by Cleo Cordell
Karolan stared at the spirit in amazement. It actually seemed to have a sort of fondness for Garnetta. This was something entirely new. He was not sure what to think about that. One thing of which he was certain. The Fetch knew where Garnetta was.
‘Tell me where she is,’ he said, his voice cold. ‘I should punish you for playing me false. But I’ll be merciful if you are truthful now.’
The Fetch chittered and spun in circles, alarm radiating off it in waves. Under its terror, Karolan perceived something else – a willingness to challenge his authority. As the spirit stopped spinning, the fabric of its body began to thin and spread out until it resembled a graceful, loose-limbed creature surrounded by a watery green haze. The fading spread inwards to the pulsing centre of its being as it disassembled. Karolan recognized what was happening, but was amazed by the audacity of the spirit’s defiance. The Fetch was retreating for protection to the hinter-world of the elementals whence he had called it all those long years ago. Once there it would take on its original undine form. As a water sprite, under the protetion of a Diva, it was beyond his reach. It would take a powerful ritual and a great deal of concentrated will to force it to emerge at will.
‘Where is Garnetta?’ Karolan said, exerting every measure of his will to keep the Fetch from fading clean away. ‘Speak! I command you!’
For a second longer it hovered. There was only a thickening on the air now, a greenish haze, glistening with threads of silver. At the final moment, before the spirit blinked out, it spoke, its voice hollow and far away. ‘Captive . . . but safe.’
And though Karolan raged at the spirit’s capriciousness and trickery, he had to be content with that for the time being. When he emerged from the storeroom it was to find Gunter in the adjoining room. Gunter threw him a puzzled look.
‘You alone? I heard you speaking to someone. Ach, had it been a plump wench with you, I’d say swyve her and hail met! Just tell me if you want to bring a lass back. I’ll make certain to steer clear.’ Karolan laughed dismissively, reaching for a cup of wine. ‘D’you never feel the need?’ Gunter said, in his blunt, hearty manner. ‘There’s plenty who’d be willing. A man with your looks and bearing. Unless you came back from the Holy Land with an unnatural vice! The Infidels take pretty boys as lovers. No offence, mind, though fugoism’s not to my taste.’
‘None taken,’ Karolan said, thinking briefly of Harun and the delightful hours they had spent in each other’s arms. He had taken many lovers, both men and women over the years, his desires and emotions always burned white hot. But he saw no reason to say as much to his new friend. He shrugged. ‘I was wounded in the privy parts. Now I no longer crave a woman’s touch.’
‘By all the saints! You were gelded? I have heard that this is done to prisoners of war. Forgive my loose tongue, my friend. I shall never disclose your secret. One day I might learn think before I speak.’
Karolan gave a dismissive gesture. ‘Think no more on’t. Sit with me. I’d relish some company.’ They sat in companionable silence for a time, then Gunter said casually, ‘That lancet you wield is surer than any sword. Where did you come by this learning?’
Karolan sipped his wine. ‘I read the writings of learned Arabs and learned much from Henri de Mercery at the university of Montpellier. He had some odd views about the treatment of wounds, but no one under his care lost a limb or suffered a mortification after surgery. I first saw a corpse cut open there for the purposes of study. Can you imagine that? I was so excited by what I saw.’ He grinned. ‘Do you know that surgeons hereabouts swear that the stomach is a cooking pot in which food is kept on the bubble by the heat of the liver!’
Gunter blanched at the mention of dissection of corpses, trying not to look shocked. ‘And this is not so?’
‘Indeed not. I have seen the lie of the organs within a man. Wonderful and passing strange is their form. But medicine will not progress while the church forbids all free-thinking and keeps surgeons from doing their work. The writings of Galen of Pergamos are considered sacred works, yet his knowledge is based on cutting up pigs and apes. I tell you, my friend, God did not exhaust all his creative power in making Galen!’
‘Indeed?’ Gunter looked troubled. ‘Such views smack strongly of heresy.’
