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A Political Act
- Thread starter King Diocletian
- Start date
King Diocletian
Magistrate
Wat knew he had to be prepared. Her time was running out. In perhaps quarter of an hour they’d release her and then her had to be there to get her away from that place. He couldn’t have her stumbling half-naked around the market-place. How could he get over to her? He would have to ride his horse, try to drive it through the crowds. He saddled up.
*
Dick stood by the barrier, staring. His preference was for bigger tits, but she was captivating, the slenderness adding to the sense that she was a class apart, too delicate and refined for flesh. And yet she was shivering and squirming half-naked, covered in filth. He stared at the point where her left breast emerged from her ribs, her fingers clutching the pale flesh. A turnip hit her head, hard, and she was rocked back and for a moment he caught a flash of the side of the breast, pale and tender and smeared with dirt. This was a day he wouldn’t forget anytime soon: a beautiful noble birched and humiliated in front of the people.
*
Osbert had kept a few eggs back. He hurled one and it smashed against her forehead. She screamed and the crowds around him cheered and laughed as the ooze slid down her face. She was crying, too concerned about hiding her breasts to wipe it off. He threw another one, but his aim was off and it smacked into her shoulder. She yelped and he saw a red mark appear on her soft skin, even though the layers of grime. She looked pitiful, clearly frozen, utterly humiliated, but he wanted more. He hurled another egg, and struck her cheek. She shouted in pain and bent forwards, only for a guard to grab her hair and yank her up. He’d barely let go when a ball of horseshit struck her face, prompting wild laughter. She bawled in degradation. The crowd, he sensed, were building up to the finale; people were returning for the final minutes of her shame.
There was a hail of shit. She stayed up right, but her head was bowed, shoulders shaking as she sobbed, her whole body racked by shudders. Osbert threw another egg. It missed her nose by a fraction and smashed into her chest, the foul ooze sliding down from between her collar bones to gather in her cleavage, sustained by her crossed arms. She yelped in pain. He hurled his another egg and watched in satisfaction as it shattered on the crown of her head, matting in her hair and dripping slowly over her face.
She howled. “You still disgust me!” she shrieked at him. “Just because… because I turned you down. Take your revenge, you pathetic man!”
Osbert was shocked by her outburst, but the mob were just amused by her anger. They hooted with laughter. “Why would he want a breastless bitch?” a woman shouted. The chant of “Lady Two-backs” went up again. Osbert weighed another egg in his hand and threw it at her sobbing form. It glanced off her cheek, and she shouted in pain. “There’s more in your hand with an egg than one of her tits,” somebody said and there was more laughter. By then she was bawling.
*
Maude had won. She looked down at Isabel, screaming hysterically, covered in shit and rotten eggs and who knew what other filth, half naked and shaking, back bloodied and she knew she had destroyed her. Isabel would leave, she was sure of it. Nobody could withstand that humiliation. How could she go out again and see people who had seen her like this? How she could she walk past a man who had thrown missiles at her bare torso while shouting insults about her tits. She wouldn’t be able to show herself in public, never mind protest about anything.
Sir Thomas had left a minute or two earlier and she saw him, flanked by four of the temple guard and accompanied by the deacon, push his way through the crowd. Through the glass Maude could hear the chant of the mob: “Isabel, flat as hell!” She smiled. It was desperately cruel – and unfair, whatever else Isabel was, she was beautiful, even if she was on the thin side. Osbert, seeing Sir Thomas’s approach, hurled his last egg, which hit Isabel’s belly and fell, smearing a glistening line down to her britches. Should she have had her stripped naked?
The temple guard closed in. There was a final flurry of missiles, but as Sir Thomas advanced to the platform they ceased. Isabel, shivering, hands still hooked over her chest, looked at him with a pathetic gratitude. Two guards stepped bent at the front of the stocks and loosened the bolt. The top bar was raised. There was a pause and Maude realised that Isabel’s legs were so stiff she couldn’t easily lift them. Finally she drew her knees towards her body, as other guards grabbed her upper arms and lifted her. The motion, inevitably, pulled her arms away from her chest and, for a moment, her breasts, pale and capped by nipples that stood hard and red in the cold, were clearly visible to the mob. They roared their approval, as Isabel staggered forwards, legs unsteady. She fell to her knees between the bench and the stocks, hugging herself as soon as she could as the torrent of jeers washed over her. She glanced up, horror and shame and loathing written on her face and then lowered her head, tendrils of wet hair falling forward, tears and water and other filth dripping from her.
