Saskia's Choice

[Pia]

When I think about it, I suppose it was all about choices. I could have said ‘no’ when Mistress Elizabeth asked me to help her. But I didn’t, I suppose because somehow I felt obliged, but really I think because deep inside, ever since I’d entered her service in the great house I’d been under her spell, bewitched and dazzeled by her beauty.

Her husband, the Duke, was old and could not make her happy, and I knew she took men secretly to her chambers. And I felt somehow privileged when she told me, as I combed her golden hair, about the young Count and how they made love together and her ideas for the future when her husband would no longer be a burden and his wealth would be hers. The more we talked, the more I understood her impatience and her longing to be rid of him, and it seemed almost natural when we began to hatch our plan. I suppose I thought at the beginning that it was just a game, the sort of gossip and dreams you share in those moments at the end of the day when you become tired and the dim candles flicker in the chamber, but the more we talked the more real the plan became.

And now I had another choice to make, the hardest of my life. It had all gone so dreadfully wrong. The coachman had tried to keep going when we stopped him and even though it was night there were people who saw what we did. It was meant to seem like a robbery, the sort of hold-up that were all too common in the city in these times, but nothing went to plan. There was so little time and the snow made everything harder and in the end betrayed us. I didn’t remember to take the things from him, and there was so much blood and I know my hands were covered and as I jumped from the coach he looked down at me and our eyes met and I know he saw through my disguise and knew just who I was; and they simply had to follow the marks in the snow which led back to the postern gate of the house.

I hid the clothes in the little space behind the stairway that ran to the kitchens and tried to wash myself clean, but even as I was doing so the militia guard arrived with the coachman and the others who had seen the incident and the house was filled with noise and shouting. They pulled me out from the kitchen and marched me up the stairs to the hall and at the same time they dragged Mistress Elizabeth from her rooms above and led her down the staircase to stand next to me. And the other servant girl from her chambers, who was called Anne and was the same age as me. The coachman was shouting and told them to go to the servants quarters and get the footman who he said was the lover of my Mistress, which I knew not to be true, although he had spent some nights with her when she was lonely. But now he was implicated too. And so we were all lined up in front of the marble fireplace in which, I remember, the embers of the logs glowed a deathly red in the irons of the grate.

 

[Top-Cat]

When I think about it, I suppose it was all about choices. I could have said ‘no’ when Mistress Elizabeth asked me to help her. But I didn’t, I suppose because somehow I felt obliged, but really I think because deep inside, ever since I’d entered her service in the great house I’d been under her spell, bewitched and dazzeled by her beauty.

Her husband, the Duke, was old and could not make her happy, and I knew she took men secretly to her chambers. And I felt somehow privileged when she told me, as I combed her golden hair, about the young Count and how they made love together and her ideas for the future when her husband would no longer be a burden and his wealth would be hers. The more we talked, the more I understood her impatience and her longing to be rid of him, and it seemed almost natural when we began to hatch our plan. I suppose I thought at the beginning that it was just a game, the sort of gossip and dreams you share in those moments at the end of the day when you become tired and the dim candles flicker in the chamber, but the more we talked the more real the plan became.

And now I had another choice to make, the hardest of my life. It had all gone so dreadfully wrong. The coachman had tried to keep going when we stopped him and even though it was night there were people who saw what we did. It was meant to seem like a robbery, the sort of hold-up that were all too common in the city in these times, but nothing went to plan. There was so little time and the snow made everything harder and in the end betrayed us. I didn’t remember to take the things from him, and there was so much blood and I know my hands were covered and as I jumped from the coach he looked down at me and our eyes met and I know he saw through my disguise and knew just who I was; and they simply had to follow the marks in the snow which led back to the postern gate of the house.

I hid the clothes in the little space behind the stairway that ran to the kitchens and tried to wash myself clean, but even as I was doing so the militia guard arrived with the coachman and the others who had seen the incident and the house was filled with noise and shouting. They pulled me out from the kitchen and marched me up the stairs to the hall and at the same time they dragged Mistress Elizabeth from her rooms above and led her down the staircase to stand next to me. And the other servant girl from her chambers, who was called Anne and was the same age as me. The coachman was shouting and told them to go to the servants quarters and get the footman who he said was the lover of my Mistress, which I knew not to be true, although he had spent some nights with her when she was lonely. But now he was implicated too. And so we were all lined up in front of the marble fireplace in which, I remember, the embers of the logs glowed a deathly red in the irons of the grate.

Pkindenhaag

It's good to take back their stories.

Their stories are not repetitive and preachy.

Bring on more!

Top Cat

 

[Barbaria1]

When I think about it, I suppose it was all about choices. I could have said ‘no’ when Mistress Elizabeth asked me to help her. But I didn’t, I suppose because somehow I felt obliged, but really I think because deep inside, ever since I’d entered her service in the great house I’d been under her spell, bewitched and dazzeled by her beauty.