Karolan looked at him sharply. ‘Why do I have the feeling that it is no accident that we are speaking of such things? Now that I think of it. Why are you here at this hour of the day? It is early for you to seek night comforts.’
‘I came to bring you a warning,’ Gunter said. ‘It matters not to me, whether you are heretic, de-frocked priest, or in the pay of the king of France himself. You saved my father’s life and I am in your debt for that. But your views are not popular and, forgive me, you express them a little too freely. In this climate of terror it is not wise to draw attention to yourself. It is but a small jump from to suspicion to condemnation. The church is a jealous mistress. Tread softly, my friend.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
In the vaulted main room of the infirmary sunlight poured in through an open window. The scent of herbs wafted in on a warm breeze. The abbot, the prior, Stephanis, and a number of other church notables were gathered together to watch the proceedings. With them was an old woman, a midwife.
‘Why is it necessary for me to submit to this . . . examination?’ Garnetta said, eyeing the woman’s greasy hair and unwashed skin. Her gown was stiff with dried blood stains. There was a rank smell of wine on her breath.
‘For evidence,’ Stephanis said, obliquely. ‘You may not refuse.’
Evidence of what? Garnetta’s throat closed with dread. Somehow there had been a shift in Stephanis’s and the other monks’ attitudes. She did not know what caused them to look at her with that mixture of suspicion, fear, and awe; she felt threatened and very alone.
That morning, John de Mandeville had questioned her at length, listening in silence while a scribe recorded everything. Then he asked her to lay her hand on the Bible and swear that everything she said was true. When they all knelt in prayer, Garnetta spoke the prayers aloud as she was bid. Then, as now, they watched her closely. What had they expected her to do, cough up a toad? After the long questioning, she went meekly back to the infirmary. Now she was expected to let this disgusting old woman lay hands on her. Lifting her chin, she looked the abbot in the eye. ‘This is to be a public examination?’ she said.
The abbot nodded. ‘You said you suffered a violation – where now is the evidence? The bodies found in the forest were too damaged by wolves to be able to verify the cause of death, but you admitted you killed these men. What are we to believe? Stephanis swears you were aided by the Holy Virgin, but he is misled by your youth and beauty. Certain of his actions make his judgement questionable.’ He paused, his grey eyes cold and impartial. ‘I, however, suspect that there are devilish forces at work here. This act of verification must be witnessed.’
‘Very well, if submit I must. But I am a gentlewoman. I object to being handled like an animal at market. Cannot my modesty be preserved?’
The abbot raised an eyebrow. ‘Pride, madam, is a sin. You belong body and spirit to God. This is God’s work we are doing. There is nothing shameful in His sight.’ He gestured to the crone. ‘Matilda. You may begin.’
Garnetta tried not to flinch as Matilda approached. The woman was as brown and wrinkled as last year’s oak apples. The hand she extended was almost fleshless, the joints swollen and misshapen. Beneath each ragged fingernail there was a rim of dirt. ‘Now then, lovedy. Be you not afeard. Mother Matilda knows her craft, yes she does. Loosen the neckline of your shift now.’
‘My . . . my neckline?’ Garnetta said. She expected the horrible old woman to simply slide her hands beneath the hem of the shift and fumble between her thighs.
‘Oh, aye. I must look at the bubs, dearie. That’s the only way to tell fer sure if a woman’s given suck to a babe.’
‘But I have not had a child. What’s that to do with anything?’ Garnetta threw an anguishe
d glance at the seated men. There was no help to be had from that quarter. Each of the monks wore a similar look of guarded impartiality.
‘You object?’ asked the abbot coldly. ‘Have you something to hide?’
‘No,’ Garnetta said. ‘I was just taken by surprise.’ Her fingers shook slightly as she untied the drawstring at her neck. Slowly she pulled the neckline wide, allowed it to slip down to her waist. Although she knew that in a few moments’ time she would have no modesty left to protect, she gathered the folds of the shift close.
