"Murderer´s Trial" by Adrian H. Wood

Murderer's Trial


          I must confess…

          “It was one of many sultry summer days. The bright white sun was shining gaily down on the arid beds of decaying roses when the scream echoed from behind the iron grille on the western corner tower. In the stifling hot air it flew, through the keep, across the gardens and into the ears of a young boy and his father, kneeling bare-backed in the scorched earth. Straight up they gazed, trying to make out the source of it, meeting but the stifled looks of skirmishing sentries, huddling between the battlements on the wall walk, and flushed ladies faces flying from chamber windows before camouflaging into the sandy white walls once their puffy eyes bore witness to the events below.
          The two followed their stares and lowered their heads in anticipation just as a bent figure burst through the tower doors, a trail of bright red blood dripping from beneath its dark tunic. It stumbled on the tread and landed face down in the yellowed grass, a malevolent shiny pool immediately encircling it, writhing and quelling like a living thing. A last spasm rippled through the twitching body before it lay, frozen.
          Many more screams resounded from above and the boy and his father rose disbelievingly, stunned and dazed.
          Right after the first a second figure stepped from the shadows beneath the door, just as bent and shaky, but holding in the hand of a single outstretched arm a long jagged dagger, coiled in silky crimson. It stood over the corpse, trembling violently.
          ‘Murder!’ A single lady cried from high above, ‘Murderer!’. She pointed a long judging finger down at the figure which cringed under her words like a beat dog and dropped the soiled instrument in its hand. A wave of shouts and yells now rained down on it, and it stood there, shaking its head vehemently and clasping its ears as it fell to its knees. Only slowly did it look up and open its eyes again, gazing right through the little boy standing next to his father from behind a watery veil that seemed to swirl with an obscure repressed pain and confusion.
          For a brief moment the figure was eerily still, deathly pale in the face, staring. Then, abruptly it sprang up in a flash of apprehension, and ran. Away, across the gardens, past the keep’s gate, towards the eastern wall, faster than anything the little boy had ever seen move.
          ‘Stop! …Stop him!!’ Someone shouted.
          From the corner of his eye the boy could see his father peeling his gloves from his fingers and, sensing his father’s thoughts, did the same. Righteousness and courage were in his father’s blood, just as they were in his own, and no man should get away with such a vile deed. Without much warning his father shot off ahead and after the escaping outlaw. The boy followed after him best he could, the soft soles of his bare feet pierced by the rough grass, just as a barrage of uniformed soldiers poured out of the main gates and levelled with him, in hasty chase.
          It seemed half the keep was after the murderer when he rounded the eastern corner tower, the other half having gathered around the stiff behind. They all followed him relentlessly, like a pack of hungry predators, as he ran towards a dead-end where the east wing carved straight from the barren rocks, cutting off all means of escape.
          ‘Stop! There’s no where you can go!’ The little boy heard one of the soldier’s yelling from somewhere, but the murderer ignored all premonition doggedly.
          ‘Quick! He’s trying to make for the doors!’ Another added, heavily wheezing.
          The boy could barely see his father up ahead now, only a few paces behind the flying figure, when both of them vanished through the black oaken doors into the keep’s interior. He sprinted resolutely. A few of the fastest soldiers dashed in right in front and he nearly crashed into one of the guardsmen who re-appeared from the door just as he was about to step through himself.
          ‘He’s gone down the sewage tract!’ The man breathed erratically and had to stop himself for a second. By the look of his clothes he was a captain. ‘He might try and escape on the western exit… Get help lad and seal off all exits!’ He clapped the boy on the shoulder and whirled him around, but didn’t manage to push him away.
          ‘Wait…wait!’ The little boy called, ‘where’s my father?’
          ‘He’s down the shaft after the murderer… Brave soul!’
          ‘But…but you have to get him out!’
          ‘Look, no one can see a thing down there…they’d just get lost in that twisting maze.’
          ‘I’ll go down!’ the boy’s voice was filled with panic and he struggled against the man’s firm hold, ‘give me a torch, I’ll go!’
          ‘Calm down you idiot! You take a torch down there and you’ll get yourself fried!’ He paused again. ‘All the soot and oils floating around down there and you won’t do anyone much good roasted!’
          The boy finally quieted himself and the soldier let go of him, now barking orders at the slower men at arms which had just arrived. ‘You! You four, stay with me. The rest to the west wing, cover the exit! We’re not letting this bastard escape!’
          Gathering his wits the little boy finally realised the right thing to do, and before any of the other men reacted he was already rounding the corner across the keep fields again. His heart was burning and his feet were sore but he pushed himself onwards, determined to get to the exit before the murderer did, so that they might trap him.
          In an instant he had reached the west wing doors and burst through, into what were the keep’s food storages.
          ‘Hey! What’s going on here?’ A fat woman called, ambling down the short stairs from the kitchens.
          ‘Where’s the trapdoors to the sewage tract?’ The boy demanded sternly, indifferent to the woman’s stupefied look.
