Welcome to The Pilot Program 2020 for the month of May.
If you don’t know how The Pilot Program Works, it’s quite simple. You read, like, comment and share the short story you like and thus casting your vote on which short story you want me to turn into a 52 long short story series for the next year. And this month we have a retelling of The Falling Tower from last year, but of course, better written and more interesting. Enjoy.
In a house in the parish of Saint Michael there’s a dead man, the sheriff, the coroner, the jury and I. ‘Twas Wednesday morning ‘ere after Lady Day, when I got caught in front of the house Walter of Moden, which he had leased from Geoffrey de Warde, by a man that introduced himself as John Cotton, saying he’s the sheriff. He had asked me if I knew who lived there. Without a thought I nodded. He then said to me to join him inside. There, he introduced me to Benet of Fulham, the coroner who helped ‘im investigate the matter at hand. He then asked me if I know where Walter be at. I told him that I couldn’t tell ‘im since I don’t know which he was referring to. And ‘cause all I knew, was everything that had happened that Sunday. The sheriff looked at me up and down, from close and from afar. He then turned to the coroner and told ‘im to tell me everything he knew. After telling me about how the man had died, what Benedict de Warde, Geoffrey the Brewer and Robert of Moden had said to ‘im. The sheriff told Benet to take out his bible and have me swear in front of the jury on God. And so I did…
“I swear to God, I’m ‘ere to do justice. ‘Cause I ‘member it clearly, the previous Sunday, ‘cause I, Walter de Ardene, an’ ma wife carried ‘im to the St. Michael’s lane, there we sat him down, stood all night with ‘im. These here folk need to know what Walter of Benington and his posse did. You all did not come ‘ere from three neighboring wards just fo’ a walk. ‘Twas them there at the alehouse of Gilbert of Morden, where they’d come to drink four gallons of beer. Him and seventeen other men. They’d come with stones, knives, swords and other weapons, wanting to kidnap poor Emma. That girl already lost ‘er father, Robert Pourte, not too long ago. Then Gilbert, a simple, honest stockfish-monger, took ‘er under his arm to protectect ‘er. Knowin’ that such worms would crawl out of these ‘ere earth to come and pray on the young lady. And right he was. These folk wanted to kidnap and rape ‘er, from what ma wife, Christina, told me after. Mabel, Gilbert’s wife, and Geoffrey, ‘is brewer, after they figured out what they wanted, they had asked ‘em to leave. But they told ‘em that’d remain to spend they money however they like, welcome or unwelcome, ‘tis a public space. Now, this is where the trouble started…
From what I understand. Then Mabel took Emma upstairs, then Walter of Benington and his friends started getting frustrated and angry from waitin’ to see if she came back down. Before long they started creating commotion, assaulting the people living in that ‘ere house and Robert and Geoffrey too. ‘Twas a mess, you can only imagine what eighteen of ‘em armed people can do to a place like that on a Sunday, where everyone just sitting in piece drinking after church. I mean. on the Lord’s day to do that there? Shame. Shame, I tell you. Somehow, they struck Robert on his head with stones in all that commotion. Here’s where we came in, ‘cause Robert fled into High Street raisin’ the hue, crying, screaming with Walter racin’ after ‘im with a knife and a stiletto in his hands, tryin’ to kill the poor bastard. Benedict de Warde and some other neighbors got there first, tryin’ to calm ‘em down, but you already know that this ain’t the end. Cause the men started fightin’ in mid street and Walter chased after Benedict tryin’ to kill ‘im too, the mad lad lost it at that point. So, you know, Benedict was bare handed… He had to find something to defend himself with. So he took some ballstave thing from a stranger in the street. And Walter threw himself at Benedict, tryin’ to stab ‘im and shouting. A crowd drew itself at ‘em windows and doors to see what was happening. ‘Twas then we got ‘ere, and just as we did, Benedict raised his hands and he laid one onto Walter so hard, that the bastard fell down to the ground at the entrance of the lane. Once the mad lad was down, ‘twas quite easy to get the rest of ‘em to calm down. Ma wife then came too, and until they left, she told me the whole story. And after they all had left, me and my wife carried Walter into the lane, by the fountain, where we stood on the pavement with ‘im ‘till morning. The next day after he laid by St. Michael’s lane, we took ‘im to Geoffrey’s house. ‘Twas there he died instantly. Now, here’s the thing, I don’t know how he died there, ‘cause I went out to wash my hands of blood and left with Christina by ma hand. And ‘twas the last day we saw both Benedict de Warde and Walter of Moden too. But, at least I can say that at least no one was raped, abducted or killed, I mean, besides Walter here. But then again, he started it.”
And all ‘twas ereyesterday, but they didn’t want to let me go, saying that I should’ve had come and told them ‘bout what had happened. I told ‘em that all I did was what anyone with a decent heart would do and help a wounded man. Luckily the sheriff believed in me, after I told them everything that had happened that Sunday. So then after, the jury had given the sentence and the sheriff told ‘em to arrest Benedict when they find him in their bailiwick. But from what I heard, the jurors, the day after, said that he had absconded, whatever that means. And they can’t find ‘im, ‘cause he had no goods or chattels, so ‘em people now tryin’ to find if someone is hidin’ ‘im. And all this happened in the past seven days. Can you imagine what happens ‘ere in London every single day? And ‘em say that we civilized now in the year of our lord 1325.
Hope you enjoy this free short story. Don’t forget, if you liked it, leave a like down below, comment, share it, and it might just turn into the short story of 2021.
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