STONES
execution/F

    There were people she knew there in the crowd, neighbors, old playmates, she had known some of them all of her life. Now they were there to watch her die, even to help kill her. I have see this before, the look when they see once friendly faces excited and filled with blood lust. I truly felt sorry for her. A young wife, no widow, broken and driven by things she could not control, yes I regret doing what my station requires. 
    It started when her husband [ a good man, hardworking and honest, making a way for his wife and newborn son] was killed by a sickle blade in the belly, a common enough field accident. Unable to see any future for herself or her babe her reason had left her. She killed her babe and the act was seen by many. As she was caught in the act of murder there was no need of a full trial but only a review and sentencing by the Count. As is his practice he listened to all who witnessed and sought a statement from her. All she could say was “God has turned his back on me, my life is over, I am doomed and am thankful for it” he had small choice but to find her guilty but in his mercy he did not pass sentence on her last night but just had me lead her away. He did charge me however with the duty to see that she come to no further harm while she was in my care. This was odd not only in that the use of the condemned one’s body was and is a privilege of my office but also in the orders to make sure that she did not harm herself. I posted two guards and repeated the charge to them. 
    My lord later explained that he too felt sorrow for her and believed that her judgment would come later and that he had no wish for her to forgo her chances for the afterlife by killing herself. Her death in the morn would be more than enough punishment for her earthly crime without anything else added to it. He felt that for some reason God had decreed misfortune befall  her and it was not fitting for us to intervene in that plan.
    When I led her out in the morn I could see that as usual the Count had caused things to happen. A barren empty square was established at one end of the field where the lists were usually set up. Bounded by the rails used to divide the lists it was waist high and as long on a side as a dozen tall men. There was a stout stake buried in the dirt at the center with a chain attached to it. A shackle on the chain would fasten to the leg irons she was wearing already. As we passed the burial ground there was already a fresh grave dug waiting with a crude headboard. Next to it were two other freshly filled graves, one large, the other small. She noticed them and it was the only time so far that she seemed to accept what was happening, indeed I believe she was relived to find she would be reunited with her family.
    Father Mathew met us near the square and the crowd moved back to allow him privacy while he offered her confession and last rites. He also passed on milord’s belief about God’s will and offered his support to the poor woman. It was only cold comfort to her but it did seem to lighten her load. 
    She stopped and let out a small gasp as she noted the baskets of fist sized cobbles spaced around the outside of the square but moved on without my help. She stepped over the rough linen winding cloth laying at the entrance, it wound be the last covering she would ever wear except for the dirt used to fill her grave. We paused just inside the square and it was only then that she hesitated, was it truly necessary for her to be naked? Yes it was, it was both the lord’s custom and was required for one facing death by stoning. I helped her to remove the simple shift she was wearing and I cut off the smallclothes that could not be removed over her chains. I also took the time to tie her thumbs to her index fingers so she could not pick up of throw anything. Others had tried to return the favor in the past so precautions were needed. Bowed and broken as she was she still presented a picture of young beauty as we slowly moved to the center. With the exception of her swollen breasts leaking the unsuckled milk  she still was  the girl that she had been just last year when we had watched her marriage. I shackled her to the post and asked her to forgive all who were here for the part that they were to play in her death and I told her that she and her family would be prayed for. She managed to thank me for my caring and kindness but I could tell that she was already feeling the stones as they struck her body.
   My eyes swept the crowd as I returned to the edge of the square, a vast number of people had gathered but then stoning was always a popular activity. The age and beauty of the condemned was also a factor, always more witnesses when the one to be killed was a good looking female. Beside stoning allowed them to take an active part in the death instead of just watching. Many of these folks had an anger inside that needed a release, what better way than helping kill a young pretty girl? A restlessness swept the group and I realized I had better start things. With a last look to insure everything was ready I waved my hand and ordered the first stone thrown.
   As usual the first ones missed, there are never any hits at first, indeed there are very few even thrown at first. It takes time for people to work up the courage to help kill another person. She was going to be brave and stand still, no doubt thinking to make herself an easier target and thus end it faster. Brave ideas that would fade soon after the first strikes. Then she would duck and dodge. She would even try to deflect the missiles. All to no avail. The cobbles will overpower her meager defenses and  strike her down no matter what she attempts. There, the first hit, on her arm just above the elbow. Another one low on her back. This one knocks her down crying in pain. She lays supine in the dirt until still another lands next to her head and bounces into her ear. Unable to force her body to just lay and wait to be beaten to death she rises and begins to defend herself. The dance has now started. Danced to the beat of landing rocks and the counterpoint of her cries and the under swell of the crowd’s noise. Even without her chains she would be unable to dodge all the stones, with  them she is almost helpless in the face of their numbers. She screamed as one scored on her left breast. Full of milk as it was the pain must have been beyond even that of childbirth. She was knocked back to her knees by it. I took my eyes off her to look around. A scream rising to a shriek rang out. Looking back it was clear that she had taken more hits, her right arm was broken, dangling, her mouth was bleeding and deformed, and 
Something was wrong with her right leg. Still she managed to arise from her knees. Standing and swaying she tried to protect herself but there was little she could do. Her left hand rose to deflect an incoming cobble. She stopped the rock but at the price of broken bones in her hand, now both hands were useless. A larger rock got her ankle leaving the white bone showing. Even before she could fall a second one shattered her kneecap. She was down for the last time now. Both arms and one leg were gone. Her wail was a protest that went unheard in the general shouts and taunts. Everyone there now was throwing as fast as they could pick up a fresh rock and fling it. As their aim improved I was no longer able to keep track of each hit. Finally she was still and I called hold. A few late stones landed near or on her before I was able to investigate her condition. 
   The sound of my boots as I picked my way through the loose stones around her caused her to turn her head toward me. Laying face down and unable to move she was truly pitiful. There were broken bones showing through her skin, she was a mass of cuts, bruises discolored her fair skin, her jaw was broken and hanging, her breathing had that wet sound that meant blood in her lungs from broken ribs puncturing them, and one eye was ripped open. She was dying and knew it. Unable to speak her eye begged me to end her pain, to give her the mercy I had promised. A weak scream blew blood as I rolled her over to her back. From the front she looked even worse than before. The countless stones had battered her almost beyond recognition. Yet she still lived. And in as much pain as I had ever seen even with all my years of service as milord’s executioner and head torturer. My dagger parted the skin just under her breastbone. Freshly sharpened it slid easily through the meat. I stopped when I could feel her beating heart in the bone handle. The tip was just resting against her heart as I offered her last rites and what comfort I could. Her eye closed just as I pushed the blade deeper and swept it back and forth slicing large wounds in her heart. A brief stiffening and a shudder and she was free, gone to wherever God wished. With her husband and babe I prayed but at least her pain was gone.