The greyish arm of a child dangles from one side of the cart. It swings back and forth in an oddly lifeless rhythm as the wheels clatter across the cobbles of the village square. All through the village this wain of the dead is dragged. On the heels of typhoid fever, dysentery, syphilis and plague, the cart rumbles along from house to house, carrying with it a powerful stench of death.
It’s almost as if the entire parish is gasping for breath as the bodies pile up.
And while wars, disease and cold ravage family after family, a creeping suspicion is taking hold: Why is it that so many people are struck down so untimely? All this death can’t be natural. Even the king has said that the country is under attack – that evil forces are hollowing out good Christian people from within.
Another stop, and yet another pale body is piled onto the cart, which groans and sighs under the mounting weight.