About thirty guards and hundreds of civilians pushed him through the crowd to the king's arena. His followers had fled, fearing capture and imprisonment - possibly death. He was alone.

 The guards kicked him to the ground and barked at him to kneel before his king. 

 "Is this the man who has been charged with treason?" The king requested, stroking his reddish beard. 

 "Yes, your highness. This is him." The guard who spoke had bitter hatred in his voice. 

 The man remained on his knees, his head bowed, despite the king's signal to rise. 

 "Well," The king cast a sideways glance at the man kneeling before him. "What have you to say for yourself?" 

 There was no answer. 

 "Do you wish to defend yourself?" 

 "It is as you have said." The man raised his head to lock eyes with the king. 

 "You admit then to the charge of treason?" Surprise rang in his voice. 

 Before the man could give an answer, the horde of villagers gathered in the arena began to shout in unison, "Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!" 

 "This man deserves death!" One man howled, his fist pumping the air. 

 "Release to us another prisoner and kill this man instead!" A woman with a child in her arms called out. 

 The king silenced the people with a wave of his hand. He looked again to the man before him, who showed no reaction to the people's cries. 

 "Guards, have this man whipped," The king paused, "and then hanged." 

 The throng of townspeople shrieked and cheered, glad that justice had been served. 

 The man on the ground heaved a deep sigh, his breath shuddering. There had been few occasions on which he had been so certain he was going to die. He knew, as well as he knew anything, that this was the end. For now . . .