I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go on without you. I’d been a fool to think that I could leave you, just when you needed me most. I’d been traveling for about half an hour when I turned the horse around and drove it back hard in the direction that I’d come. I only prayed that I was not too late.

It was already difficult to retrace my tracks, but I knew all the paths that led to Heinrich’s house. Still, even when I was less than a hundred feet away, I couldn’t see it in the swirl of snow. But then I heard the voices of many men, carried to me on the wind, and I knew that in the hour I had been away, the condotta had arrived. The only question was whether you and Brandeis had managed to get away first.

I drove my horse up onto the ridge that overlooked the house, into the brush that I’d hidden in when I was a child. I didn’t even consider that there might be soldiers up there; it was only by luck that I found myself alone. I maneuvered into a thicket where I could tether the horse to a low-hanging branch, and took a position where I could make out the action below. I knew that with the blizzard, there was no chance I’d be spotted.

Almost immediately I saw what I feared most: you had not managed to escape, and soldiers were pulling you from the house. A clear voice cut through the flurry. It was Kuonrat the Ambitious, laughing at his own good fortune. “Not one deserter, but two! Two!”

Soldiers held your arms behind your back and pushed you down onto your knees. Kuonrat took a step forward and placed his hand under your chin, twisting your head up so that your eyes met his. Still laughing, he looked as if he were trying to convince himself that his luck really was that good. A ghost delivered from the very recesses of his memory. A ghost that he could use to teach a lesson to the living.

What could I do? I considered that I might take out the crossbow and begin shooting. In the blizzard, the soldiers would never see the arrows coming until it was too late, and they might not even be able to tell where they came from. But what good would that do? There were at least two dozen of them, paid killers, and I’d never used a crossbow in my life. I’d be lucky to take down even one. But, I thought, if I could manage one good shot, what would happen if I hit Kuonrat? Would the troop scatter if they saw their leader fall?

Of course not. They were professionals and I knew that I didn’t have it in me to kill anyone, not even Kuonrat.

It took a number of soldiers to hold you down, but Brandeis was so weak it took two soldiers to hold him up. When they released him, he slumped onto his knees while Kuonrat demanded, “What do you have to say?”

The harsh storm winds blew directly towards me, past them, and carried their words to my vantage place. Whether it was good luck or ill fortune that I was able to hear every word, I am unsure, but in the moment I was thankful that I did not have to sneak closer.

Brandeis assumed the posture of a miserable sinner asking for forgiveness and the wind carried his words to me. “I deserve any death you choose. Make it as horrible as you desire, as horrible as you can. Use me as the example that I should be. I renounce my decision to run away from the condotta. I was like a frightened child. I request only that you punish me, and me alone.”

“It is always interesting to listen to the bargains of those who have nothing to offer,” Kuonrat said to many laughs.

Brandeis refused to let this laughter interfere with his final actions on this earth. His executioner was standing in front of him but never once did Brandeis beg for his own life. No, he used his final moments to plead, passionately, that the life of his best friend be spared.

Brandeis pointed out that when he left the condotta, it was entirely his own misguided decision-but when you left, it was not your decision at all. It was the Lord’s will that you were struck down in combat, but not killed. It was the Lord’s will that the battle had occurred so close to Engelthal and that you were delivered there. It was the Lord’s will that you were able to heal from injuries that should have taken your life. There could be no greater proof that God wanted you alive, Brandeis argued, than the fact that you still were.

Brandeis gestured in your direction. “This life is the Lord’s will, so forgo his punishment and double mine. I know that you are a wise and just leader, Kuonrat, and I know that you would not want to defy God.”

It was a smart tactic to keep repeating that your survival was the Lord’s will. If anything could stay your execution, it would be Kuonrat’s belief that killing you would violate God’s intentions. It was clear that he had no regard for man, but perhaps God was a different story.

The storm hurled a great burst of snow across the landscape. Brandeis instinctively turned his head to shield his eyes and I saw a swift bolt of silver, as if an extension of Kuonrat’s arm. A red surge sprayed across the ground and Brandeis’ head flew for a few feet before gravity brought it down.

Kuonrat wiped his sword clean, the steel still steaming with the heat of the blood. “The Lord’s will does not matter. Only mine does.”

He turned and said, with a laugh into your shocked face, that he had something much better for you. Something not nearly so painless or so mercifully quick. After all, your disappearance had continued for much longer than that of Brandeis.

Kuonrat gathered his mercenaries and gave out their tasks. One third of the men were to scour the woods for deadwood and twigs. Another third was sent into Heinrich’s house to secure any items of value-food, money, clothing-that the troop could use or barter. The remaining soldiers were ordered to prepare you.

The soldiers pulled you past Brandeis’ body. The blood leaked from his neck, still, adding to the large red blot in the snow. The mercenaries pushed you up against Heinrich’s cottage, your back to the wall. They kicked at your ankles until your legs were spread wide, and pulled out your arms until they were stretched across the face of the building. When you showed resistance, they beat you and spat in your face and laughed as if this were some great joke.

A soldier, bigger than the others, walked towards you carrying an ax. My heart caught in my throat, because I was certain that he was coming to dismember you. But this was not the case. The other soldiers, the ones holding out your arms, unpeeled your fingers from your clenched fists until your palms were open and exposed. One of the soldiers held something against your right hand. The larger soldier turned the ax backwards, and I realized that the object was a nail. He used the blunt side of the ax like a hammer to drive the nail through the flesh of your palm. Even as far away as I was, I could hear the bones in your hand cracking like the neck of a chicken being broken. You howled and you jerked at your hand, trying to pry it away from the wall, but it was held fast. They did your left hand next, another nail through the open palm, another splatter of blood across the wall. Your shoulders wrenched futilely and all the veins in your neck looked as though they were about to explode.

Next the soldiers tried taking hold of your legs, but you were kicking wildly because you were in such pain. So the axman brought the sharp side of the ax head forward and swung it hard right above your knee where the ligaments meet the bone. Your thigh contracted but your shin hung useless, dangling as if connected to your body by half-cut twine. The soldiers laughed more at this, another great joke, and your hands continued to leak blood down the wall.

They grabbed you by the ankles, and it was ridiculously easy now, driving nails through your feet so that you were skewered to the wall about ten inches above the snow line. The sound of the bones breaking in your feet, so thin those bones, was so awful and the blood, there was so much blood everywhere. You looked like you were levitating, hanging from your hands; you looked like a ghost already, floating against the backdrop of the house. They wanted your weight to hang, because that would be all the more painful. They loved the way that the nails in your hands couldn’t really support you, and they loved driving new nails into your forearms so you wouldn’t fall right off the wall. The blood was draining out of your body and Brandeis lay headless on red snow, the stain now larger, now redder, and steam, steam rising. I got the crossbow from my horse, and I took a step towards the horror, wanting to run down the hill to you, and then pulled back by the umbilical cord of our unborn child, I realized there was nothing I could do. The crossbow hung in my hand, so useless at my side, my heart beating so loudly that I was certain the mercenaries would be able to hear it above the storm. There were also cries coming from me that I couldn’t control but a part of me didn’t care and a part of me even wanted to be caught, to die, because what good was my life now? But they didn’t hear me, the wind still carrying my sounds away, and they were too busy laughing, laughing in time with the dripping of your blood, and I couldn’t do anything about it without ending the life of our child.