Chapter Text
“There was a victim in a cart,
One day for to be hanged,
And his reprieve was granted
And the cart made a stand.
“‘Come, marry a wife and save your life,’
The judge aloud did cry;
‘Oh, why should I corrupt my life’
The victim did reply.
‘For here’s a crowd of every sort,
And why should I prevent their sport!
The bargain’s bad in every part,
The wife’s the worst — drive on the cart!’”
“So,” Hob Gadling paused, dropping the small, dusty tome he read from onto the lectern. “What do we think?”
The silence stretched on as he looked out across the sea of students, who paid him extremely varied levels of attention. It was mid May, the generally poor weather in England having given way to a decent stretch of sun, hinting at the summer holiday around the corner. To be frank, he was surprised even to see this many students, though he was sure the threat of looming exams was more the cause than his charm as professor.
He let the question linger. Someone shuffled papers, a seat creaked here and there. Finally–
“Seems a bit misogynistic, I guess,” said Lauren Trent in the front row. She could skip the exam entirely and still make full marks.
“Oh yes,” he huffed a laugh, “Certainly, but why?”
“Well, the poet is comparing having a wife to dying by hanging.” Lauren pulled a face, tapping her pen on her open notebook. “Or, I guess that's the joke anyway. The poem’s saying if someone marries you before you're hanged, you're free to go? Actually seems like a good deal, to me. A wife and you get to live, yeah?”
“That’s it!” Hob exclaimed. He tapped the book in front of him. “Here we see one of the first references to this phenomenon–the ‘foot-of-the-gallows marriage’ they call it. One of the stranger customs of the time, the earliest mentions are in the Medieval era, the latest well into the Renaissance.”
“Doesn’t seem too realistic if you ask me,” Gavin Cartwright, fourth row. Bright as anything, but had made a habit early on of coming late to lectures, turning in rather bare bones assignments. He had about a 50/50 shot. Hob leaned forward, his elbows resting on the lectern.
“Oh? Can you elaborate?” He asked.
“Well, people loved a good hanging in those times. Even the poem sort of mentions how much of a spectacle it was,” Gavin started. As he spoke, a figure, barely more than a shadow moved in the upper levels, catching Hob’s eye. Distracted, he glanced up, expecting to see someone ducking out early or running to the restroom. Instead, his gaze fell upon dark boots and then traveled up slim pants cuffed at the ankle, to a loose black shirt tucked at the waist, stormy eyes and unruly raven hair. Strange, Hob thought to himself, breath stolen from his lungs. Normally he wore a coat. The sight of him without one was… “Professor?”
“Hm? Oh, sorry,” Hob snapped back to attention, tearing his eyes away. He swallowed, fighting off the blooming warmth suddenly threatening to break into a grand smile at the appearance of his Stranger, “You were saying, Gavin?”
“I was saying like, they loved to hang people. Doesn’t make sense they’d let anyone go free if they suddenly got married. Where’s the fun in that?”
“Ah, a fair point. But, as you'll see in the reading this week, according to the custom they literally had to be married there, at the gallows. Not creatively named this tradition, but, well. That’d be a pretty big spectacle if you ask me. And–probably saved at least one bloke’s life,” Hob did grin then, looking up at his Stranger. “If you believe the stories anyway.” It might have been a trick of the light, but he thought perhaps he saw the whisper of a smile on his Stranger’s face. Hob found his mouth was suddenly very dry.
He glanced at his watch. It was early, but not so early as to be egregious for him to end the lecture. Decision made, Hob shuffled together his loose notes and poem book, closing his laptop. There was a lot more attention on him then. “Alright, we’ve got to wrap a little early today but–” Immediately students started packing up, noise exploding through the lecture hall. His Stranger began to descend, slowly, purposefully towards Hob, who shouted to be heard over the din, “But this will be the topic of one of the essays on the exam, so make sure you finish the readings and come back ready for the rest of the discussion!”
Hob sighed, resolving to email out a reminder later, and quickly shuffled his things into his messenger bag. He looked up to find his Stranger there, staring intently. Again, the ghost of a smile.
“ Hello, Hob.”