The bishop moved alongside Maude at the window. “She won’t forget that lesson,” he said, taking a gulp of wine.
Maude looked at her stepdaughter’s bloody back, huddled shivering amid the filth that surrounded the stocks. “No, she won’t,” she said with satisfaction.
Sir Thomas waved a hand and two guards pulled Isabel to her feet again. This time she kept her breasts hidden, hands clasped to the opposite shoulder, but her shame and terror was clear as her eyes remained fixed on the shit-strewn frosty ground. “Lady Isabel,” Sir Thomas said. “Your sentence is complete. You are free to go.” One of the guards gave her a light shove and she stumbled away from the stocks. She looked about her, left and right – Maude could see the terror in her deep brown eyes. The mob laughed at her horror, fingers pointing. There was no escape. She was surrounded. Maude hadn’t thought about this. How would she get out of the square? She considered calling to Sir Thomas, getting the temple guard to escort her, but already they were backing away. The mob still seemed wary of advancing onto the platform, but how long would that last? Isabel became more and more frantic, eyes darting this way and that, mouth opening in panic.
There was a shout, first a lone voice and then a number and Maude saw a horseman pushing through the crowd. At the barrier the horse paused, then skipped over, its hooves clattering on the stone platform. The rider, a scarf covering his face, reached down a gloved hand and Isabel, relief flooding across her face, grabbed it, and leapt up behind him. Her breasts were exposed but in that moment she seemed not to care. She clung to the rider, who thrust a blanket into her hand. As she wrapped it around her raw shoulders, the rider pushed his way through the crowds, which slowly parted before the horse, as though in thrall to its power.
It was her groom, Maude realised. How foolish men could be before a pretty face. It was laughable, really, a lady having to be rescued by one of her staff, but as she watched the horse disappear out of the square, she felt a slight nag of concern. Somehow in that final moment, the groom had salvaged something from the day. But still, she reflected, it wasn’t much. Nobody in the town would ever look at Isabel again without thinking of her shivering half-naked, bleeding and disgraced.
*
Dick stood by the barrier, staring. His preference was for bigger tits, but she was captivating, the slenderness adding to the sense that she was a class apart, too delicate and refined for flesh. And yet she was shivering and squirming half-naked, covered in filth. He stared at the point where her left breast emerged from her ribs, her fingers clutching the pale flesh. A turnip hit her head, hard, and she was rocked back and for a moment he caught a flash of the side of the breast, pale and tender and smeared with dirt. This was a day he wouldn’t forget anytime soon: a beautiful noble birched and humiliated in front of the people.
*
Osbert had kept a few eggs back. He hurled one and it smashed against her forehead. She screamed and the crowds around him cheered and laughed as the ooze slid down her face. She was crying, too concerned about hiding her breasts to wipe it off. He threw another one, but his aim was off and it smacked into her shoulder. She yelped and he saw a red mark appear on her soft skin, even though the layers of grime. She looked pitiful, clearly frozen, utterly humiliated, but he wanted more. He hurled another egg, and struck her cheek. She shouted in pain and bent forwards, only for a guard to grab her hair and yank her up. He’d barely let go when a ball of horseshit struck her face, prompting wild laughter. She bawled in degradation. The crowd, he sensed, were building up to the finale; people were returning for the final minutes of her shame.
There was a hail of shit. She stayed up right, but her head was bowed, shoulders shaking as she sobbed, her whole body racked by shudders. Osbert threw another egg. It missed her nose by a fraction and smashed into her chest, the foul ooze sliding down from between her collar bones to gather in her cleavage, sustained by her crossed arms. She yelped in pain. He hurled his another egg and watched in satisfaction as it shattered on the crown of her head, matting in her hair and dripping slowly over her face.
She howled. “You still disgust me!” she shrieked at him. “Just because… because I turned you down. Take your revenge, you pathetic man!”
Osbert was shocked by her outburst, but the mob were just amused by her anger. They hooted with laughter. “Why would he want a breastless bitch?” a woman shouted. The chant of “Lady Two-backs” went up again. Osbert weighed another egg in his hand and threw it at her sobbing form. It glanced off her cheek, and she shouted in pain. “There’s more in your hand with an egg than one of her tits,” somebody said and there was more laughter. By then she was bawling.
*
Maude had won. She looked down at Isabel, screaming hysterically, covered in shit and rotten eggs and who knew what other filth, half naked and shaking, back bloodied and she knew she had destroyed her. Isabel would leave, she was sure of it. Nobody could withstand that humiliation. How could she go out again and see people who had seen her like this? How she could she walk past a man who had thrown missiles at her bare torso while shouting insults about her tits. She wouldn’t be able to show herself in public, never mind protest about anything.
