The King of Navarre left the room. A few minutes after his departure the door was again opened and Jocelyn joyfully turned expecting to see his brother enter. He hoped in vain. It was one of the equerries.
"Your master assured me that I would see my brother, Mazurec," said Jocelyn, an unaccountable feeling of anxiety creeping over him.
The equerry opened the window near which the champion had been deposited and pointing to it said: "Look out of this window. Our Sire is faithful to his promise," and he withdrew, locking the door after him.
Seized with a terrible presentiment, Jocelyn leaned towards the window as far as his bound limbs allowed him, and the following ghastly scene was enacted before his eyes:
Below the window, about thirty feet down, is a vast square surrounded with houses and into which two streets run out, both of which are barred with strong cordons of soldiers charged to keep the inhabitants of the town from entering the square. At one end of the square and not far from Jocelyn's window rises a wide scaffold. In the middle of the scaffold stands a stake with a stool attached, at either side of which is a block on which a sharp-pointed pile is firmly fastened. Several executioners are busy on the scaffold. Some are attaching iron chains to the center stake; others are standing around a cooking-stove turning on the burning coals, with the help of tongs, one of those iron trevets or tripods used by the peasants to cook their porridge in the fire-place. The trevet begins to be red hot; some of the executioners engaged near the stove kneel down and blow upon the fire to keep up the flames.
Presently, trumpets are heard approaching from the direction of one of the two streets; the cordon of soldiers posted at the mouth of that street part and allow a passage to a first squad of archers. Between this and the second squad, William Caillet, Adam the Devil and Mazurec the Lambkin are seen marching with firm tread. Mazurec is only half clad in an old hose of goat-skin; the two other peasants wear the ancient Gallic "blaude" or blouse, wooden shoes and woolen cap. It was not thought necessary to pinion them. Adam and Mazurec have each an arm on the shoulder of William Caillet, who is placed between the two. Thus joined in one embrace, the three men march with heads erect, intrepid looks and resolute carriage towards the scaffold erected for their last martyrdom.
The archers who compose the rear-guard of the escort spread themselves over the place, with their bows ready and their eyes searching the windows of the surrounding houses. One of the lattices clicks open, and instantly two arrows fly and disappear through the aperture, followed by an agonizing cry within. The two archers immediately re-fit their bows. They are executing the orders they received from their chiefs. The town people occupying the houses around the square had been forbidden to appear at their windows during the execution of the three chiefs of the Jacquerie. The three are now at the foot of the scaffold.
Gasping for breath, his face moist with cold perspiration, horrified and desperate at the sight of such a spectacle, Jocelyn feels his head swimming. He seems oppressed by a horrible nightmare. He distinguishes the faces; he hears the voice of Mazurec, of Adam, of Caillet exchanging a supreme adieu on the scaffold, while the executioners around them are making ready. William Caillet takes the hands of Adam and Mazurec and cries out in a strong voice that reaches the champion's ears:
"Firm, my Jacques! Firm to the end! Adam, your wife is revenged!... Mazurec, our Aveline is revenged!... Our relatives and friends, smothered to death in the cavern of the forest of Nointel are avenged.... The executioners are about to torture and put us to death. What does it matter? Our death will not return life to the noble dames and seigneurs who fell under our blows in the midst of their happiness. They sorrowed to leave life ... not so with us, with us whose lives are brimful of sorrows and tears!... The Jacquerie has revenged us!... Some day others will finish what we began!... Firm, my Jacques! Firm to the end!"
"Oh, Jacques Bonhomme, for so many centuries a martyr!" responded Adam and Mazurec in savage enthusiasm. "The Jacquerie has revenged you!... Others will finish what we began!... Firm, my Jacques!... Firm to the end!"