by Mary Yarde
“Oh for goodness sake,” Philippe sneered. “You,” he pointed to a soldier. “Lord Bretagne cannot control his wife. Perhaps she needs to learn discipline in the barracks.”
“Sire,” the soldier grinned, his eyes sparkling. Oh yes, they could show her discipline and a whole lot more besides. He marched forward, grabbed her arm and dragged her kicking and screaming towards the barracks.
Merton had heard the exchange, and he fought once again to be free. What Philippe had planned for him was nothing compared to what he had just condemned Amandine to endure.
One of the soldiers began to kick him repeatedly. He felt a couple of his ribs crack, under the onslaught, and breathing became difficult, but he continued to give it all he had. He had to save her.
“Turn him over,” Bastian ordered, the mallet in his hands.
“This is how you repay his generosity?” Budic yelled with contempt at Bastian. He had no love for Merton, but this was barbaric. “You talked, mere moments ago of the Knight’s Code, and how sacred it is. Merton honoured that code. He spared you just now. He showed you mercy. And yet, here you are happy to break every oath you have ever taken. My father did not believe in torture-”
“Your father,” Philippe turned in outrage and looked across the courtyard at Budic, “was a lowly squire whose neck was stretched at the gatehouse at Liddington Castle. Your father was a nothing. He was a nobody.”
“My father was a Knight of Camelot and Arthur murdered him. His death caused the war between the du Lacs and the Pendragons. And as for my mother, she was the niece of King Ban. She was a du Lac and later the wife of Lancelot. I know who I am,” Budic stated. “I know where I come from. Can you say the same? Your mother let any old dog stick it in her. I doubt you even have du Lac blood in your veins.”
Those gathered looked at each other in shock and then began to whisper frantically to each other as they digested this new delicious piece of intrigue.
Philippe snorted in amusement. “Start with his sword arm,” Philippe said, looking at Budic as he spoke. “And once we have finished with him, I promise you, you are next.” He smiled at Budic menacingly.
Bastian swung the mallet over his shoulder, wincing in pain as he did so, for the wounds Merton had inflicted upon his body needed a healer, but that would have to wait. He took a deep breath and steeled himself for the unpleasant task ahead of him.
“Have the courage to look at me while you do this so you know whom you are doing it to,” Merton said, as Bastian’s shadow fell over him. “Look at me, Bastian.”
Bastian’s gaze flickered to Merton’s only briefly. “I know who I am doing it too. Turn him onto his front.”
“Coward,” Merton yelled. “If you can’t look someone in the face while you torture them, then you are the wrong bastard for the job.” Merton began to struggle again. He wasn’t going to give his arm up easily. He managed to free one arm, but there were more hands now, holding him down. Merton’s struggles increased as they tried to turn him onto his front. It took three big men, sat on him to restrain him, even then, he was not going to give them his sword arm without a fight, his nails dug into the earth, determined not to let them straighten his arm, but he was just prolonging the inevitable.
“Hold him still.”
Merton struggled to the last. He heard the whoosh as the mallet fell through the air and then everything seemed to slow down. He heard Budic scream his name, but it sounded dulled as if he was screaming through water. He made himself think of Amandine, of how he had brushed her hair and how he had held her close. He wished now that he had kissed her. He had been naive to dream of perfection. There was no perfection in this world. He should have taken what he wanted, what they both had wanted, when he had the chance and now…now it was too late. The mallet hit him, and he heard his bones crush. Budic’s voice was frantic, louder, clearer, but for a moment it was as if his soul was separated from his body, he could see everything, yet feel nothing. It was like being in a dream. There was nothing substantial in it. It was too awful to be real.
Then the pain hit.
The mallet was raised and brought down again. He willed himself not to scream and not to pass out. He did both.
“They say three is lucky, shall we do it again just to be sure?” Philippe asked, bringing chuckles from a few of the soldiers who held Merton down. Bastian, who held the blood-stained mallet in his hands, said nothing and he certainly did not laugh.
