A story of four deaths
My head hung low, my eyes focused on my chained feet... the cart rumbled across the cobbled streets of Ghent, smoke and mist filling the air... the stench of the gutters, the cry of merchants, barking dogs, crying children held up by their mothers to see this sad transport. Four of us, clad in rough shifts. Tied and chained. Going to our deaths.
Why were we here? I don't really know. I'm 23, some say I'm pretty... I've always been poor, but I've made ends meet... yes, I've stolen a few things - clothes, loaves of bread... and I've lived on my wits, and my looks... men were always happy to pay... My back bears the scars of a few floggings along the way... But then something went really wrong... Not here in Ghent - I'm not from here, but up North, above the great rivers... How did it happen? A man - always a man... I thought it was a good night - I'd made some money from a few tricks, but then this man, this rich, fat man, had his fill of me then screamed that I was a thief... the landlord rushed in... He and a few others grabbed me and knocked me senseless. The next I knew I was in the gaol house, beaten and raped, filthy, chained to a wall... But that was weeks ago. There was some sort of trial, quickly over. I was guilty and this time they said I was to die... I was taken back to the cell. Dark. Days passed. I didn't know what would happen. I was lost. Then one day I was dragged out and chained into a cage on a wagon. We jolted off... what was happening? Across the dismal landscape and across the rivers... eventually I arrived in a new city, full of noise and activity. A city I didn't know. I was taken to a great castle in the centre of the town. And into the deep cells. Naked, in chains again. Raped. Again. And they told me I had been sold. The mayor wanted a spectacle. It had been a long time since a decent execution in Ghent... I was to be their entertainment.
And the others? Sweet Susja... maybe about the same age as me. Lovely too. White skin and long, tangled red hair... but with bruises now marking her beautiful face. We had shared a cell for the last three days. She hardly knew why she was here, but she was to die too. She was frightened. We kissed and comforted each other. We were warm and content together. Now we were sitting on the narrow wooden bars of the cart, chained. And the young girl - maybe she was fifteen or sixteen? Tiny breasts and straggly blonde hair. Just a girl. She cried and cried. She'd stolen some fruit in the market. Nothing much. She was an orphan trying to survive. Now she was to get her first dose of public punishment.... The fourth was the boy. A strong young man, but rough. Tangled black hair and a three-day growth of beard. His face scraped and marked. He'd taken a few blows as they shoved him into the cart in the castle yard.. He was so sure of himself - as if he couldn't really believe what was happening, and he was still there in the bar in town with his drinking mates... as he had been that fatal night of the argument. Fuelled by drink something had happened. Someone had died. And now he would die as a common murderer.
And so we four, bare-footed, clothed in our prison garb, slowly progressed to the Grote Markt... A crowd had formed. You could hear the noise from them - laughter, calls of hawkers, smoke from the food stalls rising in the still, cold air. Brighly coloured banners adding a flash of brilliance to the scene of greys and browns - people in working clothes and the wood and plaster buildings huddled around the scaffold.... The scaffold we were moving closer and closer to... The scaffold where pain and death waited for us...
Quickly we were pulled from the cart, and dragged up the cold stone steps to the platform.... Confused, shoved around, not really taking in what was happening. Then chained again to the rail.... to wait.... The girl cried and rubbed her running nose with her hand. The boy shouted curses and boasts still. Susja and myself reached for each others' hands, quietly...
And we looked up... at the post at one side of the scaffold. At the X-cross, made of huge dark timbers, with leather straps at its extremities... At the two wheels - cart-wheels - propped up and angled slightly : evidently to give the crowd a view of the events about to unfold.... The executioners mounted the scaffold, and announced to the crowd our names and our sins... murder, theft... and that for these reasons we were to face our punishments that were so richly deserved. How the crowd screamed! They were suddenly awake, their mouths agape and dripping saliva, shouting out for our deaths, waving their fists in the air. It seemed the mayor had made a good investment - the crowd were not to go away disappointed today.... (to be continued... if you want...)
