Page 97 of My Hero
So why did the sight of the tall, black-shrouded executioner looming over her with a pitched brand snatch the very air from her lungs?
Red-clad soldiers stacked tinder haphazardly at her feet. Someone jerked at her bonds to check the knots. Then the Abbot himself stepped up onto a tall wooden crate serving as a makeshift platform. She saw now that he looked uncharacteristically slovenly, as if he’d just come from his bed. His robes were askew, his meager black hair combed in haste. He seemed harried and nervous, as if he were all too aware of the mortal sin he was about to commit and in a hurry to put it behind him. He tugged the hood of his cassock closer about his scrawny neck and held a pasty hand up for silence.
“In the name of God,” he announced self-righteously, “I condemn this woman”—he pointed an accusing finger—“to burn as a witch.”
Faces swam before Cynthia…Elspeth, Jeanne, Mary…friends, foes, strangers.
“The proofs being these three,” the Abbot droned on. “That she used herbs to cure which are commonly known as the devil’s. That she used enchantments to coerce others to break the covenant of Lent. And that she bears the seed of Satan, having no earthly father to lay claim to her infant.”
A bold voice split the air. “As I’ve said all along, I lay claim to her infant!”
Cynthia’s vision cleared instantly at the familiar sound, and hope shot straight into her heart. The crowd parted, and a muscular man made his way brazenly up to the Abbot. Cynthia held her breath. Was it Garth?
“I am the father.”
It couldn’t be. This man had the shoulders of an ox and legs like two young oaks. He wore the rough tunic and leggings of a peasant, and his skin was bronzed by the sun. And yet…
He turned to her then, enveloping her in his forest green gaze, a gaze filled with such love and promise that she nearly collapsed into relieved tears.
“Father Garth,” the Abbot intoned. “I had hoped your separation from this woman’s evil influences would make you see the error of your ways. But alas, I fear it’s not so.” He clucked his tongue. “You see,” he announced, “how the witch has driven poor Garth to insanity and godlessness. There is no hope for him, except…” The Abbots’ eyes sparked with sudden inspiration. “Except that the purifying fire might refine his soul as well.”
The Abbot nodded to the executioner. The immense hooded figure snagged Garth about the arm in an iron grip and wrested him up the pile of kindling to the scaffold.
“Nay!” Cynthia screamed, her hopes killed as quickly as they’d been born.
“What the devil?” Garth cried. “Unhand me! What you do is blasphemy!”
“We shall all pray for you,” the Abbot promised.
“Nay!” Garth shouted, grappling with all his strength against the brute lugging him to his death. “You’ll burn in hell for this, Abbot! You’re murdering an innocent! Your soul will be damned for eternity!”
But Cynthia saw the truth of the matter. No matter how Garth proclaimed his innocence, her innocence, the babe’s innocence, no matter if he shouted till his voice grew hoarse and the flames licked at his feet, the Abbot had no intention of releasing either of them. Not even the will of the people, some of whom stood weeping and moaning, some shouting in horrified protest, could alter the wretched man’s intentions. For whatever ungodly reason, the Abbot wanted them both gone, and no force on earth would sway him from his purpose.
“Your soul will rot, Abbot!” Garth snarled, throwing his head back like a wild wolf.
It was the executioner who finally silenced him. The big man gave Garth’s shoulder a rough shake and hissed, “Quiet! Look to your lady. She needs your courage.”
Garth stopped struggling and looked into Cynthia’s face. She tried to stop the tears, but they spilled over like a rain-swollen brook. Garth quieted.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered as he mounted the scaffold beside her.
“Don’t be,” he murmured. “I’ve come to rescue you.”
Rescue her? How could he rescue her now? He was about to be burned at the stake beside her. Or perhaps, she thought, fresh tears blinding her, he meant her spiritual rescue. Aye, that was it. He was sacrificing himself to save her soul.
“It’s all my fault,” she choked out.
“Nay,” he repeated fiercely. “Never think that. Never. I don’t regret a moment of what we’ve done. Do you hear me? Not a moment. I don’t want to live without you. I…I…couldn’tlive without you.”
The executioner bound him to the opposite side of the stake. Then Garth reached behind him to catch her hand.
“It won’t be long now,” he assured her.
As Garth’s warm fingers closed around hers, Cynthia felt the sharp, icy terror of the moment slowly drain out of her. Her pummeling heart still beat violently against her ribs, but its pace slackened.
It was too late to have regrets, to agonize over what might have been. Garth couldn’t save her now. He could only be with her. But it was enough to have the strength of his comforting hand as the consuming fire claimed their bodies.
Through bleary eyes, Cynthia took in all the details surrounding her with a curious detachment. Time slowed. Every movement, every smell, every sound came to her now with crystal clarity.
