Black Death Page #2

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- Death is all around us, and it's no invitation.

This does not involve you monk. Step aside.

- I have done nothing, please.

Please, stand aside.

What is this woman accused of?

- She poisoned our well in a pact with the devil now...

half the village is dead.

- I offered a simple blessing over our water to keep everyone safe.

Liar.

- I did nothing wrong.

The dying began after she was seen at the well.

- You have her confession?

Plenty of us saw her cast her spell. Now she must burn,

to spare what remains of our village.

Move aside.

I will not ask you again.

Back.

Thank you.

Do not stop again.

Come on, brown slug.

As sure as the sun will rise and fall, witches will burn.

There's a village in the north, that burned 128 witches in one night.

That's sixteen an hour, for eight hours.

By the time that night was through, they'd killed every woman in the village.

By the end of that week the men were shagging pigs.

Pestilence isn't trial enough, now God has us shagging pigs.

This village we seek, you been there?

No, but I know where it lies.

Hell awaits us, or so we're told.

If you've not got the stomach for it, then leave it now. And I'll have your share of the bounty.

What is the Church believe this pestilence is come from?

I don't believe God is punishing us like many do.

I say from France, where all foul things emerge.

For once Swire, you might not be too far from the truth.

Three summers passed, we fought a battle at Crecy in Normandy,

King Edward's army was dwarfed. For every twenty of us, there were a hundred Frenchmen, at least.

The French...

Ah, the French.

They could sense victory, you could smell it.

On that day for the first time our archers used the longbow.

Quicker to load, further in flight.

Their arrows, their arrows were useless. Couldn't reach us.

And ours, ours were like a dark, buzzing cloud.

And that day's end, field was littered with their dead and their dying.

And custom how matter how fierce the battle, was to use the misericorde.

Misericorde, it's the 'mercy-giver'.

You stab straight through the armpit directly into the heart. It's quick and painless.

But on this day, there was an end to chivalry.

King Edward ordered every Frenchman

left alive to be killed without mercy.

Arms, heads, legs...

hacked away.

God's greatest army

descended into savagery.

Forgive me, but how does that conscern the pestilence?

We invited Death among us that day.

He hasn't left us since.

That woman you killed,

she was not a witch.

Why did you volanteer to join us, monk?

To serve God.

Killing witches serves God.

The woman was already dead.

If I had freed her, the mob would have caught her again and burned her.

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