“I don’t think he is going to fight any more lads,” Bastian said, looking down at the damage he had caused. There was blood everywhere and as they turned Merton’s unconscious body over they saw where the broken bone had pierced his skin.
“I think we have well and truly broken the devil,” Philippe laughed at his own joke, although no one else did, for never had anyone witnessed such butchery in the grounds of Benwick Castle before.
The soldiers pushed themselves onto their feet, examining their torn clothes and one touched his eye gingerly where Merton had caught him with a fist. Another soldier kicked Merton hard in the side. Merton did not respond. It was like kicking a corpse.
“Someone find me a whip,” Philippe commanded, his eyes alight with an evil glint. “I think there is still a bit of the devil in him.”
“It will hardly be much of a punishment if he is not awake to feel it,” Bastian pointed out as Philippe was passed a whip made of plaited leather.
“Wake him up then,” Philippe stated, shaking the whip free from its coil. It was thick, and it would cut deep. He smiled at the thought.
“Put him back on his front,” Bastian said, seeing that Philippe would not be dissuaded.
“No. Leave him as he is. It will be more painful that way,” Philippe said, looking at Merton. There was a pool of dark blood under Merton’s arm, which mingled with the whiteness of the bone.
One of the soldiers bent over Merton and slapped him across the face, once, twice. Merton opened his eyes, but he couldn’t see anything clearly, everything was blurred. The pain was blinding him.
“Welcome back to Hell,” the soldier smirked and then he grabbed hold of Merton’s tunic and tore the fabric, exposing his chest for the whip.
Merton turned his head slowly to the right and looked at the feet of those spectators who were lucky enough to be at the front. “Water,” Merton gasped the word. “Water…water…” He felt his head being lifted and a horn put to his mouth. The water was cold and refreshing, and he drunk deeply.
“Thank you,” Merton sighed as his head was lowered back down to the ground.
The courtier who had come to Merton’s aid bent over him. “I killed your father,” the man whispered, “poisoned him and his whore. And now you are going to join him in Hell.”
Merton forced his eyes to open, and he stared into the face of Mordred Pendragon. Blind hatred gathered his thoughts and for a moment he could think clearly. “At least my father wasn’t so deprived that he bed his own sister to beget his heir,” Merton gasped, “unlike yours.”
Mordred chuckled and rose to his feet. “Sire,” he bowed to Philippe. “I believe he is ready for his purification.”
Philippe tilted his head in acknowledgement and then he took a moment to relish the warmth of the sun on his skin. He looked up at the bright blue sky. It had stopped raining, and there was not one cloud to be seen. “So much for Satan looking after his own,” he mused. Grinning he swung the length of the whip behind him.
Bastian limped away from his King, and he put his hand to his side, trying to quench the blood from the shallow wound Merton had inflicted upon him by his ribs, which had not been helped by having to lift that bloody mallet. He barked an order for Alden and Budic to be taken back to the cells. Alden was still unconscious, and blood was oozing out of a gash in his head as they dragged him away from the wall.
Bastian watched as the prisoners were taken below and then he heard the crack of the whip through the air and the sickening thud it made as it hit Merton’s body. And he knew that he
had to stop this somehow. Bastian saw the young monk, Sampson, beckon him over. Bastian quickly looked about him and then followed the monk out of the courtyard.
40
“MERTON. MERTON.” Amandine continued to scream his name, between frightening gasps for breath, as she was dragged across the ground, leaving a trail of blood behind her.
“Who have we got here?” A soldier asked as her captor let go of her arm, and she fell to the floor at the feet of a group of men.
“Dinner,” the soldier replied. “Who wants a taste first?”
