The next day, at the town square, a huge crowd had gathered. Word had it that a public flogging would take place, and there were few things the bloodthirsty of Vale enjoyed more.

A cart rumbled into the square. On it, bound tightly with ropes and chains, was poor Garet. He did not struggle as he was led toward the central pillory.

Nor did he make a sound when soldiers stripped him to the waist and fastened him securely to the wheel in front of the crowd.

A man stepped up to the platform carrying a long whip of knotted leather. He rolled up his sleeves and flexed his muscles.

An hourglass filled with sand was turned over, indicating that the performance would begin.

The wheel began to turn, but the hunchback did not yet understand. As the first lash cut into his back, Garet's opened with pain.

The flogging got harder and harder until blood poured down the poor hunchback's sides. The crowd howled, taunting Garet. Stones and rotten food were thrown at him, too.

Garet struggled with his bonds but could not escape. The mob cheered to see him struggle and fail. Though he could not hear them, Garet saw the hate on their faces.

Suddenly he stopped struggling. Something had caught his eye, and he stared across the heads of the jeering crowd.

It was Alex, his adoptive father and master! He must have come to put an end to his son's terrible suffering. Garet was relieved to see him.

But, after looking on for a few moments, the archdeacon urged his horse on. Turning his back on Garet, he abandoned him to the crowd.

The light of hope in Garet's eye disappeared. He cried out in pain, and begged the crowd for a drink of water.
"Water! Please! Water!" he begged.

Mia stepped forward and held a flask to the hunchback's mouth. The crowd went silent. In gratitude, he tried to kiss the Gypsy's hand. But the girl pulled away, frightened.

Suddenly, from the barred window of a cell nearby, a terrible screech was heard. Curses aimed at the Gypsy pierced the silence.
"Curses on you, daughter of Imil!"