stands beside crates of live chickens and pigs. The noise
and the smells were almost overpowering.
Ella nearly ran into Greta when she stopped
abruptly. She took the opportunity to look around and found herself
mesmerized by the swirling cacophony of color and motion all around
her.
“Don’t look!” The order from Greta was
fierce and whispered in German. Unfortunately, this just made Ella
snap her head up to see what she should not—to see what she would
never be able to blot out of her memory or her mind’s eye for the
rest of her days.
A large wooden stage was set in the middle
of the bustling marketplace, raised up and visible to all so that
they might witness the executions as they shopped. Ella saw a young
man and a boy cowering on the stage while a large, beefy man in a
black hood strutted and shouted to the crowd. In his hand was a
terrible axe. As the man spoke, he stripped to the waist to show
his massive chest gleaming with sweat and blood, Ella could see
there were women crying and waiting with raised hands at the base
of the stage.
“Oh, dear Mother of God,” Ella said. “Please
tell me this is not what I think it is.”
“Silence!” Greta whispered hoarsely to her.
“You can change nothing of what you see here.”
Ella pushed past Greta to the stage. She was
drawn to the horror and to the agony of the pleading women. Greta’s
fingers bit into Ella’s arm as she grabbed her. “Ella, no!” she
said. “You can do nothing but endanger us all!”
One of the women screamed and Ella turned
her head from Greta to the woman and then back to the stage. It all
happened so fast. The bare-chested monster stood in the center of
the stage as if congratulating himself on having won some special
honor. The axe lay on the stage beside him. He held in his hand
something horrible. He lifted it higher and higher and as he did
the crowd roared its approval.
Between the hysteria of the screaming women
and the thunderous, raucous laughter and applause from the gathered
crowd, Ella saw the boy fall to his knees in terror. He could not
be ten years old, she thought in amazement. As the executioner
threw the decapitated head of the young man into a nearby trough on
the stage and began his turn toward the child, Ella shook off
Greta’s grip and pushed to where the women were standing at the
base of the stage.
Chapter Eight
“Ella, stop!” Greta said. She looked around
in desperation, fearful they were attracting attention. The mob,
however, was focused on the upcoming execution of the child—a
rarity even in the Middle Ages. They cheered the executioner as he
hefted his axe and playfully swung it into the air. Ella was close
enough now to see that one of the women at the foot of the stage
was young enough—and hysterical enough—to be the boy’s mother. Her
screams were drowned out by the crowd, her face a contortion of
indescribable agony as her worst nightmare was being enacted before
her in living, brutal color.
Greta reached her seconds before Ella pulled
her shotgun Taser out of the pocket of her habit.
“Hide it in your sleeve,” Greta said
hoarsely, not missing a beat. She ripped the rosary from her own
throat, her eyes darting to the people who surrounded them, and
held it in both hands as if it were a weapon. All eyes were on the
two figures on stage. No one was interested in the actions of a
couple of nuns in the crowd.
Ella lifted her arm toward the headsman. The
long sleeve of her habit hid the Taser as she pointed it at him.
Her finger twitched on the trigger as she watched him grab the boy
by the scruff of the neck and throw him down at the front of the
stage. She waited, blocking out the noise from the crowd, the
bleating misery of the child’s mother beside her and the pounding
of her own heart. Sweat crept down her back. At the very moment
that the man grabbed his axe with both hands and prepared to swing
it over his head, she pulled the trigger and unleashed the
untethered
and the smells were almost overpowering.
Ella nearly ran into Greta when she stopped
abruptly. She took the opportunity to look around and found herself
mesmerized by the swirling cacophony of color and motion all around
her.
“Don’t look!” The order from Greta was
fierce and whispered in German. Unfortunately, this just made Ella
snap her head up to see what she should not—to see what she would
never be able to blot out of her memory or her mind’s eye for the
rest of her days.
A large wooden stage was set in the middle
of the bustling marketplace, raised up and visible to all so that
they might witness the executions as they shopped. Ella saw a young
man and a boy cowering on the stage while a large, beefy man in a
black hood strutted and shouted to the crowd. In his hand was a
terrible axe. As the man spoke, he stripped to the waist to show
his massive chest gleaming with sweat and blood, Ella could see
there were women crying and waiting with raised hands at the base
of the stage.
“Oh, dear Mother of God,” Ella said. “Please
tell me this is not what I think it is.”
“Silence!” Greta whispered hoarsely to her.
“You can change nothing of what you see here.”
Ella pushed past Greta to the stage. She was
drawn to the horror and to the agony of the pleading women. Greta’s
fingers bit into Ella’s arm as she grabbed her. “Ella, no!” she
said. “You can do nothing but endanger us all!”
One of the women screamed and Ella turned
her head from Greta to the woman and then back to the stage. It all
happened so fast. The bare-chested monster stood in the center of
the stage as if congratulating himself on having won some special
honor. The axe lay on the stage beside him. He held in his hand
something horrible. He lifted it higher and higher and as he did
the crowd roared its approval.
Between the hysteria of the screaming women
and the thunderous, raucous laughter and applause from the gathered
crowd, Ella saw the boy fall to his knees in terror. He could not
be ten years old, she thought in amazement. As the executioner
threw the decapitated head of the young man into a nearby trough on
the stage and began his turn toward the child, Ella shook off
Greta’s grip and pushed to where the women were standing at the
base of the stage.
Chapter Eight
“Ella, stop!” Greta said. She looked around
in desperation, fearful they were attracting attention. The mob,
however, was focused on the upcoming execution of the child—a
rarity even in the Middle Ages. They cheered the executioner as he
hefted his axe and playfully swung it into the air. Ella was close
enough now to see that one of the women at the foot of the stage
was young enough—and hysterical enough—to be the boy’s mother. Her
screams were drowned out by the crowd, her face a contortion of
indescribable agony as her worst nightmare was being enacted before
her in living, brutal color.
Greta reached her seconds before Ella pulled
her shotgun Taser out of the pocket of her habit.
“Hide it in your sleeve,” Greta said
hoarsely, not missing a beat. She ripped the rosary from her own
throat, her eyes darting to the people who surrounded them, and
held it in both hands as if it were a weapon. All eyes were on the
two figures on stage. No one was interested in the actions of a
couple of nuns in the crowd.
Ella lifted her arm toward the headsman. The
long sleeve of her habit hid the Taser as she pointed it at him.
Her finger twitched on the trigger as she watched him grab the boy
by the scruff of the neck and throw him down at the front of the
stage. She waited, blocking out the noise from the crowd, the
bleating misery of the child’s mother beside her and the pounding
of her own heart. Sweat crept down her back. At the very moment
that the man grabbed his axe with both hands and prepared to swing
it over his head, she pulled the trigger and unleashed the
untethered
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