Sir Thomas had left a minute or two earlier and she saw him, flanked by four of the temple guard and accompanied by the deacon, push his way through the crowd. Through the glass Maude could hear the chant of the mob: “Isabel, flat as hell!” She smiled. It was desperately cruel – and unfair, whatever else Isabel was, she was beautiful, even if she was on the thin side. Osbert, seeing Sir Thomas’s approach, hurled his last egg, which hit Isabel’s belly and fell, smearing a glistening line down to her britches. Should she have had her stripped naked?
The temple guard closed in. There was a final flurry of missiles, but as Sir Thomas advanced to the platform they ceased. Isabel, shivering, hands still hooked over her chest, looked at him with a pathetic gratitude. Two guards stepped bent at the front of the stocks and loosened the bolt. The top bar was raised. There was a pause and Maude realised that Isabel’s legs were so stiff she couldn’t easily lift them. Finally she drew her knees towards her body, as other guards grabbed her upper arms and lifted her. The motion, inevitably, pulled her arms away from her chest and, for a moment, her breasts, pale and capped by nipples that stood hard and red in the cold, were clearly visible to the mob. They roared their approval, as Isabel staggered forwards, legs unsteady. She fell to her knees between the bench and the stocks, hugging herself as soon as she could as the torrent of jeers washed over her. She glanced up, horror and shame and loathing written on her face and then lowered her head, tendrils of wet hair falling forward, tears and water and other filth dripping from her.
The bishop moved alongside Maude at the window. “She won’t forget that lesson,” he said, taking a gulp of wine.
Maude looked at her stepdaughter’s bloody back, huddled shivering amid the filth that surrounded the stocks. “No, she won’t,” she said with satisfaction.
Sir Thomas waved a hand and two guards pulled Isabel to her feet again. This time she kept her breasts hidden, hands clasped to the opposite shoulder, but her shame and terror was clear as her eyes remained fixed on the shit-strewn frosty ground. “Lady Isabel,” Sir Thomas said. “Your sentence is complete. You are free to go.” One of the guards gave her a light shove and she stumbled away from the stocks. She looked about her, left and right – Maude could see the terror in her deep brown eyes. The mob laughed at her horror, fingers pointing. There was no escape. She was surrounded. Maude hadn’t thought about this. How would she get out of the square? She considered calling to Sir Thomas, getting the temple guard to escort her, but already they were backing away. The mob still seemed wary of advancing onto the platform, but how long would that last? Isabel became more and more frantic, eyes darting this way and that, mouth opening in panic.
There was a shout, first a lone voice and then a number and Maude saw a horseman pushing through the crowd. At the barrier the horse paused, then skipped over, its hooves clattering on the stone platform. The rider, a scarf covering his face, reached down a gloved hand and Isabel, relief flooding across her face, grabbed it, and leapt up behind him. Her breasts were exposed but in that moment she seemed not to care. She clung to the rider, who thrust a blanket into her hand. As she wrapped it around her raw shoulders, the rider pushed his way through the crowds, which slowly parted before the horse, as though in thrall to its power.
It was her groom, Maude realised. How foolish men could be before a pretty face. It was laughable, really, a lady having to be rescued by one of her staff, but as she watched the horse disappear out of the square, she felt a slight nag of concern. Somehow in that final moment, the groom had salvaged something from the day. But still, she reflected, it wasn’t much. Nobody in the town would ever look at Isabel again without thinking of her shivering half-naked, bleeding and disgraced.
King Diocletian
Magistrate
Boris Spider
Guard
Absolutely excellent. Thank you, KD.
Boccaccio
Governor
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
So did I! Great writing, KD!
The future could be that Isabel gets her revenge during a general uprise against the power of the church and particularly the system of indulgences. She returns to the city with an army, sacks the city and has all those who have humiliated her hung, drawn and quartered or so. And a special attention will be reserved for Lady Maude!
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
Wragg, can I borrow your loathometer a minute and point it at Lady Maude? Yes, I thought that might be the reading. I volunteer for Isabel's army, revenge for the poor girl!!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
I would like to join the army myself, Old Slave, and give those vilains theirs (meanwhile making fun with the captured townsmaidens and taking a good part of the loot).
Sure, those who will be hung, drawn and quartered, will be chopped off their genitals first after the hanging, as a part of the standard procedure, making them 'men with two backs'. I am sure Lady Isabel will like that.
