At ten o’clock four companies came; the captains had the doors of the cloister opened, ordering the prisoners to march four abreast behind fifes and drums, to the place where they would be told to halt. Certain streets were red, and they marched towards the Gallows Field.
Here and there shallow pools of blood defiled the meadows; there was blood all about the walls. The ravens came in clouds on every hand; the sun hid in a bed of mists; the sky was still clear, and in its depths awoke the shy stars. Suddenly they heard lamentable howlings.
The soldiers said:
“They that are crying there are the Beggars of the Fuycke Fort, without the town; they are being left to die of hunger.”
“We, too,” said Nele, “we are going to die.” And she wept.
“The ashes beat upon my heart,” said Ulenspiegel.
“Ah!” said Lamme in Flemish—for the soldiers of the escort understood not that proud speech—“Ah!” said Lamme, “if I could catch that duke of blood and make him eat, until his skin burst, each and all ropes, gallows, torture benches, wooden horses, weights, and boots; if I could make him drink the blood he has shed, if there came out of his torn skin and opened bowels splinters of wood and pieces of iron, and still he did not give up the ghost, I would tear out his heart from his breast and make him eat it raw and poisoned. Then for certain would he fall from life to death into the sulphur pit, where may the devil make him eat it and eat it again without ceasing. And thus through all long eternity.”
“Amen,” said Ulenspiegel and Nele.
“But dost thou see naught?” said she.
“Nay,” said he.