Betrayal
�Betrayal� Ryan Spence I sit in a cell on a hard wooden bench, which would serve well as a table, sitting out the last hour of my life in a prison below the town hall. I look around my five by five foot cell. It is a damp and dark room. The only things in it are a single bench, which serves as my bed and a chamber pot, which looks as if it has seen extensive use in its lifetime. Fleas infested the cell and since I have not been clean for many months, they have made me their home as well. A drawing of some forgotten monarch is hanging alone on the wall. Hanging as I soon shall be. You see I am to be hanged at high noon today in this small French town called Lugubre. The town is always overcast and drizzly, a place where one does not want to get out of bed in the morning because the comfort of one�s dreams far surpassed the day to day lifestyle. That is unless there is a town gathering, be it a traveling fair, or in the case of today, an execution. The townsfolk, like hungry wolves, are already gathering in front of the town hall above my underground dungeon. They bring their children along to watch what they call �Justice in Action.� Here a large wooden platform stands, a platform that is used for all the executions. It is called the Trial Grounds. I ask the lone guard positioned just outside of my cell if I can know the date of my death. All he says is that the year is eight hundred and twenty one. As I sit on the bench preparing myself for what is to come, I think about my conviction. I am charged with conspiring against Lord Feradre, and the murder of his son, Jean Paul. The Lord is a close relative to the King, and a very wealthy and powerful man. While I wallow in a pool of self-pity, I hear footsteps coming toward me. The dungeon is dark so I cannot see who the person is, so I take a guess. �So my time has finally come? You have come to fetch and take me to the �Trial Grounds: so your master can take sick pleasure in watching me being tortured and hanged,� I say in a harsh and accusing voice as I stare at the man just out of sight. �Harsh words for a man convicted of the cowardly murder of Lord Feraldres�s son Jean Paul, condemned one,� replied a coarse voiced man who I finally see and recognize as Greiz, a fanatical Priest of much power in the town. The man is a zealot who likes to hear the story of those condemned to death just so he can better use it against them during the execution. �So you actually came down to this filthy hell in which I�m caged to hear my little story,� I say with thick sarcasm in my voice. �Or do you actually wish to follow your duties, Priest, and listen to me explain my sins so that you may forgive me?� �Every man, even murdering scum like you, is allowed to repent your actions and make peace with God before you die. Who knows, you may not rot in Hell for the rest of eternity,� said the Priest. These words coming out of a man long since corrupted by greed and other earthly sins tells me that he is actually interested in my story, but I can not tell if it is only for the execution or not. I am actually curious about this, so I decide to go along with it. Besides, I know it will prolong my life, so I�d do it regardless, since even a few minutes are worth it. �Fine, you may as well sit down,� I say patting a spot on the bench beside me. At the movement fleas� jump away, determined not to get crushed under my hand. At this the corrupted Priest cringes with disgust. �Actually I�ll just get the chair the guard is sitting on.� He says as he leaves the cell, takes the guard�s chair, and re-enters, putting the chair down on the farthest spot from the bench I am on. �Now my son,� the Priest says formally, �confess your actions and sins in the sight of God so that He may judge you.� At this point I wish I had enough money to buy indulgence. �Very well,� I say stalling as much as I can so I may draw a few extra breaths. �I�ll start one day before Jean Paul�s death.� �You mean his murder!� the Priest points out sharply. �Fine,� I reply angrily. �But if you wish to hear my story, do not interrupt me again!� �I will interrupt you as much as I see fit!� the zealot bellows. I am here on your behalf and I will not be told what I can, or cannot do by the likes of you.� Red faced, I decide not to push my luck and to continue my story before the Priest storms out of my cell and orders my immediate execution. I start my story. �As you should already know, Jean Paul and I were the best of friends, but he had started to worry me the day before his murder. He was acting strange and was quite quiet, which was unusual for him since he was always the life of the party. The guy wasn�t even drinking or teasing the barmaids.� As I talk, my eyes stare unseeingly ahead. I had become lost in my memories, reliving the past events that lead up to Jean Paul�s murder. As I spoke dully, all emotion lost in my voice, Griez sighs and takes out a large ham sandwich from one of the many hidden pockets in his robe. He began eating it in front of my senseless body, adding more pounds to his already massively obese form. * * * My friend Claude and I were sitting in the local tavern at a table at the back, the one we picked often due to its location, which offered the most privacy. Claude and I were eating one of the excellent dishes the tavern was famous for. That day it was slow roasted pheasant lathered in a wine sauce, topped with almonds. We were waiting for our friend Jean Paul to arrive. He was even later than usual, which was very strange considering the day�s special was his favorite. Finally he walked into the tavern, two hours late. He was red faced, snarling, and looked absolutely furious. I saw him and turned