Ravished by a Mob
The night was still. The breeze barely rustled the leaves on the trees. The sound of the stream trickling between the rocks 500 metres away was clearly audible. The sky was clear and the moon shone its silvery light far across the meadows and hills. Suddenly I heard a cry, “Help!” somewhere in the distance. A plaintive cry. A young maiden. It came from the woods. I raised myself from my perch atop the garden wall. It was late, the wench might be in trouble so grasping my knife and jerkin...