The Knowledge Stone

by Jack McGinnigle

  The light was now beginning to fade on this very eventful day – a real adventure, Kati thought, which could not have been planned more perfectly. The Master spoke to all the servants who were assembled in the stable yard and assured them that justice would be done. They should now return to their livings. The crowd dispersed slowly, everyone animated and having a great deal to say to each other. Kati and her father walked hand in hand towards the Manor House. It would soon be time for the evening meal and, after that, gleeful recollections in her soft, warm bed.

  ‘I bet that boy will not be so comfortable where he is tonight. What an insolent boy he was – speaking to me without permission and making a personal comment about me. There is no doubt that he deserves everything that he will get.’

  That night in bed, after she had reviewed once again the absolutely glorious events of the day, her thoughts turned to the boy in the town prison. ‘I don’t know what happens to criminals like him when they go there. I hope they beat him and make his body very sore. Kati liked to think about such things and tried to imagine what it would be like to be an observer at such an event: ‘I’m sure it would be very interesting and it would add to my considerable knowledge,’ she thought. She had seen public whippings before and they were very interesting – and they made her tingle with excitement!

  Finally Kati turned over luxuriously, and, contentedly, drifted off to sleep with a serene smile on her lips.

  Stable Boy

  Along the bumpy and uneven road to the town, it had been a very uncomfortable journey in the darkness of the Court Jailer’s wagon but the boy was relieved to have escaped from the stable yard. Tears welled up in his eyes as he thought about what had happened to him.

  ‘All these people. They all know me. I’ve been a stable boy there for five years and they know I’m not the sort of boy who would touch Miss Kati. Why is she doing this to me? I’m only a poor boy who wants to do good work so that I would become a good stable hand when I’m older. If I’m really good at my work and I learn all I need to know, I might even have managed to become a Stableman. But now everything is ruined. Now I’ll never be able to become a Stableman. Now everyone hates me – and I haven’t done anything.’ He burst into renewed tears, bitterly distressed at his situation.

  The wagon rumbled and lurched on through the fading light and eventually entered the courtyard of the Town Jail. The heavy door of the jail clanged shut behind the wagon, a noise of finality for the shivering boy in the wagon. The stable boy had seen this building from the outside many times and had always regarded it with great fear. He had heard that bad things happened to the people held in there. Prisoners had to live in cold, dank cells infested with rats. They were given hardly any food to eat and sometimes they were beaten, too! The stable boy was petrified with fear.

  ‘But surely the Court Jailer will listen to me when I tell him what really happened,’ the boy thought, ‘I must think very carefully what to say. I’ll need to tell him about my impertinence to Mistress Kati and how angry that made her. And I’m sure he will believe me when I tell him that I was the one who caught the horse and calmed it down when Mistress Kati came back to the stable yard. I’ll tell him my friend can confirm that – he’s sure to believe me.’

  The boy felt better and looked forward eagerly to the time he could tell his story.

  He was pulled roughly from the wagon and, still in chains, was driven through a heavy studded door into the prison building. Here he was delivered to two jailers. To his surprise, both these men were pleasant, rather cheerful men who were eating and drinking together at a table.

  The Court Jailer’s assistant pushed the boy into the room saying: ‘Here’s another one for you. He says he’s innocent!’ The three men laughed uproariously. The Court Jailor’s assistant bent down and removed the manacles from the stable boy’s wrists and ankles and turned to leave the room. ‘The Court Jailer is outside and will come to you in a moment,’ he said.

  ‘Sit down on that bench over there,’ the First Jailer said to the stable boy with a smile, ‘the Court Jailor will be here in a moment and then we’ll see what is to be done.’ The men returned to their food and paid no further attention to him.

  The boy looked around. The room was warm, bright and cheerful, whitewashed and lit by several bright lamps. The walls had been decorated with some very old prison items, like heavy leg irons, chains and whips, etc. The boy had not expected it to be so pleasant in the Jail.

  ‘Maybe it won’t be so bad in here,’ he could not help thinking.

  Shortly after, the Court Jailor bustled into the room. The two jailers rose to their feet and greeted him respectfully.

  ‘Good evening, Sir,’ the First Jailer said, ‘where will you examine the boy?’

  ‘Here will be fine. This should not take long.’ The Court Jailer sat down at the table.

  ‘Boy, come and stand here.’ He indicated the area in front of the table. The boy obeyed. Then the man gave close attention to his papers for some time. At last he looked up: ‘Now, boy, can you read and write?’

  ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘Do you know right from wrong?’

  ‘Yes, Sir, of course. I have always been honest.’

  ‘Do you know what truth is?’

  ‘Yes, Sir, I am always truthful.’

  ‘Good. I have just one question for you. When you touched the Master’s daughter on her body, was your hand on her bare skin?’ The boy was shocked.

  ‘Sir, no, I didn’t …’ The man interrupted: ‘Be very careful how you answer this, boy. It’s always best to tell the truth, you know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ the boy whispered, ‘I always tell the truth.’

  ‘Right, well, I’ll ask you again. Did you touch the girl’s naked body under her clothes?’ This question asked testily.