“What do you think you are doing?” Josephine’s voice rang out loud and with authority, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing
Josephine had managed to escape the confines of the castle. For once, she was glad that her maid was so attractive to the opposite sex. Carolyn was more than happy to distract the young, fine-looking guards that had been placed by her door, so her mistress could slip out, unnoticed. Josephine was desperate to find out what was going on. She couldn’t believe Philippe had confined her to her chamber. She had headed first to the Great Hall, but it was empty all apart from a body that was hanging from the rafters. No doubt Philippe had his reasons for such a strange deed, and as she didn’t recognise the hanging man, she did not waste her time paying him any consideration. No doubt he deserved to die. She heard the commotion outside so she had followed the noise and this was what she had found. Amandine was her friend. There was no way she was going to stand for this.
“My Lady?” The soldiers all bowed hastily in respect. “Please,” the soldier who had dragged Amandine to the barracks stepped forward. “This is Soldiers business. I suggest you go back and watch the entertainment.”
“Josephine?” Amandine said weakly from the floor. “He is going to kill…” she gasped for breath, “…Merton. You have to stop him.”
“Shut up, you bitch,” the soldier yelled and aimed a kick at her, but she flinched as a dog would to an abusive master. The soldier laughed at her actions and then kicked her anyway.
“I told you to stop it,” Josephine said desperately, grabbing the soldier by the arm and turning him to face her.
“Our good King Philippe has given her to the men to do with as we see fit.”
“Then we will do our utmost to look after her.” A well-dressed officer said as he walked towards them. “We do not rape, and we do not make war on the defenceless. We are the army of Brittany. We show the world by example. It seems in this madness we have lost our way. This is not who we are. This is not what we do.”
“I am under the authority of the King,” the soldier said, spitting on the floor in disgust. “And he told me to share her with the men. Mind your own business, Alan, and keep your sermons to yourself.”
Josephine gasped in horror. Philippe would never have said such a thing. He was gentle and kind and…
“That is no way to speak to your commanding officer,” Alan said, his voice hard. “Bastian answers to the King. I answer to Bastian. And you answer to me. Now I don’t care what the King said to you in the heat of the moment, but I am telling you, if you touch her again, you will feel my wrath. Now get out of my sight, the lot of you, before I have you flogged for sedition.”
The soldier backed down with reluctance, and he cursed as he and his companions walked away.
“Merton,” Amandine had risen to her hands and knees, and she began to drag herself towards the courtyard. She had to get back to him. If he were to die, then she wanted to die by his side.
“Where do you think you are going?” Alan said as he bent over and restrained Amandine, gently in his arms. “You can’t go back out there. It isn’t safe for you.”
“Merton,” Amandine’s voice was becoming weaker, she was still struggling to breathe after Philippe, and then the soldier’s, well-placed kick. “Let me go,” she wheezed, “I beg you. Let me…” Amandine’s body went slack as she fainted away from lack of breath, and the officer laid her gently on the ground.
“Would you please explain to me what is going on?” Josephine asked, her voice trembling with fear and rage.
Alan unbuckled his cloak and laid it over Amandine’s body. “Merton is being purged of the devil,” he stated, glancing up at Josephine briefly, with a look on his face that showed his disgust. “She needs a healer. I just pray the beating she has endured has not damaged her lungs. If you will excuse me, my Lady.” Alan bent and picked Amandine up, cradling her tenderly in his arms.
Josephine turned her head towards the courtyard and heard the whip as it sliced the air. “Like hell he is,” she cursed and ran towards the crowd.
Josephine pushed her way through the crowd, using her elbows to make her presence known to those who would not move out of the way. A few of the men cursed her, and one tried to restrain her, telling her that it would be better if she wasn’t here, but she smacked him hard across the face, he swore and let her go. The whip sliced the air again and for a moment she felt paralysed. But Merton’s moan of agony as the whip connected to his flesh spurred her onwards.
She managed to push her way to the front, and if she had been of a gentler constitution, she would have fainted away at the sight that met her. Merton lay on the ground, and there was blood everywhere. His head was to the side, and his eyes were open. For a moment, he looked at her, although there was no recognition in his face, and then the whip came down again, opening up a wound across his cheek.