As Matilda reached for her breasts she shuddered, trying to distance herself from the feel of the dirty, papery skin against her flesh. The midwife leaned forward, pinching hard to make the nipples stand out, then squeezing them as if she was milking a goat. She thrust her head forward, sniffing. ‘No sign of milk from paps,’ she said. ‘I can allus tell by the smell. This wench’s no mother. Leastways, she’s suckled no babe. Don’t mean that a man hasn’t been at ’er though. I’ll need to look closer to see if any man has breached her below.’
The abbot’s mouth thinned with distaste. ‘Proceed.’
Garnetta closed her hands into fists, tried to focus her mind on something, anything to distract herself from what must follow. She thought of Karolan and was surprised when her eyes misted with tears. If he had been here, he would have protected her. He would never have allowed her to be humiliated in this way. She felt a surge of longing for him, so intense that her heart hurt. She missed him, whatever he was, whatever he had done, she could not shake him free of her mind.
‘Off with that shift and up on the table with you,’ Matilda said. ‘My ole eyes ain’t as keen as they were.’
Garnetta forced herself to open her stiff fingers and let the shift fall. No one spoke. She could feel the tension in the room and did not need her extended senses to tell her that every man was indulging himself with feelings of sexual arousal. What beasts were most men. At least Karolan did not hide what he was. These men, with their shield of the ruby cross, armed against criticism by the robes of their calling, were hypocrites all. It was her helplessness and passivity that inflamed them. They despised her, not themselves, because her flesh had the power to move them. Careful to keep her eyes downcast, lest they should see the contempt there and condemn her for that too, she sat on the edge of the table and swung herself aloft.
‘Lie back and let your knees fall apart,’ Matilda said. Garnetta did so, feeling the tendons at her groin pull as the backs of her thighs pressed onto the rough wood. Her anger made her feel better. Let them see, let them all see, she thought. I have nothing to be ashamed of. The sin is theirs.
Matilda peered close. Garnetta felt her breath against her skin. Remembering the sour smell of it, her stomach roiled. As Matilda probed between her thighs she tried to relax, knowing that the examination would be less unpleasant. Matilda jabbed at Garnetta, the rough edges of her nails scraping the membranes hard enough to draw blood. Garnetta felt a finger enter her and almost gagged at the thought of the filthy hands on her.
‘Wench’s a maid still. See the blood?’ Matilda said, withdrawing her finger and wiping it on her skirt. Her eyebrows drew together as she continued to rub at the finger. The skin reddened, began to crack and weep blood. ‘What’s this? Some trickery’s afoot.’ Holding her finger in the air Matilda stalked towards the abbot, her face screwed-up with pain. ‘My finger’s burning up! The woman’s put a hex on me! You never told me she was a witch!’
The abbot rose to his feet. There was a shuffling and muttering as the other monks stood up. Garnetta stood facing them, her shift clutched in front of her.
‘I did nothing,’ she said. ‘You saw what happened. The crone scratched me.’
‘Silence!’ the abbot ordered. ‘We’ll hear no more of your lies and trickery. I know what you are. You’ll spread your foul sexual corruption amongst us no further! Constrain her. Bring in the testing device!’
Garnetta found herself held fast. There came the noise of wood against stone, as a curtain was drawn back and a wheeled contraption pulled into the centre of the room. The chair of carved wood had a high back and armrests. In the centre of the wooden seat was a large circular hole – just like a birthing chair, Garnetta thought, except that this chair had iron rings at strategic points. She realized that the abbot had been fully prepared for the turn of events. Her first impressions of him had been accurate. This man was her enemy.
‘Secure her to the chair,’ said the abbot, his voice strident. ‘This woman shall be made to reveal herself.’
Garnetta looked to Stephanis, expecting him to speak in her defence, but he only looked at her with an expression of wariness. Matilda called down curses upon Garnetta, the burned finger thrust into the folds of her filthy skirt. Garnetta struggled as her shift was torn from her, the anger like a hot coal in her belly. It took six of them to drag her across the room. As her back slammed against the unyielding wood, she cried out. ‘Let me go! Stephanis! Help me!’
The abbot threw Stephanis a sharp look. ‘See how this Jezebel calls to you!’
