“I shall fight,” the girl said, to which Radka cried: “Good! At last she’s fighting back!” Maryska stretched out her hand to touch mine and a strange thrill passed through my old body - what a fascination the girl exerts! It only made me all the more resolved to free her from Purgatory and to return her to the world of human beings. My mind was made up.
Back in my chamber I had a thought that I should be ashamed of, Nephew: if Radka and the impoverished Ignatius had been bribed by the lansquenet, what was the price? But that is not my affair.
Pray for me, Nephew - even though hopefully I’ll see you before this letter arrives. Yet, pray!
Huldrych
Letter The Twenty-Eighth
(The two following letters are in a highly deteriorated state owing to their being at the bottom of the bundle, tied with string, when found)
Late in the morning next day Hans was preparing Zenon for me when Brother Ignatius came up with his nag and asked if he could accompany me. This pleased me as I intended visiting some of the abbots and Mothers Superior who had helped me, to say goodbye.
During the ride in fine weather through the lanes, the old monk began by questioning me closely about Luther and in return talked about the Hussites in Prague with a remarkably open mind. Then, when Hans and the guards had dropped well behind, he came to the point.
“Radka met with the lansquenet captain again this morning. The marking and further sufferings imposed on his woman has infuriated him to a degree which we think is dangerous. He is set on revenge, my lord, and now has over fifty followers armed with pikes, scythes, pitchforks - and even have captured a couple of wheel-lock harquebuses.”
I became increasingly worried as Ignatius went on. “If the girl is not released, he is bent on storming the castle to free her, whatever the cost. We are beginning to fear for our lives, sir, and for yours. Moreover the girl will most probably be thrown into the moat if the castle is invested. We of the castle who still have our senses about us beg you to speak to the Margravine as soon as possible to prevent a massacre.”
I confirmed that I had agreed to do so already but could not undertake to succeed or save Maryska from the remainder of her sentence.
Brother Ignatius’ reply startled me: “Oh, one more whipping will not harm her. But if she is thrown into the brothel, I guarantee that blood will flow - if not before.”
During the rest of the ride after my courtesy visits, we caught sight of several armed groups of peasants in the woods, huddled round huts and byres, talking in undertones. The monk’s presence comforted me; often villagers saluted him as if to them he was more than just a miserable pauperised priest. The atmosphere reminded me, as it would have reminded you, Nephew, of the sinister Black Forest days of 1525. My enquiries as to the seriousness brought no answer from Ignatius. He shrugged his shoulders and it is difficult to know precisely where his allegiance lies. With the castle but against Eliska? With the people and against the castle? With the lansquenet? Certainly with Radka!
It was late afternoon before we reached the bottom road leading into Zatoransky; the outskirts seemed deserted. A few minutes later I saw the reason.
In the miserable centre square of the town a large clamouring crowd had gathered in front of the inn or brothel. From our horses, we could see over the heads and distinguish the attraction. Maryska stood, exposed completely naked, her arms bound upwards over the phallic brothel sign above the lintel of the door. She tottered on tiptoe, her rump bulging as she twisted to escape the rabble’s probing hands, blows from dirty fists, spittle and insults. Standing guard next to her, watching the scene with apathy, was Jakub.
“Publicly exposed,” Ignatius said. “Her nudity only excites the rabble.”
“Perhaps, but it is a grim warning to people and that is your Gräfin’s object.”
It must have been our sudden presence that finally decided Jakub the girl had been exposed enough. He roused himself, whipping back the crowd and the screaming whores and prepared Maryska for her return to the castle and the loving arms of her owner. As they ascended, Jakub on horseback led her by a chain while Bohumil, following on foot, held another chain passed between her thighs from the sex. She stumbled on the rough pathway frequently; Bohumil merely tugged her to her feet and lashed her forward.
Ignatius looked at me and shook his head in dismay as we followed the sad procession up the hill.
