Six guards walked to the right group. The first guard grabbed the duke and pulled him away. The second grabbed his wife. The third grabbed the Captain of the Guard, and the forth and fifth grabbed the thirteen year old son of the Duke and a nobleman in expensive clothing. All five were unarmed and struggled but little as they were dragged forward.
The sixth guard, Petro saw in horror, grabbed Suzanne. He dragged her forward with the rest to The Mistress. She didn’t struggle, but had a look of sheer terror on her face that made Petro sick.
The Duke was led first to The Mistress and forced to his knees. The priest raised his hands to the sky again. “Lord, we offer You this heretic that You might forgive these good people. Will you find it in Your heart to accept our offering?”
Then he turned to the Duke. “If you have any final words, speak them now and be damned.”
The Duke, on his knees, looked up at the priest. “Your God is silent priest. Remember that when you go to your bed. Remember that and ask yourself if their really is an afterlife for you.”
“I know of theKingdomofHeaven, promised to all who offer their heart to Him. What has your God promised you?”
“More than you could ever imagine.”
The priest smiled. “Then perhaps you can prove me wrong. When you arrive there, come back and tell us if Mithras kept his word.”
With a wave of the priest’s hand, the Duke was pushed forward so his head was through the hole. The crowd was silent. The blade fell. It hit the bottom, separating the two sides of the hole, and the Duke’s head thudded to the wooden deck. It rolled several feet before the priest put his foot on it, stopping it in place.
The Duke’s eyes were open, seeming to stare out over the crowd. Petro looked into those eyes, expecting vacancy and finding understanding instead. Horrified, terrified, and full of understanding. Gradually, the understanding faded away, but the eyes remained open.
Those eyes, Petro knew, would haunt his dreams.
The priest cocked his head to the side, listening. “I hear nothing. Perhaps he never made it to his other side.”
“You mock, priest, and the mockery makes you a coward.”
The man who spoke was the Guard Captain. The priest stepped away from the Duke’s head and walked over to the Guard Captain. “I mock that which is beneath my contempt,” the priest said. “And your insult means nothing when it comes from a heretic. You reside beneath my contempt and consideration. You are nothing. A scavenger on the desires of other men. You prey upon their weakness and turn them away from their only chance of salvation. You consort with demons and drink the blood of virgins.”
The captain laughed. “You are clearly as ignorant as you are self-righteous.”
“Spoken like a man afraid to die.”
The captain shook his head. “No, I am not afraid to die. I’ve made my peace. What you do today is out of fear and stupidity. You accuse me of the manipulation which you have perfected. These people you shepherd over? You make them into sheep. Mithras makes us strong. All of us. He doesn’t force some into poverty so you can Lord over them like a child with an ant hill. And this is why, priest, you and yours will fail.”
The priest took a step forward, smiling. But it was a cruel smile. “Will I? Maybe. But not today. I’m sorry, but today it is not my head on the chopping block.”
Two men grabbed the Captain and dragged him to The Mistress. They forced him down, shoved his head through the hole, and only a second later the blade sung. Another head rolled across the wooden machine. Blood poured down, drenching the sands.