Her husband, the Duke, was old and could not make her happy, and I knew she took men secretly to her chambers. And I felt somehow privileged when she told me, as I combed her golden hair, about the young Count and how they made love together and her ideas for the future when her husband would no longer be a burden and his wealth would be hers. The more we talked, the more I understood her impatience and her longing to be rid of him, and it seemed almost natural when we began to hatch our plan. I suppose I thought at the beginning that it was just a game, the sort of gossip and dreams you share in those moments at the end of the day when you become tired and the dim candles flicker in the chamber, but the more we talked the more real the plan became.

And now I had another choice to make, the hardest of my life. It had all gone so dreadfully wrong. The coachman had tried to keep going when we stopped him and even though it was night there were people who saw what we did. It was meant to seem like a robbery, the sort of hold-up that were all too common in the city in these times, but nothing went to plan. There was so little time and the snow made everything harder and in the end betrayed us. I didn’t remember to take the things from him, and there was so much blood and I know my hands were covered and as I jumped from the coach he looked down at me and our eyes met and I know he saw through my disguise and knew just who I was; and they simply had to follow the marks in the snow which led back to the postern gate of the house.

I hid the clothes in the little space behind the stairway that ran to the kitchens and tried to wash myself clean, but even as I was doing so the militia guard arrived with the coachman and the others who had seen the incident and the house was filled with noise and shouting. They pulled me out from the kitchen and marched me up the stairs to the hall and at the same time they dragged Mistress Elizabeth from her rooms above and led her down the staircase to stand next to me. And the other servant girl from her chambers, who was called Anne and was the same age as me. The coachman was shouting and told them to go to the servants quarters and get the footman who he said was the lover of my Mistress, which I knew not to be true, although he had spent some nights with her when she was lonely. But now he was implicated too. And so we were all lined up in front of the marble fireplace in which, I remember, the embers of the logs glowed a deathly red in the irons of the grate.

You know the old saying "crime doesn't pay" ... even when it starts out as a bit of a game ... there is going to be hell to pay here ... that's very clear.

 

[Primus pilus]

And so we were all lined up in front of the marble fireplace in which, I remember, the embers of the logs glowed a deathly red in the irons of the grate.

Pp patiently awaits their fate. As Barb says there will be hell to pay and that should make damned entertaining reading from Pkin's pen.

 

[Pia]

We were quickly hustled out of the house into the snow, but not before Mistress Elizabeth had calmly insisted that one of the servants should get her one of her fur coats against the blizzard that now raged outside. No such favours were granted to the rest of us and I expected none to follow, for the crime was too obviously discovered and the mind of the head of the militia guard was most certainly made up and supported by the evidence of the coachman and of the blood soaked clothes that I had so hastily tried to hide. Our fates were sealed, it seemed to me, but it was the bitter cold that made my teeth chatter, I am sure, not the fear of what was soon to come, not yet.

It was but a short walk to the old town hall, the freezing snow chilling my bare feet as I tripped over the icy cobbles, down the slope. We were taken to the small iron-barred door at the rear and hurried into the stone corridor beyond, the torch casting shadows over the rough-hewn wall. Anne was crying and pleading her innocence, which I knew not to be true, for she had been with me when Mistress Elizabeth procured our services and had brought me the knife from the kitchen. The footman stood quietly, hanging his head and shaking it slowly. I felt sorry for him for he had done nothing but sleep with my Mistress, but he had realised that there could be no mercy. My Mistress stood proudly in her furs, staring straight ahead, the gloom of the awful place somehow enhancing her beauty, her eyes sparkling in the flickering light. I am sure she too knew that there could be no escape, although as I looked at her lovely face I think she thought that this might still be her saviour, her looks or her noble rank.

The justices had been summoned, for it seemed an obvious case, and although their night was disturbed a murder quickly solved and the perpetrators soon punished would serve them well. And the town executioner soon arrived as well, shaking the snow from his coat, turning his head away as he pulled the mask over his face. For the first time I felt a deep sense of fear creep through my body, a strange tingling feeling and a dryness in my mouth. I knew I would have to decide what to do. There was no saving anyone, of course, but there are many possibilities when you are facing the final judgement, and I had to think quickly how to act.

 

[Barbaria1]

We were quickly hustled out of the house into the snow, but not before Mistress Elizabeth had calmly insisted that one of the servants should get her one of her fur coats against the blizzard that now raged outside. No such favours were granted to the rest of us and I expected none to follow, for the crime was too obviously discovered and the mind of the head of the militia guard was most certainly made up and supported by the evidence of the coachman and of the blood soaked clothes that I had so hastily tried to hide. Our fates were sealed, it seemed to me, but it was the bitter cold that made my teeth chatter, I am sure, not the fear of what was soon to come, not yet.

