The Obscene Clock

The Obscene Clock
by
Peaceful Pen

         Sir Richard Pounder, bastard child of the Earl of Cambridge, stood in the noon-day sun; trying to reflect upon his short life. He was having difficulty ignoring the unpleasantness of his surroundings, the jeering crowd below him, and the officious prig droning on about the atrocities one of Richard's men had committed.
         Richard closed his eyes, and imagined himself back at the monastery where he was raised. Though it had been many years, Richard could still recall the afternoon Bishop Mayweather, had caught him with the milk maid in the orchard. A smile graced Richard's scared face as he recalled the buxom young girl; eyes like emeralds, hair of gold flowing to her lower back, and endowed with ample bosoms for a lass of only fifteen.

         "Richard! What if someone should spy us?" Gwenith protested.
         Richard stopped fiddling with the laces of Gwenith's shirt; turning his hungry, and pleading eyes upon her flushed face. Richard gave her a disarming smile before replying. "Would it not put them to the blush to stumble upon love in the offing? That any would see what we were about, and still approach close enough to see our continence would speak to their own shame not ours." He could see that she was beginning to relent, and it was obvious that her desire to proceed matched his own. "Only a beast would allow his eyes to linger upon the delights of others. Who but God has the right to judge what we do? And in this orchard are we not unlike Adam and Eve?"
         Gwenith flushed a deeper red, and though her response was non-verbal; it was a passionate yes.
         They lay spent under an apple tree; one of his hands stroking her hair, and the other holding her hand.
         Richard never heard the old priest approaching him from behind. Though at the time Richard had been humiliated, it was worth every stripe the sadistic old bastard gave him. Richard would never forget the beating from Mayweather's cane, nor the repudiating words that stung just as painfully.

         A loud THWACK! A jarring shake, followed by a dull thud, and the sound like a ball rolling on the boards beneath his feet brought him back to the present.
         Richard flinched even though he had tried to will himself not to. Fool! Richard thought to himself. Too long a rope, and too much weight about the ankles. Dear God! I hope he has the decency to correct his mistakes before he continues further.
         Richard closed his eyes again, forced himself to take deep, even breaths, and willed his mind to another place.

         "A-rise, Sir Richard Pounder!" Good King Charles declared. Like a phoenix rising from its own ashes, Richard Bastard of Cambridge was no more; in his place stood Sir Richard Pounder, Knight of King Charles. "My King; I pledge you my heart, my sword, and neither shall ever fail you." Said Richard. The King simply nodded, and smiled. That was the proudest day of Richard's life; he would have forsook the bed of a dozen courtesans, and considered it a bargain for that single moment. Thankfully though that was not a concession that he was forced to make.
         Richard was now recognized in his fathers eyes; with that recognition he was gifted land of his own, armor, a steed, a saber, and a beautiful wheel-lock.
         The ornate walnut stock of the Wheel-lock matched Richard's own long flowing curls, and it's blue steel barrel matched his eyes. It was the finest gift Richard had ever received, and he prized it above all his other possessions.
         The feast after the knighting ceremonies lasted long into the night, and Richard had shared it with several other newly titled nobility. He had made many friends that evening; true friends, friends that he would later trust with his life, and his back.

         Richard was returned to the present by another loud THWACK! The platform shuddered beneath his feet; the crowd cheered loudly, and after the cheers of the crowd subsided, a soft creaking sound could be heard. Seems the oaf corrected his error. Richard thought. Even though Richard was a bit comforted by that thought; he was also annoyed that the ruckus, had once again brought him back to the reality of his situation.
         Tears threatened to spill, but Richard would not give the crowd that satisfaction.
         Again Richard retreated into the comfort of his memories. A bitter sweet one sprang to mind. Whilst riding with Prince Rupert's Cavaliers; Richard had his first engagement with the traitorous Parliamentary army. Richard was no more than a child really, though he thought himself a man at the time.

         A shiver ran down Richard's spine as he recalled the icy October winds at Edge Hill. Sir Glaven making nervous jests about the questionable sexual proclivities of the Parliamentary army below them. Though Richard eagerly anticipated the joining of battle; butterflies still danced in his stomach. Richard fidgeted in his saddle, he checked, and rechecked his wheel-lock to make certain that it would be ready when he needed it.
         Prince Rupert ordered them to make ready, and they then began to ride down the slope toward the army of traitors, and mercenaries below them. First at a walk, and as they approached closer a cantor. Lance in hand, and for the first time in Richard's life, fear in his heart. At the gallop was sounded; Richard prepared to mark his target for their charge, but to his utter astonishment the entire left flank of the Parliamentary army broke! As they continued to bear down on the fleeing cowards Richard was further shocked to see them begin to attack their own fellows! The cowards had changed sides, even before their first engagement.
         Prince Rupert ordered the Cavaliers to wheel away from the action, and they followed him to the nearby village of Kineton, where they briefly engaged several regiments of foot soldiers. Richard had almost lost his seat when he felt the jarring slam of his lance meeting resistance as he thrust it into the chest of a pike man.
         The surprise in the man's face was the most disturbing part of the death. In the twinkling of an eye Richard, and the dying man had shared something that would haunt Richard for the rest of his days. Richard knew the man must have known on some level that he might die, but the look on his face showed that he never truly believed it would happen. Richard briefly wondered if he would have that look upon his face when his time came.
         Three quick blasts from the trumpeter told him to move again. They smashed into a second line of soldiers, and this time Richard lost his lance to a dying foe. Richard quickly produced his pistol, and fired it into the eye of a man clawing at his leg.
         The trumpet sounded with two long notes, and they were off once more, but this time heading back towards Edge Hill. Richard drew his saber, and slashed at foes as they fled. He couldn't recall hitting anyone, but when they returned to the base of Edge Hill, he could see that blood and gore coated his blade. He was both exhilarated, and nauseated from the battle.

