Baraksus was a simple man

a short, short story

            Baraksus was a simple man.  He led a simple life with his simple wife and generally had no real hopes nor grand plans for the future.  He was not by any means a bad man nor a malicious person. Just a simple, hardworking fellow, tending to lean on the side of being somewhat dull. Baraksus slowly half-heartedly plodded his way between thick and pressing thongs of madly hollering near riotous townsfolk. Throngs comprised of his fellow simple men and women, perhaps some friends or neighbours, but mostly, just random and total strangers.  He presently sorely regretted the undeniable fact that he possessed no more time to come up with any long-reaching hopes nor fulfill any unimagined dreams. His feet were bound by heavy iron shackles fastened together by a short, thick linked chain that caused him to shamble forward over the black stone-cobbled streets with a fleeting and clumsy drunken gait. His hands were tied tightly together in front of him, making it hard to keep his balance as he passed through the dense crowd. That overly exuberant gathering of onlookers threw rotten food, or worse, at him while some painfully pulled at his bare arms or shoddy hair with their dirty, uncut fingernails, oblivious to the pain and fear their actions instilled in him. He marched somberly on, prodded in his back by the point of a large axe held by the King's grand executioner.

            As they approached the executioner's stage, upon first glance of the solid wooden block marred by thick cut furrows and stained a ruddy brown by the blood of its previous visitors, Baraksus was able to fight past the growing lump in his throat and blurt out a panicked plea to any who could or would care to hear it.

            “I’m innocent of this; I swear!” he choked out the words as tears and snot rolled down his ashen face and mingled in his dishevelled beard.

            “Sure, you are, my good man!” Baroness Tepelle chortled derisively from behind a thin black veil while standing at the front of the mob. As a lady of means and influence, as well as knowing the poor victims of this filthy, violent peasant, the Baroness was allowed to be at the front of the crowd along with her bodyguard, Granduhl, the half-dwarf.  He was an angry, burly and menacing-looking fellow in his own right. He stood ever watchful at her side, not at all comfortable with the current situation nor the assorted rabble his mistress was standing amongst. “You all are innocent when the time for recompense comes to hand!” she scolded the doomed man, dabbing at her eyes with a silken handkerchief. “Innocent were those six people you poisoned! Good upstanding people with bright futures ahead of them and distraught families now left behind. Think on them, if you will, with what little time you have left, you sad little man. Certainly, they did not have the time to fear their deaths nor come to any type of peace with it. You have been afforded more time to make your peace than need be for a man of your station. You should be thankful for that time,” she sneered at him and pulled her silk-adorned arm back in disgust as Baraksus reached out his grubby hands for her.

            “They that done the deed for true said they would kill my poor Velmus, and she ain’t done nothing to no one ever to deserve that. Pulled me off the street when I was comin’ home from the pub! Told me I was done for, that my luck had run out, an’ if I wanted to save my love, I would have to shut up and take my fate like a good boy!” Baraksus kept inching his bound hands toward the Baroness.

            Granduhl smacked Baraksus’s filthy hands away from his ward. “Keep to yourself, laddie. We all have our own fates to take,” he mused, perhaps more reconciling of his fate than that of the soon-to-be shorter fellow. “Don’t make me end yours before it's due time.” He warned. Granduhl had no love for humans, especially this poor fellow.  Having a dwarf for a mother and a human father meant he was an outcast to both races. Not welcome in either society. The plight of one sad little man did not move him in the least.

            “None need chastise this man!” A grand voice boomed out from behind Baraksus. “Only the Gods will pass judgment on him now if it even comes to that. Mayhap some words from this young man may yet sway this poor misguided soul’s fate… if it be the will of the Gods?”  Father Gastos motioned to a well-dressed young man standing quietly behind him, still a few years away from manhood. “Speak now, good young Champlin, if you can muster it, and we will see if what you have to say bears any fruit in this accused man’s plight.” The unruly gathering quieted somewhat as the church leader demanded a great deal of respect, and his sudden appearance piqued their curiosity. Father Gastos, on top of being a high-ranking church official, was also a member of the council of wizards. When he spoke, most with common sense listened.

            Baroness Tepelle's eyes briefly widened in surprise and then narrowed in resentment at Champlin Brodwieve, the last remaining and youngest son of the recently departed Brodwieve family. All of them had been poisoned at their home, as the court of laws had decreed beyond any reasonable doubt… by poor old Baraksus. Young Champlin cleared his throat and loudly proclaimed. “I believe this man to be innocent!” The crowd groaned in disapproval of this statement as they were fully expecting the beheading of a heinous criminal after standing in line for so long. Any hint that this spectacle may not occur was not well received.

            “Why might you think this to be, young man?” Father Gastos asked, resting his hand benevolently on the young lad’s shoulder. “Teachings tell us that to forgive is divine, but yesterday, this man killed your family and robbed your home. Had you not been away with your friends at that horrible time, you may well have perished with them.” 

