The Executioner's Daughter

by Laura E. Williams

  Without a sound, Lily withdrew. Then she called through the curtain as if she had not been spying on him, “Come to supper, Father.” She had to call three more times before he did as beckoned.

  After supper, when her father usually returned to his apothecary to work, he watched Lily wipe clean the cup and spoons they had used, feed the trencher to Blossom, and pet the pups, taking extra care to kiss the runt. As she did these things, Lily shifted uneasily under his watchful eye.

  Finally she turned to him. “What is it, Father? Why are you staring at me so?”

  Will drew in a deep breath before he spoke. “The time has come,” he began slowly, “for you to assist me in my duties.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Lily paused as her father reached beneath the bench and handed her his cloak, which he’d gathered into a bundle. She took the cloak, realizing immediately that something was hidden within its folds. A tremor of fear struck between her shoulder blades until she assured herself that it couldn’t be an ax. “What’s in here?”

  “Open it and see.”

  She pulled away the heavy material, finally revealing the hidden object. “My own mortar and pestle!”

  “Aye, you’ve learned much, these last months. ’Tis time you became my assistant … in all I do.”

  Lily barely noticed the hesitation in her father’s voice. She hugged him. She would help him heal people. She would speak softly and kindly as her mother used to, and she’d touch with gentle hands instead of the clumsy ones she still faltered with.

  Between her laughs, a scratch at the back door caught her attention. A night visitor could only mean one thing. Holding a candle high and hurrying to the apothecary door, Lily looked out. A young man stood there, supporting an older man with sallow cheeks. Both men had gaunt faces and their clothes were little more than rags. The older man held up his hand. Or rather, the bloody stump where his hand used to be.

  Lily gasped and fell back a step, but her father’s firm hand on her shoulder quickly steadied her.

  “’Tis my father,” the younger man said. “He’s lost much blood, and his arm is hot.” He kept his gaze lowered. “We tried to care for it ourselves and even saw the barber, but we have nothing for payment and he sent us away. I didn’t want to come here! But Father says ’tis his only hope.”

  Lily stiffened at the venom in his voice.

  “Come in,” Will ordered, walking back and pulling Lily with him.

  The two men entered. Lily’s father sat the wounded man on a bench and began to unwind the bandage that was black with blood and grime. “Heat some water, daughter,” he said curtly.

  She moved quickly to do his bidding, ashamed that he’d had to ask. As his assistant, she should know what to do without being told.

  Once she’d placed a kettle of rainwater over the small fire, Lily helped her father lay out herbs. She tried not to look at the mutilated arm that rested on the table. But one quick glance made her stomach roil. The flesh looked painfully red with infection and the edges of the skin were pulling back from the wound. She just hoped she wouldn’t faint and do her father dishonor. If she were to become a healer, she would have to tend to injuries as bad as this. Maybe even worse.

  “What a terrible accident,” she said, trying to fill the heavy silence.

  “Aye,” the injured man grunted.

  “A scythe did this?” Lily asked, unable to think of any other instrument that could possibly do so much damage.

  Her father’s hands stilled. The old man said nothing.

  Lily glanced at him. He was looking at her from under heavyset lids. His eyes appeared sunken and near death. She noticed the stiff frown on her father’s face as he mixed various herbs.

  Lily shifted uneasily, suddenly aware of the tension stretching thin in the room. Looking at the bloody stump as her father examined it, she wondered what kind of an accident could possibly cleave off a hand so precisely. Scything accidents did happen, but the wounds were rarely clear through nor cut so smoothly as this one. An ax perhaps?

  A humming noise started in her ears. She shook her head, trying to concentrate on her duties as her father’s assistant. She remembered her mother often gave kind words of advice to visitors, so she said, “You should be more careful.”

  The young man made a choking sound and she looked up at him, shocked to see such hatred in his eyes. He glared at her until she blinked and looked away, the heat of humiliation rising from her neck and covering her face.

