The mention of females prompts me to repeat what I learnt anew at this convent - it was a chilling confirmation. Apparently several young nuns have, under Eliska’s dictates, been handed over to the castle for the usual ‘cleansing’ for misconduct - which, of course, implies sentencing, flesh-piercing and ringing and whipping. Then I was shown, with Ladislav in close attendance, how these inmates are treated on their return as an example to others.
The old Mother Superior took us to a small court, surrounded by arched walks; in the centre stood a massive, much-worn wooden post.
“On the return of a culprit from the castle,” she explained in the most casual manner possible, “I have her scourged again before my assembled Sisters. As the body-rings are always retained by the castle, I dispense with them, my noble lords, and merely have a stout nail driven through the hole in the hardened nipple and thus fasten the sinner’s breasts to each side of the stake, the wrists locked to the nape of the neck. It provides a convenient and highly educative posture and the buttocks can be scourged at leisure. I find it has an admirable effect on my women, as well as on the delinquent herself.”
I was astounded but even more so when the old Superior added: “It was the idea of our gracious Margravine Eliska Helena, whom may God bless” - we duly crossed ourselves - “for taking such care of women in her realm. I am sure your noble lordships approve also of our simple methods. I wish to retain your lordships to a simple meal - we are a poor and needy establishment - after which, if you so desire, I can arrange to have a young Sister of ours stripped, nailed and flogged. I have one in the cells at this moment, as it happens.”
I politely declined both invitations. Ladislav, on the other hand, showed distinct interest and began questioning the old witch about the type of scourge used, the number of lashes, whether the victims were gagged, blindfolded and so on. Before I could put a stop to this. the Lady made it clear that the unfortunate Sister in question had been pierced and that it was no trouble whatsoever, if her Lordships would stay. Finally, controlling Ladislav with a hand on his sleeve, we took our leave, receiving a fulsome blessing at the porch.
During our return ride, while fording a stream, I noticed more of these threatening bands of ruffians, beggars and idle serfs - what your Luther, Nephew (I say ‘your’ only to tease you again) calls the ‘murdering hordes’; among them, to my consternation, were heavily armed lansquenets, some sporting the Imperial eagle, who probably have never been paid and now roam the countryside for booty, food and women.
It is truly strange to think of rebellion against authority here among these lovely orchards, pine forests and pear blossom. The Gr”fin does not yet seem aware of any danger. In this so-called Garden of Eden of Eliska’s, no one seems worried, least of all Ladislav who continues to annoy me with his regrets at not having witnessed the proffered flagellation at the gloomy nunnery.
My thoughts are often black here, and when crossing the dismal, clogged-up moat round the castle, I had to look down in case there should appear a green and slimy face of some woeful victim floating there.
On arrival back I found flags and pennants flying to greet presumably the month of May rather than me. In the midst flapped the great silver E for Eliska. I gave Hans orders to start preparing for our departure the following week. I agreed that Tereza should ride with him astraddle and not side-saddle; we would look for a donkey or a mule for her once out of Bohemia. I do not wish to crave favours of the Margravine, having already achieved my ends regarding Tereza herself.
As I dismounted and entrusted my faithful Zenon to Hans, I was met by Brother Ignatius. I could have fared better without this, particularly when I learned what he had to say.
“My noble, esteemed Lord, a word, I pray.”
We walked to the garden. “I learn, sir,” he said, “that a certain noble officer of the Imperial lansquenets - possibly a Lutheran - is stirring up revolt near the town. But above all,” and here he drew close to me so that I could share his secret and his foul breath, for his teeth are badly decayed, “it seems he is claiming some female or other held prisoner here.”
Maryska’s soldier! My heart missed a beat and I saw trouble looming. And I hate trouble, as you know.
“The man has fought on the side of John of Wartemburg, sir, against our Zdenek of Rozmital, our supreme burgrave, to whom our sinful Gräfin - may God soak her soul in pitch! - owes allegiance.”
