The day of the fair had been awaited with anxiety and turmoil by the people of Chabone. The authorities fearing an uprising finally deployed a small escort to imprison the town's local healer after the sick merchant had charged the humble woman with her teas and fever-suppressing syrups.
The police's ordeal had been spared after the Church had outlawed the torture performed by suspending the victim by the hands with ropes, attaching weights to his feet and dropping them abruptly.
As a preliminary stage of torture, selected lay judges looked for demonic marks on the poor convict's skin or body. Any birthmark was considered suspicious. To the healer's misfortune, a large purple mark marched from her neck to her breasts and she had been displayed naked before a bloodthirsty, terrified audience. She was naturally human and the sorcerers had shown no intention of intervening.
The young woman had been dragged into the streets by a mob on charges of witchcraft until the local authorities subjected her in front of everyone to a careful examination in search of marks. The very quick accused had admitted not only that she was a worshiper of darkness but also spells cast against important residents of the region, marking the doors of their homes with grease, invoking the dreaded plague.
Anyone would have admitted there very quickly after having their hands scalded in water boiling with lime. Two children inexplicably disappeared from the turmoil and torture escaping the same fate as their unfortunate mother. Women were considered more susceptible to sin. The healer was seen among the population as independent and raised her children, secure and single without the help of any husband. Everything had been compounded against her for being the local duck and her knowledge of medicinal herbs.
No one thought it strange that with all the confusion the accused's kitchen, after a day of torture, had shown the spoiled milk under the unlit wood stove, after all, it was more evidence. Some commented that the woman was accused of adultery with the one in charge of the troops and the officer's wife had publicly accused her husband's mistress of being a harlot.
Although many methods of torture were still used for those crimes in Gazarra, the most common was still the stake. A heretic would have the vision of hell for the purification of his sins and burn in the public square. In any case, it was necessary to impose order on the small community or soon accusations without any argument would bring complaints from envious neighbours who prospered.
Most were crimes judged and considered mortal sins such as fornication, sodomy and sexual life outside of the holy marriage blessed by the Church. Women who led a life devoted to prostitution seemed to have escaped the Hammer of Witches, an ancient book adopted for the recognition and condemnation of witches. The charge against the midwife was burdened because witches were known to steal newborn and unbaptized children for their macabre rituals and a baby had died without any explanation for the parents' despair.
In the same kitchen, a large iron cauldron had been found with large quantities of mandrake, belladonna, currant, henbane for portions that the judges had declared to be magic.
Even if the healer had not screamed out her guilt to escape torture, she would still have been condemned because only a pact could have given her the strength to survive the interrogation. The governor had decided to use the Witch's Awakening. It was an ancient method of torture that deprived the condemned of sleep.
For almost three days the accused, to the delight of the population, had had an iron ring with four sharp points in her mouth. The poor thing chained to the stake in the public square was unable to lie down or rest her head. Guards charged with watching over the supposed witch were instructed to keep her awake by any means necessary until finally, the hallucinations had begun.
In the main square, a stake was erected, surrounded by alternating layers of wood and straw almost the height of a man. Only one space had been left free so that the victim could be tied there with nothing but a nightgown soaked in sulfur and chained.
The truth was that the crowd eagerly awaited the start of the show they knew so well; executions of that kind were considered unmissable events.
The last minutes for the execution move with terrible slowness after the executioner has brought in the condemned victim. The light rain had persisted since dawn.
Richard began to accompany the guardsmen around the convict and their privateers at strategic points in an extreme attempt to save the woman before the execution.
-Captain! - BlackJack called apprehensively as he approached. - Have you noticed that the square has no women or children? Hell! In addition to the fair day, there will be an execution. Not even the prostitutes came to the show. - The man shook his head attentively.
-It's useless. It was all planned! - one of the wolves joined them and watched with an expression of displeasure the imprisoned woman who was chained to the wooden stake in the fire.
The corsairs tried to group and retreat, fending off gunfire and sword blades, just as a deafening scream broke through the racket and screaming. The fire's flames were lit and fueled by the sulfur gained momentum and spread with surprising rapidity. There was the shrill noise of clashing swords in addition to the screaming. The square made them an easy target for soldiers shooting from the top of the steeple.
