The crowd hushed as an enormous platform was wheeled into the square. On it stood a tall man in white robes with a thick black mustache and jet black hair. He stood calm as the platform was wheeled to a stop in front of the crowd. Behind him on the platform stood a large device with two poles sticking up into the air and attached by a beam at the top. At the bottom was a sheet of wood that reminded him of stocks where people would be stuck and left for days as punishment. But this one didn’t have holes for the hands or a hinge, but just a hole for a head.
At the top was a blade. It looked rusty and old but the angled edge gleamed in the torchlight. The crowd stared at it in quiet amazement.
A man near Petro spoke: “Gods help us. It’s the guillotine.”
A minute passed in silence. No one else dared to speak, and all eyes were on the priest. That minute stretched into two, and finally he stepped forward, to the edge of the platform. His eyes swept over them, not settling anywhere in particular but seeming to take them all in. When he spoke, his voice was deep and rhythmic:
“The Lord of Light gives us everything. All we are. All we become. These are His gifts to us. His love for us. He is a generous Lord who watches out for and protects his people. He gives us everything, yet asks for very little in return.
“There are some who won’t accept his gifts. They scorn what they do not understand and mock that which they cannot see. Such people are to be pitied, for it is only through His light that we can be made whole.
“And there are others still who do understand. They understand what the Lord offers and yet willfully disobey His will. They seek to do harm to others and seek to disavow His teachings. Such people are heretical in nature and disastrous to culture. We priests are shepherds. We tend to the Lord’s flock and look after His people. But we are also gardeners. We seek out the weeds that run rampant in His garden and root them out. Only after the garden is purified of suffocating weeds can the Lord’s flowers truly flourish.”
Here he paused, letting his words sink in over the crowd. It was the middle of the day, but overcast and cloudy. A rainy day, the kind on which Petro would lounge inside, listening to the pitter patter against the roof.
Thunder rolled in the distance. Torches were lit and passed out amongst the guards.
The priest waited for several minutes before spreading his arms to the sky.
“As you can see, the Lord’s light is diminished here. Here, in this duchy, there is corruption. No one here can know the Lord’s love and the Lord’s grace because you are all being suffocated by the weeds of those which would do you harm. Those who scorn His will. Those who worship demons.”
A communal gasp rang out in the crowds. One man from the right group shouted “Mithras is not a demon!” before receiving the butt of a spear into his stomach, knocking his wind away.
The priest waited patiently. Gradually, the crowd settled. Then he spoke:
“But our Lord is a benevolent Lord. He believes that all of us, no matter how small or weak, deserve a second chance. We are imperfect beings living in an imperfect world. We can be better, if only we know the way.”
“What is the way?” a man shouted. This time it came from the left group.
“Teach us!” a woman shouted.
“Save us priest!” another woman shouted. This received a ragged cheer. The priest held up his hands, quieting them.
“The Lord loves you all. But today we are here to witness his wrath. There are those who cannot be saved. Today those people will be purged in His light. And, like the phoenix that must experience death to be reborn, so too will this duchy be reborn in the light of our Lord!”
This time the cheer was louder from many of the peasants. Petro wasn’t really paying attention. He was trying to think of some way to get to Suzanne and slip out. They were small, and people rarely noticed children. Maybe they could blend into the crowd and sneak past the guards…
“Bring forth the unbelievers,” the priest said, raising his hands to the sky, “and together we shall be reborn!”