“That we should come to this,” he lamented. “It is the bailiffs who stimulate the hatred visited on the girl. She becomes a popular expiation. The people hate her because she might have brought retribution upon them. And the Gräfin’s retribution is terrible indeed.”
I was impressed by the forthrightness of his views and said so as we passed under the portcullis. Ignatius’ reply was radical: “Zatoransky and Bohemia would be better places in God’s eyes were the Great Whore of Babylon at the bottom of that moat.”
“Be prudent, Brother!” I warned him. “Be very prudent if we are to succeed”
(At this point a hiatus occurs in the MS, owing to torn pages)
... back in my chamber when six hours sounded and I was considering how best to obtain some measure of clemency for Maryska. I tried to imagine Eliska’s reaction. Why should a man of my standing intervene on behalf of a common strumpet? And a strumpet the property of my hostess! What right had I to steal the bread out of the Gr”fin’s mouth by subtracting workable flesh from her profitable brothels?
As I was finishing my lists of grazing, fallow and sown ground of the Beremec area, noting its cruel over-exploitation, a clatter of hooves reached me from the courtyard, announcing Eliska’s return from hunting with her companions, retainers and guards.
I knew from experience that she would now enjoy her customary perfumed bath in the great tub next to her chamber, where her lovers and serving girls walked in and out during the ceremony. I had frequently been invited to sit and talk amid the swirling clouds of steam as Eliska was soaped, washed, massaged and, stepping naked and strikingly beautiful from her tub, towelled, scented and robed for the evening.
I found this small talk exasperating but it was also, I noticed, when Eliska was at her most relaxed and when favours seemed to be distributed. (Also - and I admit it, Nephew - it was an opportunity of admiring Eliska at one’s ease, watching the girls greasing her breasts and combing the pubic triangle.)
So it was by her tub that the question was broached, there and then, while she was deep in her musk and jasmine scents. And she played into my hand, Nephew!
She asked me once again about the Twelve Articles promulgated by Sebastian Lotzer (she asked me to remind her of the name) during the Peasants’ War in southern Germany three years ago. Then she enquired how modest nobles (like herself, no doubt) could possibly entertain restraints on feudal privilege, on enclosures of common land and tithes, or question serfdom! Despite her total repudiation of such enormities, the discussion was calm and interesting. Meanwhile, the delicious Ottla, quite naked, brushed her Mistress’s hair.
“Dear Graf von Mechtingen, we are going to miss you,” Eliska smiled, “with all your learning. You are such a noble, upstanding counsellor. Your niche in Paradise is assured. You are so deferential, so forgiving, so indulgent. I only trust you will speak well of me to those at court and to the Archduke.” (I hardly dared to think what the dour august chancellors and chamberlains in Nuremberg and Salzburg would think if they had seen what I have seen!)
The juncture was propitious and I seized it. “Indeed, gracious lady, I shall speak of you. I shall stress your search for justice and order and your qualities of mercy and understanding.”
My flattery was met by a burst of sardonic laughter from the lovers that ceased only when Eliska straightened and frowned. I wore a hurt expression and then said:
“If only, dear Gräfin, I could take back with me an example of your forbearance as well as
your justice. For instance - it just came to my mind - this whore, now cleansed, might be returned to the world to live a better life.”
There was a silence in which you could hear all the stars in heaven tinkle like bells.
“Which whore?” Eliska asked from her soap suds.
“The one who was exposed today and whose cleansing is completed.”
“But why her?” She looked genuinely surprised.
“I know no other to serve as an example.”
She did not appear to sense anything but a naive request in my suggestion and if she did mistrust it, she kept her suspicion well concealed. Of course, I could well have confided in her fully and warned her of the problems that were brewing under her lovely nose.
“Ah, the slut that tried to abscond. Which testifies to a certain courage, quite out of place here but useful in the world outside. A quaint request, my dear lord, but I see your point. Moreover this is about the sole demand you have made of me in all our dealings and all our secret meetings. So, I agree. Such a small request!”