I had to try to understand what this implied. First, here was Eliska’s own private confessor, a man who had the effrontery to curse his Mistress before God. Then, the man was citing the Wartemburg prince, allied closely to the Hussite movement in Prague and here and therefore against Rome. I decided to abridge the discussion.
“We shall discuss this later, Brother,” I declared and went in to prepare for supper. All the same, these few words obviously had a sequel. I had misgivings over involvement.
I decided to raise the matter at table, Nephew. Eliska looked more seductive, more lovely than ever, almost regal, wearing a neck-band of precious stones set in black velvet that displayed her fine throat to advantage. What a strange, beautiful creature she is indeed, her proud breasts powdered white with the nipples deeply rouged with some pigment. When I mentioned the Wartemburgs, she merely brushed off my remarks with a superb gesture of a jewelled hand - that hand that wielded the whip so effectively! No one seemed to have the slightest notion of the outside world: the French duplicity, the English leanings towards a breach with Rome, the rapid spread of the thinking of Luther who was now hidden safely in the Wartburg.
Recalling the bands of ruffians I had seen with Ladislav, I mentioned that the Bishop of Bamberg, your beautiful Bamberg, Nephew, confronted with huge peasant disquiet, had agreed to the peasants’ terms. Evidently they could not digest this.
It was Eliska, naturally, who replied, pausing over her pottage.
“Graf von Mechtingen”, she narrowed her lovely eyes, “you may not agree with everything you see here nor with everything I do, but I envisage no change. I am aware that reform abounds in your parts of the Empire, including cowardly lip-service to the grotesque heresy of the creature Luther and his supporters. For my part I find it difficult to choose between him and the Turk.”
I nearly choked and was excused a reply to her sinister jest by the arrival of a huge carp dressed with leeks, brought in, as usual, by two attractive half-naked maidens. Now, as you know, carp is among my favourite dishes; I just prayed that it had not come out of the dreaded moat!
Eliska went on, once served. “I rule here, my noble lord, as I am destined to rule. If I have to double” (she meant, of course, fivefold) “tithes, taxes and enforced labour, keeping my serfs bent to the earth and putting lazy whores to the whip to purify my lands, what happens in your Gotha or elsewhere does not concern us here. You can say this to your masters.” Then she added to my surprise:‘Lex dura sed lex.’
Well, as you know, I have problems with her laws but kept my mouth shut. We then discussed how best to fish carp from the depths. Just as well, for I was in deep waters...
I retired to bed beneath a sinking moon which is never a commendable sign in the cosmos according to you dear mother. And, alas, she would have been right, for events followed all too quickly. I shall write again tomorrow if I have the time, for you must know all, however distressing.
Do not omit to burn these letters. They are only for your education, to understand this evil world.
Huldrych
Letter The Twenty-First
As I expected, Brother Ignatius caught up with me the next day near the stables while I was on my way to inspect Zenon’s newly shed hooves with the blacksmith and ensure that Hans had started to give her oats for the long ride home.
In his scapula and hood, the man gave me alarming news.
“A general revolt is brewing, my dear lord. Like beer. I tell you this because Radka and
I trust you although you are closely linked to the satanic woman and, in a manner of speaking, are cautioning with your august presence her devilish sessions below. But we are aware of the delicate position the monster places you - like ourselves.”
The veiled threat disturbed me. I therefore pressed him to tell me what was on his mind.
“You should fight against the wiles of this werewolf and her Beelzebub lovers. Beware!”
Reluctant to be singled out in this way, I reminded him that it was he who heard the avowals of the Gr”fin in the privacy of the confessional; it was he who blessed the instruments of flagellation prior to the scourging of a naked - and probably innocent - girl in the dungeons. And I added, astutely I thought, that it was none other than his Radka who was charged with tending to the victims after sex-torture and whipping.