It was but a short walk to the old town hall, the freezing snow chilling my bare feet as I tripped over the icy cobbles, down the slope. We were taken to the small iron-barred door at the rear and hurried into the stone corridor beyond, the torch casting shadows over the rough-hewn wall. Anne was crying and pleading her innocence, which I knew not to be true, for she had been with me when Mistress Elizabeth procured our services and had brought me the knife from the kitchen. The footman stood quietly, hanging his head and shaking it slowly. I felt sorry for him for he had done nothing but sleep with my Mistress, but he had realised that there could be no mercy. My Mistress stood proudly in her furs, staring straight ahead, the gloom of the awful place somehow enhancing her beauty, her eyes sparkling in the flickering light. I am sure she too knew that there could be no escape, although as I looked at her lovely face I think she thought that this might still be her saviour, her looks or her noble rank.

The justices had been summoned, for it seemed an obvious case, and although their night was disturbed a murder quickly solved and the perpetrators soon punished would serve them well. And the town executioner soon arrived as well, shaking the snow from his coat, turning his head away as he pulled the mask over his face. For the first time I felt a deep sense of fear creep through my body, a strange tingling feeling and a dryness in my mouth. I knew I would have to decide what to do. There was no saving anyone, of course, but there are many possibilities when you are facing the final judgement, and I had to think quickly how to act.

Uh oh, disturbing the sleep of the justices and the town executioner on a cold night is not exactly what you want to do for optimum results. Better think quickly girl! Your life may well depend on what you elect to do next.

Keep going PKin! The excitement here is building fast

 

[Pia]

We were taken to a small cell and chains were placed on our ankles, securing us to the wall. My Mistress had to give up her fine shoes and coat and for the first time I think the reality of the situation became clear to her. The cell bars were locked shut, closing us in, although I was certain this would be a short interval. In the antechamber, which we could see through doorway, the justices and the officer of the militia guard conferred with the executioner, the justices settled in their chairs behind a heavy table, glasses of red wine in their hands. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the officer repeatedly turned to the cell and his finger singled me out. After all, I was the one who had been seen making the attack, and for them, I was the murderer. I would be the first to be questioned, I was sure, and this, I supposed, presented me with the opportunity to shape how the case would be handled. My heart palpitated as I considered the choice before me. I knew that a speedy and full confession might mean a closure for myself, but would expose the others to the question whilst perhaps condemning us all to the worst of penalties; but if I was to convince them to spare that suffering, then I would visit a greater horror on myself, for I would have to somehow resist the torments for as long as possible and have them draw my confession from my lips in a way that they would believe. I looked at Mistress Elizabeth and at Anne and the poor footman. I had made my choice.

 

[Barbaria1]

We were taken to a small cell and chains were placed on our ankles, securing us to the wall. My Mistress had to give up her fine shoes and coat and for the first time I think the reality of the situation became clear to her. The cell bars were locked shut, closing us in, although I was certain this would be a short interval. In the antechamber, which we could see through doorway, the justices and the officer of the militia guard conferred with the executioner, the justices settled in their chairs behind a heavy table, glasses of red wine in their hands. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the officer repeatedly turned to the cell and his finger singled me out. After all, I was the one who had been seen making the attack, and for them, I was the murderer. I would be the first to be questioned, I was sure, and this, I supposed, presented me with the opportunity to shape how the case would be handled. My heart palpitated as I considered the choice before me. I knew that a speedy and full confession might mean a closure for myself, but would expose the others to the question whilst perhaps condemning us all to the worst of penalties; but if I was to convince them to spare that suffering, then I would visit a greater horror on myself, for I would have to somehow resist the torments for as long as possible and have them draw my confession from my lips in a way that they would believe. I looked at Mistress Elizabeth and at Anne and the poor footman. I had made my choice.

The latter choice methinks...let the fun begin

 

[Primus pilus]

but if I was to convince them to spare that suffering, then I would visit a greater horror on myself, for I would have to somehow resist the torments for as long as possible and have them draw my confession from my lips in a way that they would believe.

Ohhhhhh, a potential martyr? Pp enjoys a martyr to begin but then finds himself a little too sympathetic. Looking forward to Pkin being less so with Saskia.

 

[Pia]

I was expecting something to happen straight away, but the justices and the executioner carried on talking for some time longer. And then the executioner’s assistant, at least that was my assumption, because he also had his face covered, was called and was sent out on some sort of task. We were all sitting now in the cell in anticipation of what might come next, most of us staring quietly at the straw-covered cobbles, feeling their chill on our bare feet, shuffling quietly.

