The plague doctors locked up the townsmen who'd survived their capture of Neuhausen in the cellar under the church. They packed all the men tight in there, stuffed so close together Giradin wondered if they'd have enough air.

But after what they did to Father Hewlett, he didn't care if they suffocated.

A plague doctor with black, plate-mail armor under his dark coat approached Giradin and what remained of his team. When he spoke, Giradin recognized the voice as Melcher Fitz, the leader of their chapter. "I'd like to offer to you five the chance to decide what to do with Neuhausen. The men of this village attacked you unprovoked, so you may do as you wish with them."

Sir Bertran raised his gloved hand. "These men didn't attack us out of desperation or want of gain. They did it because they'd all gone mad, as if the Devil himself had possessed the lot of them. They spouted heresies and declared even the Mother Church evil. I vote we behead the men, leave the women and children, and arrest the able-bodied boys."

"What? And leave all the women widows?" Shlomo chimed in. "Make orphans of the children?"

Sir Bertran's mask turned to Shlomo. "Rebellions like this cannot be tolerated! Unless these people suffer grave consequences for their actions, we will see many more towns like this rise against us."

"They BUTCHERED Father Hewlett!" Giradin bellowed. "Their dogs tore his arms out of joint! Mary... I can still hear his screams in my head! Kill them all, and make the children watch!"

"You want vengeance?" Fulk asked.

"Yes!" Giradin roared.

"I do too," said Fulk. "So will their children, if we do what you want. And that's all we need..." He rolled his eyes. "Young whelps who grow into men and hunt us down..."

Mu stepped between them. "Might I suggest, we take from each man his right hand." The Moor pointed to his own, gloved wrist. "Where I come from it's done wonders to terrify thieves without executing them."

Shlomo pointed to Mu. "I prefer his plan."

Melcher Fitz glanced between them. "Father Hewlett was your immediate superior. Have you yet decided who among you replaced him?"

Sir Bertran shook his head. "We have not, Messere."

Fitz nodded. "Very well. Then it comes down to a vote, but do decide on a leader as soon as possible." Fitz tapped his gloved fingers on his mask. "By my count, we have two votes for lopping the men's hands off, and two for beheading them. Fulk."

"Shit..." Fulk grumbled.

"Looks like the deciding vote is up to you."

"I don't care..." Fulk snarled. "Make a decision and I'll live with it." He groaned. "I always do."

Fitz pointed his finger at Fulk. "I don't think you understood me, sirrah. That was an order! The deciding vote is yours, whether you want it or not."

Fulk rolled his head back, his lenses cast up at the gray sky above. He cursed over and over, and finally said, "Chop off the hands! That seems fair enough. Fewer little brats growing up to be the vengeful hero that way."

Fitz gave a brief nod and walked away, to give orders to the other doctors.

Giradin glared his fury at Fulk.

The cobbler couldn't believe his ears when Sir Bertran said, "That was the right decision, Fulk."

"Piss off..." Fulk grunted.

"I agree with Sir Bertran," said Shlomo. "You stepped in to make a decision when no one else could. That's a trait of a true--"

Fulk's interrupted Shlomo, "IF YOU ELECT ME LEADER I'LL RIP YOUR CIRCUMCISED COCK OFF!"

Shlomo chuckled. "Now, why would I suggest our leader be a man with such a temper? Honestly? Why would I suggest the man in charge be anyone but me?"

Mu slapped Shlomo's back and laughed. "Maybe because no one actually wants to lead?"

Shlomo shrugged. "I imagine Sir Bertran, as a knight hospitaller would make the most sense? The question is, though, do you want to lead, Sir?"

Sir Bertran brought his shoulders back as if standing at attention. "I would not wish for the burden, but if you need me to serve as a decision-maker I shall."

At first, Giradin was confused. He'd always heard stories of people fighting for power. Why now were all these men rejecting power? But Giradin soon remembered what Fulk had ordered Giradin to do. Take a hostage! Such a thing to tell someone... Giradin wasn't sure he would even think to give a command so criminal. Yet, if its goal was to keep Giradin alive it had worked.

But Fulk was a murderer and was violently opposed to being made to lead.

Sir Bertran was a warrior. He had taken life in war, but he always kept his sights on the Holy Cause. If the stories Father Hewlett had regaled him with were true, Sir Bertran was a true hero.

Giradin raised his hand. "I vote for Sir Bertran as our new leader."

Shlomo nodded and raised his hand. "I second that."

Fulk shrugged. "Anyone but me."

Mu raised both hands. "Can I vote twice? Or is that cheating in 'Democracy'?" The Moor chuckled.

Shlomo patted Sir Bertran's shoulder. "Then, it's settled. Sir Bertran is in charge now. First order of business, Sir, what sort of funeral should we have for Father Hewlett?" With full enthusiasm, like a youth planning a party, Shlomo rambled on, "A wake, where we all get drunk? A somber, religious ceremony? Or is it a 'celebration of life,' where we sit around his funeral pyre and tell stories of how we remember him?"

"A somber ceremony," said Sir Bertan. He paused a moment, then shrugged and continued, "Followed by a drunken version of the 'celebration of life.' It's not what he'd say he wanted us to do... but it's what he'd want us to do."

Fulk shook his head. "So, the priest gets me to go to both mass and confession even from beyond the grave... Shit!" His voice wavered and he clenched both fists. He grumbled, "Hope you're happy up there, ya rotten bastard..."