Raven Queen

USBORNE

EBOOK

For Rob

COPYRIGHT

Copyright © Pauline Francis, 2007.
All rights reserved.
The right of Pauline Francis to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

Calligraphy produced by Sarah Coleman.
 
www.sarahcoleman.net

The name Usborne and the devices
are Trade Marks of Usborne Publishing Ltd.

First published in the UK in 2007 by Usborne Publishing Ltd.,
Usborne House, 83-85 Saffron Hill, London EC1N 8RT, England.
www.usborne.com

Epub ISBN: 978-1409531944
Kindle ISBN: 978-1409531951

Batch no. 00569

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

I am not afraid to die.

I have walked the three miles from Leicester prison, tied to a horse carrying the two men who will hang me. Now they are sitting on the ground, swigging their ale before they begin their dirty work: one old, one young, but both toothless. And I know the young one is the wild one, the one to watch.

I drag my hands towards the pocket of my breeches and finger the rosary beads hidden there, whispering, “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.”

“Blood drinker!” the old one cries.

The young one sniggers. “Look at that! He’s pleasuring himself before he dies! The devil makes work for idle hands.”

No, I am not afraid to die.
Death is only a hobgoblin sent to frighten us in the night!
my father used to say. But although my mind is strong, my body betrays me. I wet myself. To my surprise, although the men wrinkle their noses, they make no mention of it.

Another thought consoles me. I shall see my mother for the first time in the new world that is waiting to welcome me. Then panic tightens my throat. How will she recognize me now that I am almost fully grown? I was only a baby when she died.

How stupid I am!
I
shall know
her
from the painting my father keeps of her in a locket: fair skin, fair hair and eyes soft brown like almonds dappled in an autumn sun.

“Was it worth it then, for an apple and a loaf o’ bread?” the old one asks. “Doesn’t your God tell you it’s wrong to steal?”

I nod. “Yes, but it does not deserve death. ‘
Society must take responsibility for its thieves since our society forces thieving
’,” I quote.

Their mouths gape.

I am almost light-hearted now as I carry on, “Have you not read
Utopia
, gentlemen? It is a very good book and I can heartily recommend it to you.”

“Fancy words!” the old one hisses. He pushes the boy forward. “But they’re no good to a condemned man. Get up there, lad!”

The apprentice springs onto the horse’s back and my lips move in silent prayer. His friend sneers, “Too late for that!” and staggers to his feet, pushing me up onto the horse’s back where I sway. The boy is already reaching for the noose above my head and, in a second, it lies heavy around my neck where it will soon squeeze the life out of me.

At least I shall hang in the beauty of the countryside and I thank God for that. Dew glints early on the grass for the sun is already sinking, and above me the gallows is so new that I can smell its sweet sap.

“I like town hangings best!” the boy calls down to his friend. “All them people baying for blood, so to speak. Quiet gallows ain’t my style.”

“I forgive you both for the wrong you are about to do,” I say quietly.

He takes a step back from me, almost losing his balance in his anger and I expect him to hit me, so I duck. As I stand up again, lurching like an acrobat I once saw, he leans forward, steadying himself until his eyes are level with mine. I can see myself in them: all tangled hair and beard. Almost a stranger.

He spits in my face.

I stand still, feeling the spittle slide down my forehead, sticking in my eyebrows and eyelashes. A skylark calls in the sky and I glance up, straining the rope. Then I laugh out loud. Dear God, my last sight of your beautiful creation has been dimmed by a hangman’s spittle. Oh, I am weary of this world and I long to lay down the burden of my life.

The horse rears and pricks its ears at the thud of hooves beyond the hedges. The boy jumps down and the men draw back, whispering. I cannot hear what they are saying although it is clear to me that they are disagreeing.

The old one insists, “I’ve been told to wait till sunset!”

“Who’s going to know?” The boy’s voice is mocking. “Except the ravens!”

“We’ll wait, lad.”

As the thudding shakes the ground, the hanging horse starts to snort and paw the air and the boy decides. “Time to meet your maker!” he shouts, slapping the horse’s rump, and I look to heaven as it leaps forward without me, jolting my body.

A rush of air deep inside me.

And far off I hear my voice cry, “Mother!”

They were hanging a boy when Ellie and I rode past the gallows.

“Oh no, Ellie!” My voice rose to a wail of horror.

We thundered towards the dangling boy, lashing the hangmen away, letting his feet settle onto the back of my horse.

“Murdering dogs!” I shouted.

The men cursed and kicked as they tried to drag the boy back; but I scattered a handful of coins onto the ground and they scrambled on all fours for the greater share. Ellie pulled the noose over the boy’s head and he flopped down behind me, choking and gasping.

Then we rode away.

His name was Ned and his stillness captivated me. Was he not afraid after what had happened? My heart was still drumming like my horse’s hooves. What if my horse had stumbled, what if we had stopped to pick primroses in the hedgerows, what if…? I had never seen a hanging until today, although many times I had passed rotting bodies – swinging eyeless, noseless, lipless – and I shivered at the memory of them.