-Back off! - Rick shouted again.
The confusion was complete with guards with swords in hand trying to block the escape from the square. Two men lost in the battle fell to the bullets as Morgan turned his head away from the steel and his eyes strayed by the fire.
Dear God!
There was a person there. The sulfur soaked in the poor woman's clothes would not give her the mercy to die of asphyxiation from the smoke. She was going to be burned alive! A boy tried in vain to reach the poor victim repelled by the heat of the flames.
-Morgan! - Blackjack yelled.
-Take the men away. The forest. - Richard swore again and was stopped by his friend's strong-arm blocking his way.
The scream sounded like someone entering the portals of hell. The midwife was burning alive.
-Gonna die! - Blackjack guaranteed following the captain's gaze.
-Not today, I hope!
Morgan nodded dismissively. The boy imagined what, good God?
The heat was starting to get stifling. The sulfur introduced to the fire started to cause unpleasant reactions such as irritation in the throat and eyes. The huge platform of logs was on fire. The clerk next door began to read the charges:
-Mary Susan, the high justice of our Majesty's kingdom receives the condemned woman barefoot and in her sulfur-soaked nightgown accused of the crimes of witchcraft, kidnapping of children not yet baptized for rituals against the Holy Church.... of the crimes of magic, sorcery and the death and poisoning of innocents...
-Before your God, I have no such sins! - were the only words of the condemned.
Suddenly everyone was waiting for the woman's apology. Carried, crushed and carried away by the delirious human mass, Richard focused his attention on the boy who had once fought alone there.
-Come on, at least try to get one of her bones. It gives an excellent remedy for body aches. - Someone shouted in a good mood.
- Well, I'll fix a tooth. Bring good luck!
-They say eyes are the best, boys! What a waste! - a voice complained.
The crowd seemed to be in a frantic trance and even the soldiers had stopped in front of the spectacle. Richard ran, not quite sure why he was moving forward among the people who were jostling to see the odious spectacle. It was the boy. All his attention was focused on that boy. Perhaps he was related to the poor woman...
The fire was starting to spread, fueled by the wind.
-She's burning. Look! - a woman appeared screaming madly as she put her hands on her wild head.
-But why doesn't she scream? - a lost voice marvelled with disappointment.
The convict had been thrown into the flames. The curtain of fire raised ecstatic screams from the audience. Morgan didn't look at the fire. The boy... was almost there. He could see the pistol in his hand as he took the final mercy shot at the unfortunate woman.
- I told you I was a witch. Don't even scream in the flames!
-He managed to cut off a piece of his clothing! Does someone want to? I can sell it for a good price. It also brings luck.
- Go to hell, damn you. Not a witch! She was innocent." Cassie wanted to scream.
Another boy looked at her in awe, stepping back with horrified eyes. The weapon in her hand was starting to attract the attention of the guards who were trying to advance towards her among the hallucinated people.
Morgan mercilessly plunged his sword into a guard who was trying to stop him from advancing and leapt, oblivious to the searing, suffocating heat of the flames. He could smell the meat rising through the smoke as the flames grew brighter and displayed a reddish glow. He whirled in the air, continuing to bounce between fallen and trampled bodies. The groans of the wounded echoed again.
-Are you trying to kill yourself, kid? - he roared catching his breath and dodged the body of a sword. - With your back to me. I hope you know how to make good use of the sword.
She stopped pale. Richard?
Why this one! The good woman was her friend. And... she was by no means going to sit idly by and do nothing...
Richard was going to kill her when he found out who the wretched boy was with the hat buried all over his hair and forehead. Well, she sure knew how to use a sword and a pistol.
Damn Philip! He had delivered the good woman into the Successrium's clutches. His troops arrived...
The domain of the Corsair Armada was threatened. Muir would not pity them with all that wretched traitor's schemes. Philip had planned every detail. Even the spy in there had infiltrated before securing his expulsion from the Armada. Her friend...