The excruciating journey to the castle commenced.
The shock on their wrists jerked the prisoners forward into a trot, their breasts swinging like the papist church bells at Ales. Less agile than Joanna, Martine had to run to keep up with the gelding, the cord tightening without mercy. Even when the soles of her feet began to bleed from the flint stones in the path, she somehow managed, breathless, to keep abreast of her companion who continued to exhort her softly with a prayer. The encouragement helped, for neither lost foothold for nearly a league through the thorns.
Then Martine stumbled over the hem of her drenched and tattered skirt and fell headlong to be dragged on her side until the mounts halted. The Marquis turned in his saddle and motioned to the valet. The man dismounted, approached the weeping girl lying in the snow and slush and used his whip. The half dozen lashes had little effect apart from marking Martine's bottom, denuded of the protecting skirt that had been ripped away in the haul across the stones. The valet tore the bedraggled material off the legs and threw it into the bushes: the winded girl lay naked in the snow, bleeding from the hip.
"On yer feet, whore!" Coursel yelled, flailing the buttocks. "Runnin' nude'll help. Or d'yer want us draggin' thee th'rest of th' way?" Another stroke of the rawhide slammed across the newly bared crotch. Joanne wondered just how much the beefy creature could take of the brute's service whip - the term the Marquis had used earlier in the clearing.
Martine barely succeeded in finding her feet, convulsed with shock and pain. And the trek continued but at walking pace. Again Joanne tried to console the wretched wench with Psalm 51, to no avail. The screaming gathered in force as the girl realised she was totally nude: her courage had ebbed to its limit. It was quite evident to Joanne that the youngster was a complete stranger to the scourge. The dragoon's atrocious strokes over the munition crate and now the valet's blows were probably the first the girl had received in her life; she imagined the trauma the poor thing was suffering.
Midnight had long since passed when the grotesque procession traversed the dark drawbridge of Lassignac and the prisoners crumbled into the slush of the courtyard under the lugubrious flicker of a torch burning in an iron wall bracket amid the ivy.
The snow clouds had cleared but the moon had set; all that remained of the outside world was reduced to a sprinkle of frozen stars and the welts on the girls' backs. In the darkness a baying of bloodhounds greeted the Master of Lassignac and his trophies. As her breathing calmed, Joanne was half prepared to beg for mercy but thought better of it, as the portcullis screeched down behind the cortege. In the glimmer of the flambeau, the valet's whip still glistened with Martine's sweat. Circumstances were already bad enough.
The outline of a thin, cloaked female emerged from the keep, a second figure with a shawl drawn tight over her head following with a lantern held aloft. Having dismounted, the valet bowed while the Marquis - Joanne had by then identified the man from past hearsay at home - met the women and kissed the hand of what, again Joanne guessed, could be none other than Elodie Marguerite Helène, Marquise de Vonnange-Lassignac, about whom so many strange rumours had long circulated in hushed whispers among the peasants of that part of the Cevennes. All Joanne had gathered was that the Marquise should be avoided at all costs. Indeed, when on occasion the woman, smart in her black riding habit, rode through the hamlets with this valet of hers, the locals made themselves scarce, hurrying indoors. The second female was clearly a serving woman and ugly.
Roused from the warmth of her feather bed of Cevenol silk, her nightgown and wrap billowing in the night air like the clouds scudding above the château's turrets, Elodie made no attempt to hide her satisfaction at the sight. After welcoming home her spouse, she studied the shivering, begrimed figures on the cobbles, turning Joanne over with the toe of a golden slipper.
"But, treasure," she exclaimed in a tone of chagrin, "they've both been flogged! Surely, Francis, you could have avoided that. And this one's as thin as a hayfork just skin and bone. True I like them sleek but really..." The blue eyes flashed as they fell upon the sniffling Martine's striated carcass. "And this thing's been beaten raw! What a mess!"
