The Executioner's Daughter

by Laura E. Williams

  “Poaching,” her father said. “Killed and butchered a doe from Lord Dunsworth’s woods. Foolish man. I don’t know how he thought he wouldn’t get caught with soldiers prowling about as they do.” Will swallowed the last drops of ale from his tankard and moved to refill it.

  Slowly, Lily ate her supper. Her mother wouldn’t allow her to watch tomorrow’s execution, she knew, even though the whole town would be there for the spectacle. She could barely remember the last execution she had attended, the only one, when she had been a mere seven years. Four thieves were sentenced to hang together. Out of town, on a hill, the townspeople had built a gallows large enough to hang all four.

  Everyone had gone to the hanging. Lily had been told to stay behind, but she longed to be a part of the laughing, shouting crowds she heard on their way to the execution. She had joined them, hiding amongst the milling people to keep hidden from her parents—just another child off to see the hanging.

  But all she could remember when she got to the hill was looking up at the distant gallows, squinting against the sun, and hearing the roar of the crowd all around her. On the platform, a tall man, who wore a black hood and black gloves like her father’s, looped nooses around the thieves’ necks and pulled the ropes till the condemned men hung like sacks of grain.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The next morning, when Lily came back from her foraging, she found her mother kneading bread at the table, her sharp elbows pointed out to either side like broken wings. Allyce glanced up. Already she looked weary from the day. On execution days, or days they were summoned by Lord Dunsworth’s bailiff to the dungeon, her mother always looked older and sadder.

  “Good day, Mother,” Lily said, trying to sound bright and cheerful, as though she could bring the fresh morning in with her. She lay aside her basket to help her mother with the dough. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Well enough,” Allyce said, brushing a strand of hair from her face with the back of her floury hand. “Take the mattress out today and give it a good beating. Something bit me harder than usual last night.”

  Lily nodded and picked up some dough and began to push it this way and that. The warm lump felt good in her hands. After a few moments of silence, she asked, as she always did, “Did you dream?”

  Her mother dreamed every night. Usually she told Lily her dreams, which were fanciful and full of color and light. But sometimes she just crossed herself and wouldn’t speak of her dreams, as though they frightened her to even think of them. And occasionally, after something happened, like her father accidentally cutting off the tip of his little finger with his ax, her mother said, “I saw it in a dream.”

  Allyce pounded the dough on the board, punching it with her fists before dropping it into a bowl and covering it with a towel. Then she moved on to the next lump.

  “Well, did you?” Lily prodded her mother.

  Allyce cast a sideways glance at her daughter. “Aye, I dreamed a dream,” she said, “of you, if you must know.”

  “Me?” Lily smiled. “Was I a princess this time or a unicorn or a…” Lily closed her eyes, imagining what magical creature she could be. “Or a gentle dragon, mayhap?”

  Her mother snorted. “Nothing so wonderful this time, daughter,” she said almost sharply. “You were a fish.”

  Lily gasped, “A fish? With slippery scales and the stench of the fishmonger?”

  This time her mother laughed. “I don’t remember smelling you. But you were a fish with stripes of many colors. A fisherman caught you in his net. You were so beautiful, he didn’t know what to do with you. Finally he let you go and you swam away, out to the great, wide sea…” Her voice trailed off.

  Lily frowned. She preferred the dreams of herself as a princess courted by a prince of the realm. A unicorn was better than being a flip-flopping fish, even if it was a beautiful one.

  “Is that all?” Lily asked, thinking her mother must have more to tell her. Perhaps she turned into a princess later in the dream.

  “’Tis all,” Allyce said. “Now go see your father and then collect the eggs, and I’m sure Milly is ready to burst.”

  Disappointed that there was no more to the dream, or at least no more her mother would share with her, Lily wiped her hands clean, then took the basket of fresh herbs and pushed through the leather curtain into the apothecary where her father was preparing tincture of thyme.

  He looked up at her before returning to his work. “Mistress Smith will come today to pick this up for her colicky babe,” he said.

