RUNNING OUT OF TIME

RUNNING OUT OF TIME

 I stared out the cell window.  My hands grasped the cold iron bars, and the rough metal dug into my palms. From my vantage point atop the scarred wooden stool, I could see the castle bailey which served as the market square, and beyond  … the gallows. It was a typical Autumn morning, windy and gray. I saw my cousin swaying in the wind, suspended from the gallows. An hour before, I heard his last pitiful pleas as they placed the noose around his neck and he begged for his life. All he received for his plea was the hangman's sharp rap on the head. I could only hope that it knocked him somewhat senseless before they pulled the lever that opened the trap door and dropped his body … to its death.

I knew they would be just as unforgiving and show no mercy to me tomorrow when it was my turn to face the gallows. Tomorrow was another market day, and Lord Cavendish always liked to have a full audience on his execution days. The more the merrier was always his motto.  That and, give the people what they want; as long as it wasn’t food, clothes, or warm shelter.

The people were starving well, almost starving. Lord Cavendish’s last battle with a neighbouring Baron had ravaged the countryside. Baron Grafton, my lord’s unworthy opponent, had laid siege to the countryside around Cavendish Castle. They had set fire to the crops only weeks before harvest time. The land was barren, with burnt stubble in the fields, only a few root crops had survived since they were buried under the earth. However, when dug up, these vegetables already had an overcooked smell. But what was far worse was the pernicious smell of dead livestock.  No matter what direction the wind blew, the smell of scorch, death, and decay permeated the village. The homes in the village had been all but destroyed. Some, especially those closest to the nearby river, had managed to save their huts from being completely obliterated. They filled buckets from the river and threw the water on their homes, while others had lost everything. There was no place to turn for help. The castle gate was securely closed and guarded against any future barons or marauders who dared to test Lord Cavendish’s metal. The castle was still in a flurry with the Lord's men at arms reduced to repairing the damages to the castle and portcullis left by Baron Grafton’s vicious attack.

Some of the villagers who found themselves homeless had taken to the hills and the forests scattered throughout my lord's lands, finding whatever shelter they could in caves or under trees.

Some had flouted the King’s laws and had taken their bow and arrows and hunted in the King's forest. By law, all the deer in the land belonged to the King and to hunt one had a stiff penalty. A penalty that my cousin had paid dearly for, not an hour since. 

I climbed down from my perch upon the three-legend stool and shook out the creased folds of my gown. I stopped myself short. What did it matter if there were wrinkles in my skirts, for tomorrow my gown would serve as my shroud as they placed me under the scorched earth.

I started to shake uncontrollably and the tears that I had cried for my cousin washed my cheeks anew. I was too young to die, and there were so many things I wanted to do with my life and yet here I stood …running out of time.

The other girls who had lived in the village had simple goals in life: find a husband who would treat them well and give them lots of babies. Have a roof over their heads that did not leak, a few chickens in the yard, and a well-bristled broom. I, on the other hand, had more lofty plans. My father had been the only doctor in the area and had tended not only the villagers but the castle folk as well. He was a learned man, who had come from a wealthy background that valued education. He had taught me how to read and write and to think outside the boundaries of village life. Since he had passed on, it had fallen to me to care for the villagers, and I now made this my calling in life. Lord Cavendish, not surprisingly, had spurned the idea of a woman treating his medical problems but even his men at arms would come to me when they were wounded and needed to be stitched up or healed.

What will the people do after tomorrow? There would be no one there to tend their wounds, deliver their babies, or create salves and potions for their illnesses. I was already worrying about them when I suddenly realized that I should be worrying about myself.

I walked around my cell for a while, round and round in circles like the old mule that was tied up to the miller’s grinding wheel. Every now and then I would go to the heavy oak door and give it a shake, but every time it remained barred. Was I hoping for a miracle? It was futile and my hours in this world were numbered.

I climbed up on my stool, grabbed hold of the corroded metal bars, and looked out. My cousin still swung in the wind, his tattered clothes streaming out from his body, a lesson to all who would see him that Lord Cavendish represented the King in this territory and upheld the King's laws, no matter that families were hungry and the deer aplenty.

Several crows flew over the ancient gallows. One brave one landed on the piece of wood that held the noose. The sentry sent to guard the gallows batted at it with his sword and it flew away, soon to return with his brothers until there was a whole murder of crows, ready to feast on his flesh. I turned away and instead looked towards the sun that was trying to push its way through the clouds. It was higher in the sky than I would have realized. My time to go to the gallows was coming quickly, too quickly. I hopped down and resumed my pacing, round and round went my feet, round and round went my thoughts.

I thought of the day that my cousin Rowan and I thought of the plan to kill the deer and feed the people. Although related, Rowan was a simple man who had not the knowledge of my father. He farmed the land and cared for his livestock, and until his fields were scorched and his livestock killed, he did very well for himself.  His farming methods were innovative and his produce was large and bountiful.  The castle steward always bought supplies for the castle from my cousin and he always had a bustling crowd around his booth on market days.

