“The fishmonger!” groaned Ulenspiegel again.
And he vomited blood in great gushes through nose and mouth, and letting his head fall, hung suspended above the coals.
Then Soetkin cried:
“He is dead, my poor orphan! They have killed him! Ah! him, too. Take away this brazier, master judges! Let me take him into my arms to die also, I, too, to die with him. Ye know I cannot flee on my broken feet.”
“Give the widow her son,” said the bailiff.
Then the judges deliberated together.
The executioner unbound Ulenspiegel, and laid him all naked and covered with blood upon Soetkin’s knees, while the barber surgeon put back his bones in their sockets.
All the while Soetkin embraced Ulenspiegel, and said, weeping:
“Son, poor martyr! If the judges will, I shall heal thee, I; but awaken, Thyl, my son! Master judges, if ye have killed him on me, I shall go to His Majesty; for ye have done contrary to all laws and justice, and ye shall see what one poor woman can do against wicked men. But, sirs, leave us free together. We have nothing but our two selves in the world, poor wretches on whom the hand of God has been heavy.”
Having deliberated, the judges gave out the following sentence: