Chapter One

I have decided to put to paper and share with everyone a truthful narrative of several extraordinary events, which indeed I recently underwent and happily survived, while they are still vivid in my memory. I can say first of all, this ribald adventure of lust and mayhem of mine began a few years ago in the spring of 1558.

I can still remember all too well feeling the rigors of hunger and fatigue, while aching as a man likely should, having spent the better part of a week in the saddle. I remember as well the resolute mettle of my horse, Murielle, who was surely at least as tired as I. Not only was she exhibiting signs of exhaustion, I feared she was coming up lame, as she seemed to limp increasingly, favoring one of her front hooves. She was performing double duty after all; carrying me, her rider, plus the burden of my earthly goods, consisting primarily of clothing and heavy metal tools, as we slowly worked our way toward Rouen, where I enthusiastically expected to take a position in the armory; this an opportunity afforded me by my craft- master upon the recent completion of my apprenticeship at Tours.

Considering the fact that my time of employment and training had been successful, and my acquired skills were viewed to be of obvious value, my master in Tours reluctantly allowed me, after being permitted by the Compte de Touraine, to do what a new journeyman traditionally does: to leave the place where his training was received and to travel to a new employer, hopefully to increase and enhance one’s skill in the trade by exposure to new challenges and techniques. Fortunately for me, my master was pleased with me, and accordingly arranged for me an excellent position as a journeyman armorer at Rouen, in Normandy.

I realized finally fatigue was getting the best of me and I would need to find a place to rest for the night; and even more so for Murielle than myself. I was unable to encounter anyone on the road and was unsure if I was on the correct route, or if there was an inn anywhere ahead, so I decided to simply follow a stream I encountered for a distance in order to find a satisfactory place to spend the night under the stars. To my surprise, I saw in a glade ahead a saddled horse tethered to a tree. There was no rider to be seen, so I cautiously approached, always vigilant to be on the lookout for brigands.

I smelled the smoke from a fire - a cooking fire I hoped, as I was feeling the pangs of hunger, not having eaten since the morning, and then only meagerly. I had expected to find an inn, and to have dined there, but as I said, I was now resigned to a night with neither adequate food nor shelter. I saw movement and I discerned the presence of a single individual, apparently in the act of donning their clothing. I thought it somewhat imprudent, yet at the same time courteous to betray my presence, so I gave out a whistle as a signal to whomever it was at the fire that they now had company.

“Who comes?” sounded a feminine voice.

“Denis Babineau,” I said, “From Tours. I mean no harm. Please, I have some bread. I have some wine. Could I share your fire?”

“Come ahead. Show yourself.”

I approached, and gazed upon a young, rather comely woman standing confidently, her hands on her hips as a sign of saucy indifference. A hooded cloak concealed whatever was underneath, save for the remarkable red hair protruding around her face, and her cat-like green eyes contrasting with the remarkable, but enticingly alluring complexion of her oddly freckled skin.

I attempted to dismount but was stopped by her admonition. “Stay mounted, Boy! I have not decided if you are welcome. As you see, I am a solitary woman with no escort - no protection. It is an unwise thing to welcome a stranger in these times, in places such as these. You say you mean no harm to me. How do I know this to be true? How do I, a vulnerable girl traveling in the wilderness, feel secure in trusting a stranger such as yourself?”

“My lady,” I said, “please, I have no intentions toward you. I simply wish to share your fire, and perhaps an evening of cordiality - no more. I could surrender to you my sword for your safekeeping, if that would make you feel better.”

“This is a peaceful place, Boy, and I expect a peaceful night. If I trust you and you betray me, you will rue it. Very well, come to my fire.”

We shared my bread as well as some dried apples and sausages she produced from her satchel. Curiously, she seemed rather ill- equipped for a traveler. Her supplies appeared quite meager if she was actually on a journey of any duration. We began drinking the wine I had with me. Soon enough, it was gone, and she then miraculously produced some of her own. After some time spent in consuming the majority of the wine we had, curiosity got the best of me.

“I wish to know your name, my lady. You know mine, as Denis. Yours, my lady?”

“You may call me Jacquette, Boy. I will tell you no more than that. Only Jacquette.”

“Very well, Jacquette. Perhaps I would not be too forward if I asked you how it is you are here, this place at this time, in the wilderness without an escort, susceptible to heaven- knows- what?”

“I can care for myself, Boy. I am quite used to being alone on frequent occasions. Never mind me. What of you?”

“I am on my way to Rouen to work at the armory as a craftsman, my lady - Jacquette.”

“Oh, you make weapons and the like?” she asked.

“I do. I have also learned the art of forming sheet- metal into armor - you know, the cuirass, the greaves, the helmet?”