Minutes later the boy returned with another man; he seemed annoyed that his sleep had been disturbed, but when he saw the justices he changed his tune and thanked them for summoning him. They gave him a glass of wine and told him his work would be valuable to them tonight, and that he would be rewarded for the necessity to call on him at this late hour. It became clear to me that he was a physician, someone skilled in repairing broken bones and so on, and the thought of what he would be needed for made me tremble. At this point the executioner and his assistant rose and left the ante-chamber through a heavy door on the left. This must have led straight into the room they kept their machines and equipment in for soon light came from the doorway suggesting they had lit the torches in preparation for what was to come next. I now understood that the proximity of this room to the cell and the ante-chamber meant that the prisoners and the justices could hear exactly what was going on without having to watch the proceedings. For the prisoners the intent was to fill their hearts with terror; for the justices to spare their sensibilities from the actuality of the tortures being applied. I could sense my breasts rising and falling as I listened to them making their tools ready, moving heavy objects and testing ropes. I could only imagine what the questioning would be like.

 

[Primus pilus]

I could sense my breasts rising and falling as I listened to them making their tools ready, moving heavy objects and testing ropes. I could only imagine what the questioning would be like.

Lovely Pkin. Pp's mind is watching those rising and falling breasts and conjuring up all sorts of ways of asking questions of Saskia.

 

[Pia]

The executioner emerged, his work complete, and nodded to the justices, then advanced to the cell door, turning the key and slipping the bolts. Ann and the footman shuffled backwards on their haunches, trying to disappear into the shadows, but Mistress Elizabeth immediately stood, glaring almost with anger at the men in the ante-chamber. Immediately I stood too, recognising what was happening, and shuffled forward in my chains to stand just in front of her, facing the open doorway. The justice, the one who seemed to be the senior of the two, nodded to the executioner who advanced and, kneeling, released me from my bonds, taking my arms firmly and leading me out, then bolting the cell locked once again. I stood before the justices, swallowed hard and bit onto my lip.

The second one then explained that I would be put to the question. He said that it was evident that I had committed the murder and that was not the matter at hand, but rather that they wanted to discover the full details of the events and the complicity of others in the crime. He asked me if I wanted to confess now all that I knew. I looked at the ground, then briefly at Mistress Elizabeth in the cell, and shook my head. The justice sighed and then said he was committing me into the hands of the executioner who would now pose the questions and that I should go with him. At this point, and I think for the first time that night, I felt a terrible fear.

The executioner led me into the chamber reserved for the special purpose of the question. It was a fearful place full of chains and ropes hanging from the arched ceiling and machines of various sorts. Along the walls hung various tools and devices for what purpose I could only guess, together with whips of many types. The boy stood by one corner tending a fire under a plate of coals in which he was heating an iron with a spiked end and a small metal pot. The room stank of old sweat and the smell of burned flesh. Slowly the executioner showed me the machines and explained how he could use them. He seemed a gentle man, despite his calling. He told me that he did not do his work for pleasure but that it was his job, as it had been his father’s, and that he was simply discharging the requirements of the law. He said I should not be afraid of him, but of the pain, because the pain could be very awful. At a certain point he went back to the ante-chamber and one of the justices, I do not know which, asked that, having seen the chamber, would I now give my confession. Again I shook my head and now he asked the executioner to proceed to the first degree.

He asked me to undress, explaining that if I resisted he would have to force me, so I quietly removed my dress and girdle and my underclothes until I was standing in front of him quite naked, my arms wrapped over my breasts, somehow to protect me I suppose. He then nodded to the boy and told him to proceed, explaining to me that to conduct the torture he would first need to cut my hair short. The boy advanced with a pair of shears of the sort that might be used on sheep, and with a few slicing movements my long dark hair was soon lying on the stone floor, with just a ragged mop remaining. With a further nod he indicated that I should be tied onto the ladder rack that lay propped against one of the walls. I saw no point in resisting what was inevitable and so without protest climbed the first few rungs of the ladder, my back against it, and offered my hands above my head so that the boy could tie them to the roller. Once he had done this he secured my ankles to the bottom of the ladder with another pair of stout ropes. The knots were tied very firmly, so that even without the action of the rack they cut into my flesh. I bit again on my lip and breathed deeply, anticipating the application of the first torture. I closed my eyes, determined to hold true to my purpose, and imagining my Mistress with her beautiful golden hair. How I longed for her, from the first moment I came into her service, and now I knew she would understand that I was giving myself for her in the only way I still could.