  “I could have made it,” Lily said. “I remember how.”

  “’Tis no matter,” Will said. “It keeps me busy until it’s time.”

  To go to the execution, Lily finished silently for him.

  She placed the basket on the long trestle table. She would sort and chop and dry the herbs later. Without another word, she went out the back door and collected speckled eggs, finding them hidden in dark hollows around the dirt yard. Next, she tied Milly to a stake with a bit of rope and milked the goat into a wooden bucket. For cow’s milk, they depended on farmers giving it in trade for medicine and healing. Often the farmers traded milk or a newly slaughtered pig, cow, or chicken. Or sometimes a wheel of cheese or a sack of grain or, even better, flour. The townsfolk also gave goods, as well as coins if they were wealthy enough.

  Lily untied Milly, and the goat kicked off across the yard, scattering squawking chickens. Laughing, Lily carried the milk inside and poured it into the churner, where she would later turn it into cheese.

  Her mother and father sat at the table, breaking their fast. Will tore at chunks of day-old bread, dipping the hard crust into cider to soften it. Allyce nibbled on a piece of cheese.

  “Sit,” her mother said.

  Lily scooped some hot porridge into a bowl and sat beside her mother, reaching across the table for some clotted cream.

  “Mind your elbows, child,” her mother said absently.

  Lily held back a sigh, but did as she was told. Though why manners mattered when they never had guests, nor were invited anywhere to dine, made no sense to her. Still, her mother insisted on them. No elbows, no spitting, no talking with a full mouth. The hardest rule was not to feed her dog at the table. Blossom had to wait till after the meal for scraps, no matter how sweetly she begged.

  They ate in silence, as they often did. Afterward, Lily scraped the wooden bowls into a slop bucket for Blossom. The dog snorted and slobbered as she licked it clean. Lily grinned. She had a strong suspicion that her dog was carrying a litter.

  Her father picked up a large, leather bag. The innards clanked dully, drawing Lily’s attention away from happy thoughts of pups scampering about the yard. Lily stared at the bag, envisioning the contents. The hood, the ax, the various knives and hooks. Only once had Lily asked what they were for.

  “The ax is for hands and—” her father had begun before Allyce cut him off with a sharp elbow in the arm. “She’ll need to know these things,” he’d said, frowning at the interruption.

  “Not yet,” Allyce had said, interrupting yet again. And though she was a small woman, she had prevailed, and no more was said about it.

  Lily knew the tools were for executing and punishing the wicked and unholy. She knew her father, with her mother’s help, vanquished evil. And though he was not allowed in church by the townsfolk, surely there would be a place for him beside God for ridding the land of criminals who sinned against the holy Lord above and the lord of the castle.

  “Stay close to the cottage while we’re gone,” her mother warned Lily as she trailed out the door behind her husband. She looked as though she might say more, but then just pressed her lips together and left, leaving the door wide behind her.

  Lily watched them move down the rutted path, her father tall and broad, clutching the bag over his shoulder with his black gloves on, and her mother barely taller than herself, her head bowed as though in prayer. Lily closed the door and made her way to the apothecary. For the rest of the morning, she
tried not to imagine what was going on in town. Did the criminal cry for mercy? Did the crowds cheer as they did at the hanging years ago? There was no one to ask.

  * * *

  Lily baked the risen dough, filling the cottage and even the yard with the nutty scent of fresh bread. For her midday meal, she ate warm slices of bread spread with fresh goat cheese, washing it down with a mug of cider.

  Just as she finished tossing a crust to Blossom, a soft sound came from the back door. Lily jumped. If her parents caught her feeding the dog food that had not gone stale, there would be extra chores for a sennight at least.

  The scratching sound came again. Lily hurried through the apothecary and opened the back door. Mistress Smith stood in the shadow of the door frame, her face partially covered with a veil. The woman slipped into the room quietly, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure no one had followed her.

  Lily was used to people acting skittish. For as long as she could remember, folks had come to request help and healing from her father, and from her mother, too, but usually under the cloak of night or in secret during the day. Today most people would be at the execution and wouldn’t notice Mistress Smith slipping away.