“How does it feel to be purified?” Philippe taunted as he swung the whip behind him.
Merton didn’t reply, but he opened his eyes and gazed once again at Josephine.
“Hundred more should do it, Sire. And then we should burn him. It is the only way to cleanse his soul,” Mordred stated, barely concealing his excitement at the thought.
“I was about to suggest the very same thing,” Philippe said with a grin, and he raised the whip bringing it down again. “One,” he shouted triumphantly as the whip opened another wound on Merton’s chest. “Two.” Philippe raised the whip again.
“NO,” Josephine screamed. She rushed towards Merton and threw herself over him, protecting his battered body with hers. The whip caught her back, and she screamed.
“Amandine…” Merton whispered as he wrapped his one good arm around her. “…I love you…Amandine.”
Josephine’s eyes filled with tears as she raised her head to look at Merton, and it wasn’t just because of the pain in her back from the whip, or from what she had just witnessed, but by Merton’s words. He had never said her name the way he said Amandine’s now. He had never told her that he loved her and yet she had born him a daughter.
“Josephine?” Her name broke on Philippe’s lips as he staggered like a drunk towards her. He thanked God that her clothes had lessened the impact of the whip. “By God, my darling, you are supposed to be in your room. I didn’t want you to see this.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her off Merton’s body. There was blood all over the front of her dress from Merton’s wounds, and her face was as white as the sea foam that sometimes accompanies the waves to the shore.
“Amandine, Amandine,” Merton continued to mutter his lover’s name.
“What did you think you were doing?” Philippe asked, his face showing his disgust at the sight of her bloodied dress, even though there was blood on his clothes too, and on his face.
“I’m saving you,” she muttered as the tears spilt from her eyes. “This isn’t you, my love. This isn’t who you are.”
“Let me get you inside,” Philippe said, kissing her forehead softly, the frenzied light fading from his eyes. “Take him to the dungeons,” he ordered the nearest soldier.
“Sire,” Mordred stepped forward. “I must protest. If you are to save his soul, then you must complete the purification.”
“My loyal supporters, I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink,” Philippe said, pretending that he had not heard Mordred speak. His words were met with a few nervous chuckles.
Josephine breathed out u
nsteadily, but at least now Philippe sounded like the Philippe that she knew.
“You will regret this,” Mordred persisted. “We had a deal.”
“Go inside my dear,” Philippe said in the gentlest of tones to Josephine. “I will follow shortly.” When Josephine had left his side and stepped into the castle, Philippe turned his full attention to Mordred. “I am a man of my word and the du Lac brothers will die. Come, my Lord, let us retire to the Hall, quench our thirst and then we will continue with the days proceedings. By this day’s end my people will understand what I do to those I hate. Their obedience will be assured because of what they will witness. But first, let us eat and drink. They are not going anywhere, and besides, I always believed that the worst part of the torture was the waiting for it. Let them wait.”
Mordred nodded his acceptance, although he stayed and watched as Merton was dragged towards the dungeons. Mordred’s gaze became fixated on the pool of blood that Merton had left behind on the pitched paving. And for a moment he allowed himself to savour the sweetness of revenge.
41
“Stop fussing. I’m all right,” Josephine stated, blinking back tears. There was blood on her hands and all down the front of her dress. Merton’s blood. She had thrown herself in the path of a whip destined for his body and yet, he had not even known it was her. Instead, he thought her Amandine. She didn’t understand. She knew he and Amandine were friends. They always had been, but there was never any indication that Merton was in love with her. It must have been because of the pain Merton had been in. He had not known what he was saying.
Carolyn poured some water into a basin and handed her mistress a cloth to wash the blood from her hands.
“Would you please leave me alone,” Josephine said as she turned her back towards Philippe and dipped her hands in the bowl. Ever since she had entered the castle, Philippe had been fussing over her like a new mother hen, and he was beginning to grate on her nerves.