by Dan Davis
“What then of the parts?”
“They were used as the offering in the proper ritual. No demon was forthcoming in this instance, however.”
“What happened to the parts and the blood after the failed ritual?”
He cleared his throat. “The parts were burned in the grate.”
The Inquisitors paused for a few moments of whispered conversations between them before taking their positions once more. All but one servant who moved to the rack and began turning the crank at the head of it which began tightening the ropes.
“My lords,” Prelati said, his voice quivering. “Sirs, brothers. I have freely answered every question that you have put to me.”
“Oh, you have indeed,” the Inquisitor said, smiling pleasantly. “And now we shall ask every question once more but this time we shall elicit the answers from your flesh as well as from your tongue.” He nodded at the servant who rotated the crank. The machine turned and Prelati gasped and groaned as the ropes pulled at him. “Now, tell me how you came into the household of the Baron de Rais.”
For a time, I revelled in Prelati’s agony but his answers remained remarkably consistent, as far as I could tell. But the Inquisition would ask and ask again, searching for inconsistencies that they could then tug at like loose threads.
When they resolved to further check the truth by pouring water from a funnel into his mouth until he almost drowned, over and over again between each question, I stood and let myself out, unable to listen any longer to the depravities and the crimes and the weeping of the tormented.
“He lies so easily,” I said to Stephen during the recess for lunch in our inn across from the cathedral. “Even with all the pain, he excludes the blood drinking without cracks appearing in his tale. He tells just enough truth to appear to be telling all but not so much that he might yet hope to avoid a sentence of death. Sneaky bloody bastard.”
“You called him a charlatan,” Stephen pointed out, gesturing with his cup of wine. “And such men make their way through expertise in deception. Besides, it suits our purposes that no tales of blood emerge in the trial.” He lowered his voice and leaned across the table. “Already I have undertaken to alter statements and omit evidence. If any of them speak of blood drinking and we cannot cover it up, well…”
“Yes, yes,” I said. “Even if they speak of it publicly, none shall think it truth, of course. It will be just one more vile part in the madness, rather than the cause of it all.”
“Is it the cause of it all? The blood? Do you believe that, Richard?”
“I do not know. Perhaps it is. What else could it be? These acts are not natural. They are the furthest thing from nature as can be. Which seems rather similar to us, does it not?”
“Far from nature?” Stephen asked, sighing. “I suppose it is so. And yet we others have not succumbed to depravity and evil. Not even Walt. Something else caused Milord de Rais to take this path. He was evil already, in his heart, and it was only the wealth he accumulated that allowed him the means to enact it in the world.”
“He made pacts with Satan. With demons. Prelati said so. I saw the rituals with my own eyes.”
Stephen crossed himself. “I will not believe anything that Prelati creature says. Even when racked, or given the water questions. But I agree that the Marshal’s actions are evil. They are Satanic. But were these acts done with Satan’s hand? Or a man’s?”
I gulped down the rest of my wine. “I do not know where the strength of our blood comes from. My grandfather claims his mother lay with a god. The sky god, he called him. What if, in his pagan babblings, he and his barbarian mother confused this god with Satan himself? Walking the earth, mating with a human woman?”
Stephen crossed himself again. “That cannot be, sir.”
“Why?”
“Because…” He sighed in frustration. “Because you are not evil. Nor am I. Nor Eva. Do you consider Eva to be evil?”
“She is no saint,” I said. “You have not seen all the things she has done in her time.”
“But is she evil?”
“No,” I admitted.
“That is right,” Stephen said. “And even if William is, and Priskos and his sons are, the ultimate origin of this power cannot be from the loins of Satan. For nothing so evil could become good.”
“What makes you think we are good? We drink blood. Human blood. If you had to decide if such a thing was either good or evil, which would you choose?”
“Why must it be one or the other, Richard?”
“You know why. You yourself told me what it means to be orthodox or heretical. A thing is either natural, and so from God, or unnatural and so is evil. I ask you, how can drinking human blood be natural?”
