Sir Henry
Magistrate
Script, text and drawings by Sir Henry, Augusta Treverorum, 2023, first published exclusively on cruxforums.com
* * *
Hey, listen, people, to what once happened a long time ago in the Kingdom of Khadenia, more than a dozen days' journey from here, and what I will tell you now, as it happened and as I was present there at the time when I was young.
Step closer, guys, learn what a terrible tale I have brought back from my travels, and which I, as a troubadour and minstrel, have told the people for many years and in so many cities.
Come nearer now, ye people, hear my words and listen to my wheel fiddle.
Well then:
* * *
Lydia, 28 years old, lovable and beautiful
talented stained glass painter of beautiful church windows
married for two years with her first great love
and happy mother of a boy for six months.
Lydia's husband, 32, the love of her life
a magistrate in the city administration
for months his eyes only on other women
and cheated on his Lydia with a colleague.
Lydia, who was secretly told this fact
saw herself so deeply hurt
herself and also the child they had together
and she buried herself in her grief for too long.
Finally, she begged him warmly
that he would leave the other woman
that he turn back to her and the child
and that he should recognise her great love for him.
But he only mocked her, laughed at her
because she would be so different as a mother now
that he would no longer be her centre of attention
and that he, as a man, would need fresh sex.
He said that she breastfed the child far too much
that she would no longer give him her breasts at all
that if he wanted to sleep with her, it would hurt her
and that all this would violate his rights as her husband.
Lydia, hurt even more deeply by these words
cried bitterly and heartbreakingly
no longer understanding the world
and blaming it all on herself.
A little later he declared that he wanted to leave her
that night he even took her by force, raped her
not only did he violate her body, but worse
he was now destroying his wife’s tender soul.
Blinded by grief and abysmal pain in her heart
her mind sank into a swamp of emotion
madness and delusion took hold of her
and her future seemed like a dark, deep hole.
She no longer ate, drank too little, found no sleep
she fell ill, a fever threw her on the bed
finally clouding all her senses
and she could no longer think clearly.
In the delirium of fever, the thalium appeared
which she used to colour some glasses
she mixed it into his dinner
and lay down in her bed again.
Hungrily he ate from the pearl barley soup
but what she couldn't see from the bed
for the very first time he also gave a few spoons to the little one
shortly afterwards, father and son fell asleep.
In the morning they were both dead
the death of her cruel husband, that she had wanted
but the death of her child she could not overcome
and it dissolved her soul completely.
Although the toxic thalium in the bodies was not detected
Lydia confessed the act in calm, monotone words
in her despair she did not care about the consequences
completely empty, from now on she did not care about anything.
The verdict came, of course, as it had to come
murderer of her husband, murderer of her child
loudly insulted by everyone, she was now worthless
and very cruel, as usual at the time, she was to be punished.
To death she should be nailed to the cross
but first, for the deepest humiliation
her womanhood shall be taken from her
the double murderer is to have both breasts hacked off.
So before death on the cross, the worst punishment
the inhuman defeminisation of her body
the painful taking away of her breasts
the pride of every woman - what a terrible humiliation.
The punishment should be carried out in public
before the eyes of the officials, before the eyes of the people
the people wanted to hear her screams of pain
and they want to see her suffer before death.
No one asked the background, for her trauma’s reason
why, in the fever, her spirit disappeared from her head
they didn't ask what had broken her down inside
and what had led her to her insane act.
Instead, the angry crowd raged, shouted
even women demanded this punishment
that this beast, as they called her and insulted her
have her breasts cut off in front of the cross.
In the dungeon, a guard abused the helpless woman
did terrible things to her and tortured her sadistically
the head warder just managed to prevent the worst
but she was already more dead than alive.
Lydia, apathetic, empty inside, emaciated, ill
was led to the place of execution at dawn
dragged there by the rusty chain around her neck
and the life had almost gone out of her.