 

[Pia]

The first now torture commenced, the executioner turning the wheel which drew the ropes over the roller, at first simply lifting me from the rungs of the rack, but soon extending my limbs tightly. Every so often he would pause as the ropes pulled my arms and legs from my body, allowing me to catch my breath. I became conscious of a film of sweat forming on my tightly-stretched skin and of increasing pain in my shoulders and hips. I could sense my own ribs against the flesh of my chest. The wheel turned more and I felt a fire burning inside me and then heard the terrible pops and cracks as my limbs began to give up to the pressure on them. I was sure that the others in the cell would be able to hear these awful sounds as well as my cries and gasps.

Eventually the executioner stopped and went to speak with the justices. He came back and asked me if I would now confess all I knew to them and that if I would then the torment would cease. He told me that he did not want to hurt me further, but that if I persisted in remaining silent then he would have no choice and that it was a certainty that, in the end, I would speak, for everyone always did. I shook my head, for I was not sure I could speak, so much had the pain harmed me. He relayed this message to the justices, who then, I could hear, conferred, before one of them announced in a clear voice, so that all could hear, that the executioner should proceed to the second degree.

Now the executioner, to my surprise, released the tension in the wheel and allowed my body to fall back onto the rack. He summoned the boy to untie the ropes and I was lifted to the ground. I was falling in and out of consciousness, but was aware that a third person had entered the chamber. This was the physician, who carefully examined me, and spoke quietly to the executioner. He said that I was strong and that only my left shoulder had dislocated; he said he would reset it and then it would be permissible to move to the next level of torture. I cannot describe the pain as he twisted my shoulder back and the horrible sound as it popped back into the joint. I shrieked in pain and gasped hard for breath. The boy came with a small leather tumbler and put it to my lips. I swallowed quickly, some of the red wine they had given to me to strengthen me for the next torture dribbling from my lips over my face. But no sooner had they offered this small kindness than they lifted me back onto the rack. I had not noticed, but during the brief interval the boy had inserted a spiked roller into a socket in the rack and this now pressed onto my back most painfully as they drew my arms and legs again with the rollers.

 

[Pia]

Once I was fully extended the executioner again came to me and asked me if I would now save myself the further pain that the next level of torture would involve. He said to me that I would in the end confess and that he had no wish to break my body further, but that if I was unwilling, then he would have to start once again. He explained to me that the pain of the first degree would be as nothing compared to the agonies he would now be required to inflict on my body. He seemed a kindly man and a part of me wished that I could confess to spare him his sorrowful work, but I knew in my heart that I must resist a little longer and that I would have to face whatever the second degree might bring. I felt a tear running down the softness of my cheek.

 

[Barbaria1]

Once I was fully extended the executioner again came to me and asked me if I would now save myself the further pain that the next level of torture would involve. He said to me that I would in the end confess and that he had no wish to break my body further, but that if I was unwilling, then he would have to start once again. He explained to me that the pain of the first degree would be as nothing compared to the agonies he would now be required to inflict on my body. He seemed a kindly man and a part of me wished that I could confess to spare him his sorrowful work, but I knew in my heart that I must resist a little longer and that I would have to face whatever the second degree might bring. I felt a tear running down the softness of my cheek.

Reading this is just like being there. I can just feel that roller digging into my back and the wet tear running down the softness of my cheek. Brilliant writing Pkin....oh, to be Saskia .... the degree by degree process and the slow dutifully considered behavior of executioner, doctor and boy helper add so much ... one wonders, just how many more degrees can she take before .....

 

[Jollyrei]

Always good to get a kindly torturer. Frankly, I think it adds to the impact of the story. The sacrifice theme is always compelling when done well (as this is).

 

[Pia]

Almost immediately, as the ropes were tightened, I felt my shoulder give way, and at the same time my back told me that the spikes were cutting into me as I moved over the rack. I remember a terrible howl coming from deep inside of me. But the torture did not stop and the rack pulled me more and more, once again the most awful noises coming from my own body as muscles and ligaments were torn apart. I thought that my very lungs would be ripped from my chest for I could hardly breathe at all, and several times the boy had to splash me with cold water to revive me from a faint. The executioner came to me and told me if I would just say the word he would now stop, for otherwise he would have to move to the final part of the second degree. Once again I was determined to resist just a little longer. He called over the physician to check me and to make sure, I suppose, that I would not die here on the rack. He confirmed that both my shoulders were now dislocated, as was my left knee, but that the damage was not fatal and that my injuries could be set once the second degree was complete. The executioner nodded. I could not see his face, but I imagine he probably felt sad. I wondered whether he perhaps had a daughter, maybe one my age. But then I bit my teeth hard together to ready myself.

