The Flesh Endures

by Cleo Cordell

  ‘A virtuous woman would be weeping for shame,’ the abbot cried. ‘This creature revels in her sin! Her fortitude is indeed unnatural.’ He bent close to Garnetta and hissed, ‘I shall drive the demons from your lustful flesh. Do not doubt that you will be compelled to void them!’

  She raised her head, blinking away the sweat that dripped into her eyes, and glared her defiance. Picking up a handful of the wooden pegs, the abbot put his hand between her widely spread thighs and grasped her coynte. Pinching one of the labia tight, he attached a row of wooden pegs. Already sore from the paddle which had, now and then, struck her pudenda, Garnetta gave a low moan. The abbot attached another row of pegs.

  She rose up against her bonds, feeling the leather cut into her wrists and ankles. From the neck down her flesh was a riot of pain. Her thighs and buttocks boiled and simmered, her coynte felt swollen with agony, but far worse were the avid expressions of the watchers. If only she could rob them of their unclean pleasure. Somehow she distanced herself for long enough to turn her will inwards. It was all she needed. The stillness within opened up, swallowing the pain. Instead of a black maw of suffering, she found a place of security, of warmth and sweetness. Her fear drained away, for she knew now that they could not hurt her if she did not allow it. The pain receded, seemed to come from a great distance. Raising her head, she managed a tremulous smile.

  The abbot gaped, his mouth working furiously. ‘Foul creature!’ he spat. ‘Steeped in the sin of Eve! You dare to mock the Holy Church!’ Incensed he slapped her face, but still she would not weep. ‘The clyster, Stephanis,’ the abbot said. ‘Let us purge this abomination!’

  With shaking hands, Stephanis picked up a jug containing a mixture of wine, powdered root of rhubarb, pepper, and turpeth – a powerful cathartic. After stirring the mixture well, he poured it into a clyster bag.

  Garnetta fell silent, tensing at the new assault as the metal nozzle of the clyster was pushed into her anus. As Stephanis squeezed the pig’s bladder, the liquid was forced into her bowels. She clenched her stomach muscles, fighting the urge to bear down. The mixture felt heavy and oppressive within her. Almost at once it began to burn as the turpeth scoured her bowels. As the clyster was withdrawn, her anus convulsed. Droplets of sweat stood out on her forehead. She trembled as her body gave in to the impetus to empty itself. With a rush of shame, she bore down and voided her body’s wastes onto the stone floor. The pungent smell rose up around her, animal, primeval. With it came a catharsis. They could do nothing more humiliating to her. Raising her head, she saw that the abbot’s white robe had been splashed by the filth. A chuckle vibrated in her throat.

  The abbot’s face turned puce, bound by anger and revulsion. ‘Take her away. This creature is beyond redemption! The bishop shall decide what is to be done. But I shall recommend that she burns!’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Hiding the scourge in the folds of his robe, Stephanis unlocked the door to Garnetta’s cell and slipped inside. As his eyes became accustomed to the dimness, he saw her sitting on a pile of straw, a stillness about her that spoke of deliberation. Her bare feet protruded from the bottom of her shift. How narrow and fine those feet were. For a moment he wavered in his purpose. She looked more glorious in the creased and grubby shift, than many a woman would look in cloth of gold.

  ‘What do you want?’ she said calmly, her metallic grey eyes alight as if they contained some arcane knowledge to which he would never be privy.

  ‘I am found guilty of lustful feelings, unclean actions,’ he said. ‘For this I have done penance, but it is not enough. I come to beg for your help. The hex you have put upon me is strong and enduring.’

  Her self-possession was almost unearthly. ‘Whatever it is that I am, I am no witch, Stephanis. You are deluded. This suffering of yours is your own doing.’

  The lie stole his breath. Oh, the trickery of this temptress. Was there nothing that could prompt her to admit her foulness? Before he lost the courage he pulled his habit over his head, then fumbled with the twine around the hair shirt. In a moment he was naked, save for the rope around his genitals. Garnetta watched in silence, the chains at her wrists and ankles clanking together as she changed position on the straw. It seemed to Stephanis that he could feel the weight of her regard. The dread of it was delicious. Hands shaking slightly, he placed the scourge on the stone floor. Slowly he turned his back, crouching down, so that his chest brushed the cold floor and his bare rump was held up in the air.