“We do good, Richard. Good deeds, good acts. You saved the lives of children who would certainly have died otherwise. We put a stop to all this. Yes, we were late, but if not for us taking action, how much longer would this have gone on for? What would the world be like if we had not with our actions stopped such evil as we have found? Come now, we must return for the deposition of the priest Blanchet.”
I scoffed. “That lying sack of horse dung. When I first found him, he had the balls to beg ignorance. Swore to my face he knew nothing. We shall see what he has to say with the rack threatening. I would not be surprised if he was a damned revenant this entire time. How can we catch him out?”
“I do not see how we can, not during the questioning. You are certain Prelati is human?”
I shrugged. “He begged to be turned into an immortal. It appeared genuine. And if he was deceiving me then and is doing so now, well, what does it matter if he ultimately burns either way? For surely he has condemned himself with his own words.”
“I pray it is so. Summoning demons with children’s body parts…” He closed his eyes and slowly shook his head at the wonder of it. “Humans do not need your family’s blood to do evil, Richard.”
I nodded. “True enough. Very well, then. Let us hear from this Blanchet, shall we?”
***
The monkish priest, Dominus Eustache Blanchet, was a different man entirely to Prelati. He was brought in, hunched over and close to weeping, with all the appearance of being a broken man. He said please and thank you to the Inquisitors as they made him ready for the Question. He was strapped into place upon the rack, as Prelati had been, but Blanchet shook in his bonds even before the machine was tightened.
“I came from Mountauban in the parish of Saint-Eloi, in the diocese of Saint-Malo, originally. I was born about forty years ago, to the best of my belief. After my years in orders, I came into the service of the Baron. About five years ago, I would say.”
The Inquisitor looked down his list of questions. “A previous witness, Francois Prelati, claims that it was you who fetched him from Florence. Is that the case?”
“It is.”
“And did you know when you set out that he was a demon summoner?”
Blanchet licked his lips. “And an alchemist, yes. Summoning of demons is not forbidden by the Church.”
The Inquisitor paused to look up from his notes. “It is if done in a heretical manner, brother.”
He swallowed and then swallowed again. “Of course. Which is why I ensured Prelati was properly educated in the matter, as well as in alchemy. He came well recommended by Nicolas de Medici and on discussion with Prelati, I concluded that he had the necessary skills to conduct the processes my lord wished to undertake.”
“And which processes were these?”
“Why, to create gold.”
“And?” The Inquisitor looked up and waited.
“All was to create gold, sir,” he licked his lips. “That was the purpose of everything, to the best of my belief. Prelati had knowledge of the Philosopher’s Stone and other special substances necessary for such works.”
“Did the summoning of demons not disturb you, brother? Did the notion not alert you to the danger of heresy?”
“Oh no, sir. That is, I am eve
r vigilant where heresy is concerned, my lord. Only, I knew that Francis, I mean that is to say Prelati, was a qualified cleric and the demons were only to be summoned for the purposes of the transmutation from base matter into gold. And they would never enter any agreement with Satan in order to complete the summoning and so it was only sorcery and not witchcraft. It would be entirely orthodox, you see, sir, and the demon would be employed only for transmutation. Not for any other purposes. I would never commit heresy. Never.”
The words were scratched into the records and the Inquisitor looked up at Blanchet. “And how would the demons help? What would they do? Please explain it precisely.”
Blanchet swallowed. “I am afraid that is outside the realms of my expertise, brother.”
The Inquisitor inclined his head. “Ah, is that a fact? So you, in fact, were not completely confident that the activities would not be heretical?”
Blanchet frowned, unable to see where he had erred. “I had every confidence in Prelati’s expertise. He came highly recommended. Highly recommended.”
“Hmmm,” the Inquisitor said as the priests words were considered. “And you later took part in these ceremonies to summon demons?”
“Oh, no, sir.”
“We have sworn testimony that you were in attendance. Where there is disagreement in testimonies then all parties must be put to the Question.” The Inquisitor nodded at the servant who moved to the mechanism of the rack.