  The truth dawned slowly and painfully. The humming in her ears grew louder, and suddenly the candlelight wasn’t bright enough. She clutched the edge of the table to keep from swaying.

  She stared at the stump as her father swabbed the wound with strong wine. Then he tried to bring the edges of the wound together, pinching the skin between his fingers. The old man squirmed, but he did not cry out in pain.

  Her father started to chant. “In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Mary. The wound was red, the cut deep, the flesh be sore, but there will be no more blood or pain till the blessed Virgin bears a child again.”

  Solemnly, he applied a poultice to draw out any infection and help halt the bleeding. He also prepared several decoctions for the older man, and another poultice to take away with him.

  The father and son left without another word. On unsteady legs, Lily followed them and closed the door at their backs. Turning, she leaned against the door frame and watched her father start to clean the table.

  “Father?”

  He turned to her, his face molten in the flickering light of the candles.

  “Tell me what happened to his hand.”

  Will turned back to his work without answering right away. Finally he said, “It was cut off.” His voice broke and he coughed to clear it. Then he continued. “He was caught stealing pies from Mistress Baker. Lord Dunsworth sentenced him to lose his hand for the theft.”

  “It was your doing.”

  “’Tis my duty,” he replied, his voice firm.

  “But they looked half starved. Surely one pie—”

  “I am not the judge nor jury. I did not write the laws.” He slammed a fist on the table. “I only do as I am told! As my father did before me.”

  Lily jumped. Without another word, she edged out of the apothecary and into the cottage. She put on her old cloak, since the new one wasn’t finished yet, and slipped out the front door. She walked through the night forest to her mother’s grave.

  Lily visited her mother often, keeping the grave swept and bringing flowers that had survived the frost, or feathers to lay there. She knelt beside the stone her father had carved, and bowed her head.

  “Mother,” Lily said softly, laying a hand on the stone. Despair washed over her. Never before had she so clearly seen her future. Her fate. “I cannot,” she whispered. “I cannot be Father’s assistant no matter how much I love him.”

  She sat in silence for a long time, imagining another future, a different fate. There were places, she’d heard, where healers cared for the sick and injured. Midwives who knew something of herbal remedies and helped bring forth new life. And fine doctors who studied at universities and cared for royalty.

  Bit by bit, hope bloomed inside Lily. She did not have to be the executioner’s daughter any longer. She could leave and settle someplace where no one knew her. She had been running away all her life, surely she could run one last time? Lily said good night to her mother and walked home.

  Once inside the cottage, Lily stood before the hearth to warm her chilled hands, unsure of what to say. Sitting on a stool, Will stared into the flames as though he were afraid to look at his daughter. Lily walked over behind him and put her arms around his shoulders. He gripped her hands and kissed them. With a sinking heart, Lily wondered how she could ever leave him.

  * * *

  A fortnight later, Lily’s father announced, “Tomorrow they will raise a bright gallows in town.”

  Lily suddenly remembered the four men hanging, faces swoll
en, necks stretched long. And the man wearing the black mask who pulled the ropes. The man she still could not imagine as her father.

  “You will come with me when I go to help build it.”

  Lily kept her eyes on the flour she sifted between her fingers.

  “And you will come with me to the hanging the next day.”

  Still she uttered no words, for what could she possibly say? She had known the day would come to assist her father in more than just making medicine and attending to the sick who called for his healing powers. Often in the past two weeks she had tried to form the words to tell her father she was leaving. But each time, love and guilt had tied her tongue. The love between them was like a string, tangling them together in a way she could never pick apart. Or so it seemed.