  Clenching his teeth upon a blissful rush of shame, he advanced backwards, towards her. He imagined her looking at his mortified flesh, feeling respect for his noble suffering. How could she not be impressed by the rope which compressed his stones and staff of Adam? The ache in his belly from the constriction was present night and day. The badges he wore on his skin were many. The hair shirt, compressed by twine, had scraped a raw trough around his waist. The rough fibres in the cloth had abraded the weals on his shoulders and back, irritating the flea-bites which peppered his torso. Many of the wounds were suppurating, but he had resisted putting any salve on them.

  When Garnetta still did not speak – no doubt out of awe – he waggled his rump helpfully. ‘As you were once a child of God, I beg you to do me this service,’ he said, his voice hoarse with need. ‘Because of you I have fallen. I have been beguiled, tempted, bewitched. Cleanse me with the scourge. I beg you.’

  ‘Oh, do get up,’ she said. ‘If you could but see yourself. You look . . . ridiculous.’

  A deep flush crept up Stephanis’s face. She must agree to beat him. His balls contracted against the rope with mortification. ‘Please,’ he murmured, his belly cramping with a rush of pain.

  ‘Enough! You sad, pathetic creature. Master your own lusts. Do not rebuke me for your failings!’

  Her words fell on him like blows. Slowly Stephanis rose to his feet. He felt stripped to his bones, exposed in a way that no man ought to have to endure, especially before a woman; that creature inherently flawed by her sex. An abiding anger curdled in his stomach. Trembling with emotion, he pulled his habit back on. It was as if scales had fallen from his eyes. He flashed Garnetta a look in which there was hatred now instead of longing.

  Her face was implacable, a slender oval in the gloom. ‘You look at me with the face of honesty at last. I never was saint nor demon. What I am is something set apart from you and perhaps all others. A man finer than ever you’ll know is my maker. He saved me from death by ceding me a dark gift. And God help me, I am proud of that at last! For my lord is an honest rogue. He hides not behind lies, repressed desires, and false piety – as do you!’

  Stephanis’s skin shrank against his skull. ‘Blasphemy!’ he hissed. ‘God made the world and all in it, madam! Speak you not of this Other, whoever he may be.’ Only now, did he see her clearly. Her beauty had always been something otherworldly. Garnetta had no need of a grimoire, a toad-familiar, or wax manikins. Like Eve she had embraced the serpent. ‘So, you are beyond help,’ he said evenly. ‘Your own words condemn you. When you are put to the fire, I shall be there to watch.’ At the cell door he fitted the key in the lock, then glanced over his shoulder. ‘It is still possible to repent. God’s mercy is great. Shall I kneel with you now and pray?’

  She turned her face to the wall and would not look at him. He heard her say softly, ‘It is passing strange that every act in this world, both good and bad – merciful or evil, is done with the blessing of the Lord.’

  ‘What you plan to do holds much danger,’ Gunter said to Karolan. ‘You do know that you’ll be arrested, your house and lands confiscated, the proceeds going to swell the church coffers? No one can wrest a heretic from the clutches of the church and escape censure! Then again, you being a lord – there’ll have to be a hearing . . .’

  Karolan looked up from the book which was spread open on the table, his eyes flashing wickedly. ‘Did you know that there are seven kinds of fever, Gunter? Putrid, hectic, tertian, quotian, quartan, ephemeral, and sinochu
s?’

  Gunter slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. ‘This is no jesting matter! You are not listening to me!’

  ‘Mistake me not, Gunter. I am. It is just that you are such good fodder for bait! To be serious. Directly I leave your house I’m away to my manor. I must give instruction to my steward, Romane. There are . . . well, many things I have no wish for the watch to see, should they decide to search for fugitives.’

  Gunter looked at Karolan sharply. ‘Incriminating things? Ach, a charge of witchcraft against you would indeed put your vassals at risk.’

  ‘You amaze me, Gunter. You suspect me of being an adept of the black arts, yet still you wish to help me?’