back to Claude to point him out, but he had already spotted Jean Paul, which was surprising considering he had drank at least three mugs of very potent ale. �Pierre, (that�s me) it looks like things between him and his father �Lord Knucklehead� went bad again,� noted Claude as he absently swayed side to side in his chair. Finally Jean Paul collapsed in his chair, flagged down the barmaid and ordered a one-man feast, tipping her a gold coin to make it quick. Her eyes bulged at the coin; she had probably never even seen one before. She quickly recovered herself and ran full tilt into the kitchen. Before the double-hinged door stopped moving she burst out of it carrying two dishes of pheasant. Behind her was another barmaid carrying two mugs of ale. I shook my head in astonishment. They had most likely taken two other people�s dishes to get back so fast. When they set down the food, Jean Paul again grossly overpaid them for the meal. Almost immediately, Jean Paul downed the expensive ale in one gulp. I finally reclaimed my wits and asked him what had happened. �Well,� said Jean Paul between mouthfuls of food. �AS you have probably guessed, Lord Feraldre and I have had yet another argument. At the end I told the old fossil he�d gone senile and I was going to convince the King to let me replace him. The old fool was so furious he stormed out of the room, ordering his best servant to �summon his special advisers�. The last time I heard that said was when a local merchant stole from him. The merchant was found decapitated in his home the next day.� Again I stared at him dumbfounded and asked him what he was going to do. He looked at me and smiling said, �Pierre, old friend. You, Claude and I are going to set a trap for whatever the old skeleton throws at me.� I agreed only because I didn�t want to see my best friend killed, and like him, Claude and I wished to see Lord Feraldre�s reign end. * * * That night after dramatically leaving the tavern hoping to get the attention of one or more of the spies Lord Feraldre had to have positioned there. Jean Paul led us to an alley he always took home and explained to us that the people Lord Feraldre had told to kill him knew he always took the alley and would soon arrive here to sneak upon us. He thought it would be appropriate if we ambushed them instead. We also schemed about some ways of removing Lord Feraldre from power. We waited in the alley; Jean Paul was standing in the middle of the alleyway looking quite alone. Claude and I were on each side of him waiting in the shadows with our hands on our sword hilts, ready to draw them at the first sign of trouble. Finally, we saw one man approaching Jean Paul, and when he was close enough both Claude and I jumped him. I was the first to arrive and quickly hit him on the head with the hilt of my sword, knocking him unconscious. When we turned back to Jean Paul, we saw him smiling fiendishly. He surprised us both when he yelled out to the seemingly empty alley, �Arrest these two for Assault and Treason!� From seemingly nowhere, armed men I recognized as Lord Feraldre�s personal regiment began pouring into the alley. Somehow Claude escaped by climbing up a building and running from rooftop to rooftop. I was not so fortunate. I asked my former best friend one thing, �Why?� In a low voice so that no one but I could hear he said, �I need a scape goat, my friend. You see I am still going to replace my father, but he has gotten suspicious. I knew you two hated him and since we have been best friends since childhood, I knew you would go along with whatever I asked of you. You should be proud. Your actions set me on the road to becoming a very wealthy and powerful man.� I roared out in anger and before Jean Paul or his guards could draw their swords, I drove mine into his chest. He looked down at my blade embedded in him and collapsed. His guards, knowing I would suffer a worse fate then death in an alley if I were arrested alive, bashed me senseless. * * * I blink, still lost in thought. A question echoes in my mind. What could have made my best friend turn against me? Then it hits me. Greed, he had schemed and planned all the events that happened. In the bar he made us think he was upset with his father and made up the story about the arguments and possible assassins Lord Feraldre would send after him. He led us to the alley where he had his guards hidden and got us to talk treason, a crime punishable by execution. He knew his father loved executions and never missed one. This would give Jean Paul the time to speak with the King. His greed overcame our friendship. Suddenly I hear laughter and realize I am back in my cell. Greiz is doubling over in hysteria, and I realize I have said everything aloud. �You actually expect me to believe that!� the Priest said, suddenly angry. �You have actually dug your grave deeper with what you have said. Treason on top of Treason!� With that he signals the guard and leaves. The guard enters my cell and clubs me over the head. The world turns black. * * * I awake to the sound of hundreds of people. I try to move but I cannot; I am strapped to a cold stone table. I look around and find I am indeed on the platform surrounded by hundreds of bloodthirsty spectators. I hear Greiz�s voice mockingly telling some of my story to the crowd. People are bawling with laughter at everything he says. �As to the laws regarding it,� the Priest says loudly, �treason is punishable by torture!� As the crowd roars in agreement, yelling for it to start. I knew what was to come. I have witnessed the horrible process before and I turn white. All this because I was blind to the motives of my best friend, and I was forced to kill him.