He could not, without killing me, stretch me any further now, so the torture moved to a different approach. The boy carried over the iron I had seen before the first degree began and I now saw it clearly, a long iron stem tipped by a claw of red-hot metal. The executioner held it over my eyes, and I was immediately fearful, but then he took it to my side, where my flesh stretched tight on my ribs. I could feel the terrible heat, and then I know I lost all control of myself as he pushed the claw into me, slowly drawing it down my body. I knew that my screams must be terrifying the others in the cell and I tried to control myself, but it was most difficult, and I was so humiliated by the sound of my own piss falling onto the stones of the floor. But still it was not over, and the boy now came with the pot which he held in a pair of iron forceps. It looked like a small model of the sort of pot a blacksmith might use. At the instruction of the executioner he came to me, where there were now a series of burned tears in my side, and carefully poured the contents of the vessel over and into the wounds. I could not move, tied to the rack as I was and stretched, but if I had been free I would have arched my body so quickly to escape the burning hot liquid. It splashed over the cuts and ran over and around my body, torturing me most terribly as it went and drawing the most frightful sounds from me, no longer cries as such but more those of a dying animal.

Eventually I subsided in my agony, sensing not just the pain in my limbs and side, but also the deepening cuts in my wrists and ankles where I had pulled against the bonds. The executioner once again asked me if I was done. I could barely mumble now or indeed move my head to shake it, but I made enough sound to convey to him that he should proceed and complete the second degree. I knew, I thought, what to expect now, although this did not diminish the horror as the procedure with the claw and the oil was repeated on the other side of my poor body. And then it was over and the ropes were slackened. The executioner went to the justices and told them that he had completed the second degree. I could hear them talking, although my senses were now somewhat dimmed, and I could hear him returning to talk with me. I became aware that I was now seeing the chamber through eyes that were blurred, I supposed by the shock of the pain. He placed his face close to mine and asked me if I would now confess. He said I had been very strong and brave, and that he had no wish at all to subject me to the third degree, which would undoubtedly kill me, albeit most slowly and awfully, and that now I had done enough to protect my friends and that it would be wise to confess, for I could do no more.

I tried to speak, but realised that I could not, for nothing but drool came from my lips. But I too understood that I had done what I had set out to achieve, and that a confession at this juncture would be taken as the truth, extracted under the greatest of torments. And so I nodded my head, very slightly. He immediately went to the justices and I could make out him telling them that I had agreed to make my confession. They expressed their gratitude and praised him profusely, then asked him to make me ready.

 

[Pia]

The boy, together with the executioner, now removed me carefully from the rack and placed me on a mat on the stone floor. I was again given a small tumbler of wine to revive me and, I suppose, to numb me somewhat. The physician came to me and I shook in fear for the pain of his medicine was it seemed as great or greater than that of the torture. He quickly set back my shoulders, causing me huge pain and making me cry out loud, and then moved to my knee, which hurt even more grieviously. Next he bandaged the knee, which was bleeding badly and wrapped more bandage around my body where the claws had torn my flesh. He told the others to give me more wine and to set me before the fire in the ante-chamber to recover, and so they carried me and laid me, naked but for the bandages, in front of the justices and the others in the cell. I gasped for breath in my pain, but very slowly began to come to my senses. Some minutes later, I do not recall how many, the boy lifted me to my feet and helped me to the chair before the justices’ table. He placed a blanket over me to hide my modesty somewhat. I felt terribly cold, despite the heat of the fire and the warming wine, and I was conscious that my hands were shaking badly.

The senior justice now spoke to me and asked me to make my confession, which I did, in a weak and trembling voice, so quietly that none but he and his assistant could hear my words. I confessed to the murder but said that I had performed the crime of my own volition, and that although my Mistress had often times lamented at the misery of her life with her ancient husband, she had not ordered me to kill him. I said that the other two were not involved and were here by accidental error. He looked at me and I knew he could tell that I was lying, or at least not telling the full truth, and he asked me again to confirm my confession. He pressed me on the role of my Mistress and I knew that he had already decided that she was a conspirator in the crime, but I could also sense, from his eyes, that he did not want to subject her, a noble and a beautiful woman, to the question. He had enough of a confession from me, and he could make his own mind up about the roles of the others. But he did not have the full confession I am sure he had hoped for. Inside, although I knew that we were all doomed, I smiled a little. The assistant justice now passed a parchment he had been writing as I confessed and offered me a pen to sign. I could hardly hold the quill and the executioner had to help me, but I was able to make my mark. This part of the process was over, and I sighed deeply as I was helped to my feet and led back into the cell, where I was laid down on the straw as they fastened the chains to my ankles.

