This be the first (proper) chapter and rest assured that you probably won't be getting much other than culture and context. Characters, nah. Later.
Chapter One: The Hanging
The small boys came early to the hanging.
As the earth lurched towards the sun, they came, trickling furtively from inside the huts, their bare feet cautiously testing the newly fallen leaves. Almost forgetting to breathe, they warily filtered between the ancient wooden hovels, picking their way towards the gates of the Golden Hall, where the gallows stood waiting.
It was a rimy morning and an empty wind whined and wound its way around the deserted gibbet, the ropes flapping limply, stained with the deaths of countless men. Dust swirled as a draught pervaded the landscape, groaning a dark lament and sending shivers down the boys' spines. Even their souls were chilled in the black breeze. They stood, filthy paws grasping the ornate gates, waiting, mesmerized by the ambiance of impending death.
One of the younger boys recklessly began to tap on the giant gates with a dry twig and pulled a hunk of stale bread from the tatters of his tunic. Gnawing furiously, he bent the sapless twig against the steel and it snapped, sending a shower of arid powder into the face of one of the older ones. Bellowing with rage and far less pain, the older boy punched him in the face and seized his bread. The other boys sniggered as the injured child nursed his face and ago. Made bold with pain, he snatched a craggy stone from its home in the earth and threw it at a seedy mutt, who turned tail and fled back to the village.
In the village, the peasants were stirring. Sighs wavered in between the fissures of their homes, littered with muttered curses and mumbled profanities. The blacksmith's apprentice lit the fire and pumped the bellows. Soon, smoke was rising from the stone house.
At the smell of the smoke, the village girls slipped from their homes, shivering in the bitter dawn. Drawing their worn woolen shawls tighter around their bodies, they traipsed wearily down to the river to fetch water. The river was pewter grey, the current twisting and curling the white foam, which bubble merrily. The women gingerly tested the water and drew back from the fluid ice. With a collective sigh, they hitched up their coarse grey skirts, unconsciously sucking in the piercingly cold air as the harsh wind tumbled amongst their ankles.
The bells rang. Startled, some women dropped their buckets, groaning as they were swept downstream, out of reach. Straightening their skirts, the younger women turned towards the village and the dirt path leading towards it, incessant with their mindless chatter. The old women formed a close-knit group a respectable distance behind, as the young women were prone to throw disdainful looks and jibes. They shook their heads, no doubt muttering that the girls needed to find themselves a husband and settle down with a family.
Further up the path they were greeted by the raucous bellowing of the young townsmen, catcalling and leering. A few of the raunchier girls drew back their cloaks, braving the toothed gasps of air, of which the shocked titters of their mothers and grandmothers were drowned out by a roar of approval and appreciation.
As the last of the women passed, the men fell into conversation, whilst treading hazardously across the parched leaves. Somewhere at the front, a scuffle broke out, emerging from a heated argument between father and son-in-law. Their surrounding peers grunted impatiently as the belled tolled for the second time, more urgent and anticipating.