She gave the vial a slight shake, dislodging the drop into the leper’s mouth. He swallowed it painfully, then shuddered and calmed, the writhing ceasing as his eyes lost focus.
‘You’re the governor general’s wife?’ asked Arent disbelievingly. Most nobles wouldn’t leave a palanquin that was on fire, let alone leap out of one to aid a stranger.
‘And you’re Samuel Pipps’s servant,’ she snapped back.
‘I –’ He faltered, wrong-footed by her annoyance. Unsure of how he had offended her, he changed the topic. ‘What did you give him?’
‘Something to ease the pain,’ she said, wedging the cork back into the vial. ‘It’s made from local plants. I use it myself from time to time. It helps me sleep.’
‘Can we do anything for him, my lady?’ asked the maid, taking the vial from her mistress and putting it back up her sleeve. ‘Should I fetch your healing sundries?’
Only a fool would try, thought Arent. A life at war had taught him which limbs you could live without and which nicks would wake you in agony every night until they killed you quietly a year after the battle. The leper’s rotting flesh was bad enough, but there’d be no peace from those burns. With constant ministrations he could live a day, or a week, but survival wasn’t always worth the price paid for it.
‘No, thank you, Dorothea,’ said Sara. ‘I don’t think that will be necessary.’
Rising to her feet, Sara gestured for Arent to follow her out of earshot.
‘There’s nothing to be done here,’ she said quietly. ‘Nothing left except mercy. Could you …’ She swallowed, seemingly ashamed of the next question. ‘Have you ever taken a life?’
Arent nodded.
‘Can you do it painlessly?’
Arent nodded again, earning a small smile of gratitude.
‘I regret I have not the fortitude to do it myself,’ she said.
Arent pushed through the whispering circle of observers towards one of the musketeers guarding Sammy, gesturing for his sword. Numb with horror, the young soldier unsheathed it without protest.
‘Arent,’ said Sammy, calling his friend closer. ‘Did you say the leper had no tongue?’
‘Cut out,’ confirmed Arent. ‘A while back, I reckon.’
‘Bring me Sara Wessel when you’re finished,’ Sammy said, troubled. ‘This matter requires our attention.’
As Arent returned with the sword, Sara knelt by the stricken leper, reaching to take his hand, before remembering herself. ‘I have not the art to heal you,’ she admitted gently. ‘But I can offer you a painless escape, if you’d have it?’
The leper’s mouth worked, producing only moans. Tears forming in his eyes, he nodded.
‘I’ll stay with you.’ She looked over her shoulder at the young girl peering at them from inside the palanquin. ‘Lia, join me, if you please,’ said Sara, holding out a hand to her.
Lia climbed down from the palanquin. She was no more than twelve or thirteen, already long-limbed, her dress sitting awkwardly, like a skin she hadn’t managed to quite wriggle out of.
A great rustling greeted her, as the procession shifted to take her in. Arent was among those curious onlookers. Unlike her mother, who visited church each evening, Lia was rarely seen outdoors. It was rumoured her father kept her hidden out of shame, but as Arent watched her walk hesitantly towards the leper, it was difficult to know what that shame could be. She was a pretty girl, if uncommonly pale, like she’d been spun from shadows and moonlight.
As Lia drew closer, Sara flicked a nervous glance at her husband, who was sitting rigid on his horse, his jaw moving slightly as he ground his teeth. Arent knew this was as close to fury as he’d come in public. By the twitching of his face, it was obvious he wanted to call them back into the palanquin, but the curse of authority was that you could never admit to losing it.
Lia arrived by her mother’s side and Sara squeezed her hand reassuringly.
‘This man is in pain,’ she said in a soft voice. ‘He’s suffering and Lieutenant Hayes here is going to end that suffering. Can you understand that?’
The girl’s eyes were wide, but she nodded meekly. ‘Yes, Mama,’ she said.
‘Good,’ said Sara. ‘He’s very afraid and this isn’t something he should face alone. We will stand vigil; we will offer him our courage. You mustn’t look away.’
From around his neck, the leper painfully withdrew a small charred piece of wood, the edges jagged. He pressed it to his breast, squeezing his eyes shut.
‘Whenever you’re ready,’ she said to Arent, who immediately rammed the blade through the leper’s heart. The man arched his back, going rigid. Then he went limp, blood seeping out from underneath him. It was glossy in the sunlight, reflecting the three figures standing over the body.
The girl gripped her mother’s hand tightly, but her courage didn’t falter.
‘Well done, my love,’ said Sara, stroking her soft cheek. ‘I know that was unpleasant, but you were very brave.’
As Arent cleaned the blade on a sack of oats, Sara tugged one of the jewelled pins from her hair, a red curl springing loose.
‘For your trouble,’ she said, offering it to him.
‘Aint kindness if you have to pay for it,’ he responded, leaving it sparkling in her hand, as he returned the sword to the soldier.
Surprise mingled with confusion on her face, her gaze lingering on him a moment. As if wary of being caught in such naked observation, she hurriedly summoned two stevedores who’d been sitting on a pile of tattered sailcloth.
They leapt up as if stung, tugging a lock of hair when they were near enough.
‘Sell this, burn the body and see his ashes receive a Christian burial,’ commanded Sara, pressing the pin into the nearest calloused palm. ‘Let’s give him the peace in death he was denied in life.’
They exchanged a cunning glance.
‘That jewel will pay for the funeral with enough left over for any vices you seek to indulge this year, but I’ll have somebody watching you,’ she warned pleasantly. ‘If this poor man ends up in the undesirables lot beyond the city walls, you’ll be hanged – is that understood?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ they muttered, tipping their hats respectfully.
‘Can you spare a minute for Sammy Pipps?’ called out Arent, who was standing next to Guard Captain Jacobi Drecht.
Sara glanced at her husband once again, obviously trying to weigh his displeasure. Arent could sympathise. Jan Haan could find fault in a bold table arrangement, so watching his wife dash through the dirt like a harlot after a rolling coin would have been unbearable to him.
He wasn’t even looking at her. He was watching Arent.
‘Lia, return to the palanquin, please,’ said Sara.
‘But, Mama,’ complained Lia, lowering her voice. ‘That’s Samuel Pipps.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed.
‘The Samuel Pipps!’
‘Indeed.’
‘The sparrow!’
‘A nickname I’m sure he adores,’ she responded drily.
‘You could introduce me.’
‘He’s hardly dressed for company, Lia.’
‘Mama –’