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A Crime of VengeanceThere, between two large oak trees, he saw another man. The man was middle-aged, short and stocky, and his greasy blond hair hung loosely around his shoulders. His face showed hatred and disgust. The short man twirled his sword in front of him, which shone brightly in the mid-morning sunlight, and he spit. “Why have you come chasing after me like a hound does a fox, boy?” he hollered. “Revenge, Tom. Revenge for what you have done,” the other man said quietly, trying to contain the quiver in his voice. “Revenge? For that? She deserved it, Dominic! The woman was asking for that knife in her chest.” Suddenly, with a yell, Dominic raised his sword and charged at the other man. The two men met head on and fought. Both were like dancers, twirling and moving in one fluid motion, never stopping, never missing a beat. One sword clashed with the other, then spun around and swung again. Then suddenly it was over. Tom stopped and stumbled backward, slowly looking down at the sword plunged deep into his chest. He then looked up at Dominic. The man stood, arms dropped at his heaving sides, and sweat poured down his face and back. “She deserved it, Dominic,” Tom growled, then he fell backward, dead, his own sword still clutched in his hand. Dominic moved over to the fallen man. He looked down at the face. There was no movement; the eyes stared blankly up at him. He reached out and pulled his sword out of the body. There was a pool of blood around the dead man, and Dominic’s sword, usually the color of the bright morning sun, was now dark crimson. He sighed shakily and turned, walking back the way he had come, stumbling as he went. “This man will be hung in two hours time,” came a voice from behind a large scroll. “He has been charged with murder, and must face the gallows for this crime. My lord, your prisoner.” A small wooden door opened at the far end of a large, spacious stone and marble hall, and through the door came two prison guards leading a man in chains. “Bring him here,” a voice bellowed from a high throne at the side of the room opposite the wooden door. The sound of the guards’ footsteps on the marble floor and the jingle of the chains echoed loudly and harshly in the spacious hall. The man in chains was brought to the foot of a wide set of marble stairs. Atop the stairs there was perched the throne, and in the throne sat a skinny old man. The man was wearing leather and velvet robes, and in his hand he held a staff. Along the arm of the throne hung his gold and silver crown. The man in chains bowed down before the king. As he was standing up, the king took the crown off the arm of the throne, and he looked at it and began twirling it. “Do you know what this is?” the king asked. “It is my crown. It means I have control over this city, over this country, over you.” At this the king slapped the crown atop his hairless head. “Tell me, how long have you been working for me?” “Eleven years, sir,” said the man in chains quietly. “And how many years ago were you assigned as a watchman along the castle wall?” “Two years, sir.” “Two years . . . In two years shouldn’t you have learned that a watchman leaving the city without permission is punishable by death?” The other man said nothing. The king stood up and stomped the marble steps. He harshly grabbed the other man by the front of his shirt and brought him close to his face. His eyes were cold and heartless and full of anger, and his breath was hot. “And to make matters worse,” he said between clenched teeth, “you left your post to kill a man! Do you have any idea who that man was that you butchered?” The man said nothing. “He was my nephew! The only heir to my throne. You killed him!” The old man let go of the other man disgustingly with a shove. “Take him away,” he yelled, then began to sob. The man in chains was taken down to the cold dungeon. He was unchained and tossed into a small cell. The heavy door slammed behind him, and he shivered. Suddenly he heard a scuffle to his left. He spun around, and in the grey light he could make out the shape of an old man leaning against the cell wall. “What you be in here fer?” he asked gruffly. “Murder,” said the new arrival slowly. “Nice. Dey put me ‘way fer tryin’ to kill dat skinny dimwit wit dat crown . . . he don’ an’ murder’d me family, so’s I came after ‘im wit a knife. Didn’t get to far . . .day caught me an’ tossed me in ‘ere. Dat was ‘leven years ago. Who you murder?” “I really don’t want to talk right now, old man.” “Well, at leas’ tell me yer name, boy!” “Dominic,” he said, and turned away. The old man came over and placed an arthritic, gnarled hand on Dominic’s shoulder. “Why don’ ya tell ol’ Seamus yer story, son. Start from de very beginin.’ All de way back. It’ll ‘elp to talk to someone. Besides, I ‘aven’t ‘eard anoder voice in sum time.” Dominic looked at the wrinkled face and nodded. He went to a cold hard wall and sat down, leaning his back against it. When the old man was sitting down next to him, Dominic took a deep breath and began. “When I was five my father died and my mother and I moved here. She had always wanted to live in a city, because she had been a country girl all her life, and never saw much other than trees and cows. We moved in with the city baker, and I got a job with him, while my mother worked as a maid for the king. A few months went by, and I started noticing that my mother was returning home later and later each night. I didn’t think anything of it, for I was only five. “When I was seven my mother came home one day and told me she had a better job for me than a silly old baker’s assistant. I was to be one of the king’s stableboys. I was thrilled. The next day I followed my mother to the castle. I had never seen the king before, but I had heard plenty about him, because my mother would always speak of him. Anyhow, I was introduced to him, and from that moment on I can only remember his cold blue eyes . . . there was no life in them . . . no mercy. I was taken down to the stables by a servant, and I worked there for a year, cleaning stalls and the sort. It got to the point where my mother would stay in the castle for days at a time. I saw her maybe once a week. “One day a message came to me from the king himself, saying that I was now old enough to learn the sword. I quickly dressed in my best clothes and rushed to the castle to begin training. My training was harsh, and even with a wooden sword I would go home to the baker’s each night with deep cuts and large bruises. But I loved it. I was in the practice field constantly, practicing with all of the older boys, and even when I was working in the stables I would keep my sword with me. I got to be so fluid with the practice sword that the older boys wouldn’t even fight me anymore, because they knew I would win. Even at eight years old I sometimes would make my teacher cry out in pain when I hit him. “We no longer lived with the baker. I was living at the stables and my mother in the castle. She I only saw occasionally, maybe two or three times a month. I missed her company, for I didn’t have many friends. But my sword was my friend; I even kept it under my pillow at night. “When I was eleven, I was given a real sword, for three-year students are considered ‘graduates.’ My mother gave me a belt and scabbard for my graduation. Before I had only a small thin leather one, but this one was a real scabbard . . . it had on it many jewels and ancient inscriptions . . . it took my breath away. I wore it day and night. I thought it strange, though, that my mother could afford such a scabbard. I had heard that castle maids do not get paid much, but I didn’t question it any further. I was just glad to have it. Years went by, and whenever I could I would go into town after dark and clash swords with drunk men for extra money, and sometimes men would pay money just to see my beautiful scabbard. “One day, just after my sixteenth birthday, a message arrived from the king announcing that I was to meet with him. I changed my ragged shirt into a new tunic and dusted off my best pair of pants. Adjusting my sword and belt I hurried to the castle. “It turned out that the king had just lost one of his watchmen along the castle wall, and he wanted me to take his place. The next day was a small ceremony for me, with only the king and a few soldiers. I wanted my mother to be there, but the servants said she was busy. During the ceremony I was given my duties, my uniform, and sent off to the castle wall near the gate. “I was on that wall from dawn until dusk for two years. It was my job to keep watch for anyone trying to enter the castle. I would watch and make sure there was no confrontation at the gate, and to disarm anyone if there was. I worked as a watchman for two years, and in two years I had seen my mother only twice. The first time she came and visited me, telling me she was betrothed to man. I had figured years ago that she had a man, but I didn’t ask her anything about it. After all, it was her life. I congratulated her, and after we talked for a bit she returned to the castle. “The second time I saw my mother was be the last time I saw her alive.” Dominic stopped and swallowed. “Las’ time ya saw ‘er alive? Wha’ ‘appened? Tell me!” the old man urged, grabbing on to Dominic’s arm. Dominic shivered and took a deep breath. “About a week later I was laying in my bed in a small one-roomed house that I was living in. I had just finished a night-watch upon the wall, and I had just drifted off to sleep at about mid-morning when I heard a noise outside the door, like a scuffle or scratch. I strapped my sword on and crept outside. I couldn’t see anyone, but suddenly someone grabbed me from behind. I spun around and ripped out my sword. “ ‘Dominic!’ the person screamed. It was my mother. ‘Oh, my son! Help me!’ I sheathed my sword and she collapsed into me. I asked frantically what was wrong. ‘He’s going to kill me!’ she screamed. ‘You must help! Hide me!’ “ ‘Mother, hush!’ I told her. ‘Come inside and tell me what’s wrong.’ I took her inside my house and set her on my bed with a blanket around her shoulders. ‘Who’s going to kill you, Mother? What is going on?’ “She told me there was a man, a castle guard, who began talking to her, then started giving her flowers. She accepted them, but the man my mother was betrothed to found out and was furious. He told my mother that if she talked to this guard again he would kill her. Apparently my mother was returning from the kitchens earlier that morning when the castle guard met her as she was coming from around a corner and he grabbed her and kissed her. My mother’s husband-to-be heard what happened through servant’s gossip a while later and came after my mother with a knife. My mother ran for her life . . . to me. When she finished telling me what happened she began to sob. I comforted her as best as I was able, telling her everything would be alright. But it wasn’t. “An instant later I heard a man scream from outside my door. ‘Come out here, woman! I know you are in there!’ he yelled. My mother stiffened. I pulled out my sword and went to my door. ‘No, my son! He’ll kill you too!’ she whispered frantically. Ignoring what she said I opened the door and rushed out. “The man in front of me was middle-aged, short and stocky, and his greasy blond hair hung loosely around his shoulders. The sword he carried gleamed in the late morning sun. ‘Where is that woman, boy? I’m going to kill her!’ The man charged at me, but I met him with my sword. We fought, our swords clashing and singing, but suddenly the man took his fist and smashed it into the side of my head. As I crumpled to the ground the man rushed into my house, and an instant later I heard the most horrible sound I have ever heard . . .” Dominic stopped again, wiping a tear from his eye. The old man, Seamus, was silent for a moment. Then he put a hand on Dominic’s shoulder and asked quietly, “It was yer moth’r screamin’, wasn’ it, son? Dat man killed ‘er, didn’ ‘e?” Dominic clenched his jaw and stiffened, wiping another tear that leaked from his eye. His chin quivered, then suddenly he jumped up and screamed, “He killed her! He grabbed her and killed her! I was laying there and couldn’t get up; my head hurt so bad, and I saw stars. I watched that man run out of my house, dropping a bloodied knife onto the ground next to me . . . Somehow I managed to get up, and I stumbled into my house. My mother was on the floor, and there was a bloody knife-wound in her chest. The next think I remember was running out of the city. Something told me that the man who murdered my mother ran out of the city, so I did to. I ran and ran, not knowing where I was going. But suddenly I found myself deep in the woods, and my mind became as sharp as a sword’s tip. I heard a branch snap, and spun around. There he was, between two trees, twirling his sword. He taunted me, asking me why I had come chasing after him like a hound does a fox. I told him for revenge for what he had done. He jeered at me, telling me my mother deserved the knife in her chest, and I charged at him. We fought, and I killed him . . . I killed him . . .” The old man sighed as Dominic finished. “I tell ‘ee wha’, boy. You are de’ braves’ man I’ve ever known. But who was dat man, anywho?” Dominic paused, then said quietly: “Tom. The king’s nephew.” “Boy, you are de stupides’ man I’ve ever known! Da king’s nephew! An’ yer moth’r was gunna marry dis man. Ohh . . . so dat’s why ya nev’r saw ‘er, i’nt it? She was wit’ him all dos years . . . whew. . . I couldn’t imagine. Well, I am s’rry, boy, ‘bout yer moth’r. Wha’ punishm’nt did dey give ya?” “Hanging . . .they should be coming for me anytime,” Dominic said quietly. “Since I basically turned myself in after I killed that bastard, hanging was the best they could do.” “Ya turn’ yerself in? Wha’, did ya walk up to da king and spill da beans?” “Heh . . . sort of. As I was walking back into town, I was so dazed that I didn’t realize where I was going. I walked back to my house and one of the tower guards saw my bloody sword that I was dragging on the ground beside me. I didn’t even put up a fight when they grabbed me and put me in chains. I realized that my time is up, and why should I put it off any farther?” Seamus said nothing. “You know, I’m not afraid of dying, Seamus. Because I know I will die for my mother. But did I do the right thing?” Seamus didn’t get a chance to answer, for the two men suddenly heard footsteps and keys jingling. Their cell door opened and three guards came in, one to keep a hold of Seamus and the other two to take Dominic to his death. “I thank’ee fer talkin’ to me like ya did, boy,” said Seamus as Dominic was chained up and led out the door. “No, ya didn’t do da right t’ing. But don’ regret wha’ ya did. Any man wit’ a heart can see yer a good man, an’ ya did it fer a good reason.”
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