The Only Just Man
Ten prisoners entered the craggy chamber tethered together with leather ties. Their ankles chaffed in iron cuffs from heavy leg chains they dragged across a wet floor. The door locked behind them, and as the jailer’s order echoed through the dismal cell, the prisoners sat thigh to thigh on a narrow wooden bench against a stone wall. The stench of sweaty bodies filled the air as they jostled for a dry place to rest their bare feet. Their eyes fixed on the still, dark water of the pool that loomed before them. Made to drown a man laden with chains, it chilled the spines of those waiting to learn their fate.
The first prisoner leaned into the second and spoke. “I’ll be getting choice, I will. Been here twice before, and twice before it be given me,” he said. “No judge sends a man to the pool over a morsel of bread, when it’s hunger that drives him to steal.”
The second prisoner rested his head against the stone wall and closed his eyes. “Hunger always drove me to work.”
The first prisoner elbowed the second. “Last time I got tobacco rolling for me penance and got a job when me sentence was done,” he said, as the foulness of his breath filled the air. “But I not be beholding to any man, when I can get me bread for free.” Gazing at the pool, he paused. “What’s your crime, mate?”
“Murder,” said the second prisoner without opening his eyes.
“Aye,” the first man said with a sorrowful face. “There be no choice for you.”
The jailer climbed the wooden stairs beside the pool and opened the door to the court above. The prisoners squinted and raised their hands to shield their eyes from the light. All except the second prisoner, who favored the light with a smile. Noses turned upward and more than a few faces delighted in the rush of fresh air. But their grins soon fell as the assembly above hushed at the heralding of the judge. Knees bounced and murmured prayers flowed upward in hope of intervention by a god they never minded.
“Who’d you kill?” said the first prisoner to the second.
“Me wife…and her lover.”
“Aye, passion.” The first prisoner paused, then a rush lifted his face. “Me last go ‘round, a man killed for passion. Got choice, he did. Said he loved his wife. Did you love your wife?”
“Still do.”
“You’ll get choice if you say you love her, and we be rolling tobacco together.” He pointed down the row of prisoners. “Or it be your splash them blokes be stepping in.”
The wood creaked as the guard descended the stairs. He faced the pitiful lot and checked his log. “Prisoner 441, stand for your appointment.”
The first prisoner stood, and the jailer removed the tether from his wrists.
“See you at the tobacco tables,” he said to the second with a wink.
He staggered up the stairs, dragging his chain along the wooden steps, then shuffled into the light of the court. Jeers rang out from the spectators in the gallery, and the jailer motioned for the prisoner to move onto the raised wooden platform. He stepped with caution and centered himself over the trap door leading to the pool below.
“The court charges you, Prisoner 441, with stealing,” the judge said. “Consult the advocate, then answer for your crime.”
Prisoner 441 shook his head and refused the council. “I was hungry, sir. Twas only a morsel of bread I took.”
The judge conferred with the paper before him. “This is your third offense.”
“Aye, sir. But I roll good and pay me debt well.”
“Grace has failed you,” the judge said. “Twice I gave you choice, and here you stand again.”
Prisoner 441 held his hands in prayer. “Twas only a wee morsel, sir. You’d not deny a man his bread, would ya?”
“You were offered work to earn your bread and twice you declined.”
“But I’m a good roller,” the prisoner said, lifting his hands in plea.
“There’ll be no choice for one who spurns my grace.”
The prisoner’s eyes bulged, and his mouth quivered as he sought the advocate’s help. But the advocate gave him an insolent shrug. “You had your chance and made your choice.”
At the nod of the judge, the executioner pulled the handle and prisoner 441 dropped through the opening to the waiting pool below. In vain, he flailed and grasped at the air before disappearing under the water. Eight prisoners pulled up their feet as the pool overflowed, sending ripples of water over the stone floor. The second prisoner let the water wash over his feet and rested his hands on his lap. The prisoner next to him sank into himself and quivered. “He said he’d get choice. What chance have I?”
“You’ll get justice,” said the second prisoner, gazing at the trap door the jailer pulled back into place.
The jailer descended the stairs and checked his log. “Prisoner 442, stand for your appointment.”
The second prisoner stood, and the guard removed his tether. He climbed the stairs with resolve and hastened onto the platform to the jeers and heckles of the crowd.
“The court charges you, Prisoner 442, with murder,” the judge said. “Consult the advocate and answer for your crime.”
Prisoner 442 whispered to the advocate, who pled with him in vain.
“I’m guilty, your honor.”
The judge paused. “You admit you killed your wife?”
“And her lover, too.”
The gallery burst into anger and the judge rained down his gavel for silence, then glared at the prisoner. “Did you love your wife?”
“Aye. Still do.”
“Then why did you stab her…seven times?”
“Because she didn’t die with six.”
Laughter erupted, and the judge picked up his gavel.
“It was a crime of passion!” the advocate shouted. “He caught her in betrayal.”
The judge pounded his gavel until the courtroom quieted. “You killed her lover, too?”
“Aye, slit his throat, I did.”
The judge studied the prisoner’s face. “Do you have remorse for what you did?”
Prisoner 442 ignored the advocate’s council. “I’m sorry I lost me wife. But I’ve no remorse for doing what had to be done.”
Murmurs flowed from the gallery.
“But you loved her?” the judge asked again.
“With all me heart.”
The judge lowered his head in thought, and the crowd hushed. “A man who loves his wife cannot be found guilty of murder, when love compelled him to act,” he said. “This is a crime of passion, for which I grant you choice.” The crowd cheered, and the judge passed sentence with the pound of his gavel. “I sentence you to rolling tobacco for the rest of your life.”
Prisoner 442 uttered low to his advocate, who responded with an audible, “No!”
“I choose the pool,” said prisoner 442.
Gasps erupted through the court and the judge glared with contempt at the prisoner. “I gave you choice and spared your life.”
“Aye, for the crime of murder.”
“For a crime of passion,” the judge corrected. “Why choose the pool when I spared your life?”
“What is life without me wife? And rolling tobacco…what life is that?”
“It’s penance with a purpose.”
The prisoner spread out his hands to the door below. “So is the pool.”
Silence hung like clock weights in the courtroom. The judge rested his hand on the gavel and paused. “When one is given a choice, he must bear the consequences of his decision.” The judge banged his gavel in judgment. “Your choice is granted.”
Shouts of “No!” rang out from the crowd. Prisoner 442 squared his feet and raised his head high before giving the judge a nod. The executioner placed his hand on the lever and pulled, sending prisoner 442 to the pool. The crowd gasped, but there was no splash, and a clamor rose from the prisoners below.
The executioner looked into the opening. “Sir, the prisoner’s shirt is caught on the trap door. He’s dangling there, he is.”
The gallery cheered.
“It’s a miracle,” one shouted.
“It’s God’s will,” said another.
“Let him live,” they all cried in agreement.
The judge banged his gavel. “Pull him up. Providence has intervened. He is free to go.”
The crowd cheered as the jailer rushed to pull the prisoner back through the opening. But the cheers fell silent when the jailer pulled up an unbuttoned shirt.