"Well, that's all I could wrest from the Marshal's hold, dearest. It was by no means easy. And every female heretic has to be flogged before transport. You know that. And I could hardly obstruct justice, could I, angel? Believe me," he remonstrated gently, "they were about the best of the bunch and Villars was anxious to get the rest on their way south. I couldn't ask for a dozen or so females to be lined up and stripped for me to evaluate their bodies! Be fair, Elodie. And anyway, this one's not as skinny as you think." In his turn he jabbed a mudded boot into Joanne's belly. "She's really quite attractive for a serf. Then you've got this one to play with too." Martine yelled as the man's spurred heel grazed her thigh, leaving a thin line of rowel marks. "And she'll heal up soon enough."
"Probably," came the grudging agreement with a pout of the lovely lips, as Elodie turned to the shawled figure holding the lantern. "To work, Simone. Get them cleaned up, fitted with the leather straps and shaved in the usual way - armpits, vulva and anal divide, for me to examine them."
"And shear the heads. Madame?"
"If I wanted them bald, I'd say so, woman." her mistress snapped back. "And tomorrow get them crucified out wide by the legs for Anthea to do the piercing and ringing." A white hand halted the maid's objection. "No, Simone. I want Anthea to become proficient at piercing flesh. You'll use the holding cellar for preparing them." The night air was beginning to chill the noble limbs. She drew her silks closer around her resplendent form. "And you, Coursel, take them down below immediately. I don't want any dallying. It's late enough as it is."
The valet bowed. He was only too ready to rid himself of the blighted bodies. And, like his master, was ravenous. He began to release the ropes from the saddle. As he kicked the females to their feet, he sought directions as to bondage.
"Is it yer ladyship's wish to 'ave 'em strung up already by their's ankles?"
"No, you dolt. Once all that filthy mud and blood's been swilled off and they're shaved and manacled - the four limbs and throat, and riveted tight - chain them from the vault rings. They'll sleep well enough like that. I want them rested and attentive for the morrow. Now, shift your lazy arses and get these sluts down to the holding cellar."
"What's about supper, Madame?" the lantern bearer muttered cautiously. "Shall I have Florence prepare something?"
"Of course, wretch." Elodie had almost forgotten the four travellers had to be fed and especially her cherished Francis-Etienne who was probably famished; the valet needed soup too but the newcomers could wait. "Get that slut Florence out of her bag of hay where she's most likely being fucked to a wraith by that lout Brissac, and have her prepare a meal. You should have thought of it before, you idle bitch. That sort of sloth and lack of foresight merits twenty lashes on the trestles for you and that slut of a cook, Florence, and you know it. Move!"
Only too content to let his diligent partner take care of the preparation of the newly arrived slaves (such, they were told, was their ranking at the château), the Marquis looked forward to dining. At long last. Taking Elodie's frozen hand to escort her back to the porch and warmth, he heard Coursel seeking guidance again; he already held the two prisoners by the wrist cords, about to drag them to the cellar entrance at the far end of the yard.
"Is it Ma'me la Marquise's gracial wish," - Versailles French was not the valet's strongest point - "once these be swabbed an' fitted up wi' straps and all, I flog 'em? Like we's done wid t'other whore that come in three weeks back. I'll open up 'er arse meat."
"Thank you, Coursel, but no," his proprietress replied. "They seem to have had enough for one day. Just get them prepared." In point of fact, Elodie had planned to deliver the first whippings herself. Her husband nodded only to add: "He's had a hard evening dearest. Perhaps he could be given that lethargic
bitch, Mariette, who's wearing herself out frigging down there in the cellars. It would be a compensation for him. And if I'm not mistaken, she's due anyway for punishment, no?"
"Very well," Elodie retorted, her beautiful, dimpled smile consenting. "Yes, she needs to be taught not to use her clit." She turned to Coursel. "You may use Mariette and give her as many lashes as you want, man. She deserves a hard breast flogging."
The fellow bowed to his considerate mistress; he felt he had earned a spot of pleasure. It was to him immaterial whether it was Mariette, who had graced the Lassignac cellars for a year now, or one of the newcomers. All he needed was a docile piece of sex chattel with swaying breasts and parted thighs for ten minutes. And a good fuck.
After a bath in the copper tub before the fire, Francis-Etienne recounted the foray in some detail. Sheltering the imperious marshal had paid off, as Elodie had believed it would. "Of course," Francis pointed out later, over the truffles, trout and mushrooms, "we'll be forced to let Dom Anselme try his hand at converting our two novices, sweet. We can't do otherwise when he hears they're heretics."