  Lily made a pile of the flour, then scooped out an indentation on the top where she would add the eggs, yeast, fat, water, and scant amount of salt to mix into dough. As she worked, the pups, now brave and curious, tumbled over her feet, licking her toes and tugging on the hem of her tunic. Lily nudged them gently away.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The next morning, when they passed through the gate into town, Lord Dunsworth’s men stood aside. Lily didn’t look at them. She kept her eyes lowered as her mother had told her to do. She followed her father along the winding roads. People took to the wall when they approached, so they were forced to walk down the middle where everyone threw their waste. She tried to step high to avoid a shoe full of filth, but it was useless. And the stench was horrible after a few warm days in late November and surprising little rain. Pigs that had gotten loose snuffled through the slop, squealing with surprise when someone kicked them out of the way.

  In the center of town, a crowd had gathered to watch the gallows being raised. The men had returned with fresh pine. They stripped off the bark, leaving the wood bare and bright, so that none of the demons could hide under the bark after the thief was hanged.

  The whole town helped raise the gallows. The executioner, though powerful with his ax, could not build it himself. The townsfolk believed that if everyone helped, even by pounding in a single nail, none of the blame could be placed on any one person. Therefore, the condemned man couldn’t exact retribution from the other side of death. Only the executioner would have blood on his hands.

  Minstrels sang and played lutes and double flutes, dancing through the crowd to the beat of a ringing tambourine. After the raising, the townsfolk would have a celebration, to which almost all were invited.

  Lily stood off to one side as the men nailed and roped the gallows into place. The crowd left a wide circle around her. Children ran to and fro, and soon she caught sight of a familiar face.

  “John!” she called without thinking.

  The boy jerked to a stop. He started to raise his hand, but lowered it quickly as a group of older boys clustered around him, waving their arms in her direction and prodding him in the stomach. The tallest boy pushed John, and he teetered. Then another pushed him from behind and he lost his balance, falling to his knees on the cobblestones. Lily wanted to run and help him, but the look on his red face as he stood stopped her.

  She hastily dropped her gaze to the ground. Even looking at the dirt on her shoes, Lily could see the children gathering around her, tightening the circle like a noose.

  “Lily, Lily White as Bones,” one chanted.

  “Gallows Girl! Gallows Girl!”

  “Don’t let her look at you or she’ll give you the evil eye.”

  Before Lily had a chance to move, something struck the side of her head. The stink of rotten egg filled the air. She looked up fiercely. The children scampered away with nervous giggles. But when Lily didn’t strike them down with her glare, they crept closer. John stood off to the side, not three lengths away, with wide eyes. Someone handed him an egg.

  “Go on,” his friends urged. “Or are you afraid of her?”

  Lily couldn’t look away. She watched John slowly lift his arm and heave the egg. It hit her on the right shoulder and the impact made her flinch. The children laughed and clapped.

  “Stinky Lily!” they shouted. Even John joined in the shouting and clapping.

  The laughing crowd spread out wider. Lily didn’t move. Not even to touch her hair where the eggs had left a sticky mess. Instead, she pretended she was a statue made of debarked pine, and the tears threatening to fall from her eyes weren’t tears at all, but simply sap, flowing from the timber.

  The taunting suddenly stopped. Lily jerked at a touch on her shoulder, but it was only her father.

  “Go on home,” he said gently.

  Lily didn’t want his pity. It was all his fault that this had happened. Without a word, she turned and ran.

  By the time Lily got home, the egg in her hair and on her cloak had dried, but the stench still lingered. She heated some water and, using her mother’s strong soap, Lily cleaned her cloak and washed her hair over and over again. Afterward, she sat before the fire, running a comb through the strands. When her father came home, Lily refused to look at him. He called to her but when she didn’t answer, he shuffled into his apothecary without another word.

  Lily combed her hair until it was dry, then draped her old cloak about her shoulders and went outside to check the animals. Blossom and her pups yipped along behind her.

  She attended to the rabbits first, trying to concentrate on what she was doing, rather than thinking about what had just happened in town. Now there were only two rabbits left. All the rest had been let go. A hedgehog fussed as she examined the stub where a foot had been bit off by a larger animal. She was just about to check the dove, when someone called to her.

