It occurred with such swiftness that to this day I cannot recall all that came to pass, or in what order. I remember only that a war cry, a yelp of fury, went up from the ox-like creature at my side. There was a flash of a filthy reddish blade and screams and exclamations and curses. I attempted to recoil, but the crowd seemed to fold in on me. A stone was hurled and then another, which landed near my foot. I was tumbled and crushed. A knee collided with my thigh, an elbow came down upon my nose and then I felt the knife pierce my flesh in one swift motion along my arm. I cried out in agony and holy terror, certain that I was about to meet my death. I turned my eyes heavenward to find not deliverance falling from the sky, but rather a vast grey lump of stone. That was the last I saw of daylight. The rest was black.

Chapter 20

THE PAIN WAS like nothing I have ever known. It thundered forth from my head and down my arm to the very tip of my hand. I was cognizant of no sensations beyond it. It was as if my entire skull had been split wide-open like a walnut. I could not open my eyes. I could not even determine if I was possessed of eyes. There was only agony. I tried them, but some dried matter kept them sealed. I recall moaning, and then, once I had discovered my mouth, howling. That was when my lids loosened, when the blood that had stuck them fast gave way.

Four, perhaps five figures loomed over me in the haze. One I came to recognize as Monsieur Seiffert, his brow furrowed anxiously, his eyes travelling swiftly between my face and my arm and back again. I moved my gaze to where his fell. There seemed some misshapen piece of meat beside me; some lump from a butcher’s block, white and blue and leaking blood. Standing over it was a younger man in an apron streaked with scarlet, making nimble work with a needle and thread. I watched through dull, pounding eyes. How curious, thought I. How absurd to see a gentleman sew. He stuck the pointed end into the loin and then brought it out again. He sews meat, I recall thinking.

‘Monsieur Seiffert,’ he said. ‘Would you assist me in holding the wound together?’ I observed the physician place his hands on either side of this small joint and push. That was when I screamed. I screamed until the blackness came again.

I am afraid I retain no memory of the events which followed. I can say only that I remember finding Seiffert before me once more. He peered at me quizzically, his small, triangular nose and long, angled eyebrows bestowing on him the look of an owl. He widened my eyes between his two fingers and seemed to search for something within them.