Elodie had to agree. "But I'm really not so passionately interested in their souls and abjuration, Francis, as you know. It's their bodies I'm after. And if these two, like the others down below, take to the whip and sex - even," she emphasised with her silver trencher, "if they do abjure and surrender to our demanding man of God - I'm not going to let them go free. I mean, if they perform as sex slaves should. You agree, of course."
The Marquis concurred. It would be foolhardy to liberate parpaillote slave flesh that had taken time to train up, even if it agreed to attend Mass and confession. Should, however, the new girls fail to meet Elodie's standards - and his own for that matter, equally stringent - one or both could be sent to the local Convent of the Annunciation to undergo special training that was mainly carnal; and then a decision could be made whether to recuperate or dispose of them. "We'll have to discuss the matter with Dom Anselme, of course." After a pause he felt constrained to add a proviso. "Elodie, we must not forget these two are our first parpaillots and requite careful handling."
The Marquise smiled. Her determination was well known; she would bring these two sluts to heel and then decide. "If they're sexually gifted as slaves and even if our sly monk converts them, then I'm damn well going to keep them for our own pleasure and that of the guests. And, Francis our dear guests really deserve some new flesh to work on."
Although some of Elodie's friends from surrounding Catholic strongholds and wealthy mansions were not among the Marquis's preferences, they amused him, played bezique and pinochle well and on occasions rode out hunting with him; apart from naked women writhing in bondage, stag and boar were his cardinal delights and venison at table had contributed to cajoling the valiant and illustrious Marshal to accede to Elodie's entreaty. But there were other guests, younger, highly licentious and devoid of the slightest sexual restraint, who had entered into firm friendship with him; rakes, whose visits to the château Francis enjoyed, for they often came accompanied by their equally debauched wives or mistresses and handsome lackeys with strong cocks, whips and instruments. Recreation.
***
The persecution of Protestants had reached its zenith and Lassignac kept its gates fast shut in fear of a Camisard attack, despite the growing successes of the dragoons and Cadets. To avoid the galleys, the seizure of property, harassment and the enforced billeting on them of the terrible dragoons (thugs who commandeered space, food, beds and women), a growing number of 'infidels' were abjuring. The fear inspired by this military scum was sufficient to drive whole villages into the hands of the priests; conversions, if not obtained under the scourge, were accelerated by the Conversion Fund, set up by Louis - 'God's Lieutenant' - and his servile ministers, whereby converts received cash compensation for abjuring. The edict of 1681, the year of Joanne's birth, had even authorised seven-year old children to opt for conversion, leave their families and claim protection from the Church. The kingdom of France seemed to have become mad.
Joanne, Martine and their strong-willed families had so far steered their perilous way through the persecutions until that fatal night. The girls had staunchly refused the blandishments of the foul black-garbed priest who had attended their flogging, his hideous mumbling continuing up to the last lash. Immediately the man knew they were destined for the château, he despatched a message to his Dominican colleague. Thus the prisoners of Lassignac had a double burden: to contend with the pressure to convert, and to survive the conditions of slavery imposed by the noble household. For her part, the Marquise was not interested in seeking conversion and left that to her hawk-nosed monk; it made little difference to her what beliefs her naked slaves professed in her dungeons as long as they responded readily and erotically to the whip. Joanne learned this on her first day.
