by Dan Davis
We heard that the old woman, La Meffraye, had been captured attempting to flee, alone, toward Normandy and was then returned to Nantes. I doubted she was gifted with immortality but I intended to speak to her, also, just as soon as I had seen the torture of the servants. They were still looking for the granddaughter, but I doubt anyone was looking very hard. Children, even grown ones like the granddaughter, were subject to obeying the will of their elders and even La Meffraye was not looked upon with any real malice. There was a sense that the old woman was merely obeying her master’s commands. Personally, I would still have the evil old witch hanged, and the granddaughter with her, but if they were mortals then it was not really my business.
The evidence was gathered not only from the accused’s conspirators and accomplices but by the villagers and other victims. There were the sworn testimonies we had already taken in their scores but the Inquisitors wished to speak directly to a select few, who told their sad stories while the Inquisition scratched down their words.
I was present at the questioning of a distraught Perinne Rondeau of Machecoul.
“We came to Machecoul on account of my husband Clement was looking for work and we heard there was work there,” she said, speaking quickly and wiping her nose with a filthy handkerchief after every sentence. “But my husband got sick, terrible sick, which caused us extreme unction and we thought sure he was going to die, thought it for a long time. And it was then when the Master Francis came to see us.”
“Master Francis Prelati?” the Inquisitor asked.
“Just so, Milord,” Perinne said. “And he came with a priest called Dom Eustache, who both of them asked to lodge in our room upstairs. Well, we had no choice, did we, on account of needing the income from letting it and on account of that we knew they both were in the service of the Marshal, and we can’t be saying no to men such as them. It were strange, though, that they both slept in the same room together and also together with their pages, the two men and the two boys all together in the room. Master Francis and Dom Eustache went out often to dinner, back to the castle or elsewhere, as it suited them. It was one day when my husband was so very ill, my tears and crying at his illness was causing him such great distress that I took myself into the chamber upstairs. The pages let me in and they just lay on their pallets and I lay upon the bed, weeping to myself that I was soon to be a widow. When my lodgers returned, they were very irritated to find I had been allowed in and, showering me with the most filthy and vile insults, they did carry me, one by my feet and the other by my shoulders, to the staircase, telling me they was going to throw me down it from the top to the bottom. With this very thing in mind, Francis kicked me in the lower back with terrible force and I would have fallen had not the nurse caught me by my dress and arrested my fall. Together, me and the nurse fled until the men had fallen asleep.”
“So, they assaulted you most terribly,” the Inquisitor said. “You earlier indicated that you suspected the murder of a child?”
“Just so, Milord. It was soon after when I heard Francis say to Dom Eustache that he had found a beautiful page for him from around Dieppe, about whom Francis said he was extremely delighted. And so it was that a young, very beautiful child, saying he was from the Dieppe region and that he was of a good family, came to stay with Francis. And he stayed there for fifteen days, thereabouts. Then he weren’t there any more. I was shocked and asked Francis what had become of the boy and he said that the boy had cheated him royally and that he had taken off with two crowns. I felt very strongly that he was lying, Milord.”
“Is that all you have to say?”
“Only that Master Francis and Dom Eustache afterwards went to stay in a different house. I was right relieved they had gone, for no money is worth housing evil under your roof. But they went to stay in a small house in Machecoul, where a man named Perrot Cahu lived until they threw him out, stealing from him the keys to the house. That house, Milord, is far from all the other houses. An isolated place, on an outside street with a well at the entrance and in this small house was where Francis and Eustache lived from then on. And at times, the Lord Gilles de Rais was seen at night going into this place.”
“Did you see him with your own eyes?”
“No, Milord, but the village seen him, if you catch my drift.”
The Inquisitor called in Jean Labbe the Captain of Arms and requested that he accompany Perinne Rondeau back to the house of which she spoke and to investigate the place.
It was two days later when I heard that they had found physical remains. There were ashes removed from the house of Perrot Cahu, ashes with the bones of children in them, and the small shirt of a bloody child that stank so horribly that Madame Rondeau was violently sick at the sight of it.
The fates of Francois Prelati and Dominus Eustache Blanchet were surely sealed.
Taking supper at the inn, I drank heavily.
“He was lying throughout. They both were. Very carefully, very cleverly, admitting to only so much that they might hope to avoid the rope.”
“The bloody vest of the child in their house surely puts paid to that,” Stephen said.
“I will take your word for it and I pray that it does. But do you think that was true, what Blanchet said in his confession?” I asked. “That there were women at the prison bringing children to Gilles?”
Stephen chewed his mutton while pondering it. “Quite possibly. This makes you very concerned?”
“It makes me wonder how many other bloody things we missed. Other men bringing children to the Marshal and the servants. How many of his agents are there out there still? How many of them are revenants that I must slay?”
Stephen smirked. “I doubt he turned a gaggle of old women into revenants, Richard.”
