Never trust a dead man

[thuylam]

I didn't do it ! " Selwyn cried , the same thing he'd been insisting all afternoon . They hadn't believed him yet , but he couldn't just stand waiting quietly while they worked out the details of how best to kill him . All that he gained was that they put the gag back on . His hands , of course , had remained tied all along .

Bowden was giving orders to tied his father to a chair , saying that he would be easier to control once all was done and over . " No harm will come to you or your wife because of your son's crime , " he promised .

Someone asked how long it was likely to take --- a question Selwyn was desperate to hear the answer to . But by then they were half dragging , half carrying him out the door . He didn't even get a last look at his father . I didn't do it , he thought , just in case the fervor with which he thought it could reach his father . But surely his father already knew .

Outside , the sun was resting pink and orange on the horizon , it being that time of autumn when afternoons don't last long and there's hardly any evening at all . Torches were lit . Selwyn wondered if one would be left in the burial cavern with him . But even if he was lucky and died quickly , he would certainly last longer than a torch .

Someone had fetched a wagon --- Orik's , judging by the smell of ale that had seeped into the boards from leaky barrels : strong enough that a man hardly needed to go into Orik's tavern to get drunk . Selwyn was hoisted up into the back of the wagon and laid facedown , where he'd be the least trouble to those in charge of him .

But he raised his head at a commotion , and any hope that he could make himself unaware of what was going on disappeared . A second group of people came out from the mill , carrying an ungainly cloth-wrapped bundle that had to be Farold . For a moment he thought they'd made a litter to carry the body . But as they set the corpse in the wagon beside him , Selwyn realized that the miller's nephew didn't need a litter : Death had made Farold stiff as wood --- and before anyone had been able to fold his arms decorously across his chest . Selwyn close his eyes and turned his face ; but the wagon was too small to get away from Farold's outflung arm , much less the smelll of him . The odor was just the herbs with which the village women had washed the body before sewing it into the shroud , Selwyn told himself . The body hadn't really begun to decay --- yet . Farold wasn't all that bad , Selwyn tried to tell himself again . He wasn't as bad as ...... as ..... as a skunk dying under the porch ? Bad idea , Selwyn chided himself . This was definitely no time to be thinking about dead things .

Selwyn took short rapid breaths --- inhaling the smells of ale , herbs , wood , and his own sweat --- and by the time they reached the hills , he was light-headed , but not enough to be groggy and confused , which would have been a mercy . Hands dragged him up out of the wagon , then turned him around and sat him on the edge when it was obvious he couldn't stand on his own .

Anora was there , crying loudly . Selwyn had been aware of the noise in the background , along with the creaking of the wagon's wheels , the clump-clump of the horse's hooves on the path , and --- above all --- the beating of his own heart . Derian Miller had come , too , " To see the boy off , " he'd said , obviously meaning Farold , not Selwyn .

But when Thorne asked , " Do you want to say anything ...... before we lay him in ? " Derian shook his head .

" Nothing to say , " the miller said . " He was a good boy , with a lot of years ahead of him . "

" Amen , " murmured Linton , willing to take that as a prayer lest he , as another of the dead man's relatives , be asked to come up with a better one of his own .

" Amen , " the rest of those assembled echoed .

Bowden , as headman , should have been there but wasn't . He had used the excuse of someone having to stay to watch over Selwyn's father , though more likely he simply didn't want to make the almost three-mile walk . Bowden was better at giving orders than at doing .

As usual , Thorne took over in Bowden's absence , having to be quick to outtalk Linton . " Anybody want to say anything on Selwyn's behalf ? " he asked .

People glanced at one another uncomfortably . Nobody looked directly at Selwyn .

Linton snorted .

Holt the blacksmith said , " He was a good boy , too , till this happened . "

Linton snorted again .

What a glowing testimonial . What a moving summation of his life . Even about to die , Selwyn felt a pang of indignation . If he had been really dead rather than just condemned , would his friends have been able to come up with something ? Selwyn , they might have said ...... He came back to his own earlier eulogy for Farold : Selwyn , his friends might have said , he wasn't as bad as a skunk dying under the porch .

The entryway to the burial caves was manmade : a barrow of heaped stones , blocked by a rock at least as big as Orik's wagon . It took four men , including Holt Balcksmith , to move it . Beyond lay the cave where people of Penryth had been buried for time out of memory .

A dusty , musty stench rolled out of the opening --- not as bad , in the end , as Farold . But people tied cloths to cover their noses , which was not a good sign --- definitely not a good sign --- as two men bent to pick up Farold , and several others clustered around Selwyn , ready to guide , drag , or carry him into the barrow , which ever was necessary .

He would have walked --- he wanted the men to be able to tell his family he had gone to his end with dignity --- but he tried to pause for one last look at Anora , even though she was still hiding her face , crying , and they thought he was resisting . He was grabbed under each arm and pulled forward so quickly he couldn't get his feet properly under him , so that they dragged behind , and the more he struggled to right himself , the more everyone thought he was resisting .

Then they were going over the uneven ground at the entry of the barrow , and then they were heading down a steep , winding slope , the torches casting flickering shadows on the craggy walls and ceiling . The caves in these hills had been carved by nature ; but men of long ago had smoothed some of the ways , though not by much . Several in the burial party stumbled or slid . And then --- oh , then --- the full stench of that whole villageful of dead bodies hit him . The most recent was Snell --- a yead dead in a hay-mowing accident with a scythe .

Bodies lay in niches or lined the walls , some set on top of one another . Wrappings had moldered or been chewed to rags , giving glimpses of withered brown flesh or bones .

For long , long minutes they walked down that corridor lined with the dead .

Selwyn heard a crunch and saw that Thorne , who held Farold's feet , had accidentally stepped on a piece of bone . Linton , who had hold of Farold's shoulder , kicked what remained toward the wall . Something dark and furry darted out of the way and disappeared into a crack . Even if Selwyn had been walking under his own power before , that would have been enough to turn his knees to water .

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