          ‘…Behind the grain stacks back there I think.’ She shook a plump finger over the boy’s right shoulder. Without giving her so much as another look he spun around and sped towards the back of the room, kicking off the buckets that had been placed on top of the old mouldy entrance hatch. There was no lock, and it was evident that the murderer could simply burst right through. Adrenaline suddenly rushed through the boy’s slight figure as he realised no one was here to help him stop the murderer. What if he came through right now? A notion struck him.
          ‘Nails! Boards! Quick get me some nails and boards!’
          The kitchen drudge gave him a bewildered look, but turned obediently and ran off back through the kitchens.
          The little boy stood on top of the wooden hatch now, fear quelling within him. He could feel the blood receding from his burning face and his heart was pumping so fast he was certain it would jump out of his chest and spill on the earthen ground. He was tense all over, anticipating a knock against the wood under his feet at any moment. Where was that woman? And where were those damned soldiers!? His hearing was heightened, but all he could acknowledge was the drumming in his own chest. Seconds seemed to creep like hours.
          Suddenly it came. A dull thud against the inside of the heavy flap sent cold shivers down the boys back. A million thoughts rushed through his head and every single hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Icy beads of sweat gathered on his forehead, as his mouth opened, but no words came out. He couldn’t move.
          Then, a second wild bash. The boy toppled to the ground but remained lying on top of the wood, panting heavily.
          ‘Help!’ He finally managed, ‘HELP!!’
          Just in time the woman returned from the kitchens, followed by three other drudges carrying large wooden planks. The last carried a bucket of nails and hammers, and without questioning immediately set to work.
          Another crash ensued and all the drudges know knelt on top of the trapdoor, pale-faced, fingers desperately flying all over and gradually nailing the entrance shut. At the same moment a group of the keep’s guardsmen toppled through the door, instantly noticing the little boy and the drudges and without much thought rushing to help. They flung themselves on top of the hatch and aided in cocooning it in layers and layers of thick wood.
          Stifled screams were coming from beneath, but the seal was now so strong that nothing would get through. The little boy’s dry mouth finally managed to swallow and he dropped his head backwards against the wall of the storage room.
          ‘He ain’t coming out there no more,’ one of the soldiers barked his approval. The boy sighed in relief and closed his eyes. He was safe. But immediately they sprang open again and he filled with trepidation and anxiety all over.
          ‘Wait! How’s my father going to get out now? He’s stuck down there! With that murderer!’ He jumped up and started tugging at the sleeve of the nearest guardsman. ‘Hey!’
          ‘Calm yourself little one, if your father managed to navigate in pursuit all the way down this end, then I’m sure he can make his way back to the east exit. Besides, he’s a stout man your father is, and if he comes across that rag we’ll have one less problem to worry about ourselves!’
          The others murmured their approval, but the boy wasn’t in the least bit satisfied with the answer. All the same he let go and turned from the man. As much as he would have liked to believe the soldier’s words, they couldn’t be comfort him in the least. He strode through the dim room ignoring everyone around him. The best thing would be to return to the east exit now, perhaps his father was already there anyhow.
          Like a shimmering beacon of hope this thought guided him as he hurried back across the fields yet again, cramped and weak but fast as ever. And when he stepped through the door into the eastern wing for the second time he found the same group of men he had left behind earlier, still standing around the flap to the sewers, no sign of his father or the murderer. All the same he couldn’t help asking under heavy pants: ‘Has my father come back yet?’
          The captain drew from the crowd and gave him a firm look. ‘No boy, what news from the western exit?’
          The little boy’s heart sank but he wouldn’t show it in front of a man of such stature. ‘We’ve sealed off the flap, he almost got through, we stopped him, he’s trapped down there!’ The boy’s words tumbled over each other, they accidentally came out all at once. ‘He’s going to come out this way!’
          ‘Whoa, hold on a minute now. Why did you seal off the exit? Five men of the garrison to meet that coward and you seal off the exit!?’
          ‘I…’ The boy stammered, ‘I got there before the soldiers and… We nailed the trapdoors shut… He almost got out!’ The sense in the captain's words phased him and his reply was feeble.
          The man shook his head. ‘Right. Never mind, let’s just be ready for when that crook comes out over here, eh?’ He whirled around again and repeated the boy’s message for the soldiers who shifted uneasily, gripping the shafts of their blades even tighter. All of them stood alert now, waiting. The boy backed off a few paces, dropping his head. Nobody said a word and the air was so tense that he was sure the stroke of a knife would have cleaved it in two. But nothing happened. The boy cringed, barely containing his agony.
          Time passed, no one knew just how much. When the first of the soldiers cautiously shuffled his weary feet and slowly lowered his sword the violet shimmer of dusk was already filtering through the narrow window slits into the empty hallway.
          The same guardsman threw a brief glance at the boy, then faced his captain sourly. ‘Sir, it’s been hours and…you know the air down there and all. I don’t think…’
          The captain sighed, then cursed to himself quietly pulling an ugly frown. ‘Yes…yes. I suppose you’re right. All the same, we should keep turns guarding the exit in pairs. We can't give up hope just yet.’