  She paused, but didn’t turn. She would know John the traitor’s voice anywhere.

  “I’m sorry, Lily,” he said. His voice quavered. “I didn’t want to throw the egg.”

  “Then why did you?” she asked, still keeping her back to him.

  “I—I had to. They made me do it.”

  “I didn’t see them holding a hot brand to you, or twisting your arm,” she said bitterly.

  For a moment, Lily thought the boy had deserted her, but then she heard the catch in his breath as though he were trying not to cry.

  “If I didn’t, they said they wouldn’t play with me.”

  “They don’t play with you now,” Lily said. “They only tease you and make you do things you don’t want to do.” She stood up and faced him. “I thought I was your friend!”

  “You are, but it would be a great dishonor to my family if anyone knew. My mother would beat me.”

  The words felt like slaps. “Then go away. You’re not welcome here. And don’t ever come back!” She chased him to the edge of the path.

  “Lily…”

  “Be gone!” She picked up a stone and threw it at him, then bent to pick up another.

  John backed off down the path. “But I don’t care anymore what they say. I swear it. I don’t care what they say about your father, or about your mother being saved from the noose, or even about—”

  The stone left Lily’s hand before she even knew she had released it. It thunked against a tree trunk right next to John’s head. He took off running.

  “Wait!” she called after him. “What did you say?” But it was too late. He was gone.

  What had John said? What had he meant?

  Lily charged into the cottage, slamming the door behind her. “Father!” she called. Lily careened into the apothecary, nearly swiping the leather curtain from its hold above the doorway. “Father!”

  He held up a hand to stall her. “Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…” he counted as drops of liquid dripped from a wooden spoon into a flask.

  “Father!” She pulled the flask away from him. The liquid splashed out of the container. “What did he mean? What did he mean about Mother? What noose? Tell me!”

  As she spoke, her father’s face went from angry red to sallow gray. He did not pull the flask back from Lily as he’d intended with his outstretche
d hand. His shoulders sagged and his head bowed forward.

  “Tell me at once,” Lily begged, not sure she really wanted to know.

  “Who told you?” he finally asked.

  “A boy from town. He’s been coming around to help with the animals.”

  Her father shot her a quick glance, but he couldn’t hold her gaze. He looked down again. “What did he tell you?”

  “He said he didn’t care that my mother had been saved from the noose. Then he ran away before I could ask him more.” She took a long breath. “What did he mean?”

  Will pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, and slowly sank onto a stool. “Your mother was to be hanged. I had no wife and no one would take me. Most would rather die than marry the executioner. But your mother, she took my offer to live a cursed life rather than to swing on the end of a rope. We were married and you were born.”

  “She cheated fate,” Lily whispered, finally understanding her mother’s words. “You saved her from her fate.”

  “That’s what Allyce believed,” Will said heavily. “I loved her.” His voice broke. “As I love you. And yet there’s nothing I can do to keep children from throwing rotten eggs at you or taunting you simply because you are my daughter. ’Tis truly a cursed life I have given you, God forgive me.”

  After a moment of brittle silence he asked, “Do you want to know why your mother was to be hanged?”

  Lily shook her head. Stumbling backward, she made her way outside where she fled into the forest. At first she headed toward her mother’s grave, but then she quickly changed her mind and veered away. She didn’t care in which direction or whether she came upon a band of cutthroats. She just ran. She ran on until the pain in her side tore her breath from her and she could no longer fling one foot out in front of the other. She dropped to the forest floor, covering her eyes with her arm. Though she had run long and far, she hadn’t outrun her thoughts. They came crashing against her.

  Her mother was a condemned criminal!

  Lily couldn’t imagine her gentle mother standing on the platform with her hands tied behind her back whilst townsfolk threw curses and worse at her. Only her father’s intervention at the last moment had saved her. A knight in armor black as death, her mother had called him.