Blanchet shook and spoke quickly. “That is, I should have been clear, sir, I should have been clear when I spoke that I was in fact in attendance at one or two of these conjurations but when events turned somewhat heretical, or rather they had a potentially heretical nature, I naturally removed myself from the hall and from the tower immediately and did not return.”
For a moment, the only sounds were the scratching of pens on parchment and the shaking, laboured breathing of Dominus Eustache Blanchet. I fancied I could almost hear the sweat running down his face. Was he simply nervous, I wondered, or was he in shaking need of human blood?
“During these conjurations, before you removed yourself of course, did you hear Gilles de Rais call upon Satan?”
The Inquisitor waited.
Blanchet gulped and glanced across the room at me before looking down before speaking in a quiet voice. “Yes.”
“What did he say, precisely?”
“It was not when I was in attendance, but I happened to overhear them speak. Prelati and my lord, I should say Milord de Rais. They entered into Prelati’s tower together and I fear I followed them at a distance.”
“Why did you do such a thing?”
Blanchet’s words tumbled from his dry lips. “By this time, I was growing suspicious. Because, you see, I had seen Prelati making his grant experiments at alchemy only the one time when he first arrived. Ever since then it had been all secrets and conjuring and smoke in the night. And so I followed. I heard Prelati call out the words and my lord repeat them.”
“What words were these?” The Inquisitor looked up. “Precisely.”
Blanchet sobbed momentarily but when the servant reached for the mechanism, he forced the words out. “Come, Satan. And then they said it again, more forcefully. Come, they said. And finally, they said come, Satan, come to our aid.”
The Inquisitor was silent for so long that Blanchet lifted his head as far as he was able in order to see what was happening.
“Did you confront them?” the Inquisitor asked.
Blanchet dropped his head back on the rack. “I did not.”
“Did you go to the Bishop with this knowledge?”
“I intended to. I got as far as Mortagne, at an inn. But I was afraid, God forgive me. I was afraid if I spoke of what my lord had done then he would kill me. As soon as I left, he sent men to bring me back.”
“Oh? The innkeeper, Bouchard-Menard, has sworn in a statement that you stayed with him for seven weeks. Is that not the case?”
“Seven weeks, was it? Yes, that is right. My lord sent Poitou to threaten me. I resisted. Afraid to return and face murder but afraid to go on to Poitiers or elsewhere to swear to what I had told. And they sent Henriet. His threats were terrible. My lord wrote me letters, begging me to return. His words were honey but I knew his intent was poison. I failed in my duty to the Church, to my Bishop and to God, I know that. It was fear. I have sinned and for that I seek forgiveness.”
“And yet you returned to the Baron’s service. Why?”
Blanchet sobbed once more. “They brought me back. In the night. With a sack over my head. Threw me in the back of a wagon, all trussed up, and they swore they were going to hang me that very night. I begged them not to. Whether they meant only to frighten me or if they had a change of heart, I do not know, but they brought me back to Tiffauges and I knew from then on that I was a prisoner. To leave would have been my death.”
“Why were you so certain? Were you told this?”
“It was implied.” He gasped. “I knew.”
“Because your knowledge of the summoning might have led to excommunication for the Baron? Was that all you knew? All you wished to tell?”
Blanchet banged the back of his head on the rack, his face screwed tight. “I knew also of murders. Murders of children. Oh God. Please forgive me.”
“You witnessed murders?”
“No, thank God. But I heard. Over time, I heard from Poitou and from Henriet. At first, they hid it all from me and then over time, over the months and the years, they would tell me things openly. They delighted in my misery and terror at hearing such things spoken. I believed them to be malicious fabrications meant only to terrorise me but slowly I realised it was truth.”
“They confessed to murders? What murders did they confess to, brother?”