The Marquise de Lassignac ruled more or less supreme, standing at the centre of her little universe, dominating and controlling it. What authority her twenty-three year old lesbian lover, Anthea, wielded stemmed directly from her. Yet, in the château's strict hierarchy, Anthea occupied a key position; it was she who discussed with Elodie the detail of forthcoming guest sessions and transmitted orders downward to the domestic level for the valet and his fellow workers to prepare the chambers, paraphernalia and victims for the periodic weekend celebrations, for which Lassignac was justly, if covertly, renowned. Elodie had full confidence in her beautiful, energetic bed companion who knew very precisely what entertained each of the more exigent guests who came for enjoyment; the pillories, the crucifixes in the form of a T or an X, the granite slabs and chairs, the constructions like door frames designed for breast torture, the single and double dildoes and, above all, the whips - Anthea knew them all. Her gift of invention enhanced the sessions to a degree that surprised even Elodie and her visitors. If occasionally the Marquise had to modify the girl's proposals, it was only to safeguard her slaves' well-being. They were not expendable as had been earlier victims Anthea had dealt with, such as the unfortunate case of the young beggar wench Elodie had offered her for her twenty-first birthday. Picked up by the diligent Coursel on a sortie to Ales after curfew, when the castle was running short of female whipping flesh, the prostitute had at first been delighted to be housed in the great castle but quickly changed her mind when Anthea had her to herself in a remote slave cell. "I trust this one's strong body and breasts will amuse you, darling," Elodie had said. "She ought to suffice for the time being."
Delighted, Anthea had stripped the slut naked and ordered special manacles and chains from Brissac, the castle blacksmith. She used her punitively and sexually to such a degree that the whore weakened fast. To Anthea's annoyance, Duby - such, Elodie recalled sadly, was the exhausted trollop's name - had to be consigned to the Convent of the Annunciation for rejuvenation; there, if punishment of whores was no less awesome, at least she would survive. But she never returned to Lassignac; Anthea was upset and became moody, deprived of a slave of her own and obliged to make do with the six resident females and one male in the lower dungeon. Then, like the strolling players arriving at Elsinore to distract the melancholy Hamlet, Joanne and Martine appeared out of the wintery blue to rekindle the young lesbian's enthusiasm.
The taciturn girl drew up her plans carefully, realising she would have to watch her step with the Dominican. Changing her crinolines, silks and powdered peruke for the polished riding boots, thorax strappings and black gauntlets, she decided to go down to the holding chamber to view the two newcomers who were chained stark-naked to the wall.
Discussions with Elodie later on led to the decision to separate the pair, once they had been shaved, flesh ringed and permanently manacled. The blonde Joanne was to remain in the holding cellar for a bout of deportment training under the whip while the heavily-fleshed and less attractive Martine would join the permanent cohort below.
"But first, Anthea, my precious," Elodie insisted, aware of
her lover's impatience, "we must have them prepared - the usual seven rings firmly inserted. I don't want them tearing out at the least tug. Oh, by the way, darling, I've changed my mind. I want Simone to do the piercing, after all, but I'll leave you to supervise it. You see, Simone is an expert with the awl so I suggest she deals with this flesh rather than you. But make sure either Coursel or Brissac's present. Slaves tend to become somewhat recalcitrant and unruly when they know they're about to be skewered. We've had problems in the past so see to it the bodies are well chained beforehand."
Anthea gave Elodie a disappointed pout. Thus far she had attended and witnessed only one piercing session, that of the sallow-skinned Dalinde just a month or so ago, and the writhings and screams remained a vivid memory. Secretly, she would have loved to carry out the puncturing herself but agreed it was probably better left to the domestic who was used to it, as to castrating heifers and muzzle-ringing bulls in the castle farm.
The procedure was set for the following afternoon after the neophytes had been scrubbed clean and allowed a moment of rest, prior to the trauma of ringing. Subsequently the inspection by Elodie herself and possibly her husband, if not out hunting, would take place. If they passed scrutiny, the girls would join the contingent for use as sex slaves.
Deservedly, the household had slept soundly until late morning when Simone took up to the bedroom freshly baked bread, honey and hot chocolate (now a popular beverage being imported from the new French possessions in west Africa). The maid was not at all surprised to see that the Marquis, despite the hectic night, had already left for the hunt; her sumptuous mistress lay still asleep in the dishevelled bed, with Anthea lying naked next to her, the hands cupping Elodie's breasts - a charming portrayal of lesbian adoration. Simone drew back the rich Aubusson curtains to flood the chamber with the light of spring, the snow on the battlements beginning to melt at last. Waking leisurely and refreshed, Elodie gave orders for the kitchens, including what was to be fed to the bevy of slaves, now increased by two - they being given hot soup and suet to fortify them. Slave induction tended to be exhausting for novices unaccustomed to piercing and the whip.
The Sufferers Page 2