  “I have the tincture,” Lily said, moving to get the medicine her father had left for the woman. Normally, Lily was told to stay in the cottage when her parents attended to an injury or illness in the apothecary. But lately, she had been asked to do small things like make simple tonics or administer medicines when her parents weren’t at home.

  The blacksmith’s wife gratefully took the small flask that Lily held out for her. “My babe is fretting,” she said.

  Lily noted the dark circles under the woman’s eyes, proof of long nights awake with a colicky child. She nodded warmly. “This thyme will calm her. Come again if you need more,” Lily offered with a smile.

  The woman looked grateful and tucked the flask in a pocket pinned to her overdress, then she handed Lily an arched piece of metal. “’Tis a new handle for your pot. Your mum said she needed one and that it would do for payment.”

  Lily inspected the handle. “’Tis well made,” she said. “Thank you kindly.”

  Mistress Smith smiled shyly, then looked around nervously as though she would be caught chatting with the executioner’s daughter. With a quick bob of her head, she slipped outside and hurried up the path and out of sight.

  Lily shrugged. Her animals were her friends, but it was pleasant to talk to someone once in a while. Someone who could talk back with more than a squawk, bark, or purr.

  As she stood in the doorway, she noticed a flicker of movement off to the side. Blossom noticed, too, and dashed over to the bush, barking insistently. Living outside the town walls, they had to be vigilant about thieves, but thieves tended to avoid the executioner even more than other folks, so Lily had little fear as she approached.

  “John the hunter!” she said in surprise when she made out the shape hiding inside the branches.

  “Get your dog away,” the small boy cried, fear stretching his voice thread thin.

  “Blossom!” Lily commanded. Blossom sat and wagged her rear with excitement.

  The boy crawled out of the bush, not bothering to brush the dust from his knees or hands. He stared at the ground and shifted uneasily. Though he was quite small, Lily decided he must be around seven years.

  Finally Lily said, “If you’ve come for your rabbit, you’ll not get it.”

  “Where is it?” John craned his neck to look around Lily, but she moved purposefully to block his view.

  “You may as well go home now.” She raised the hand that still held the new handle. The boy flinched as though he expected her to hit him with it. Hastily she lowered it to her side.

  “I want to see my rabbit,” he said stubbornly.

  “’Tisn’t yours.”

  “’Tis so.”

  “Nay!”

  The boy glowered up at her, apparently forgetting his fear in the midst of his anger. “Fine! ’Tis your rabbit! I just want to see what you’ve done with it.”

  “You promise not to come back and steal him in the middle of the night?” Lily asked.

  The boy’s eyes widened. “Sneak out of the gates in the dark?”

  Lily snorted. Of course not! She’d forgotten that the townsfolk were all frightened of their nighttime shadows.

  “Then come along,” she said. “This way.” She led John to the arrangement of cages she kept on the side of the cottage where they were hidden from view.

  His mouth dropped open, amazement replacing his fear. “Are they all yours?”

  “Nay. I’m just caring for them till they can run off on their own.” She moved to the cage holding the rabbit and tenderly lifted it out while John looked on.

  “You saved its life?”

  Lily nodded. She didn’t usually think of what she did as saving lives, but she liked the sound of it. “Aye, I am a healer like my parents, only I heal animals instead of people.”

  The frightened look returned to his eyes at the mention of her parents. “They’re not home yet, are they? I saw them at the execution.”

  “Aye, ’tis where they are,” she said abruptly. She put away the rabbit. “They’ll be home very soon.”

  The boy didn’t need another hint. He fled.

  Lily brushed her hair over her shoulders. She didn’t want a boy nosing around here anyway. He would just be a nuisance and probably try to steal the animals when she wasn’t watching. She tossed her head, glad to be rid of him, and walked around to the front of the cottage.

  She was just about to enter when her mother trudged toward her down the path. “Did you see anyone along the way?” Lily asked, unsure of how her mother would feel about her visitor.