  ‘Of a surety I bloody do!’ Gunter growled. ‘I don’t care if you sup with Old Nick himself – ’twould not surprise me too much if you did! A man does not come easily by skills such as yours. You know a great deal about the world and its secret ways. More than I, and I’ve travelled more extensively than most. You speak with authority of science and forbidden things. Then there’s the fact that you’ve seen more of the sickness than is wise or even foolish, but you’ve taken not a moment’s illness.’ He paused, his blue eyes intense with emotion. ‘All that, I care nought for. You saved my father’s life. For that, I call you friend. There’s passage abroad the Helga for you. You’ll need it, if you truly are set on the course of a madman.’

  Karolan slapped Gunter on the back. ‘That’s the most I’ve heard you say at one time! But thank you. I shall need your help to escape once I have Garnetta.’

  Gunter groaned. ‘I ought never to have told you about the woman they’re holding over at Holy Penitence. I had only a garbled story from a half-crazed lad who I found begging by the side of the road. This lad, Clem, told me such a story of brigands and virgins, truth and betrayal, spilt blood and spirits and errant monks, that it ought to be written into a mummers’ play!’

  ‘He told the truth, my friend. Don’t ask me how I know that Garnetta’s being held at Holy Penitence. I just know. I have to go and fetch her.’

  Gunter scratched his head. ‘Well, if you must, you must. Should you need some extra muscle when you go to face the abbot, I’m your man.’

  Karolan nodded shortly, ‘Good man,’ he said, closing his book. ‘I’ll let you know. Now, I must take my leave. As you have seen fit to remind me, my time is suddenly grown short.’

  Romane watched calmly as Karolan put a leather bag of coins onto the table in front of him. ‘Must you leave England and become a fugitive?’ he said. ‘You could petition the king for help. You have served him well in the field.’

  ‘That would take time. Something Garnetta does not have.’

  Romane looked at him gravely. ‘This woman has brought you much trouble, but you value her highly indeed if you are willing to endanger yourself. I never did believe your tale about Garnetta being a runaway wife. Whatever she is, she is something fine and rare. As you are, my friend. I hope you will be happy together.’

  Karolan grinned. ‘Oh, I intend to make certain of that. But time is of the essence. I regret that this final visit must be brief. This money is for you. Here are signed documents, freeing all those under my protection. It is the best I can do for you all.’

  Romane smiled sadly, the lines cutting deeply into his face. His silver hair looked thinner, his stoop more pronounced. In just a few weeks Romane seemed to have aged, but his loyalty was as steadfast as it had always been.

  ‘There seems little to discuss,’ Romane said. ‘What can I add but my regrets? As for myself, I have made provision. I shall do as you ask for your vassals, but they will fare well enough. Whoever comes to take your house and lands will need workers. The machinations of lords and churchmen affect those who till the land less than you might think.’

  Karolan smiled at the old man with affection, knowing that he was right. Romane’s wisdom, his knack of doing the right thing without stopping to question or condemn, had served him well over the years. He could still remember the skinny, lame boy who had been so eager to please, the light of intelligence bright in his narrow face. He was tempted to confide fully in the steward, but thought better of it. Romane had his suspicions, let them suffice. He knew nothing that would incriminate himself were he to be questioned by the church council.

  ‘Where will you go?’ Romane said.

  ‘To Flanders. A friend has offered Garnetta and myself ship’s passage.’

  Romane’s faded blue eyes were blurred with emotion. ‘Then I wish you God speed. I do not expect we’ll meet again in this world. It has been a singular experience to serve you, Karolan.’ The two men embraced.

  At the door which led to his tower, Karolan turned and waved. ‘Fare you well, dear old friend,’ he said under his breath.

  Even as he took the stairs two at a time, his thoughts were moving forward a few hours to when he must return to the town. Every instinct screamed for him to hurry to Garnetta’s side, but first he must destroy everything in the laboratorium. Romane was only partly correct. The new owners of his lands would need his peasants to labour for them, but if it became common knowledge that their lord had been a heretic and necromancer, then the lives of everyone who had ever known him would be endangered.