“I asked where Francis’ page had gone. That is, Prelati’s page. He brushed me off. But other pages had disappeared also, the nephew of one of the soldiers, and the son of a pastry chef employed at the castle. All around fifteen years old. All quite close together. It was Poitou who turned on me one night, quite drunk, and said that he had killed them all. He and Henriet and my lord Gilles de Rais. They had, forgive me, they had buggered them and murdered them. I was shocked, brothers, shocked, I swear it. Poitou is such a grubby creature, I gave it little enough credence. But then I noticed a number of other rumours.”
“What rumours were these?”
“One was that several old women detained in the prisons of my lord the Duke of Brittany, in Nantes, whose names I do not know, led children to Machecoul and Tiffauges, and delivered them to Henriet and Poitou, who killed them.”
“Why would they do that?” the Inquisitor asked.
Blood, I answered in my mind.
“I do not know the reason,” Blanchet said, closing his eyes.
“You say there were several old women. Are you certain it was not a single old woman and her granddaughter?”
“You speak of course of Perrine Martin, who they call La Meffraye. She is a terror, that is true. I have seen her and her granddaughter bringing back children, little ones. When I was innocent, naive and unsuspecting, I saw nothing untoward in it. Two servants, one old and one young, going to fetch a new boy for the stable or the kitchen. Somehow, I did not notice there were never child servants in the castle. Not one. Those little children all disappeared but I thought that they were servants and so I did not notice. Not for a long time.”
“What about the choir boys?” I called out.
The Inquisitor scowled at me but turned back to Blanchet. “Tell me about these choir boys.”
Blanchet swallowed furiously before he answered. “Messire de Rais would procure the very best boys from the elite choirs of France and Italy. He paid their parents fortunes if they would send their brilliant boys to Tiffauges. To some he offered grand estates. He was obsessed with creating the greatest choir that ever existed and it seems to me that he did that very thing. But there was none to listen to the choir but us servants and once in a gr
eat while the master also.”
“Did these boys ever disappear?” the Inquisitor asked. Many of the choir boys had provided sworn statements already and so it was an opportunity perhaps to catch Blanchet in a lie.
“Some left,” Blanchet said. “But there always seemed to be good reason. When I think of it now, it seems clear that some of the prettiest ones were taken and… slain. And yet as with the servant children, I did not think much of it until later. May God forgive me, if only I had noticed there were no servant children present.”
“No children but one,” the Inquisitor said. “Madame Martin’s granddaughter.”
“Well, they need her to get the others,” Blanchet said. “They told me that she forms part of her grandmother’s bait, along with the sweet treats and sweeter promises, and so Poitou and Henriet never go near her. Just leave her and La Meffraye to their business. The girl is old enough to be wise and imposing to very small children, and of course she is common as they are. And they trust her when she tells them what her grandmother says is true. She takes their hands and leads them through the castle gates and—”
He broke off, sobbing.
It was quite a remarkable act.
“Thank you for your cooperation, brother,” the Inquisitor said, pleasantly. “And now we shall ask these questions again, this time seeking answers from your flesh as well as from your tongue.”
***
During the adjournment of the tribunal, Gilles de Rais asked for and was given permission to hear Mass. It was quite extraordinary that he was allowed such a thing but then he was still a powerful noble and had not yet been convicted of anything. Still, it made my skin crawl.
And while the ecclesiastical court was gathering evidence, the civil court met to consider the charges of murder and rebellion in a hall very near to ours. The Inquisition led the examination of the witness on behalf of both courts. And again, Gilles de Rais had declined the offer of counsel for his defence.
It reminded me that Joan of Arc had also decided to reject the offer of counsel in her trial, nine years earlier. It was an extravagant display of the arrogance that both she and Gilles shared. Perhaps it was not arrogance but ostentation. A kind of elaborate, theatrical gesture that was intended to show their contempt of the courts who deigned to try them. In the Marshal’s case, it was not so surprising an attitude from one of the most celebrated and the richest men in France. And Joan had considered herself instructed by the agents of God, which is to say that God spoke to her almost directly, choosing her as the vessel for His divine will to be enacted upon the earth. It is difficult to imagine a greater arrogance than that, whether she was lying or mad.