         THWACK! The platform rocked gently, and the crowd cheered. Pulling him back to reality. Richard felt as if he had been standing there for hours, but the sun reminded him that only minutes, and not hours had truly passed. The crowds cheering subsided, the gentle creaking of the platform, and rope could be heard again.
         The odious prig once again began to drone on, reminding Richard that precious seconds were being squandered. Richard tightly shut his eyes; remembering the night his fair features were lost, the night the bravest broke, and heroes hid. Richard remembered his first bitter taste of defeat at the battle of Marston Moor.

         Dark clouds had hung in the air threatening rain all day. Richard's nerves were on edge as were those of the other cavaliers. They had made haste to this position; to take the Parliamentarian army before they could prepare themselves. That had been before dawn, and still they sat waiting; watching the sunset. Roasting in the July heat, dressed out in armor; man, and beast were beginning to sway under the sweltering conditions.
         Finally they received orders to retire for the evening; all were glad for the respite. Exhausted, and hungry they made their way back to main camp. The heavens broke with a peal of thunder, and a flurry of hail stones. As if this was a divine signal; the singing Puritans, halted their hymns long enough to give a tremendous cry, and began charging the recently vacated defensive line.
         Confusion reigned in the Cavalier ranks. Most made for the camp in haste, some stared in confusion, whilst others wheeled to engage the Hymn singing peasants. Richard being just as confounded as most of his fellows, after a few moments of deliberation decided he was needed to slow the Puritan approach, and prayed Prince Rupert would lead a force back to assist them.
         Richard, and his fellow Cavaliers met Cromwell's Iron-sides as they crested a dip in the battle line. They held the line for what seemed an eternity, but in the end they were triumphant. The Cavaliers, and Richard had delayed the Parliamentarian forces long enough for reinforcements to arrive. Prince Rupert squared off with Cromwell, and though Richard longed to see the outcome his attention was forced else where.
         Richard was crossing sabers with a highly skilled cavalry man. The soldier managed to breach his defences, and a glancing blow felt like a whip of fire had crossed his face. Blood stung Richard's right eye, but he still had vision enough left to level his wheel-lock, and fire true. The iron side pitched off his mount, and Richard wheeled his steed around heading for his own lines.
         Late that evening as the surgeon was sewing Richard's slashed face closed; truly disheartening news reached him that Prince Rupert, had fallen in the battle. Most of the Cavaliers had already left the field, and Cromwell's men were approaching the camp at a quick pace. Fortunately the surgeon was almost finished, and Richard had time to flee before the camp was over ran.

         THWACK! The shuddering platform, and cheering crowd drew Richard back to the present. Richard suddenly had the disturbing feeling that he was simply a cog in an obscene clock. Each time he managed to delve into his memories, ticking off the pivotal moments of his life; he was always brought back by the shuddering hand of death striking the hour, and the perverse cheering of the crowd, the chime.
         Richard pushed back his morbid train of thought, and reimmerse himself into his memories.

         Once again under Prince Rupert's command; Rupert who had survived the battle of Marston Moor by hiding in a bean field, after his horse had been shot out from under him. Now here at Naseby village the war would be determined. Though heavily out numbered morale was high for Richard, and the Cavaliers.
         The Cavaliers held their position guarding the King's right flank; until the treacherous Parliamentarian dragoons, let loose a musket volley from a nearby hedge row. Musketeers of the brave Royalist fired back, but Prince Rupert, and his Cavaliers were forced to take action. Knowing that to delay would cause precious lives, the Prince advanced the Cavaliers.
         Richard had been pleased with the order to advance; a musket round had bounced off his breast plate. Richard knew too well, that had the dragoon been closer, or the powder been properly tapped, he would not have survived it.
         The Cavaliers rode down the slope into the center of the field, and engaged the infantry. Lance to pike, pistol to musket, and saber to saber they fought. Richard rode within two hands of Prince Rupert; Richard was determined not to allow another disappointing loss like the one they had suffered at Marston Moor. The infantry regiments broke, and the Prince then led Richard, and the Cavaliers to the rear lines of the Parliamentarian army.
         Richard and the Cavaliers ran riot through the baggage train, destroying stock, and man with little resistance. They pillaged for quite a while, until supporting musketeers began to inflict heavy losses upon them.
         Prince Rupert then led Richard, and the remaining Cavaliers back to the Kings' side. By the time they returned to the King, the battle, and war had been lost. The King's center infantry were surrendering, and the King's infantry on the left flank was beginning to crumble. Valiant King Charles personally led his lifeguard to aid the failing left flank but it was to no avail.