“True, my lord. But we are obliged to officiate, just as you are obliged to attend the sessions below. But I know you will honour my trust.” He held my sleeve to say: “Radka and I have decided to liberate this girl in the cells before it is too late.”
“Too late for what? They are not going to whip her to death, as far as I am aware.”
“True, my lord,” he repeated. “They never flagellate beyond a certain point and she is robust even if she is now completely in their power. I have seen so many females put to the whip that I cannot count them, but they almost all survive - only one or two to my knowledge were flogged to death, and that for very special reasons. But this one we have decided to save anyway.”
“For her sake or on behalf of someone else?” I asked pointedly.
“Both, my gracious lord,” came the frank response. “She has a lover who has vowed to save her before she is thrown into the brothels. He is prepared to commit the greatest crime of all - to attack the castle with a band of serfs he has gathered over the last weeks. The castle will be sacked. We shall be massacred. Including you noble self, of that there is little doubt.”
“It cannot come to that!”
“You think not, dear lord? Then you have not witnessed the revolts here three years ago when we lost our noble Margrave who was stern but just, human and God-fearing. Now with this black angel from Hell with her Lucifers...”
I drew him further into the shelter of the stables. “What do you intend, Brother?”
“Our plan is simple. Radka has the keys to the cells. While the bailiffs are at their supper and the household at Vespers, which I shall prolong as best I can, Radka will release her, clothe her in my second cassock and lead her out.”
“To where?”
“To her lansquenet, sir. He awaits his woman near the moat.”
Suddenly all became clear to me. The only item missing was the price the lansquenet must have promised to the two accomplices. I did not raise the matter since the answer, if not the amount, was obvious in Brother Ignatius’ eyes.
“And your alibi?” I asked. “How will you and your lady escape detection?”
“With your august permission, I shall be with you immediately after Vespers, walking in the shrubbery, taking the night air. God will protect Radka. She will never be suspected.”
“And the bailiffs?”
“At supper, my lord.”
“And Sebastian?”
“He will be busy with a vagrant whore called Vasskia from somewhere in the east, who has been found in the town. She is to receive thirty-two lashes, impaled, by express order of the Margravine. This will take time, my lord.”
I then asked him what role I could possibly play in this dangerous scheme.
“You, with your position and influence, can calm the Gräfin. Considering the revolt that threatens, you can persuade her to forget the incident.”
Nephew, I agreed. Why, I really do not know, but I agreed. The thought of Maryska in chains, the courage of these old people in the face of the indomitable Eliska and the determined love shown by the lansquenet, all made me think I could, with my rank and power of persuasion, convince the awesome Margravine. The least I could do was to try.
Brother Ignatius looked at me as if I were a saint descended on earth again. For the first time he smiled, revealing his rotten teeth. “Thank you, my dear lord.” And he kissed my hand. “Radka thanks you. We all thank you. Maryska too.”
Going back to my chamber, feeling holy, I wondered at myself. Of course, the whole stratagem fell apart almost from the start. And for two reasons that were simultaneous. I shall try to outline them both for you. It was because of these rather than owing to my pusillanimity that I came out unscathed. I shall tell you more tomorrow, for it is worth the recounting.
I wish I were in Tübingen to discuss Desiderius Erasmus with you. Meanwhile, pray for me, my boy, although by the time you receive this letter, I shall either be dead or a hero. Or both.
Your loving uncle, Huldrych
Letter The Twenty-Second
What happened is this, as far as I can gather. Radka went to the cell, opened the gate, released Maryska, removed her blindfold, comforting her with the voice the girl knew so well and led her into the passage and finally to the threshold leading to the vault. After taking some steps, Maryska stopped, despite Radka’s urgings that her man was waiting for her.
But, bewildered by the candles and the flickering of the brazier fires beyond in the courtyard, petrified by the heavy cassock offered to her, the poor girl refused to move a step further into a foreign world with which she had now no affinity. Some strange loyalty had been beaten and tortured into her; her world was the cell, the chains, darkness, the nightly hiss of the whip across her flesh and repeated ejaculations into her body as the men bored into her. Every waking moment of her recent existence was conditioned now by the relentless use made of her nude body. She had been broken, she had relinquished her will and become a docile sex slave, chained to serve.