Hundreds had come, although it was still early
the cross, in front of it the heavy wooden trestle
next to it the executioner with his sword
his face hidden deep in the black hood.
Next to the cross already lay the nails and hammers
the crowd cheered and applauded
when Lydia was brutally dragged to the trestle
and as the prisoner's rag was torn from her body.
She was completely silent, the naked woman
as she was forced to her knees with a brutal kick
when they tied her breasts tightly to the trestle
and when finally the drum rolls began.
For a long time the drummers twirled their sticks
while she knelt there, her breasts bound tightly and round
her hair tied back in a ponytail, her head pulled far back
and her eyes were turned to the sky, but closed.
The crowd quieted, seeming disappointed
expecting wailing, pleading and desperate screams
but not a sound passed her lips.
the drums still snared their rolls.
But when the drums now suddenly ceased
the executioner raised his sword, drew it slowly
carefully sighting the target of his blow
and Lydia opened her empty eyes, looked up into the sky.
The blade whirred audibly through the air
as the sword came down like a bolt of lightning
with a squshing noise, it passed through the breast tissue
and landed with a hard thud in the wood of the block.
Her two bloody meat pouches slapped into the basket
where they came to lie trembling and wobbling
blood was everywhere, the block, the floor, all dark red
and when they freed her head, she looked down at her chest.
Her defeminised body spasmed, only briefly, but violently
then, without a cry, only with a sigh
she fell down, relieved of her pain by unconsciousness
and she hit her head hard on the ground.
As the crowd still kept silent in disappointment
because the people had expected terrible screams
the henchmen quickly dragged Lydia to the cross
and they already grabbed the hammers and nails.
Three large buckets of cold water brought her back
back to the here and now
back to her misery, back to her fate
back to the last minutes of her life.
There she lay, two bleeding wounds on her chest
the men drove the nails through her wrists
with powerful blows deep into the crackling wood
and her fingers twisted and cramped bizarrely.
But still no sound escaped her throat
her eyes were open, staring glassily into nothingness
she really saw nothing of all this misery
nothing and no one of those who were doing this to her.
It was only when they nailed her feet down
with an extra-thick nail each
that she gave her first loud moan
and began to breathe intermittently and violently.
On the simplex, the vertical post of the cross
they had nailed a very thick curved horn
shaped like a bent phallus by an artisan blacksmith
the ancient Romans called it the cornu.
When they had nailed her to the patibulum
and placed the beam on the peg of the post
the cornu bored deep into her anus
and immediately tore her the anal orifice.
And only now, for the very first time
did a little life seem to return to her
or rather, the ability to feel physical pain
and her loud cry seemed out of this world.
As she hung on the cross, they further humiliated her
they leaned two ladders against the cross
and tied two ropes to the ends of the patibulum
and her breasts dangled from the ropes on iron hooks.
Now the crowd applauded and jubilated again
although she could not hear it
for she had fainted again right after her scream
a faint from which she never awoke.
She was redeemed very soon, did not have to suffer long
because she had already died long before
at least as well as and at the latest that night
together with her husband and above all with her child.
She was an orphan, had no brothers or sisters
Friends and relatives had turned their backs on her
there was only one who prayed for her
and that was the man of the church.
Her body was left to rot on the cross
ravens and crows first ate the two dangling breasts
then they helped themselves to the remaining flesh
until only a skeleton, some skin and hair remained.
When nature had completed its work on her
her mortal remains were later burned
her ashes were scattered to the wind on the hillsides
and soon she was forgotten - as if she had never lived.
* * *
Yep, people, I once witnessed this cruel execution as a young journeyman in Xotho in Khadenia, and later carried it as a troubadour and minstrel to countless cities, where many thousands of people listened to my lyrics and my wheel fiddle in front of the churches or in the marketplaces and were strangely touched by Lydia's fate.
Most then left in silence, and many probably wondered who was the real culprit of this story.
And although Lydia's action was not right (no question!), today, many decades later, I still ask myself that very question.
And I fear I will probably never find the answer...