            Champlin elaborated on his position with his gaze still fixed upon Baroness Tepelle.

            “Well, let us truly look at the facts, shall we?” he spoke with grace and pertinence, belying his young age, undoubtedly having been educated at the finest of institutions. “You will soon come to the very same conclusion that this is a farce, the same as have I.” Champlin cleared his throat again. “First of all, and with no offence intended, good sir,” he nodded to Baraksus, “but look at this man!  Does he look like the kind of fellow who could plan and pull off the poisoning of my family?  A noble family, a great family, secured in the heart of one of the wealthiest boroughs in the city? He had no real motive and no means to do such a thing. The poison used to kill my family is most rare and quite expensive. This fellow had insufficient funds and no opportunity by which to obtain such a weapon. Looking as he does, the poor sop would not be able to set three feet into our part of town before someone would have stopped him and taken him away.”

            Baraksus nodded in vehement agreement with the words of this strange young man. “Aye, what the boy said! Go on, lad!”

            “Thank you, I shall,” his gaze had not wavered from a now visibly uncomfortable Baroness. “Secondly, let’s look at what this man ‘stole’ from my home. Several large and priceless paintings, a vase of delicate and exquisite design and a very large and ornate fitted carpet. All items that are most heavy and cumbersome to carry. All of which were found with him outside of his home, where he lay in a drunken stupor. Odd choices for a sole would-be thief. All the while, the large pouch of gold coins at my father’s waist… still there for the taking, along with copious piles of small but priceless silverware that remained at rest on the table and a multitude of gold and brass candlesticks left in plain sight on the main floor as they continued to burn brightly.  All such things were much more easily carried and concealed and would be far easier to sell quickly and discretely. Where this man deals, he would be hard-pressed to pawn off any of those larger, more unique items found with him. On top of that, could someone tell me how he carried all that large and cumbersome loot, alone, from my home all the way to his shabby shack on the far side of town and unseen at that?”

            “Magic?” came a questioning suggestion from somewhere in the crowd.

            “Clearly, he is no wizard,” Champlin shook his golden locks, “and I believe the investigation found no trace elements of magical power in my home.  No, this crime was committed the old-fashioned way… by hand, not by magic, and those hands could not have taken all this heavy loot over so far a distance.”

            “Good points, all,” Father Gastos consented. He had done the magical investigation himself and had found no evidence of magical interference in the Brodwieve home. Baraksus again nodded in agreement, “but perhaps not enough to stay this man’s execution.” The holy man concluded, to which Baraksus shook his head in fervent disapproval.

            “Well then, let me further my case if I may,” Champlain took two steps closer to the Baroness. “Let's examine his motive for doing such a heinous act in the first place. None other than material wealth, as has been suggested. If monetary gain was truly the end goal, I have clearly shown that a man of his position would have taken as many small and valuable items as possible. Things that he could easily carry and turn into quick wealth.  No one, even as simple as this man, would have taken the burdensome items found with him at his time of capture.  He claims to have been browbeaten into confessing to this crime, and I believe that the true culprits have randomly chosen this unfortunate fellow to take the fall for their actions in a poorly thought-out plan that has, up until now, miraculously worked its devious course.”

            “Well, if not him, then who could have done this horrible thing and why frame this wretched soul?” Father Gastos asked. All the crowd had quietened and now hung on every word spoken by the young nobleman.

            “It is well known that my family is of considerable wealth,” he continued. “It would seem that my Aunt Tepelle, Baroness Tepelle, my father’s youngest and only surviving sister, is to be willed the family estate and all of its business interests in the unfortunate event that all of my family, including myself, were to perish, so I have come to know.”

            A tremendous communal gasp escaped the breath of the now-entranced spectators.

            “Surely you are not insinuating that I had anything to do with this tragedy! Clearly, the boy is distraught by such loss. Anyone in his position would be… naturally. His young mind is full of grief and conspiracy. Searching for a reason, any reason behind the heinous acts of a desperate man.”

            “Heinous? Yes. Desperate? Yes. But man? No!” Champlin shook his golden locks again. “You!” he pointed his small hand, accusing finger out, at his dear aunt. “You had my family killed, and I know why.”

            “You are a young fool,” she waved her hand dismissively at him.

            Champlin ignored her rebuff and continued, undaunted. “You hate your husband with all of your wicked heart but cannot leave him because he has all the money. His lands and title and all his holdings would go to his brother if he were to perish. So, you cannot kill him as it would leave you penniless and destitute. As I understand it, your husband’s brother has no use for you at all and would put you out into the streets to work for your supper! So, this was your way to leave him and assume the wealth of my family… a desperate but calculated plan. I believe you sent your lacky to poison my family with instructions to find a pasty to then take the fall.  Sadly, you picked perhaps the only one with less imagination and intelligence than yourself to accomplish this task.”