 

[Pia]

I suppose that I slept for a while, or lost consciousness perhaps. Slowly I awoke, the pain in my limbs immediately returning to torment me, for however I tried to lie there was no relief to be found. I was aware of the footman and Anne huddled in the corner, sobbing together and of my Mistress, sitting straight against a wall, her lovely eyes fixed on me. Outside the cell, the justices were talking and drinking. The officer of the militia guard was with them still and they dug with their knives into a plate of meat that must have been delivered for them at some time during the night. At a certain point they rose and shook hands with the officer and with the executioner, whose boy had been busy I imagine in the torture room, making things tidy once more. I heard the senior justice tell the officer that they would pronounce judgement and sentence tomorrow in the council chamber in the old town hall, the building that stood above the cellar in which we were incarcerated. He talked also to the executioner, telling him that it was a good thing that the scaffold had been left standing in the new town square as it would be needed the following day, and that he should get his things ready for the afternoon. I think that perhaps the others did not hear this conversation, or maybe I didn’t either and just imagined it all, I can’t be sure.

The bell of the cathedral sounded seven and minutes later the officer and the other militia men came into the ante-chamber and unlocked the cell door. We were told to stand, but I could not, and two of the guards had to help me. I was also naked, apart from the bandages, and my body was bloody and dirty. The officer said that this would not do and one of his men went for a bucket of cold water. I think he took some pity on me because he was gentle with his hands and the cloth as he wiped my skin. Another guard came with a rough shift which I understood they wanted me to wear, but I could not lift my arms at all and it hurt me greatly as they bent my body and tugged the garment over me. Next they set chains on our wrists and released the ankle chains from the hooks that restrained us to the cell wall and quickly, firmly but with patience for my discomfort, they took us up a small circular stone staircase which opened directly into the council chamber.

We were led to a rail before the justices, who had been joined by the town mayor and some other magistrates, all in their fine robes. The others were compelled to stand,their chains fixed onto the rail. For me, they brought a chair, and then, although this was not really necessary, fixed my chains to the rail as well. The magistrates and justices seemed to spend a long time consulting books of laws and talking among themselves, but at a certain moment the senior justice who had presided the previous evening banged a gavel onto his table and called the session to order.

The hearing did not last long, for they had the evidence of witnesses and my confession. The justice proclaimed that we were all guilty, in one degree or another, of the murder of the Duke, and that the law would require that we suffer the penalty of death. I suppose I had understood this from the beginning, but Anne and the footman broke down in tears, sobbing and howling as they hung their heads, hoping, I assume, that their performance might procure some sympathy.

Next the justice moved on to the detailed sentences. He stated that Anne and the footman were accomplices in murder and would die by hanging the next day in the new town square. They sobbed more, and as they had in reality been responsible for so little, and indeed, in the case of the footman nothing but sharing my Mistress’ bed, I sympathised; but at least their deaths would be quick. Next he moved to my Mistress, the Duchess. He talked for a long time, implying that she had commissioned the murder of her husband, although he had no real evidence for this, for I had given them none. But I soon realised that this would not save her, although perhaps it might save her the worst torments of the law, I hoped, for I could not help but love her every time my eyes caught her profile in the light streaming from the high-set windows. He proclaimed, finally, that she was guilty of inciting, if not commissioning, the murder and that her sentence was death by the sword, the execution to take place following that of the two others in the new town square. But then he added that the sentence would be preceded by a procession through the town, stopping at the site of the murder, where she would be whipped on the back until the blood flowed, and next at the west door of the cathedral, where she would again suffer the whip, and finally at the scaffold. For the first time she lost, almost, her serene composure, then snarled a defiance at the magistrates before her.

And now I knew it was my turn, and I anticipated something much worse, for now I held the prime guilt, and indeed the judgement was not solely for murder but for conspiracy and petty treason and sentence was that I should also ride in the tumbril to the three stopping places, and that at each my back would be flayed with a knife and my breasts would be torn with heated pincers, and then at the scaffold I would be laid on the breaking cross and not spared any of the fullest torment that justice could proclaim, for I was to be broken ‘from the bottom up’ as they called it, and I understood what this meant, in that my feet and legs would first be broken by the wheel, and then my arms, such that my suffering would be drawn out long and hard and the release of the final blow would only come when the crowd had tired of my torture. I bit hard on my lip. I could have expected no mercy and I supposed I deserved none. I felt fear of course and a sense of terror, for although I had suffered the question twice I had no idea how the pain would be although I supposed it would be awful.

The sentences were to be carried out in the afternoon, which was only a few hours away; a short time which we would spend in the cell from which we had come. At some point a priest came to offer us absolution, which we all took, kissing his ring and the bible. And then the executioner came to explain to us what would happen. This was a fearful moment. He apologised to me but said that although he would like to administer a quick blow to my throat, as he did for most breakings, he had no option but to carry out the sentence as given, as he would himself be punished if he failed to do so. He told me to be brave and said I had shown how brave I could be under the question, and that it would all be over soon. He also asked forgiveness of my Mistress and said he hated the need to flog her, but that it was required. He would not strip her entirely he said, but would need to cut her dress to reveal her back and that it would be best to do this now, once he had cut her hair. My Mistress objected loudly that her hair, which was so beautiful, should not be cut, but he said it was necessary to enable the sword to do a clean job and that she should not argue, for if she did he would have to fill her mouth with a wooden block and that would simply add to her suffering, so in the end she yielded. The boy cut the hair of the other two also. Anne cried continuously but the footman had fallen quiet and seemed reconciled to his fate. They were to be the first to die, as their sentences involved no procession, and soon after their hair was cut they were led in their chains out from the cell and along the passageway. We would not see them alive again.