The sturdy Bojena was summoned to the tub: “Order Jakub to release the dark-haired whore tomorrow at dawn outside the gates before his Lordship leaves us.”
The overseer hurried away as I reached for the wet fingers of my sparkling hostess to thank her. It was Ladislav who spoke.
“But, dearest love, have you forgotten? There is still tonight! And the wench was sentenced to the brothel!”
She answered Ladislav with a smile. “My dearest, there are so many other wenches for our brothels, although I admit this one is viciously sexed. And don’t forget, Ladislav, we have to deal with the pretty nun and her unhealthy lesbian desires.” Her gaze then settled on Ottla. “We have so many others dying to please us, don’t we?” and here she passed her wet hand over the swelling curves of the girl’s buttocks and thrust in between the thighs, as Ottla caught her breath and paled in the eye of the storm.
Then she turned to me.
“But there is tonight. My lord, you would not wish to deprive me of her delicious body and her of my whip which she does not dislike, would you?”
“By no means,” I said.
That was the end of the matter. Eliska had taken my words at their face value and remained in the best of spirits. It is when people are happy that they are the most credulous, Nephew.
Tomorrow we leave!
Huldrych - what remains of him.
Letter The Twenty-Ninth
(Editing has remedied to some extent the poor condition of this MS)
As this was to be my final supper, the Margravine had ordered a splendid and flattering array of delicacies, including the wild boar they had hunted and marinated for this farewell dinner. We were served by three very lovely new girls, stark naked but for gloves and the ceremonial red neckband. The eldest nude bore over the curve of her magnificent rump the marks of a recent scourging with the crop; she seemed proud to exhibit the damage, being the only one to have been honoured with welts.
The discussion was more animated than usual, with many toasts to everyone from the Emperor Charles and the Archduke Ferdinand to Eliska and myself! I amused the table with my account (which you know, Nephew) of the Beautiful Virgin carved for Regensburg in 1519 by old Heydenreich, the architect of the cathedral, and which became the object of a massive, ecstatic cult, attracting thousands of pilgrims and immense sales of votaries and medallions.
It should be the same, I claimed, with the beautiful Margravine. Although in detestable taste, my compliment met with delight and laughter. Eliska a virgin! She and they all relished the witticism. (What of course, Nephew, I did not mention was Durer’s utter scorn of this ugly piece of idolatrous statuary and that the cult came to a sudden end in 1525 when catastrophe struck southern Germany and the statue did not respond!)
After more farewell speeches and good wishes, we listened to a charming concert on the lute and tabor which ushered in one of the mightiest thunderstorms I have experienced. The heavens cracked open after the end of the sultry day and the rain fell like silver ducats, the lightning painting the hall blue and white. This put an end to the music.
Eliska probably took the storm to be appropriately inaugural for her last session with Maryska. Inevitably we were invited down to the dungeon, despite my attempt to excuse myself. I was taken by the arm so that I could not escape.
(Although the author’s sketches have survived, the text has suffered badly here from wear and mildew. The account takes up as follows)
... not only were Eliska’s companions favoured with special attentions but they seemed determined to enjoy the session fully. Each man was attended by a naked girl, the same ones as had served at table. I received a lithe young woman with fine breasts (Milan had already noted them), a deeply sunk navel and carefully combed sex-hair. She smelt of something like almonds. There were sharp little darts at the side of the eyes and dimples in the cheeks. For the first time your old uncle felt quite attracted! And she was intent on pleasuring me, just as my companions were being serviced.
Softly I asked her her name.
“Jana, and it please you, sir.”
I told her I would prefer if she were to caress herself, which, without demur, she did and began to enjoy it, spreading herself open and wetting her middle finger. Her stub of a clitoris rose abruptly out of its sheath while the girl looked down and then smiled at me.
Sebastian brought Maryska in. She was oiled and chained as usual and again as usual, to judge from the state of her nipples, seemed fully excited sexually and had probably received the quirt to stimulate the loins during her preparation while we had been at supper. The thunder, clearly audible down in the depths, greeted her entry.