            Granduhl's hand fell to the hilt of his short sword. “Better watch yourself, boy! A man’s word is a man’s word, and as Grandall is my witness, I had nothing to do with this!”  This action prompted the three King’s men at the foot of the executioner block to draw their weapons and take a step forward.

            “Who is this Grandall?” Baraksus asked, perplexed by what was unfolding but hoping it would continue as every passing minute was another that his head would remain firmly attached to his shabby shoulders.

            “He is the true dwarven God. One that I doubt this fellow actually prays to.” Father Gastos informed.

            “I heard that name, what, once before I thinks,” Baraksus stated weakly. “As I almost got home to me door, someone put a dagger in me back and whispered in me ear, ‘as Grandall is my witness, you make a sound, and you’re a dead man’. Then he tells me I got’s to take the blame for some fancy family dying in uptown.  He says if ’en I don’t, he’d come back and do all sorts of awful things to poor Velmus before he kills her, then bam my head explodes an’ when I wake up there is all this stuff laying about me and the constabulary bindin’ me arms and legs.”

            “You see.” Champlin smiled slightly at the half-dwarf. “Looks like your favourite phrase has caught you up.  Surely, you can all see that this man is innocent.  The real perpetrators stand before us.” He again pointed his finger straight at his aunt.

            The three kings' men moved to surround the Baroness and her ally.

            “What have you to say to this?” Father Gastos asked the two accused.

            “Preposterous,” was all the Baroness proclaimed, shaking slightly.

            “Was all her idea,” Granduhl explained. “I will fully confess to it all if you grant me a pardon and prison cell rather than death. She planned it all!” he pointed his short finger at his mistress.

            “You grubby little bastard!” she roared at Granduhl. “It was your plan, and you said we would never be caught! Never be caught!” she turned and screamed at him. “You said they were all dead! All of them! Well, does he look dead to you, you dupe?” she cried angrily, shaking her hands at Champlin.

            “Well, all the ones in the house were dead!” he shrieked back. “How the Gods was I to know how many rats he had! I don’t pay attention to all your kind. You breed like there’s no tomorrow.”

            “Enough!” Father Gastos’s voice boomed above the bickering co-conspirators. “I fear we have almost committed an innocent man to death this day, but the Gods hands have stayed his fate. Thanks to this fine and brave young man. “Take these two away. They will have their day in court, and we shall return for two proper beheadings soon enough.” The King’s men led them away as the good father pursued the pair of murderers, reciting to them a passage from the scriptures about accountability and humility.

            The crowd groaned angrily, utterly deflated by the turn of events, and began to shuffle away.  Content that soon they may see one or both of these nasty people pay for their actions.

            “Free this man!” Champlin hailed. “Let him go home to his family with our deepest and sincerest apologies.” He handed the impoverished, now free man a large pouch of gold coins. “For you and your dear Velmus,” he stated. “For the future.”

            “Thank you, young lord, Thank you!  Not just for the coins, they will make such a difference, but for speaking up and freeing me! For caring at all about a man accused of such an act against you. For the second chance at life! Gods, I know I have not been a perfect man, but as Grandall is my witness, I’m gonna try to be a better man! I won’t waste this chance you are givin’ me.”

            They both smiled at that and then went their separate ways.  One to his shabby home and lovely wife, the other to a lonely, empty house packed with wealth and promise. Which one was to be better off… only time would tell.

            Epilogue

            The creaky prison wagon moaned and groaned as it seemed to hit every jagged rock and deep pothole as it teetered its way from the city's holding cells headed toward the great northern prison, either by blind luck or the design of the guards at the reins. Granduhl was not in a good mood. He was tired and hungry while heading from one miserable spot to a distinctly more unpleasant destination. He had escaped the axe by giving up all the details of his former mistress’s plan, all but assuring her guilt and eventual conviction. He chuckled slightly to himself over the moment a few leagues back when he had spied through the bars of the small window of his conveyance, the Baroness's lifeless head on a spike at the edge of town.  He noted the nasty snarl still affixed upon her visage, staring angrily at him, even in death, as they had passed by on their way to his new forever home. That happy thought was interrupted when, all of a sudden, the wagon abruptly stopped, shortly followed by the clanks and clacks of rusted locks opening and the creaking of rusted hinges as the thick wooden doors to the wagon swung open. Granduhl stepped down from the prison wagon, squinting as he emerged from the dark carriage to the full light of day. As soon as his foot hit the ground, it began to pull away, slowly disappearing over the far horizon.  Granduhl stood in the empty field, shackled and alone, as the cold winds blew across his frowning face.

            He winced briefly up that blaring sun for a time until a small dot appeared on the opposite horizon. It grew slowly larger until a far more elaborate wagon pulled by a team of massive horses, billowing steam from flaring nostrils in the cool air, came along and stopped beside the half-dwarf.  Its ornate wooden door opened, and a small pale hand reached out to him.

            “Come in, come in! Time is a wasting!” Champlin invited. “After all, we have a great wealth to divvy up!”