 

[Pia]

Eventually our time came and we were taken from the cell to the cart standing outside. I was more alive than dead and could hardly move at all. My Mistress looked so proud and beautiful, her eyes sparkling a deep blue as she gazed ahead, her back such a perfect white beneath her torn dress. It was snowing fretfully, and the ground was bleak and icy. As the cart was led around the old town hall, we suddenly became aware that we were the subject of the attention of every citizen of the city, for the streets were thronged and lined with militia men with their halberds. It was bitterly cold, and we both shivered terribly. It took several minutes for the procession, which included the justices and magistrates and the town councilors, to come to order, and several more until we reached my Mistress’ house, which was our first stop. The executioner had ridden in the cart along with his boy and their implements and now he spoke softly to my Mistress and told her to be strong, for he had to deliver his blows with all his power. He had a whip fashioned from long thin stems or twigs, perhaps willow, bound together at the base with cord. Quickly he pulled her dress apart, drawing a murmur of sympathy for the crowd, for they would always feel emotion for such a lovely young woman and a noble, even if she was a murderess. He struck as hard as he had promised and although my Mistress tried to keep her composure she soon broke down and cried out loud, for the whip was shredding her fair skin and the blood was flowing from the welts. After fifteen strokes he stopped, and then it became horrifyingly clear that the blood was freezing on her back. Her head fell forward and she rested her body on the rail of the cart before her.

Now it was my turn, and I knew it would be dreadful. With a quick turn of his knife the executioner cut the shift from my darkly bruised shoulders, tugging it down to my waist, exposing my still-bandaged body to the crowd. They jeered me, for it had been announced to all that I had been the perpetrator of the murder itself. The executioner apologised once again to me, then made the first of his cuts on my back, just along the shoulder blade and it felt about an inch long. The pain raced through me, but I knew this was just the start, for he pushed the knife into the cut and peeled away a strip of skin about six inches long, letting the blood flow over me. He repeated this twice and I knew that these three cuts themselves would be repeated twice more at our successive stops, such that my back would be flayed totally by the time I was placed on the breaking cross. Next he moved to my breasts and, taking the pincers that his boy had heated, closed them over the left side of my left breast, squeezing tightly so that the fire burned into my very soul, then twisting sharply and pulling a lump of flesh free. Immediately the boy laid a broad knife that had also been in his chaffing pot over the wound to staunch the blood. I think I fainted, but was revived, so that I could fully enjoy the second tearing, in which the right side of my right breast was similarly disfigured. Now it was my turn to collapse in agony onto the rail of the cart, which, accompanied by the shouts of the crowd, moved off to the cathedral door.

I need not repeat my story, save to say that the fifteen lashes on the back of my Mistress became nine and then, at the scaffold, six; for it was evident that she could bear no more. At each stop my torment was duplicated until my back was relieved of all flesh from my shoulders to my waist and my breasts were torn on each side and over the place where my lovely dark nipples once were. I was now a broken girl, but about to be broken more completely than I could still imagine. First though, they took my Mistress and carried her up the stairs to the scaffold, where Anne and the footman hung from their necks, their bodies slowly swinging. She could not hold herself upright when kneeling so a chair was found to which she was bound. She raised her head the best she could and looked straight ahead, and I think may just once have looked at me. Then the executioner came to her, said a few words, pushed the remains of her golden hair behind her ears so that her neck was laid bare and with a single, swift stroke and an intake of breath from the crowd, removed her head from her lovely neck.

And so they came for me. I was quite incapable of moving myself now and was swallowed by pain in every part of my body. They dragged me up the steps, not really troubling to carry me now, and placed me on the wooden cross, my back screaming at me as the torn flesh pressed onto the cold, snow-dusted wood. With a swift movement the executioner removed the last remains of the shift from my waist and now I lay there naked, staring at the spin-drift in the grey sky, as they secured my wrists and ankles with heavy leather cuffs, pulling them tight. He said a few last words to me, I can’t remember what they were, then lifted the iron-rimmed wheel above my left leg. I think I smiled at him as he smashed it into me and my life flooded with the most exquisite of agonies.

And there I think my tale must stop, other than to say, as I am sure you have guessed, how as I drowned in my agony I knew that the choice I had made had, in every possible way, been the right one.