I cursed his every step to the platform. It seemed my life had been given for this moment. I had lost count of the brothers lost in battle, each night my sleep haunted by a different bloody field.
But I was shaken with rage by this baying crowd. Drunken, wretched, wanton souls, with thirst for blood. Imps feasting on hate, intoxicated with rage and lust. Is God testing our resolve or is Lucifer making a final play?
The King deserves no mercy, no pity but has the right to die with dignity. He has the Lord’s name on his lips and this I and my brethren will hold to. Freedom it seems is not yet fit for the well but rather a ladle.
I feel flames rise through my chest as each cackle spews afore me. My leathered hand is now rested upon my sword, and I see my anger is shared by those with scars.
A curtain of silence falls over the crowd, goodness had prevailed. My head bowed to God, my fingers unlocked from my weapon and join in quiet prayer. Then the King is dead.
I had often thought of the moment when I would again see the flat lands of The Fens atop my horse. At the turn, through mist, a white house agin the river I have seen.
The noise and tempers rise again. Without thought I now turn from the crowd and walked towards the Thames. In this minute I knew my war was not won, that the Lord Protector would soon be besieged by treachery and sorcery.
No solace found at the edge of a low piss soaked Thames. But in a moment I see a flash of sun dance across a break which I had seen a hundred times by a water mill. But violently this is knocked from me by a pitiful drunken couple tumbling on my path. God has a means for me before I might find peace.