The next moment Pirka had as completely vanished as if the earth had swallowed her up.
When the clock in the townhall tower struck eight, the bells of the Franciscan convent close by began to ring, the roll of drums was heard proceeding from the courtyard, and the sad procession appeared in the market place.
First came the magistrates, who ascended the cloth-laid steps of the dais, on the top of which the town-clerk recited the sentence aloud. Then came the guards, sword in hand, and between them the three delinquents, each of whom had a cord round his neck, the end of which was held by one of the headsman's apprentices. Last of all came the headsman, the old vihodar himself, on a white horse, dressed in a long red mantle half covering his steed; a black biretta with a red plume covered his head, and he held a naked sword in his right hand. Two of his henchmen led the horse. Behind him marched eight apprentices, who brought with them a whole arsenal of instruments of torture.
Valentine turned his head aside in order to see nothing of all this. Had he but looked, he would certainly have recognized one of the headsman's assistants.
The mob saluted the robbers with a fearful howl, which they answered with hideous curses. But their filthiest imprecations were hurled at the women among the spectators, who were ready to sink into the ground for shame.
All three delinquents bore traces of torture on their bodies. They were covered with burns and sores. Yet they showed no signs of weakness. On the contrary, they greeted the old vihodar with wild laughter, and scornfully challenged him to show them of his skill.
He coolly tossed the scarlet mantle from his shoulders, and in a low voice distributed his commands to the apprentices, who were already assembled on the scaffold.
The mob set up a frightful yell at the sight of the grim, stalwart graybeard, to which he responded with a mock bow like a stage hero.
He opened the proceedings with Bajus.
Valentine had no need to stop his ears, for Bajus never uttered a sound. Not a sigh escaped him. The people all round whispered to one another in shuddering awe. The robber's cold contempt of death, and the calmness with which he endured all manner of tortures, raised him in their eyes to the rank of a hero.