But nevertheless, we must be careful what we would join in. After all, it would be detrimental for the moral and social cohesion and fabric of a Christian society, if a story would end with the defeat of the church and the humiliation of her dignitaries and her protectors.
So, there must be a third part, in which Lady Isabel's army is defeated, and those who are not slain on the battlefield, including Lady Isabel, awaits an exemplary execution.
(of course it is KD's story, I just let my imagination go).
malins
Stumbling Seeker
Anyway I just realized that while I've 'liked' the episodes I haven't so far left a comment here despite doing so elsewhere...
I think the story of Isabel's humiliation and exposure has worked very well, with the different perspectives we get, the conspirators, the detractors, the callous spectators who enjoy the spectacle of the highborn fallen or just any spectacle at all, the many who hold grudges against her and the very few who have any empathy. Compared with the walks to the cross we've seen, it's 'only' partial nudity, a birching and public shaming, but as we experience it with Isabel we can understand how it totally destroys her social existence... at the same time, her tormentors can't get away with anything, there are some limits to what they feel they can inflict, set by their desire to maintain the illusion that they are the legitimate moral authority... there are moments where they try to feel out from the responses of the crowd how far they can go and those moments of doubt where they feel it might be too far...
I think the story of Isabel's humiliation and exposure has worked very well, with the different perspectives we get, the conspirators, the detractors, the callous spectators who enjoy the spectacle of the highborn fallen or just any spectacle at all, the many who hold grudges against her and the very few who have any empathy. Compared with the walks to the cross we've seen, it's 'only' partial nudity, a birching and public shaming, but as we experience it with Isabel we can understand how it totally destroys her social existence... at the same time, her tormentors can't get away with anything, there are some limits to what they feel they can inflict, set by their desire to maintain the illusion that they are the legitimate moral authority... there are moments where they try to feel out from the responses of the crowd how far they can go and those moments of doubt where they feel it might be too far...
and I think with the experience of how quickly the people turned against her, whose interests she thought she was defending, Isabel won't be raising any armies...
A very good write, King D.
Gibbs505
SERVORUM DOMITOR
Not necessarily, peoples attitudes can change, not all but some could be ashamed by their reactions due to a mass hysteria event.
These could be formed into a group especially when they find out that they have been manipulated.
King Diocletian
Magistrate
Many thanks for your kind words. I have begun a sequel. I won't say too much but... well, it doesn't look great for Isabel.
barefooter
Condemned
Magnificently told!
Jon Smithie
Tribune
Another King Diocletian triumph. K. D., I'll refrain from heaping more encomiums on you about the quality of your writing except to comment that this is a typically well written, acutely observed piece. Thanks for another terrific read.
I will note that a crowd was not universally sadistic. I've read that when Daniel Defoe was placed in the pillory as punishment for publishing an anti-government tract, he was pelted with rose petals by an appreciative crowd. Speaking of pillories, as a personal preference (not that it matters) I think Isobel would have been sentenced to the more rigorous pillory for a crime as serious as blasphemy. Here she is:
Isobel, being a benefactor to many of the people in the crowd, might have been treated benignly. If so, I can imagine Maude and the church authorities quickly paying off some ruffians to abuse Isobel (perhaps they could start by ribbing off her shift, and rendering her completely naked) and then the crowd follows along.
I really hope you write a part two to this.
I will note that a crowd was not universally sadistic. I've read that when Daniel Defoe was placed in the pillory as punishment for publishing an anti-government tract, he was pelted with rose petals by an appreciative crowd. Speaking of pillories, as a personal preference (not that it matters) I think Isobel would have been sentenced to the more rigorous pillory for a crime as serious as blasphemy. Here she is:
Isobel, being a benefactor to many of the people in the crowd, might have been treated benignly. If so, I can imagine Maude and the church authorities quickly paying off some ruffians to abuse Isobel (perhaps they could start by ribbing off her shift, and rendering her completely naked) and then the crowd follows along. I really hope you write a part two to this.
Lord Ludwig
Magistrate
KD, any chance this sequel will see the light? three years have passed, and it's still one of the future releases I'm most looking forward to (almost as much as Winds of Winter, and both have me in fear the release date will turn out to be "never")
Jon Smithie
Tribune
I haven't read anything new by King Diocletian for ages. I hope he's still active, he writes so well!KD, any chance this sequel will see the light? three years have passed, and it's still one of the future releases I'm most looking forward to (almost as much as Winds of Winter, and both have me in fear the release date will turn out to be "never")