Between Blade and Ground

The guillotine sliced between King Edward’s third and fourth vertebrae. The blade fell with such force that the clergy would later claim the weight of his sins dragged it down. Rather than landing in the prepared basket, his head shot up in a high arc. He saw the crowd cheer and heard their cries of joy.

7

‘A man can still think for seven seconds after his head’s cut off,’ Edward’s father said, holding up the head of a toy soldier. Edward cried, but the lesson continuee. ‘A man is still able to think for seven seconds after getting his head cut off. If you want to escape those torturous few moments of regret, you’ll listen to me, boy. A king can choose to rule by either love or fear. Your grandfather chose the former, and it almost cost us our kingdom. Love is a fickle thing; it doesn’t survive hunger, war, or illness. So when the grain reserves were depleted in one harsh winter, the peasantry forgot all about how much they loved my father. They revolted, and the animals lay siege to our castle! My father tried to appease them, tried to negotiate. I couldn’t let him drag our family name any further, so I hauled him up the ramparts and…’ he broke off the head of a toy knight. ‘I held my father’s head to the crowd and showed him how a true king rules. I gave the order, and vats of heated oil were poured onto the revolting peasants.’

Young Edward spoke through his sobs ‘you… killed grandfather?’

‘Now, whenever the seeds of revolt are sown, fear stops them from taking root. You don’t need to save them from famine or pestilence, boy. You just need to make sure they fear you more than the alternative.’

6

Recoiling from those memories, King Edward’s severed head focused on the crowds. The cacophony of sound delivering their hate, curses and bile. People of all sorts are gathered; the rich and poor, the young and old. Amid the sea of sea of twisted faces, an older woman stood near the front. She wasn’t shouting. Just watching. Arms loosely crossed, face unreadable. He couldn’t say why, but her stillness unsettled him more than all the screaming combined.

His gaze moved onward, landing on a young blonde boy no older than 12. He looked remarkably like a child he had half beaten to death in his youth. He hadn’t wanted to, but his father had overheard the gardener’s son calling the prince a milksop. That would not do.

5

Edward became king at nineteen, once his father died of a rage-fueled stroke. His father collapsed in a fit of rage and spent three final days in bed, speechless, glaring at everything he could still see. Prince Edward never visited.

Instead, he was busy reforming his council. He wanted new blood. Despite everything his father taught him, Edward dreamed of ruling with compassion, with dignity. He would love his people—and they would love him back.

4

King Edward’s head reached the top of the arc. From that height, the entire district unfolded beneath him. It wasn’t as beautiful as he remembered. The dignified facades were caked with dust and ignored. The streets littered with the poor. On one corner he noticed the abandoned entrance of his former pride and joy, the Hall of Apprenticeship.

A few years into his reign, King Edward began a project to give the many orphans of war a chance for a better life. He built the Hall of Apprenticeship, in which young children could enroll to learn skills and trades. They were given food and lodgings and their only required contribution was diligence. The peasants loved him for it. The merchants did not. They missed their cheap, breakable labor.

3

The descent had begun, the head had gone past the peak and was now on its way to the ground, trailing thick ribbons of blood.

He remembered blood, gushing from his belly in many places. King Edward had a scheduled visit to his beloved Hall of Apprenticeship. He was ushered into a room with the 6 most skilled students, who reportedly wanted to become teachers at the Hall themselves. King Edward greeted them warmly, in the brightly illuminated room where some learned masonry. They shifted nervously, but Edward assumed that was nerves at sharing the room with royalty. He noticed too late the sharp chisels they concealed behind their back.

As his speech came to an end, and Edward had let his guard down, they surged forward, pushing their chisels into his belly. Edward screamed in pain, as the guards burst through and began cutting the children down like wheat at harvest.

2

The ground was rising fast, Edward wondered if he’d still be conscious for the impact with the ground.

The children, he later found out, were forced by a group of merchants to carry out the assassination attempt. The merchants were furious that children opted to go into the Hall rather than work for them. Lucky for King Edward, that the children had neither the force nor motivation to penetrate his belly too deeply. But while his physical wounds healed quickly, his spiritual one never would. He knew the children were forced to it, but shouldn’t their love of him have come first? His father’s voice echoed in his skull: ‘Fool boy. You thought they’d love you more than they feared for themselves?’

Thereafter, Edward stopped ruling with love, and changed course in his reign. All merchants even remotely suspected to be involved were publicly flayed. The Hall was closed. Criticism on his rule was met with charges of treason and subsequent execution. Entire villages were purged whenever Edward suspected duplicity from their respective Lord.

It took the resistance ten bloody years to capture Edward and sentence him to death by guillotine.

1

The crows rose to meet him. He braced for the kiss of cold, hard stones. Instead, he was caught by the soft, warm arms of a middle aged woman. She turned his head and their eyes met. Using his last bit of strength, Edward mouthed ‘mama?’

She hadn’t been called that in years. But his expression was one known to all loving mothers. It’s that expression of a scared child needing reassurance. She wondered if her son, killed in one of the king’s purges, also cried for his mother when they buried a sword in his belly. Was there anyone who claimed the sacred role of mother to give him comfort? She hoped there was.

‘Shhhh… I’m here, son. Go back to sleep.’

She kissed his brow, and for the first and last time in his life, Edward smiled. Then he slept.