  After stoking the furnace, he moved around the laboratorium, gathering together all the things which must be destroyed. The flames licked greedily at the parchment, vellum, and other written materials which he heaped upon them. It took a long time to rip apart the great tomes with their covers of leather decorated with silver wire and gems. All must be destroyed; the drawings, rich with symbolic imagery; the ledgers with their countless columns of figures and computations; the complex scientific diagrams. The rare and ancient works, which he had brought from the Holy Land, must also be burnt. He could not suppress a pang of sorrow as he unrolled a scroll covered with beautiful flowing Arabic script. He had killed Nasibia and Harun to obtain those works, unwittingly setting in motion the string of events which led ultimately to his transmutation.

  Well it could not be helped. Any one of the tracts was enough to incriminate him, lay suspicion upon Romane and others of his household. Once alerted, the church was ruthless in its efforts to root out those it regarded as enemies of Christendom. Yet for all of his feelings of regret, he felt little grief. This work could be begun again. He had done it before. He was sweating by the time he began breaking apart the wooden racks which held alchemic instruments. He consigned them to the flames, then emptied the glass bottles which held the preserved babes – some so ancient that only a revolting soupy sludge emerged. The sad little relics, mementoes of his abortive attempts to get normal women with child, sizzled and melted in the furnace. He hardly dared allow himself to think about the possibility of having a child with Garnetta. That was something for the future – for when they were far from this place. Finally the laboratorium was empty of anything incriminating. He gathered together the few items he had set aside. There was one final ritual he must perform before he left this place for ever.

  Stripping off his garments he poured water into a vessel and added a combination of pungent oils. After washing himself all over, he went to the four corners of the laboratorium and said an invocation. In the centre of the chamber, he drew a circle on the floor and within that a five-pointed star. After final preparations, he sat cross-legged in the centre of the star. On the floor in front of him he placed an uncut emerald, as big as the palm of his hand. Emptying his mind, he put himself into a trance. For almost an hour he sat as if frozen, a faint sheen of sweat pearling his limbs.

  Gradually the walls of the chamber darkened and drew inwards. In the near distance a faint glow appeared, which grew brighter and took on the form of a window. A greenish light, pale and murky, flowed out of the window. Karolan watched as the window grew bigger. Now he found himself looking through the opening onto a seashore, where sluggish grey waves crashed upon a beach of black sand. At the horizon a diseased, purple sky met the water, spreading a violet glimmer
on the monsters that churned and boiled in the seething waves. The wind shrieked and howled, gusting sickly, yellowish sea-spray against spikes of rocks.

  Now he could see the sheer side of a cliff face, the dark openings of many caves. Nothing moved upon the shore. Piles of weed, black and slimy-looking gave out a faint phosphorescent glow. There was a fetid smell of salt and rotting things. The very air was dank and oppressive. He sensed that there was a powerful presence in one of the caves. Emanations of great age and a stolid, deep intelligence impressed themselves upon him. ‘I bid you come forth,’ he said, his voice commanding but respectful.

  There was a movement from deep within the cave. He heard a sound as of wet coils unwrapping, then a heavy body dragged itself over the sand towards the cave entrance. ‘Who calls upon me?’ The voice was low-pitched, rasping, painful to his ears. ‘Are you one who comes to gaze upon my beauty?’

  Karolan did not answer, but waited patiently. In a few moments a huge shadow emerged from the mouth of the cave. It was so dark and dense that it seemed as if the night itself had emerged and was seeping like ink up the cliff face. Karolan fought down his terror, gazing at the diva with awe. This was the first time he had dared to converse directly with such a being. All his previous rituals had concentrated on calling upon lesser elementals. It was only his desperate need to bind the Fetch into his service that gave him courage to ask a diva for help.

  The window was almost blocked by the huge form that reared up before him. Now he could see details of the being’s form. In the violet tinted light of the shore, the scales covering the lower body of the woman glistened wetly. There was a clashing sound as the iron-hard scales rubbed together. As the diva swayed back and forth, Karolan could see the gaping sexual aperture at the underside of her tail, where her belly melded into the greyish scales. The thick, leathery sex-lips opened and closed, making greedy sucking sounds. A noxious, grey-brown slime trickled from the aperture. Karolan’s gorge rose. He fought against his revulsion, concentrating on holding himself in the trance. As long as he stayed within the pentagram he was safe.