Chapter 4

In which Holisz loses much, then recoups some of his loss by recalling the words of his mentor.

The bard paused and looked meaningfully at his near-empty jack. One among the listeners brought a fresh ale and when the bard had taken a prodigious gulp, he resumed his tale.

“The baron was attended this day by his seneschal as well as his headsman. Several others watched from the distance, as is proper for such. Only the high-born and the very wealthy are worthy to approach the seat of power!

“My lord, recall that he’s apprenticed to Old Johannes the Wise,” cautioned the baron’s seneschal. “Although your wizard has not been seen for a few days, yet does he often disappear in such manner and comes back only after learning some new and wondrous ability. Recall how he shook down the walls of Castle Red Keep? What will he do if you execute his apprentice?”

“By all the gods,” snarled the baron. “This ill-born lout will not go unscathed after fondling my daughter!”

“Aye, Your Grace,” agreed the seneschal, “but is there perhaps something short of execution that will fit the crime? Banishment, perhaps?”

“Yes!” exclaimed the baron. “Banishment, that’s certain, for I won’t have him within the walls of my castle! But perhaps I’ll have out his tongue first, that he may not tell the tale! I will not be mocked, certes not by such as he!”

“Your Grace,” cautioned the seneschal, “men often bleed to death or choke after such, and then we’re back to wondering what Old Johannes might do. Your castle walls are no stronger than were those of the former Castle Red Keep, after all.”

“Know ye,” the bard explained, “that the former Castle Red Keep had the ill-luck to offend the wizard who had formerly guarded it. Unemployed, that wizard had sought other work. As it happened, the wizard who’d formerly guarded Castle Baldwin’s Junction had incontinently died, as happens to wizard and noble alike. Incontinent they always are, for they do not shit their breeches or piss themselves while dying, as ‘tis said common people do!

“Seneschal, you have delivered your counsel, as is your duty,” growled the baron. “Now be silent, lest you share mine anger. Know ye that I will have my revenge, if it cost me my stronghold and my life! Executioner, bring forth your blade!”

The seneschal turned pale and stepped back. When the baron, short-tempered at the best of times, was in a mood such as this...

The executioner drew forth the Sword of Justice from the sheath that hung aslant his back. “My Lord Baron has need of me? I stand ready to serve, m’lord.”

The baron beckoned and the executioner stepped close, sword blade pointing carefully behind him, for the baron’s guards were ever suspicious and their arrows were sharp. For even such as he, ‘twas best not to tempt fate. Assuring that the great sword point away and not toward the lord of this keep was only practical! The baron glared at Holisz even as he whispered in the executioner’s ear. The man nodded and stepped back. Perhaps he looked disappointed; it was difficult to tell in the dim light of the candles.

“I hold the high justice and the low justice in this place,” the baron hissed. “I have this day passed judgment, and the sentence will be carried out forthwith. Know ye that you’ll never again place your hands on a noblewoman, you ill-begotten lout! Headsman, do your duty!”

While the baron spoke, the executioner had been conferring quietly with the serjeant in charge of the guard detail. As the baron finished speaking, the executioner nodded and two burly guardsmen stepped forward, bringing Holisz with them. They grasped the forearms of the boy as a third guardsman brought up a section of tree bole, normally used as seating at the low end of the table; chairs were, of course, not necessary for such lesser persons as found themselves there. The fourth guardsman grabbed the boy’s long hair and yanked his head back, baring his throat and forcing him to stand up straight. The headsman raised the sword...”

Here the bard paused, while glancing meaningfully at his empty jack. The tapman had been waiting, for this was not the first time the bard had visited, and he knew most of the old man’s tricks. Yet was the crowd so anxious by now that perforce, the fresh jack of ale had to be passed from hand to hand among the audience ere it reached the bard. He quaffed deep, belched, and paused for a bit before continuing.

“As the baron had commanded, the guardsmen placed the boy’s forearms flat against the tree-bole in readiness. In the meantime, a castle lackey had done as he’d been ordered, quietly placing a small container of tar into the coals that glowed in the fireplace. None had noticed at the time, nor did they attend when the lowly lackey, using a scrap of rag to protect his hands, picked up the pot of hot tar that it be ready when needed.

The great sword swung over the executioner’s head and hissed down, narrowly avoiding the boy’s head and torso; those, know ye, were held safely back from the sword’s path by the guardsman’s grip on his hair. The sword cleaved cleanly through the two wrists, held firmly by the guardsmen against the wood of the seat, and Holisz’ hands fell to the floor, fingers curling.

While the castle’s people gasped in shock, the lackey brought forth the pot of hot tar, cradled in the protective rag. Faint tendrils of smoke rose lazily from the tar’s surface. The boy’s severed wrists bled freely; indeed, small jets showed where tiny arteries had been sundered. Holisz shrieked as the two guardsmen, taking turns, plunged the raw wounds into the tar to cauterize them. They quickly pulled the wrists back, leaving a coating of cooling tar over the fresh injuries. Small oozings yet showed, but the squirting had stopped, plugged by the harsh treatment.

“Throw that low-born thing out my castle’s door!” cackled the baron. “Better yet, mount him on a horse, an old one mind you, and lead it to the edge of my lands. Release him there! He shall live or he shall die, ‘tis no matter to me. But my mercy is widely known, so give him a single gold piece to sustain him while his arms heal, and an old sword that he might protect himself. Thereafter, he may beg for his sustenance as other criminals do.”

“But, My Lord...” gasped the seneschal, “how is he to wield a sword without hands to hold it?”

“Such is his task,” the baron said dismissively. “He has given offense by the use of those hands, I have given justice and mercy. Let my will be done, and that right swiftly. Seneschal,” and the baron indicated the fallen hands, “throw those bits to the castle dogs. But outside, where they will not be seen, lest some here be offended and you incur more of my wrath than you have already earned this day!”

“And so, ‘twas done. The boy Holisz, shaking in pain and cradling his agony against his breast, was strapped ‘round by an old, cracked belt with chipped and dented scabbard attached. The rustiest sword that could be quickly found in a corner of the armory was thrust within the scabbard and a small gold piece brought forth from the reeve’s chest. Such had been the baron’s command, and so were the deeds fairly done. Holisz, near fainting from pain and shock, was placed upon the horse. He had no saddle, for the baron had not ordered he be given such, and it was likely that Holisz noticed not the lack.

Escorted to the edge of the baron’s lands, Holisz was abandoned. He would live or die just as the baron had commanded. But such is the perfidy of men, especially of those who held hatred in their hearts for Holisz, that the gold piece in his pouch had been stolen. The baron had said to give him the gold; he had not commanded the guards to leave it in Holisz’ pouch! ‘Twould be a waste, in any case, for he would surely die. The guards left Holisz there, swaying astride his ancient mount and slumped over the horse’s withers. They soon returned to Castle Baldwin’s Junction to enjoy a good drunk and recount the jest that the baron had played on one who’d forgotten his proper station. The filched gold piece paid for the drink, and if they woke with thick heads and sour stomachs, well, ‘twas only just!