Stephanis blanched. ‘I’ve been misguided,’ he said in a voice of abject horror. ‘I was weak to give in to her wiles. May God forgive me.’
The abbot’s voice softened. ‘You shall do penance for your weakness. Now – bring forth the things we need for the testing.’ His eyes downcast, Stephanis did as he was bid.
Garnetta’s wrists were secured to the armrests, her ankles confined with leather straps. Held fast against the wooden chair, her buttocks protruding through the hole in the seat, she stared straight ahead. Her widely spread thighs were all that prevented her from slipping through the hole. Already her muscles protested at the strain. The carved wood bit into her back. She was forced to sit up very straight, her breasts thrust into prominence by her position.
The churchmen watching all wore expressions of piety which barely masked their lust. She hated them all. Stephanis stepped forward and placed a wooden tray on the table provided. Garnetta caught the glint of metal, saw a pile of wooden objects. Her flesh recoiled with horror at the thought of what they would do.
She must think past this crippling fear, for that was what unmade her. But she could not be brave in the midst of so many enemies. Was there no one she could trust? You can trust Karolan. Call on him. The thought came unbidden. She thrust it away. No. She was not yet ready to do that. His was perhaps the worst violation of all. Ah, but you cannot forget him, can you? Your body still burns for him. All you have to do is reach out with your mind. He is waiting. He will not fail you. She clenched her fists, unwilling to listen to her inner voice.
‘We shall begin,’ the abbot said. ‘This woman’s licentious nature will be revealed. She is a trickster and a liar, bent on seducing holy men. Did she not appear to you in a dream Stephanis? Place images in your mind? The lewd nature of these things forcing you into an unnatural act with Thomas?’
Stephanis nodded miserably. The others watching whispered amongst themselves. The abbot’s patrician face was flushed across the cheekbones. He beckoned to Stephanis. ‘You shall assist me. And you, scribe, record every detail. The bishop must be notified of these events.’
Under the pretext of testing Garnetta’s bonds, Stephanis leaned close to her and whispered. ‘Do not fear. There is freedom in suffering, glory in mortification.’
She glared at him, unable to find the words to express her loathing. Stephanis seemed to crumple beneath her gaze. Blanching, he stood back. When the abbot gave an order, Stephanis reached below the chair and took hold of a winding mechanism. The sound of metal grating on metal filled the room as the chair was cranked up until the seat was raised.
‘Observe how I shall reveal the demon lust within this body. She is ripe with evil and salacious humours.’ So saying, the abbot took an object from the tray, grasped Garnetta’s left breast and attached a sprung wooden peg to the nipple. Garnetta winced at the sharp pinching pain. Her entire breast began to throb. The abbot attached a peg
to her other breast, then in quick succession added two more pegs to each nipple. Garnetta screwed her eyes shut as the soreness vibrated through her chest.
‘See how the demon within her resists us!’ the abbot said. ‘Give me the paddle. The unclean spirit will beg for mercy when I beat it from her flesh!’
There was a loud crack, as the wooden paddle met Garnetta’s exposed buttocks. She convulsed at the shock of it. The sound of the blow was almost more terrifying than the smarting pain it bestowed. The abbot laid to with a will, placing the blows so that the underside of her thighs received a share of the punishment. Garnetta writhed, trying to escape the torment, but the wood wedged her tight, forcing her buttocks to gape. As the abbot spanked her, the edge of the paddle flicked against her anus until it too was a hot well of suffering. Sweating and gasping, she surged against her bonds, hardly able to draw breath between each new assault. The pegs on her nipples swayed, pulling at her abused flesh. The paddle slapped against her buttocks again and again. All her senses became condensed into one sizzling, throbbing ache. She was certain that the skin must split and the blood spray the infirmary floor, but the abbot knew just how far to go before inflicting real damage. Just when she thought she must faint, the spanking stopped.
Garnetta allowed her chin to drop onto her chest, drawing great painful breaths into lungs constricted by her efforts not to weaken and utter pleas for mercy.