“No? How do we know? He might have a whole army of hunchback old nags and filthy little girls out there in the wastes as we speak.”
Stephen sniggered and, after resisting, I laughed with him before sitting back and rubbing my eyes.
“You should get some rest, Richard. Tomorrow shall be extremely unpleasant.”
In the morning we would hear the depositions of Gilles valets, accomplices and immortals, the servants Henriet Griart and Poitou.
“If I get through the day before murdering both of them it will be a miracle.”
15. Evil Confessions
October 1440
The Inquisition were remarkably professional. Even when confronted with men of pure evil, they applied what they considered to be the minimum agony required. As much as I have always enjoyed punishing the wicked and hurting bad people, I would not have done such a fine job. I would certainly have cranked that rack around until limbs were ripped from their sockets.
I was certain when they began their interrogations that the Marshal’s two servants were revenants and so I felt like slitting their throats before they had even finished answering the first questions. But it was their statements which would serve to thoroughly convict Gilles de Rais and so I did my duty and resisted. Every urge, I fought down, as much as I shook to still myself.
The skinny young creature was lifted onto the rack and tied in place. He settled down and relaxed as if it was pleasant for him to do so.
When the Inquisitor began the questions, I held my fist over my mouth and listened.
“My name is Etienne Corrillaut but people call me Poitou. I was from Pouzauges. I reckon I’m about twenty-two by now, best as I can make it out. They brought me to Machecoul to be a page for my lord. I served as a page for many a year. Just doing my duty, as always, was good Poitou.”
“What duties did you do with regards to murder?” the Inquisitor asked.
“Well, sire, it was me, Sillé, and Henriet what would find and lead children to Gilles de Rais, the accused person in this trial, sire, lead them to his room so we did. Many boys and girls on whom to practice his normal activities, as it were, sire.”
“How many children did you personally find and escort to the rooms of your lord?”
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“Oh, can’t rightly say, sir.”
“How many? Was it three? Four? Forty?”
“Oh, yes. Probably forty, sire.”
The Inquisitor sighed. “Can you count?”
“Yes, most assuredly I can count. It was forty, sire, thereabouts. Up to forty, I would say.”
Everyone in the room knew he was lying but it hardly mattered for the sake of the trial and the Inquisitor continued.
“What did Gilles de Rais do with these children?”
“Well, like I say, sir. He would tell them they was delightful to look at and so on and so forth and he would tell them they had nought to fear and he would say he was going to get them dressed in the finest clothes and take them to meet the King and all sorts. And then he would kill them.”
“What method would he use?”
Poitou closed his eyes, a small smile on the corners of his mouth. “Sometimes he would throttle them with his own hand, especially if they was a noisy sort. Sometimes he’d have them suspended by the neck with ropes or cords, on a peg or small hook what he had in his rooms. Then he let them down ofttimes and would say again that he was only having fun with them. But then he would break their necks with a cudgel, slit their throats, or open their bellies, or just straight up remove their heads right away.”
The Inquisitor took a sip of wine and a deep breath before continuing. “And did he practice his lascivious lusts upon them?”
“Oh yes, sire, but not usually until they was dead, sire. Or very nearly.”
“What was your role in this? Yours and the other servants.”
“Me, Henriet, and Sillé, would help hold them down, or string them up, and we’d gather up the blood in jars and cups and burn the bodies in the fire. Roger would join my lord in his debaucheries at times but he often just watched and drank wine. And…” he trailed off, looking left and right. He was hiding something but after what he had said, it was almost inconceivable that it could be anything worse.”
“You will now give me specific details. You will provide the names of the victims and approximate times. As many as you can recall.”
While Poitou began naming children he had taken, I stood and let myself out of the chamber. I found my hands were shaking. It was all I could do to stop myself from going back in, killing Poitou, then finding Gilles and all his other servants and cutting them into pieces.
But I knew that justice would be done. Each had confessed to mortal crimes. Each would soon face death and though it would be swifter and kinder than they deserved, at least it would be done. And the parents of the children would see proper justice being done under the law and I should not deprive them of that.
After two more hours, Stephen emerged, white as a linen tablecloth and shaking all over.
“Such evil,” he muttered into his hot spiced wine. “How could they do it?”
“He is a revenant,” I said.
“Are you truly certain?” Stephen asked.
“Did you not see his sickly pallor in there?”
“Some men have such a look,” Stephen said. “He has been in prison for days. Surely, without blood he would be in a far worse state. Or likely dead.”
“True,” I admitted. “But I doubt it. I saw the way he moved that night, leaping further than a mortal man can. Either way, he is not long for the world. And I do not think I shall join you for the deposition of Henriet. It will be much the same as Poitou’s, I expect, and enough to see him hanged.”
“And so it will be just me in there with the Inquisitors and clerks of the court,” Stephen said, running his hands over his face. “Listening to more of that. I cannot take it alone, Richard. At least if you are there, I will know you suffer with me, for a burden shared is a burden halved, is that not the case?”