She was made to kneel on a stool while the breasts were put into harness, Eliska supervising the strapping. Sebastian attached a sturdy length of chain and hook from the harness to the beam above, using a ladder to allow him to complete the positioning of the bondaged nude for flagellation.
Then I noticed that, while the man had been cording the wrists to the neck-strap, Eliska had stripped, divesting herself as on previous occasions of everything apart from her ruff and starched coif, long scarlet gloves adorned with her jewelled rings, and the shining spurred boots. She ran the thongs of a fairly long whip through her fingers and waited.
Suddenly the man drew away the stool from beneath Maryska. With a groan, the body swung free, suspended by the harness - a choice posture, according to Eliska and Milan, for a robust peasant girl with strong breasts and muscles. The ankles were then attached to a floor-ring which proved that this was the precise location where such whipping was routinely done. The body presented a smooth column of taut flesh, oiled to perfection, almost immobile except for the rapid respiration of the thorax as Maryska lunged upwards as if she could assuage the traction on the breasts. The nipples and areolae were swollen to twice or three times their usual volume.
To complete the bondage and make the victim contend with a certain degree of sex-torture to accompany the scourge, Sebastian dutifully and deftly...
(A torn page creates a hiatus at this point. The text then continues:)
... the muscles and tendons flickered under the stretched skin as she was whipped. Eliska somehow seemed to sense the girl’s surge of newborn courage and even of assurance, accordingly she lashed the body with vengeance. The strokes, though mainly across the hips and buttocks, did mount the body, avoiding only the kidneys and ensuring no blood was drawn, and in so doing, snapped now and then at the chains, sending a shoot of pain into the girl’s most acutely delicate parts.
It was a whipping worthy of Eliska, carried out with skill and savage lust, as she applied the thong-tips to the rib cage, belly and the straining breasts. Maryska bore the punishment without more than long groans and an occasional sudden scream as the nipples were slashed or the fang of the leathers sl
iced into the elongated membranes of the sex-labia and into the cunt slit itself.
My companions all enjoyed lengthy and repeated ejaculations in the mouths of their acquiescent and respectful serving slaves and suddenly it was over.
Eliska threw away her whip and came up to her victim, and grasped Maryska’s hips with her scarlet, gloved hands. She kissed the girl’s taut breasts lightly and then slipped her hand in between the labia of the soaking sex. We watched the extraordinary take place. Maryska began to writhe and jerk her whole body, calling out to Eliska to frig her, to fuck her, to flog her... to make her come in her hand, over the gloved fingers that had done her body so much harm.
In the midst of her screaming and oaths and mad cries, Maryska orgasmed beyond any degree of mental or physical control. Everyone watched the sight as Eliska rubbed her groin against the girl’s thigh, clasping the suspended human tube of panting flesh round the beaten rump.
“I am going to miss you, my little sex-whore, my flagellated, tortured beauty...”
And then she came as the thunder above appropriately greeted her enormous spending with a roll like the drums at the battle of Pavia, like the end of the world... And through the dungeon’s narrow gridded window slits, a bright blue flash lit up the sweat-drenched bodies of the two women, Eliska madly clawing the swinging figure as it was about to escape her, to dissolve, to become insubstantial lightning.
The storm that had heralded the onset of the session subsided like the tensions in the dungeon, leaving the place as if cobwebbed with thin threads of silence.
Maryska was slipping away from them. She was defying them. She was almost free.
I left them all to what was left, such as the guttering tallow candles, the plaintive cries of the nightjars and owls and the imperceptible sound of swords being sharpened beyond the rotting walls of the castle, deep in the evergreen woods.
I bedded down in my feathers for the last time under the vaulted ceiling with its golden stars glinting patiently in the azure spandrels. But as I fell asleep, a chilled small body snuggled in beside me. “Take me with you, sir, like you take Tereza,” whispered the tiny voice. “I make love very well, I am very passionate, sir. Touch me!” Dreams are troublesome, are they not? Treacherous things.
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