed at the stains on her outer tunic, knowing the dress would never come clean in the King's lifetime, but feeling better for making the effort. She brushed her hair until it hung straight and smooth down her back, with no snarls marring its pale sheen. Her father met her at the door to the cottage. He wore a black cloak and the usual black gloves covered his hands.

“Lord Dunsworth has commuted the criminal's sentence,” he said.

“He's not to hang then?” Lily asked hopefully, but her father's face did not lighten.

“He's to be executed by my sword instead. Lord Dunsworth took pity on the man's young wife who begged for mercy.”

“Mercy?”

“Aye,” he said gruffly. “For 'tis easier and more honorable to die by the ax than to be hung.”

Lily took a deep breath to still the trembling that had filled her since early morning. A beheading. She tried to imagine the condemned man's wicked face, but all she could see was her mother's image.

“Come now,” he said, picking up his sack of tools. “And follow close so you don't get trampled.”

Lily hung back. “I cannot go,” she said, her voice a scratchy whisper.

“You must, child!”

“But I do not wish to.”

“Do you think I
wish
to?” Her father's voice rose. “Nay! 'Tis my duty as it was my father's before me! And now yours as well!” With that, he turned and strode on before her.

As always, duty compelled her to obey. Lily's legs carried her forward, though she longed to flee into the forest.

Her father led her through town to the platform erected in the middle of the square. Filled with deep dread, Lily followed him up the steps. He motioned for her to stop halfway and sit on one of the stairs.

Now that they had passed through the town, the crowd surged around like hungry wolves, howling for the sinner's blood. They pressed against the scaffolding holding up the platform, and Lily felt it tremble and shake. She worried it would collapse and drown her under piles of splintered wood. But perhaps that would be best.

Lord Dunsworth's men brought the prisoner out on a cart. As the cart wended through the crowd, boys threw rotten apples and eggs at the condemned man. He stood, tied to a post in the middle of the wagon, his head cast down as though in shame.

When he did look up, Lily steadied herself against the next step. This was no villain being trundled on the cart. He was a boy, just turned to manhood with fair whiskers only tickling his chin, and a bare chest and arms that had not yet developed the strength of a man.

Lily could hardly bear to look at him, yet she couldn't look away.

The jeers and shouts continued as the lord's soldiers roughly yanked the boy onto the platform and pushed him to his knees, facing the crowd, his hands still tied behind him.

A priest stood on the platform, his tonsured head gleaming in the morning light. He bent low to bless the sinner one last time. Afterward, he rose and stepped aside, his hands clasped and his eyes closed with prayer. The executioner stepped forward.

Cheers erupted from the mob. “One cut! One cut!” they cried. Horrified, Lily realized they wanted the executioner to cut the boy's head off with a single swipe of his ax. The executioner, his head now covered in a black hood, revealed the shiny sharp edge of his ax.

With careful consideration, the executioner positioned himself behind the prisoner, lining up his blade next to the boy's bare neck. He moved easily, as though he were simply going to chop a block of wood. Then Lily caught the familiar tilt of his head and the shrug of his left shoulder. Lily stared in horror. Suddenly, he was not the executioner in black, the distant stranger pulling the ropes in her nightmares,
he was her father.

She tried to tear her gaze away from the execution, but it snagged on the boy's face. Tears washed his eyes as he stared dumbly out at the people who clapped to see him executed. Lily tasted blood as she bit her lower lip. She wanted to clench her eyes shut to stop this from happening, but she couldn't even make herself blink. As though caught in a new and more terrifying nightmare, Lily watched.

Her father brought back his ax. The crowd fell silent. In one smooth arc, he swung the weapon forward, cleanly cutting through the boy's neck.

The impact of the blow knocked the head aside. But instead of landing neatly in the basket her father had placed for that purpose, it fell onto the wooden planking, rolled across the platform, and dropped to the uneven cobbles. Blood sprayed wide.

Someone pierced the air with a shrill scream. Suddenly everyone was running in panic, shouting and yelling with fear as mothers snatched up children and pulled them out of the way, and boys scrambled between legs to escape. The mass of people rippled like a single piece of cloth waving in the wind.

When the head settled in a ditch, the tangled crowd re-formed around it. Some were crying with fear because blood speckled their clothing.

Lily realized everyone was staring at her. She was the one screaming. She clamped her hands over her mouth.

As she watched, her father stepped off the platform with a pike in his gloved hands. Now he would carry the head to the castle gate, where it would be displayed to remind people not to sin against God nor King nor, in this case, Lord Dunsworth. And the head would remain until the birds picked it bare and the skull wobbled in a strong wind. Then it would fall and shatter on the stones below.

Lily lurched to her feet and stumbled down the steps. She did not dare look at her father.

Taunts and jeers echoed through the narrow roads after her as she ran away. “Lily White as Bones!” “Bloody Lily! Bloody Lily!” She ran and ran, the mocking cries growing distant as she neared the town wall.

No one stopped her as she rushed through the gate and down the dirt road toward home. Inside, she pulled at her dress. When it wouldn't come loose easily, she pulled harder, ripping the seams, but she didn't care. She flung the blood-spattered garment on the floor.

Naked, Lily grabbed a pitcher of water and poured it over herself. She scrubbed her hands and face, then she washed the rest of her. The rough cloth scratched her body and turned her skin a dull red.

Then she pulled her only other tunic on over her wet body. Taking the damp cloth, she wrapped the clothes into a bundle to feed to the fire.

Lily shuddered and crouched beside her pallet, hugging her folded legs close to her and burying her face against her knees. She sat dry-eyed, waiting.