Since dawn, each of the three ropes had hung black against the rising sun. Enough time had passed for a crowd to arrive and develop a restless holiday mood.

"Hear ye, hear ye, all gathered here today." The caller, short and dumpy with middle age, made no effort to hide the boredom in his voice.

His words had little effect on the restlessness of the hundred people crowded in front of the crude wooden gallows platform. Each person instead had eyes for the soon to be dead.

"Get on with your blathering, you old fool!" The shout came from a woman with a hungry face near the back of the crowd. A skinny child held her hand.

The caller man scratched at a flea beneath his dirty shirt and ignored her.

"This punishment has been ordered by the sheriff under authority of the Earl of York," he continued in a listless tone. "The crimes to be punished are as follows." He unrolled a scroll and held it in front of him at arm's length.

"Andrew, you dimwit! We all know you can't read. Don't be putting on airs for the like of us." This, from a fat man with jowls that shook as he yelled.

The crowd hooted with appreciation even though none of them, along with the speaker, realized the scroll was upside down. They grew quiet again.

And all stared at the soon to be dead.

Six burly soldiers stood behind the man with the scroll. In pairs, they held three prisoners tight. Too often, even the most weary prisoners made a sudden struggle for freedom when finally facing the thick rope which hung from the gallows. It was a type of struggle the crowd hoped for. Hangings were now as common as weddings or funerals, so without a final bolt to escape or howlings of despair, it would be a dull event. Indeed, this hanging only drew as many as it did because of the strange knight.

"John the potter's son. Found guilty of loitering with the intent to pick the pockets of honest men. To be hung by the neck until dead."

Most of the people in the crowd shook fists at the accused boy.

He grinned back at them. Ragged hair and a smudge of dirt covered the side of his face. "Intent!" he shouted in a tinny voice at the upraised fists. "Intent is all you could prove. I've always been too fast to be caught!"

The hangman waited for the noise to end and droned, "The unknown girl who does not speak or hear. Theft of three loaves of bread. To be hung by the neck until dead."

The crowd quieted completely as they stared at her. She in turn stared at her feet. High cheekbones and long dark hair hinted at a beauty to flower -- if she were to live past the day. That tragic air about her forced a mumble from the middle of the crowd. "The baker could have easily kept her for kitchen work instead of forcing the magistrate on her."

The baker flushed with anger. "And how many more mouths should I support in these times? Especially one belonging to a useless girl who cannot hear instructions?" he yelled back at his anonymous accuser.

Behind all of them -- below the small rise of land which held the gallows -- the town known as Helmsley lay silent as the spring day began to warm. Although it was important enough to be guarded by a castle, the town was little more than a collection of wood and stone houses along narrow, and dirty streets.

The stench of rotted wood in mud and various barn animals filled the air. Few of the people gathered on the rise even noticed anymore. Now, they fell as completely silent as the town. The strange knight was about to be formally accused.

"Finally" -- Andrew in his dirty shirt felt the growing excitement of the crowd and his voice finally rose beyond boredom -- "the knight who claims to be from a land of sun. Found guilty of blasphemy and the theft of a chalice. To be hung by the neck until dead."

The babble of the crowd then renewed itself as each person strained to watch for reaction on the knight's haggard face. To be so mighty and to fall so far!

The darkly tanned knight did not acknowledge any curiosity. He had been stripped of all the wealth of his apparel except for his trousers, tunic and a vest of chain mail. The bulges of his muscled arms and shoulders showed a man who had lived by the sword. And would die by the rope.

He did nothing except stare straight down with a bowed head that hid the features of his face.

Having read all the charges, Andrew finished. "This on the 28th day of March in the year of our Lord thirteen hundred and twelve."

Finished with his painfully memorized words, he scrolled the useless paper back into a roll and nodded at the soldiers.

To the crowd's disappointment, none of the prisoners provided entertainment through resistance.

Each had a reason for not struggling.

The potter's son did not believe he might die. At seven years of age, death was simply not a possibility, even with the knotted rope less than a dozen steps away.

The girl was too exhausted.

The knight, resigned to death, was already back in his land of sun, speaking and laughing in his mind with old comrades.

Without any visible excitement available, the crowd grew restless. Some had neglected a day's work and traveled as far as six miles. Others had brought their entire families. With all attention focused on the three figures slowly climbing the gallows, none in the crowd noticed a figure approaching from the town behind.

The figure strode amid the usual cursings and jeerings and stopped the noise to an immediate awed silence.

As it should have been.

No man in the crowd stood higher than five feet and nine inches. This man was a giant, four hands taller than the tallest.

His attire cast a frightened chill among them. The black cloth which swirled around him gleamed with richness and flowed like a heavy river. A hood covered his face; his hands were lost deep in the folds of the robe. He projected nothing less than the shadow of death.

The figure did not break stride until it reached the gallows. Only then did it stiffly turn to face the crowd, confident even with his back vulnerable to the soldiers.

Most in the crowd backed away.

Andrew, frozen in shock and standing on the gallows platform, still at that height appeared shorter than the dark and terrible giant who had walked into their midst.

The huge specter of a man let the silence press down upon the crowd.

Finally, he uttered his first words.

"The knight shall be set free." His voice was unearthly, a deep rasping evil that sent the crowd back even farther. "He shall be set free immediately."

With those words, he extended his arms toward the crowd. Though unhurt, one of the children keened high with terror.

The black specter hissed.

Blue and orange flames shot outward from the right hand sleeve of his robe.