Outside lay forced labour, the brothels, misery; within these stone walls she was fed, sheltered and even cared for by Radka’s administrations. She was conscious of the pain as she was lashed but it was mixed with strange pleasures. Moreover, she was allowed to orgasm freely many times a night, even during the long sessions of sex torture in the dungeon. She had been transformed into a slave by her Mistress to whom she was now inescapably bound in a limbo of sexual lust that took on ever-changing patterns as she was helplessly used in a delirium of sex, sweat, sperm and perfumes.
This seemed to be the first reason why the plan failed. Maryska was incapable of liberating herself. Without voicing it, she had become a consenting participant.
The second cause of the miscarriage was fortuitous to say the least, but contributed directly to the crisis. It was Ignatius who told me how their luck had veered.
Apparently during the service in the chapel, a young scullery maid, who had been in slavery for only a few days, working among the slops and the pigsty, had refused to perform certain duties ordered by the overseer in charge. The girl had become involved in a fight. She was immediately handed over to Bojena, chief of the bedchamber, who happened to be in the area when the incident took place.
From where I stood in the garden alone, for Ignatius had left me in haste, I saw the girl, screaming, struggling and kicking, being hauled from the dunghill into the courtyard and forced forward by the bailiffs towards the fatal vault. She could not have been more than seventeen, well-built to judge from the flailing legs throwing her smock aside; a solid creature and very attractive as such serfs can be, with pale features and a freckled complexion under a red mop of cropped hair; her cheeks and arms were covered with light, auburn down.
She was being dragged across the cobbled yard in the light of the braziers by the two bailiffs, disturbed from their supper, and it took both of them, together with the brawny Bojena, to subdue her as she fought like a wild animal. She tore at the bailiffs’ cowls and doublets, yelling curses and blasphemies, her eyes blazing with f
ury.
It was obvious to me that the girl was going to be punished in the most terrible manner for her disobedience and resistance. I could almost hear the plaited leather whips lashing her. As the vixen was lugged forward, a small crowd gathered to watch, while faces appeared out of the upper casements, although it is a common spectacle to see a slave taken to the vault, usually for flagellation. But contrary to the usual female docility, here I was witnessing a fierce crazed creature bent on selling herself dearly.
Poor deluded wench!
Finally they were able to rush her down the steps of the vault and I followed out of mere interest, not knowing if Radka’s scheme was still valid. I was in time to see the girl being stretched in fetters between the same set of columns that had held Marja weeks before. The legs thrashed and struggled in every direction until she was spread and bound, her limbs drawn tight by the two men hauling on the chains with such a force that it seemed to dislocate the four joints. The body became completely rigid in bondage.
Bohumil then slashed open the girl’s smock from armpit to hem, using the trencher with which evidently he had been cutting up his meal when interrupted. He ripped the rough sacking from the body, swearing at the victim, until he had her totally denuded.
What we had before us was one of the most erotic sights imaginable of the naked feminine physique. I had become so accustomed to docile, almost consenting, female bodies, that this wild demonstration of sheer nudity seemed out of keeping in the confines of Zatoransky. These protestations, I knew, she would have to pay for.
How can I describe to you, Nephew, this nude in bondage? Her limbs were slim but muscular as they strained outwards to the shackles, the tendons taut and quivering from the shock of the sudden extension. The pubic mound with its triangle of bright fair hair, wet and matted from the sweat that ran down the body, protruded superbly above the pouting umber labia that closed tight over the young cunt and clitoris; above, the belly curved upwards from the bulge of the genitals and the sharp points of the hip-bones to the arched limits of the ribcage in a sweep of white flesh, interrupted only by the dark deeply-sunk navel.
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