The night before execution, some condemned may fall asleep, hoping to awaken from the nightmare of certainty into the dawn of improbable reprieve. Others stare with unblinking eyes at the dark walls of their prisons, begging for sweet moonlight’s conquest over the blood-red sun.
Hilda saw little difference between an immediate hanging and a slow death, gnawed by rats in a dripping cell beneath a castle moat. She beat her fists against the hard, indifferent earth, her eyes wept dry and her heart drumming with terror. Words for prayer had long since failed her. Instead her soul quivered, unable to think any longer on her many sins that might send her to Hell, even if she was innocent of murder.
Suddenly, she froze.
There was a scraping noise outside the door.
That was no rodent, she realized. Was someone unbarring the door?
The wood creaked, and the door did open slowly.
A shadow slipped inside. It had a clear and mortal form.
The cook began to sweat, first from fear and then irrational hope. “Why…?”
“To save you from hanging,” was the warm reply.
“You believe me?” She gasped. Her hand now pressed against a heart thundering with inexpressible gratitude.
“Are you not innocent?”
“Full of sin I most certainly am but not of the crime of murder.”
“But are you guilty of unseemly gossip?”
“I do not understand.” Hilda shook uncontrollably.
“Come now! Women are wont to chatter like squirrels, accusing anyone, not in their current company, of sins born solely in the fens of their unreasoned minds. Have you never done that? Do not lie, for I have overheard the chittering often enough amongst the servants.”
The cook opened her mouth to speak, but she was unable to form words.
“What did you say to that priest from Tyndal? Did you prate on and on as is the wont of creatures like you?”
“He took my confession, only that!”
“Only a confession of your own frailties? Nothing of your fevered imaginings about the sins of other souls? I think you are lying, Hilda.”
She shook her head.
“Give me your hand.”
The cook did so but felt no comfort in the warmth of the strong grip.
“Do you swear that you did not impugn anyone?”
Eagerly, she nodded. Her hand was released.
“But you wanted to do so, didn’t you?”
Hilda looked away.
“Of course you did, you frightened and wretched one. Most people would be willing enough to point the finger at someone else to save themselves from choking on the noose.” The laughter that followed held no mirth.
“I did not try to save myself by so doing,” the cook whispered. Her words were greeted with a long silence.
“Come with me then. You shall be freed of this place.”
Hilda now eagerly took the proffered hand, rose, and turned toward the door.
That was the last thing she saw.