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Authors: Marilyn Harris
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whipping, that
the victim was to remain on display until sunset. No! Suddenly everything in
him resisted the spectacle he would be forced to endure for the rest of the
day. In a surge of anger, he stepped forward, flung open the window, and
shouted, "Cut her down. Take her away!" His voice echoed across the
inner courtyard, summoned all eyes to him. In an attempt to cut through their
simpleminded bewilderment, he shouted again, "I said take her down. It's
over. Remove her!"
Upon
the second command, he saw Ragland designate two men and two women who quickly
separated themselves from the crowd and moved back to the whipping oak. As one
of the men cut the hemp from her wrists and ankles, she collapsed in a small
heap, revealing bleeding breasts. Hurriedly one of the women draped a shawl
about her shoulders. The men lifted her gingerly into their arms.
Thomas
watched until the sad procession disappeared through the gate and continued to
stare down on the courtyard, empty save for the guardsmen closing the gates. A
wave of nausea rushed over him. He closed his eyes and sank to his knees beside
his bed. He had gone too far, God have mercy, he had gone too far. His
authority was still intact, but his soul was not faring so well. He would make
reparation. He would pay for her dress, and when she healed, he would take her
back into the castle, give her another chance, assign her some simple task, and
give Dolly Wisdom stem orders to look after her, as though she were her own.
There
the prayer stopped. But his conscience, newly revived, punished him
mercilessly. Not when she healed. The question more accurately phrased
was if she healed.
He
bowed his head lower, groaning. Why was there not someone here to keep him from
himself? He was not worthy of Eden, not fit to administer justice, certainly
not fit to pass judgment.
His
eyes narrowed, a plan evolving to relieve his misery. He would fast the whole
day. Neither food nor drink would he take. He would imprison himself in this
room, bare his flesh, refuse all succor, and spend the day in prayer and
fasting. He had done so before and the discomfort had been good. Surely God
understood. God would forgive him.
His
ship could wait. Part of his self-imposed punishment would be to deny himself a
firsthand look at his illegal treasure. His booty would wait, earth itself
could wait. He must first purge himself of her blood.
He
went to the door and bolted it, stripped off his nightshirt, and fell on his
knees beside the bed. . . .
Carrying
an apronful of medicines and a flask of brandy for revival, Dolly Wisdom ran as
fast as her age and breakable cargo would permit after the sorrowful procession
making its way down the side of the cliff. Her thoughts were as erratic as her
steps as she bobbed this way and that, trying to avoid the puddles left by the
morning rain. Clearly his Lordship had gone too far this time. She had never
witnessed anything so barbaric in all her sixty-seven years, the public
flogging of a sixteen-year-old child.
She
spied the guardsman at the gate and hoped, for his sake, that he did not give
her any trouble. He didn't. As she drew near, he hurled himself at the pullrope
and dragged up the iron grille, permitting her ready passage. She noticed that
it was old Dobber, an ancient guardsman who had been in service at Eden Castle
almost as long as she. She saw his weathered face slightly pale as though he
had not recovered from his close view of the wretched creature who had been
carried out ahead of her.
As
she scurried past, he called out mournfully, "She'll not live the night,
Dolly." Dolly started to reply but decided to save her breath for the
treacherous descent and not waste it on Doubting Thomases.
Once
outside the gate, she paused, glancing over the vast headlands, majestic green
cliffs leading down to a white fringe of lapping water. "God's View,"
the natives called it
The
breeze was always good here and she
the victim was to remain on display until sunset. No! Suddenly everything in
him resisted the spectacle he would be forced to endure for the rest of the
day. In a surge of anger, he stepped forward, flung open the window, and
shouted, "Cut her down. Take her away!" His voice echoed across the
inner courtyard, summoned all eyes to him. In an attempt to cut through their
simpleminded bewilderment, he shouted again, "I said take her down. It's
over. Remove her!"
Upon
the second command, he saw Ragland designate two men and two women who quickly
separated themselves from the crowd and moved back to the whipping oak. As one
of the men cut the hemp from her wrists and ankles, she collapsed in a small
heap, revealing bleeding breasts. Hurriedly one of the women draped a shawl
about her shoulders. The men lifted her gingerly into their arms.
Thomas
watched until the sad procession disappeared through the gate and continued to
stare down on the courtyard, empty save for the guardsmen closing the gates. A
wave of nausea rushed over him. He closed his eyes and sank to his knees beside
his bed. He had gone too far, God have mercy, he had gone too far. His
authority was still intact, but his soul was not faring so well. He would make
reparation. He would pay for her dress, and when she healed, he would take her
back into the castle, give her another chance, assign her some simple task, and
give Dolly Wisdom stem orders to look after her, as though she were her own.
There
the prayer stopped. But his conscience, newly revived, punished him
mercilessly. Not when she healed. The question more accurately phrased
was if she healed.
He
bowed his head lower, groaning. Why was there not someone here to keep him from
himself? He was not worthy of Eden, not fit to administer justice, certainly
not fit to pass judgment.
His
eyes narrowed, a plan evolving to relieve his misery. He would fast the whole
day. Neither food nor drink would he take. He would imprison himself in this
room, bare his flesh, refuse all succor, and spend the day in prayer and
fasting. He had done so before and the discomfort had been good. Surely God
understood. God would forgive him.
His
ship could wait. Part of his self-imposed punishment would be to deny himself a
firsthand look at his illegal treasure. His booty would wait, earth itself
could wait. He must first purge himself of her blood.
He
went to the door and bolted it, stripped off his nightshirt, and fell on his
knees beside the bed. . . .
Carrying
an apronful of medicines and a flask of brandy for revival, Dolly Wisdom ran as
fast as her age and breakable cargo would permit after the sorrowful procession
making its way down the side of the cliff. Her thoughts were as erratic as her
steps as she bobbed this way and that, trying to avoid the puddles left by the
morning rain. Clearly his Lordship had gone too far this time. She had never
witnessed anything so barbaric in all her sixty-seven years, the public
flogging of a sixteen-year-old child.
She
spied the guardsman at the gate and hoped, for his sake, that he did not give
her any trouble. He didn't. As she drew near, he hurled himself at the pullrope
and dragged up the iron grille, permitting her ready passage. She noticed that
it was old Dobber, an ancient guardsman who had been in service at Eden Castle
almost as long as she. She saw his weathered face slightly pale as though he
had not recovered from his close view of the wretched creature who had been
carried out ahead of her.
As
she scurried past, he called out mournfully, "She'll not live the night,
Dolly." Dolly started to reply but decided to save her breath for the
treacherous descent and not waste it on Doubting Thomases.
Once
outside the gate, she paused, glancing over the vast headlands, majestic green
cliffs leading down to a white fringe of lapping water. "God's View,"
the natives called it
The
breeze was always good here and she
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