“Suffer alone you must, for I have other business to attend to.”
He peered at me. “What other business?”
“The old woman, La Meffraye. She is here and I will speak with her before she, too, is hanged. She is the one who took Ameline’s brother. I will have from her what happened to the boy and then ride to the village. At least I can give Ameline that, if nothing else.”
Stephen pursed his lips. “Well, enjoy your visit to your young lady, Richard.” He planted his hands on the table and stood. “I am going to spend many hours recording accounts of the worst murders ever committed, given by the fiend himself. Good day.”
***
They let me into her cell. It was bitterly cold within, and dim with the only light coming from a slit of a window high above. It reeked of piss and mould and the stench made me angry just to be in its presence.
I held a lantern in my hand and stood over her as she sat on the stool they had provided for her.
“I know you,” she said, giggling. “You’re the one they was afraid of.”
“Are you a madwoman?” I asked her.
She shrugged. “Who’s to say who’s anything, my lord? Maybe I am mad and maybe it’s you what is mad? Who’s to say?”
“I will say,” I said. “And you certainly sound mad to me. Now, tell me, woman. How were you recruited to undertake this work?”
She grinned up at me with her hideous, wrinkled face, and brushed her filthy grey hair away from her face. The rotten creature had a number of teeth missing and the ones that remained were either yellow or brown. “Recruited, sire?”
“How did you first come into the Baron’s service?”
“Oh, I see now, sire. Yes, I see.” She crossed her arms over her bosom. “Well, I don’t rightly know. Long time ago now, so it was.”
“Indeed? Was it before he was calling himself Gilles de Rais?”
She glanced sharply up at me. “What you mean when you say that?”
“Only that the Baron is far older than he appears and has likely posed in many guises this last century or two. Who was he posing as before?”
She looked away. “Don’t know what you mean, sire.”
“Well then, let me tell you what I mean. It is my sworn duty to slay all men who are like your master the Baron de Rais. All who live on, ageless, staying youthful by drinking blood. All men like him, and all women, also.”
The old woman gaped at me. “Right then, well you best be off doing that then.” She pointed at the open door behind me. “Go on.”
I smiled. “I shall. Once I determine if you are likewise one of them or not.”
She gasped. “Me, sire? But I ain’t like them, sire. Don’t tar me with that brush. I am a humble and obedient servant, so help me. Always have been.”
“If you do not convince me thoroughly, I am afraid I shall have to gut you here and now.”
“All I ever done is follow the commands of my lord. Just a girl, I was, when he first sent me off for him.”
“Oh? When was this? What year?”
“Don’t know. What year is it now? I was a girl and he was going by the name Jean de Craon. He had these folk pretending to be his family, but they weren’t truly. They come and go, some living and others dying. Later on, he sent me to find little boys. Handsome little boys who weren’t afraid, is what he wanted. I brought a few but he never seemed happy until there was this one little lad I brought and my lord said he was the one. Charming little fellow, he was. Bright and full of beans and my lord gave him an education. Called him Gilles. Called him his grandson and showed him off while he grew. My lord told folk young Gilles had gone away and he himself hid in his castle, dismissed servants and friends until one day my lord died, almost unnoticed. And this boy Gilles inherited everything. But when he came back home to claim it…”
She broke off, covering her mouth and looking down.
“Go on.”
“When the boy Gilles come back I saw at once it was in fact my lord Jean de Craon. Somehow, it was him, unaged and same as he ever was but pretending to be named Gilles. And he sent me to work, luring in the boys and sometimes the girls. I was told that the children could be boys or girls but that for preference they should hav
e fair hair and be clean-limbed. The Sire de Rais liked best for children to be between eight and twelve years old but there were a few that was younger and some that were older. Youngest one I found was about seven, and his brother was fifteen, he came along with me, too. And that’s all there is to it. I ain’t one of them. Not me, my lord. I’m a loyal servant, that’s what I am and nothing more, so help me.”
“What of your own family?”
“What family?”
“Have you not had children of your own?”
“Oh. A few. They ain’t got nothing to do with it, you leave them out of it, do you hear?”
“So they are yet living?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I ain’t offered one of my own up to him, for God’s sake. How could you say such a thing, sire?”
“No, quite right, that would be monstrous. But you were complicit in scores of murders. Hundreds, perhaps. And so you will soon die by hanging on the orders of the court.”
She screwed up her face. “Only following what my lord ordered me to do. All I am is a humble servant. Most humble.”
“Tell me, do you remember a child named Jamet Mousillon? The son of a physician?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Why you want to know about him? Why is he special?”
“What happened to him? I am sure he was killed eventually but how did you take him?”
“So many boys. Can’t recall them all.”
“No? And yet I recall that you worked often with your granddaughter. A girl old enough to be charged with the same crimes as you and yet so far she has evaded justice. An oversight that I can easily put right.”