Moments later a group of clerics appeared led by Bishop Lothar. In his right hand he brandished a golden staff, and in his left, he held up an ornate silver crucifix. He was wearing a ciclatoun robe of red silk, covered by a tunic of Bukharan cotton, his head crowned with a linen infula of dubious taste. The rest of the clergymen wore woolen paenulae, all of them covered with the priestly alb. The bishop took the second seat at the table where a man in black already sat. Upon the bishop’s arrival, the man stood to kiss his ring. An acolyte served them wine, and then a city magistrate took the third seat.
The square erupted into a roar when the oxen transporting The Swine were driven into the arena toward the hole in the ground. As soon as they stopped, the executioner grabbed the condemned man and threw him headlong onto the ground. A cheer went up and objects rained down upon the wagon, forcing the executioner and driver to take refuge under the cart. When the crowds had calmed down, the executioner dragged the prisoner to a stake near the pit, tied him to it, and put a rope around his neck. Then he checked that the knots were tight and gave a signal to the rider who was also dressed in black. The rider nodded and looked at the pathetic sight of the captive with evident pleasure.
Alcuin was the last person to arrive at the arena. Crossing the square and elbowing his way through the crowd, he jumped over the fence, threatening to excommunicate the guard who tried to stop him. As he approached the dignitaries, he realized that the man in black was the mill owner Kohl, father of the murdered young woman. His wife, accompanied by some other women, was there, too, but she was farther back in a more discreet location, her grief evident from the dark rings around her eyes. He thought to himself that, for this family, not even the execution of the perpetrator would bring relief.
As Alcuin contemplated how to deposit the powdered drug into Lothar’s wine, the drums sounded, and he tried to stand behind them—close, but out of the way. The three men stood up, and Bishop Lothar spoke. “In the name of Charlemagne—the wisest and noblest king of the Franks; ruler of Aquitania, Austrasia, and Lombardy; patrician of the Romans and conqueror of Saxony—we declare that Fredegarius, better known as The Swine, a man without light and an envoy and disciple of Lucifer, has been found guilty of an abominable murder and other dreadful crimes. I, Lothar of Reims, Bishop of Fulda, lord of these lands, and representative of the king, his power and his justice, order under God’s law that the accused be punished with the greatest of torments, and that his remains be spread about the city’s fields as a lesson to those who dare offend God and His Christian creatures.”
The crowds screamed with fury. At Lothar’s signal, the executioner untied the condemned man and, after tying his hands behind his back, ushered him with blows to the edge of the pit.
The Swine seemed dazed, as if uncomprehending of what was about to happen. When he could see the ditch he was destined for, he attempted to free himself, but the executioner cast him to the ground and kicked him in the head. By then, The Swine was little more than a mass of trembling flesh. The multitude pressed against the fence squealed like a great herd of pigs.
Two boys armed with stones evaded the guards while finding their way into the arena, though they were soon caught. When the crowds had calmed down again, the executioner lifted The Swine to his feet. Lothar stepped forward, made the sign of the cross with a gesture of contempt, and ordered the executioner to begin the torment.
The crazed onlookers screamed their approval. It seemed that at any moment they would knock down the fence and lynch the prisoner.
Alcuin took advantage of the commotion to open his ring and tip the drug into the bishop’s tankard of wine. Nobody saw it, but Lothar turned to see him with his hand still gripping the handle. With no time to react, Alcuin raised it and offered it to him in a toast. “To justice!” he cried, handing him his own tankard and picking up another.
Lothar was a little surprised, but finally he took it and downed its contents in one gulp. “To justice,” he repeated raising his empty cup.
The executioner grabbed hold of the prisoner and with a violent blow cast him into the bottom of the pit. The clamor became deafening. The Swine stood up, drooling, with a lost look in his tear-filled eyes. The crowds pumped their fists in the air and called for blood. At that moment, two more men approached the pit bearing large wooden spades, making the crowd delirious with excitement. They positioned themselves beside a heap of sand and without saying a word they started shoveling it onto the captive. The Swine tried to turn around to escape from the pit, but the men prevented him with blows. One of them pressed into his back with the end of his spade, immobilizing him, while the others continued to bury him alive. As if in a fit of ecstasy, the crowd egged them on with curses and oaths. The Swine attempted to wriggle away from the spade that held him down. But the weight of the earth now upon him prevented him from moving his legs, and all he could do was thrash about like a trapped rabbit.
Soon the earth was piling onto his head. He spat and started to writhe out of pure desperation, his eyes all but coming out of their sockets. Spitting again and again, the sand continued to rain down on him until, gradually, he was completely covered.
For a moment the square fell silent, but suddenly the sand moved and the prisoner’s head reappeared, spewing out soil. The Swine breathed in as though it would be his last mouthful of air, and the crowd cried out in astonishment.
The bishop stood up and gestured to Kohl, but he didn’t notice. Alcuin knew that the drug was starting to take effect.
Lothar sensed his vision clouding. His legs weakened and a dry heat pricked at his throat. He tried in vain to grab hold of Kohl. He attempted to speak but was unable, and he barely had time to cross himself before he fell flat on his face, taking the chair and table with him.
Silence descended upon the crowd. Even the executioner turned his head, forgetting about The Swine for a moment.
Seeing the executioner distracted, Kohl intervened. “Finish him off, damned fool.”
The executioner didn’t move. Then Kohl leapt down toward the pit and snatched the spade from him.
He was about to deal the final blow when Alcuin appeared between him and the prisoner. “You dare to disobey a sign from the heavens? God wishes to prolong this criminal’s suffering,” cried Alcuin as loudly as he could. Then he walked over to the fallen bishop and pretended to examine him. “When Lothar recovers, we will enjoy another execution!” he added.
The crowd roared again.
“You?” exclaimed Kohl. “You’re the monk who came to the mill just the other day!”
“The murderer will pay for his crime, but the law, the executive authority, must justify the punishment,” he put forth.
Kohl tried to strike The Swine again, but Alcuin stopped him.
“This is not God’s will,” he repeated, holding the spade firmly.
The masses bellowed excitedly.
Finally, Kohl spat on the prisoner, took his wife by the arm, and departed, escorted by his entourage. The chapter’s council followed him, still bewildered by what had happened to Lothar. But Alcuin reassured them that the bishop’s condition was not serious and he would soon recover.