There's a big to-do in the square this afternoon. A crowd has gathered despite the constant drizzle, barkers selling concessions on the edges and everyone wearing their finest winter clothing, here to see and be seen at the execution.
It's a good ten minutes after the courthouse bells have run before the wagon, pulled by a black draft horse, trundles through the parting mass and approaches the central platform. There are three filthy prisoners inside, two men and a woman, each of whom is manhandled in turn as they're brought to the gallows, a noose tugged over their head and brought to rest loosely around their neck.

A list of offenses is read, but it's difficult to catch the speaker's voice from the edge of the crowd. Something about sedition, conspiracy, high crimes. The prisoners stand still and grim, hands tied in front of them, ready to meet their end before they'll beg for mercy. Then, something catches the woman's attention.
Her head twitches to one side like a bird's, and her eyes, by chance, land on Pippa and widen in shock. The woman's hair has been chopped short from the neat bun she used to wear, but even in her prisoners' rags, she is unmistakably familiar.