  Wearily, Allyce shook her head. “Just a shadow here and there. Did Mistress Smith come by for the medicine?”

  “Aye,” Lily said, following Allyce inside. She wondered if her mother longed to have friends. She didn’t even have a collection of animals to talk to, and Lily’s father wasn’t one to waste words on idle chatter.

  Her mother passed her into the apothecary, going straight to the bucket of water they kept in the corner. Using the strong soap that burned Lily’s nose, she knelt down and scrubbed her hands all the way up to her elbows as she always did after an execution. She used her fingernails to scrape at her skin.

  “He deserved to die,” Lily said. “He was a thief.” Her voice rose as her mother continued to wash, scratching at her hands till they turned as red as the blood she was trying to wash off. “He was a vile sinner who had to die! Father said so.”

  “Judge not lest ye be judged,” her mother snapped. And then in a softer voice: “Do not judge so harshly, child.”

  “But Father says—”

  “Aye, Father says much,” Allyce interrupted, “but he doesn’t know all. No one does. Not I, not you, not even Lord Dunsworth.”

  Lily stood silent. She might not know all, but she did know when it was futile to argue with her mother.

  At last, Allyce stood up from the bucket, holding her dripping hands before her. “Father will be home soon. Help me lay out supper.”

  Lily followed her mother through the apothecary and into the cottage. How was it possible to judge a criminal too harshly? she wondered.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Lily watched her mother as they prepared the evening meal. As her mother chopped and sliced, she seemed to lose the tension from her face and shoulders. She was even humming by the time they were through.

  Once the table was set and supper was heating over the fire, Allyce took Lily’s hand. “Come walk with me.”

  Lily smiled. She and her mother often used to walk together with Allyce pointing out herbs and flowers and telling Lily their medicinal uses. But lately, her mother hadn’t had time. Or perhaps it was more a matter of desire.

  They took the path Lily had made along the edge of the forest. “There is a cluster of yarrow,” Lily pointed out.

  “Aye,
” Allyce agreed. “And yonder some wolfsbane. That, you must—”

  “Never pick because ’tis poisonous,” Lily finished for her mother with a laugh. “I remember your lessons well,” she assured her.

  The two wound around trees and cut across corners of fields. Lily didn’t fear a taunting crowd of children with her mother beside her.

  Allyce suddenly stopped walking. Without a word, she looked up to the sky. Above them circled a pair of doves, their tail feathers pointing out behind them.

  “How beautiful,” Allyce said softly.

  They watched silently as the doves flapped off toward the town.

  Hand in hand, the two continued to walk aimlessly, heading deeper into the forest. The rotting leaves from seasons past cushioned their steps. When they came to a stream, Allyce lay back on the mossy ground. Lily sat by her and wove a garland out of twigs and ferns she found around her. When she placed it on her head, she felt like a princess wearing a crown.

  “Have you ever seen a princess?” she asked her mother.

  “Nay. Where would I have a chance to see a princess? Or a prince? I’ve not even seen the King. Only Lord Dunsworth. And he’s not such a sight to see.”

  “But you’ve seen knights,” Lily said.

  “Aye,” Allyce replied. “At the castle they come and go. They are rather common, in fact.” She said it as if she were describing a type of rat.

  Lily laughed. “Are they all brave and handsome?”

  “Nay, they fart and spit like any other man.”

  Lily groaned and threw a fern at her mother, who batted it away. “Tell me true,” she begged.

  “I don’t know what is true, daughter. I’ve only seen them from a great distance. They are not interested in the likes of us,” she said flatly.

  Lily gently tugged off her crown and tossed it into the stream. She watched it slide over rocks and tumble through rough water until it was whisked around the bend. She tried to imagine its journey, but she had never been farther in the forest than the old stones from the days of the Druids, nor had she ever crossed the meadows to see what lay beyond. But if she were a garland, sweeping down the stream, or even better, a bird flying high … She took a deep breath. What use was there in imagining such impossible things?