“Pity,” he groaned, “I am all wet with my own blood running. Pity!”
“Thy blood?” said Toria. “There will be enough left for thee to pay with. Cover his wounds with ointment. He will pay by the slow fire, his hand cut off, with red-hot pincers. He shall pay, he shall pay!”
And she would have struck him; then out of her senses she fell upon the sand as though dead, and she was left there till she came back to herself.
Meanwhile, Ulenspiegel, taking the prisoner’s hands out of the engine, saw that there were three fingers lacking on the right hand.
And he gave orders to bind him straitly and to put him in a fisherman’s hamper. Men, women, and children then departed, taking turns to carry the hamper, wending their way towards Damme to seek justice there. And they carried torches and lanterns.
And the fishmonger kept repeating without ceasing:
“Break the bells; kill the children that are calling.”
And Toria said:
“Let him pay, by slow fire, by red-hot pincers, let him pay!”
Then both held their peace. And Ulenspiegel heard no more, save the laboured breathing of Toria, the heavy steps of the men on the sand, and the sea roaring like thunder.