  ‘Sir, I beg you. You must believe me, I did not do the thing you ask about. I was not even there …’

  The Court Jailer snorted. Paying no further attention to the boy, he wrote in his papers for a time and finally turned to the two jailers: ‘Listen, men, you have heard my examination of the boy. My decision for the indictment is that the girl unfortunately fell off her horse (thank God she was not injured) and the boy took the opportunity to touch her naked body beneath her clothes, which, no doubt, were in disarray. Now I pass the matter to you for your action. I will return tomorrow morning with the indictment fully completed. Here is the confession for the prisoner to make his mark upon. As you know, he cannot read or write. You can return it to me tomorrow. Now I bid you good night.’ With these remarks, the Court Jailer left.

  In the ensuing silence, the boy wailed: ‘But Sirs, this is not right. I am innocent of this crime. I would never …’

  ‘Quiet now, boy.’ The Second Jailer spoke for the first time. His tone was gentle. ‘The Court Jailer has examined you and the matter is decided. Go and sit down on the bench.’ The two men paid no further attention to the boy but sat down again to finish the remnants of their meal, talking cheerfully about everyday matters concerning their friends and families.

  After a while, they rose from the table. Unhurriedly, the First Jailer unhooked a bundle of twigs from the wall (one of the wall ornaments) and handed it to the other man. ‘I’ll see him again when he’s ready to make his mark upon the confession paper.’ The man smiled as he said this.

  ‘It shouldn’t take too long, I think,’ the Second Jailer said. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’ Turning to smile at the boy, he crooked a finger. ‘Come with me, boy.’ Tucking the bundle of twigs under his arm, the man put his other arm around the boy’s shoulders and led him gently from the room, closing the door quietly behind them.

  The small windowless room next door was devoid of furniture, save for a long narrow table placed against one wall. Some leather straps were piled on the table. The most striking f
eature of the room was a large hook set into the low ceiling in the exact centre of the room. Immediately beneath it, there was the grating of a small drain. In this room, the man, though still friendly, became brisk and professional. Placing the bunch of twigs on the table, he said to the boy: ‘Now just stand still and leave everything to me; I have done this before many times.’

  A few minutes later, the boy had been made ready with his wrists strapped to the hook above his head. Now the man stood directly in front of him and looked straight into his eyes, saying quietly: ‘I have an important question to ask you. Listen to it carefully and think before you answer. Will you put your mark on the confession paper next door? If you say “yes”, I will unfasten you and you may get dressed. Then we can leave this room and all will be completed.’

  ‘Sir, I cannot do that. I am innocent. You must believe me. I never did this …’

  Unusually, the man was touched by what the boy had said. He looked at the beauty and sincerity of the young face before him and then down at the smooth perfection of the naked young body below. As he did so, he felt a pang of sorrow. Moments passed and then the man shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. He raised his eyes to scan the boy’s face once again. ‘Just let me know when you change your mind.’

  The boy hobbled back into the room painfully. Sobbing quietly, his face white with pain and shock, he accepted the pen and was about to make his mark on the paper when the First Jailer held up a hand: ‘Just a minute, boy. You cannot read so first you must listen. It is the Law.’ The jailer now read out the confession in a loud voice. When he had finished, he returned the paper to the table and handed the pen to the boy – but the boy’s eyes now had a new light in them.

  ‘No, Sir,’ he whispered. ‘You must hear me. I cannot make my mark on this confession. It is all lies. I never touched her. I would never do what this confession says. You can ask anyone …’

  There was complete silence in the room. Then the Second Jailer sighed. Stepping close to the boy, he squatted down, gently cupping the bruised hips of the slim body in his hands and swivelling them around each way to inspect the ridged, swollen flesh with expert eyes. He addressed his colleague: ‘I think the whip might be best for this. What do you think?’

  ‘Either the whip or the scourge. I leave it to you.’

  The light went out of the boy’s eyes. Without a sound, he made his mark on the confession paper.

  The jailers were not unkind to the boy. He was allowed plenty time to re-clothe his aching and tender body and afterwards they gave him a bowl of food and a cup of water to drink. He gulped down the water thirstily and managed to eat some of the food, which tasted sour and was of very poor quality. Nevertheless, he was grateful that they should give him anything and thanked them politely.

  ‘You are obviously a well brought up boy,’ they said to him. ‘We don’t usually get thanked for prison food!’ They both laughed, thinking this a splendid joke. Then the men spoke quietly together, looking over at him from time to time.

  At last, the First Jailer spoke to him: ‘You’re in luck, tonight. We’re going to put you in a single cell. Normally, we would put you into the common cell – I think we have fifteen men in there tonight – but my friend and I think you might come to some serious harm in there. I’m sure you’re sore enough already!’ The men smiled at each other meaningfully.

  So the boy stumbled down a long stone corridor with the Second Jailer, past a large wooden door from which a most frightening noise was coming.

  ‘Excuse me, Sir, what is that noise?’

  ‘Oh that? That’s just the men’s common cell. They always make that noise. There are always men fighting or someone being beaten in there.’

  The boy was very frightened and was deeply grateful that he was not being put into that terrible cell. Through another heavy door, they came to a row of smaller cell doors and the jailer swung open one of these.

  ‘You go in here,’ he said to the cowering boy, ‘you’ll be all right, there’s no-one else in there except maybe a rat or two. We’ll see you in the morning. The Court Jailer will come back to see you tomorrow and we must talk about that before he arrives.’ Without another word, the jailer slammed the cell door shut with a deafening crash and turned the key in the lock. The boy heard his retreating footsteps and then the sound of the corridor door being closed and locked.

  At first the trembling boy could see nothing in this dark cold place but gradually his eyes grew used to the glimmer of light in the cell and he started to see some details. It was a small cell with a little barred window high up in one wall. The boy was so pleased when he spotted a single star in the sky through the window. ‘I hope that will be my lucky star,’ he said, with a very small, careful smile. He did not want his slashed cheek to begin bleeding again.

  Now he could make out a few more details in the cell. A rough truckle bed with a ragged blanket. A broken stool. A bucket in the corner, mercifully covered. The boy lowered himself carefully on the bed and reviewed his position. Just a few hours ago, he had been happy and content; warm, dry and pain-free, secure in his job as a stable boy at the Manor House. A popular and attractive young man who was friendly with everyone. Now, he was a prisoner; dirty, cold and desolate in a dank rat-infested cell. A person who has confessed to a disgusting crime for which everyone will despise him for evermore, with a face slashed by a whip and a body that had known the merciless bite of the birch upon all its parts. Here he was, with nothing but pain, suffering and deprivation ahead of him.

  The boy sank on the bed and wrapped the dirty blanket around him: ‘I am finished. Surely my life is over. Perhaps I will die here, in this cell. In some ways, I hope I do.’

  For a whole series of reasons, the boy had hardly slept. These included rats, bedbugs, pain, cold, noise and terror. He was already awake when he heard the corridor door being unlocked and shortly after his cell door swung open.

  It was the Second Jailer, carrying a bowl and a cup: ‘Here is food. Eat it quickly and then come with me.’ The man waited while the boy forced himself to eat the thin watery gruel and drink the cup of water. ‘Right, come with me, we need to talk to you before the Court Jailer comes.’ The boy stumbled along behind the man, gasping with pain, his body stiffened by its ill-treatment the previous evening. At last they reached the jailer’s room.

  ‘You certainly are a bit of a mess,’ the First Jailer greeted him.

  He addressed the Second Jailer: ‘Take him out to the pump.’ He waved his hand at the door. The boy was grateful for the fresh air of the courtyard, although the shock of the change of environment made him giddy at first.

  ‘Give yourself a good wash down,’ the Second Jailer said. ‘Here’s a cloth to dry yourself.’

  The boy did look rather better when clean. The Second Jailer produced a set of thin prison clothes: ‘Now that you are a prisoner, you need to wear these. Anyway, your other clothes are torn and blood-stained.’

  Back in the room, the men directed the boy to sit on the bench once more. ‘The Court Jailer will be coming to see you this morning and we just want to prepare you so that we don’t have any more trouble.’

  ‘Sirs,’ the boy responded, ‘I know I have confessed to this crime but I am innocent!’

  The men sighed and looked heavenward.

  The Second Jailer spoke quietly: ‘Listen carefully, boy. If you say that to the Court Jailer when he comes you will be back in that room next door with me. Is that what you want?’

  The boy paled. ‘But, Sir, does the Court Jailer not want to know the truth?’

  ‘Listen again, boy. Do you not think that every prisoner claims to be innocent? If the Court Jailer believed them, there would be no criminals in the Jail. They would all be out in the Town committing crimes. Anyway, you see this paper? It says you did the crime and it is signed with your mark. This means that the Cou
rt Jailer will take you to the Town Court and you will be tried for the crime.’

  ‘But Sir …’

  The First Jailer held up his hand. Now he spoke sharply: ‘Stop speaking! Listen to me. The Court Jailor will speak to you when he comes. He will ask you two questions. It is part of the process of justice – that’s why he’s doing it. So listen carefully. When the Court Jailer asks: “Is this your confession, given without duress?” you are to say “Yes”. And when the Court Jailer asks “Do you have anything else to say?” you are to say “No.” Do you understand? First answer – “Yes”, second answer – “No”.’

  ‘Yes, Sir, but I am innocent!’

  The two men looked at each other. The First Jailer spoke slowly and clearly, speaking in an icy tone: ‘Boy, if you do not obey me, do you know what will happen?’

  ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘I will tell you exactly what will happen. The Court Jailer will leave and we will whip you until you faint with pain. When you waken up, we will give you another confession to put your mark upon – and you will do it, just as you did last night. And, boy, we can repeat this every day until you answer the Court Jailer’s questions in the way I have told you or until you die under our beating. It is your choice. Do you understand now?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’ A whisper; the boy was totally crushed.

  Noises of activity heralded the arrival of the Court Jailer, who hurried into the room.