          ‘Wait, wait!’ The boy sprang up, crying furiously. ‘What do you mean ‘the air down there’ Why are you all backing off? What's going on!?’
          The captain appeared to wince under his words. He crouched low and was now at eye level with the boy. A warm hand wrapped around the little boys neck. ‘Listen lad. The tunnels down there are dark and very narrow. And the air is filthy, laden with poisonous gases and what not. Not much to breathe from down there. What’s more is that it’s a real maze you know. Well, it’s just…’ His eyes flickered and his cut facial features set in a deep sorrow grimace, ‘if your father and the other are still down there, probably lost in the blackness somewhere, then there’s not much chance either will have survived it.’ His words were heart-felt and sincere.
          A single salty pearl trickled down the boy’s face and drew a white line through the dust and grime on his cheek. His lips quivered and his hands went cold. No. The man was lying. He was wrong!
          ‘It’s not true!’ He yelled at the captain and couldn’t hold back his feelings any longer. ‘We have to go in! We have to follow them!’ Tears were now streaming thickly and he kept mumbling words of anger at his opposite jumbled with words of encouragement to himself in an effort to ease his bitter rogue emotions. He struggled against the tightening hold of the guardsman, pulling and shouting, but eventually let off and slumped to the ground, the last strength having finally left his battered self.
          The other soldiers dispersed and moved off quietly; only a single man at arms now remained with himself and the captain in the darkening room. The little boy cradled his heavy head in his palms and sobbed. What did they all know of his pain? Why couldn’t they go after his father? Why wouldn’t they let him? His stomach churned with sorrow and dread. Thoughts upon thoughts, tears upon tears.
          Morning came and brought no news. A couple of times the soldiers on guard had opened the flap and yelled down the shaft during the night, but no response had come. The little boy sat adamantly, the world around him didn’t matter. Days passed. Nothing.
          A whole week had gone by before one of the soldiers finally found the courage to lift the boy from the dusty flooring. The boy didn’t resist. A part of him had been broken forever, all vigour had left him. He wanted his father…
          Years pulled their frosty blankets over the sleepy keep and the events of that tragic day still lingered like an acrid afterthought. Whilst the motif for the murder of the lord was never uncovered, the father of the little boy was ceremoniously honoured and praised from the highest reaches, but the boy’s spirit couldn’t be mended.
          Five full turns to the day then, on a near replica of that one hot summer’s day so far yet so near in the past, the new lord had the sewages drained at great cost and labour to put an end to the haunting misery. The little boy, who had grown into a secluded and scrawny young man, appeared on the day, surrounded by flustering ladies and skirmishing soldiers passing their sincere sentiments alike, hoping to ultimately put his ever suffering heart at rest. His life was a turmoil, and everyone felt for him.
          Four men, torches ablaze, now poured into the narrow and dark sewage tunnels with the boy, right through the open eastern entrance. The tunnels had been entirely pumped dry externally; the ground was parched and the air was relatively clean. Carefully the group navigated through the winding tunnels, scouting down all the filthy dim fingers of the sewage tract. Their feet echoed hollowly down the shafts, but all sound was quickly drowned by the sheer endlessness of this ill-fortuned maze.
          Then, in the middle of yet another claustrophobic passage, they came across the petty twisted corpse of the once murderer, somewhere right underneath the centre of the keep. He had passed away horribly and justly somewhere in the middle of nowhere, comfortingly far away from any exit. All the same a strain built on the boy and a revolting consideration briefly flickered through his head, only to sizzle out almost instantaneously. What mattered was his father, and not the malice of a crime long receded.
          All in the group raised handkerchiefs to their mouths, disgusted not purely by the putrid smell. The cowardly crook had gotten what he deserved, a hero still awaited his just interment. Carefully they strode past the rot onwards, the real goal plainly imprinted on all of their minds. Onwards they trudged, subconsciously quickening their pace.
          Abruptly, the leader halted again. His four followers gathered around promptly, the boy’s heart pounding fastest, like it only ever had those five years ago. The front-most man turned a second cadaver lying on the ground with a long silver cane and everyone froze. The boy immediately recognized his father, an anguished expression eternally imprinted on the partially decomposed face. The boy sighed deeply. As though a heavy curse were lifted from his boney shoulders the boy's dull eyes suddenly filled with life again. A soothing warm sensation he had long been devoid of gently rippled through his unwinding torso. After all this time he could finally bring his father peace and maybe find his own. The boy smiled and looked up.
          And his eyes died. In a rapid dancing slash a frosty dagger tore his chest apart as the boy craned his wildly spinning head. He vomited. Right above them was the heavily sealed latch into the storage chamber of the western wing.”

          Let this story be my testimony. The story of a murderer. A murderer that escaped his due for far too long. Truthfully, the lord’s assassin met his just fate on that tragic day, yet the real criminal passed unharmed. Now though, I shall finally bring him to justice. This murderer’s fate has been sealed.
          I am so sorry for what I have done to you father.


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