         THWACK! The sound of the cord snapping taunt was sharper, the shudder of the platform a little more pronounced, and the perverse cheering of the crowd a bit louder. Richard wasn't certain if it was simply because it was closer, or because the clock would soon strike the final hour.
         Richard was finding it a great deal more difficult to reminisce. Though where ones' mortality was concerned; thoughts of past deeds, and misdeeds seemed somehow less significant. Though most misdeeds were excusable, one may very well have earned him a place within the lower levels of hell. Though Saint Peter himself was just as guilty on an even higher level; so perhaps God's grace would extend to Richard as well. Sir Richard Pounder, remembered the sad day that England did the unthinkable, and the day he, himself did not rise in his King's hour of need.

         It was a bitterly cold day, even with the sun shinning; well after the noon hour. Richard stood benumbed from both the cold, and the spectacle before him. Not only had Parliament the nerve to try the King! They intended to behead good King Charles this day!
         Richard stood with the few remaining Royalist, who were still worthy of the name. They were of mind to attempt rescue of the King, but they could clearly see it was a fools errand. A part of Richard's mind screamed that it would be a better fate to fail in the hopeless task than to not take action, but a calmer part of his mind promised that revenging his King would be a better use of his life.
         The King's speech stirred Richard's heart, and steeled his resolve. This unjust court, and traitorous lot would be judged by God for their folly. Richard let tears flow freely as he watched his King bravely take to the block. The honorable King did not dither; he signaled the headsman to be about his business, and the ax did fall.
         Richard had to turn his head from the grotesque scene which followed; on-lookers did dip their kerchiefs in the Kings blood to keep as a memento.
         That evening deep within their tankards; Richard, and a company of like minded Royalist did make an oath to avenge their King. Cromwell, and the wicked Parliament would suffer for their misdeeds. Richard and his band would cause such distress in the land that the people would cry out for the return of the King's heirs before they were through. Then would the traitors know the righteous retribution of the nobility.

         THWACK! A bone jarring shudder of the scaffolding that shook Richard's heart, followed by a loud approving cheer from the crowd. Only Sir Thomas stood between death, and Richard now. The arrogance of the peasants, enraged Richard. The court did not consider Sir Thomas, nor himself to be true knights. Though the King himself had knighted them; the court had claimed that it was the act of a despot building an army. The court had to restrain Richard that day; though he still felt the bruises they had inflicted, the insults to his King, and himself was intolerable.
         The courts' denial of their titles placed Sir Thomas, and Richard upon the scaffolding with the others. Had they been recognized as knights, they would have likely been granted a simple beheading. Richard did not look to Sir Thomas, the two had already made their farewells before being led to this spectacle.
         Richard turned his thoughts to the last fateful evening of his life as a free man.

         Richard and a small band of men had spent the week ransacking, and pillaging small manors near London. They had brashly entered the city proper still wearing their armor, and did not hide their allegiances. The theater district was boarded up, some nonsense the Puritans or Calvinist had put into place. They made their way to courtesans district, and though the houses were officially closed; they were still in thriving business.
         Richard spent the evening with a sweet maiden that reminded him of Gwenith, though this girl was anything but chaste. She kept him pleasantly distracted; as he whiled away the hours drinking with his men at the saloon within the establishment. Richard decided to take the whore with him upstairs to retire the evening before he became to besotted to stand.
         Richard recalled being awakened by rough hands, and shouts of protests in the rooms around him. Musket, and blade greeted Richard instead of the sweet prize he had stole the night with.

         THWACK! The shudder of the platform threatened to tumble Richard, though he did not think it was anymore jarring than it had been previously. Richard steadied, and steeled himself for what must inevitably follow.
         The Officious prig now stood before Richard, and began his speech by insulting Richard; though whether he intended to do so Richard neither knew, nor cared. "Richard Pounder, you are-" The prig had begun, but Richard would have none of it. "Sir! If you please. My name is Sir Richard Pounder!" The prig would not be provoked, and continued as if not interrupted, but Richard did note that he did not use his name, nor his title again. Richard concentrated on keeping his countenance seemly, and denying the crowd a reflection of their weakness.
         The Prig finished his speech by asking. "Does the accused have any final words before departing this world?" Richard obliged him, saying. "Life is a feast set before us, and I have partook in the finest of things in this life. I now stand before you denied my status, even as you denied my King. I shall now receive my just deserts, I will stand before judgement, and my King with few regrets. But know that your fate shall not be so kind. For in denying your King, you have sentenced yourself to the final circle of hell with Lucifer, and the rest of the traitors to God!"
         The hood was then placed over Richard's head, and he smiled knowing that he would not die like the first man whose life he took. Richard knew his fate, and accepted it. The rope was placed taunt against his neck, and Richard then felt the floor drop from beneath him.

The End