Rowan really wasn't much of a hunter, in fact, he was a very poor shot. I, on the other hand, could outshoot any man in the village with my bow and arrows. I had always proved myself as a great shot when we celebrated the Mid-Summer’s Eve festival and everyone took a day off from their toils to celebrate with bonfires, feasting, and imbibing in the ale which was supplied by his lordship. All the young maidens were eager to take part in the maypole dancing,  and the young men played the games to show their skill and prowess. The highlight of course was the lighting of the fires; the Bonfire, Wakefire, and St. John’s Fire, all of which had significance to our day of revels. 

The St. John’s Fire was of special significance as the villagers believed this fire was to drive away the dragons that would poison the wells, springs, and rivers and drive away other evil spirits.

I always looked forward to the archery contest and it was here that I could shine. I remember the first year I took part in the contest which had always traditionally been males only. I had taken my bow to the festival and took my place in line with the other archers They had laughed at me and told me to go join the maypole dancing but I was always a stubborn girl and finally, John the Miller, who held a place of importance as far as the villagers were concerned, relented and said ‘oh let the girl partake in the game.’ He wasn’t quite so eager when I outshot the entire village and hit the target every time and also outshot his son who had won the challenge for the past few years.

It was due to this recognition that when the necessity of finding substance for the hungry villagers was discussed, the people looked to me and I accepted the challenge. His lordship’s men at arms patrolled the forest regularly, so the hunt would have to be quick, and quiet, and my aim must be accurate. 

My cousin Rowan was quick to volunteer to be my escort and protector and help carry the deer back to the village. A lone female discovered by the Lord's guards would be in grave peril. Lance the village butcher would also accompany us and deal with the meat as Rowan and I disposed of the carcass in the forest.

 We waited downwind in the bushes for the deer to come to a small brook that ran through the forest. We waited with bated breath when one of his lordship’s patrols came into the clearing where we were hidden in the bushes. But they were eager to get back to the keep as it was now twilight. We waited patiently and soon after a small group of deer came along. I  killed a deer with my first arrow, straight through the chest.

Lance made his way back to the village carrying much of the meat in a barrow. We gave him a head start as the barrow was an unwieldy contraption. Rowan and I had just finished digging a pit to hide the remains and had got the carcass half-buried when another detail of knights heading to the castle with their dogs, discovered us. We were caught red-handed as it were.  Their torches revealed our hands and clothes that were stained with the deer's blood. 

We were thrown into the keep's tower, a mock trial was held and Rowan and I were sentenced to be hung. Hanged by the neck till our souls left our bodies. One of us would hang on the first market day and the other on the next day.  The word of a hanging always spread quickly; traveling minstrels and peddlers who went from village to village, would spread the news like wildfire.  Hangings always drew a good crowd and were good for business.

 I could hear my stomach gurgle, it had been hours since I last ate. I knew that food, as scarce as it had become, would not be wasted on a doomed prisoner.  I once again climbed onto my little stool and peered out the window. The wind had died down now and Rowan’s body hung stiff and still in the growing dusk. My hours on earth were dwindling. I wondered when the moment came if I would plead like my cousin Rowan had, or if I would be able to hold my peace and go bravely and courageously to meet my maker. I hoped for the latter but knew I was no hero, and had no claim to courage. I would probably squeal like a stuck pig. For the hundredth time, nay, more like the thousandth time, I fell to my knees and asked the Good Lord in Heaven for mercy. Nay! Mercy and a miracle.

Somehow, I don’t know how. I fell asleep in the straw that lined the cell. The cell was small, and straw, none-too-fresh, lined the stone floor. My trusty little wooden stool and a wooden bucket in the corner were all the amenities that I had. Yet I slept like a Queen in her sweet-smelling sheets, eiderdown mattress, and goose feather pillows.

 The sounds from the keeps bailey finally woke me the next morning. With haste, I climbed atop my stool and looked out the window of my garret. It was dawn, actually well past dawn, I noted the shadows in the bailey and knew the morning was already slipping away.  Though I could not see it, I could smell the aroma of the pig that must be roasting on a spit for the festivities to take place later that day. It smelled heavenly, but I had more serious problems to worry about. At least the villagers would be well-fed today. A contingency of His Lordship’s men at arms marched in and halted at the foot of the gallows. They made short work of lowering Rowan's body to the ground and I said a hasty goodbye to my cousin. There was no ceremony, no flowers, no words of kindness. I knew I would suffer the same cruel fate.

Crowds began to gather in the bailey. Many were already jockeying for the best viewing place beneath the gallows. Some carried small buckets with them, filled with refuse to throw at the hangee, or some just to have a small bite to eat and while away the time until the poor victim was brought forth. On this fateful day, that would be me.

There was a sound at the door and I turned to face it. My breath caught in my throat and I felt a chill and a tremor run through my body.  Time had run out. I gave one more quick and desperate prayer as the door opened slowly.

“Good morning sweetheart, you really slept in late today. I bet you were up half the night reading one of your historical adventure novels, weren't you?  Well, it’s time to get ready for school. If you don't hurry you will miss your bus. Bacon and eggs are in the microwave.”

 With that, my mother closed my bedroom door and I stretched and yawned, relieved not to have to face the gallows. At least not today.