“Oh, I know what they are, Boy. I know them well, and their uses. Do you know how to use the weapons you make, or are you just content to produce them for others?”

“I have some skill with the sword, but I confess I have more skill in their fabrication. I hope this is no impediment to your respect, Jacquette. After all, we cannot all be masters of the arts of war.”

“It is no impediment, Boy. As a matter of truth, I admire you as a man of forthcoming honesty. I am tired of braggarts and bullies. You are a refreshing change to the people I usually am forced to deal with.”

“How so?” I asked, as we shared the last of our wine. “How do you find me so pleasing?”

“Because, Boy, you presented yourself to me with a respect I am unaccustomed to. You approached me as a gentleman, in spite of my apparent condition of vulnerability.”

“Vulnerability?”

“Oh, please! You must have seen me bathing in the stream. You must know I barely was able to conceal myself, even though inadequately, before you let me know you were here.”

“You think I was watching you bathe? You think I saw you naked?”

“I do.”

I began to feel the wine a little too much. My discretion was easily discarded. “Ah, Jacquette, I only wish I had. A beauty such as yourself should perhaps be admired as the wonder of nature she surely is. I fear my timing was off. Alas, I was too late.”

‘And perhaps, your timing was exact,” she said, rising and approaching me on my side of the fire.

She opened her cloak and lifted her shift, displaying two treasures that only could been given to her by such a goddess as Venus herself. She pulled me toward her, burying my face within those gorgeous, inviting globes of beauty.

I felt as if I knew precisely what was expected of me. I kissed them both without any further encouragement, then began to suck her nipples, first one, and then the other. I sensed her hand pushing upon the top of my head. I soon found my lips below her navel, kissing, and then licking the soft, smooth skin waiting there.

“Taste me, Boy, she said with a whisper. Taste me now, and I will do for you. She placed my willing mouth where she desired it to be, holding my head in place, as if there was any desire on my part to not co-operate. I placed my thumb in a place I knew she would approve, then my forefinger in another, slowly manipulating her, feeling her wetness. Warm and pulsating, she soon elicited ecstatic sounds of pleasure as my anxious tongue worshipped at her altar of Aphrodite.

“Now,” she purred, “Now you, Boy.”

I lay back and closed my eyes. The intensity of the pleasure she brought me was beyond anything I had known, and I considered myself quite experienced in these matters. I could not have held myself back even if I had wanted to. Soon I felt the intense urgency of imminent release and then profound relief as she drained me of my essence. Even after she finished, my eyes stayed closed. I was unsure what she did with what I had spent, but I fantasized that I knew.

Soon we lay gazing at the sky, she with her shift still uplifted, I with my breeches down around my ankles.

“My, my,” she giggled. “What a strong and brave soldier you have there! He does not retreat yet. Perhaps we should see if we can use him some more,” she said as she lifted herself upon me and straddled my hips.

I had been with many women before, as I have said already. Most of them were dull, uninterested whores who were easily hired for a roll in the hay, with no expectation of anything other than perfunctory performance of routine activity. This was not to be the case this time.

I was almost to the point that I felt fear as I observed her in her gyrations of erotic animation - fear that I would fade and fail her - somehow disappoint this sensuous wildcat, this voluptuous orchid from the garden of the fabled Sybarites.

It was with a great deal of relief I realized she had finally met the satisfaction she sought and I was adequate in providing it. She ceased her movement and kissed me somewhat passionately, but curiously, with a palpable air of appreciation. She got up from her position over me, pulled her shift down and sighed audibly. I wanted to say something, but I feared whatever it was I would say would be inadequate to the occasion. I remained silent. She placed several pieces of wood on our dying fire, lay on her side and fell asleep as if this entire incident we had just experienced was for her no more than a routine daily activity.

We were both fairly besotted with the wine we shared, but even then I marveled at her apparent insouciance. She was so unconcerned, so sure I was to be trusted that she dared fall asleep in my presence? A complete stranger?

I met the dawn alone. Sometime during the night my mysterious flame- haired siren had slipped away. “Jacquette,” I sighed. I had a hollow feeling of loss in my chest. My God, I thought, how did I let this one go?

I surmised then perhaps the entire incident was merely a figment of my imagination. “Yes.” I said aloud to myself, “just a silly idle notion. Things like this cannot happen. Just a fantasy a young man remembers briefly when he wakes and finds he has had an emission in his dreams.” Saddened, I walked to my horse, intent on finishing my journey. There was an unexpected item fastened to my horse’s saddle ring: a flower, a sprig of apple blossoms actually, tied with a lock of fiery red hair!

I and my poor horse resumed our journey to Rouen. I travelled the entire day without a bite, and then finally came upon an inn. I supped on fish and turnips with an ample portion of bread and ale. I inquired as to my exact location and was informed I could easily reach my destination on the morrow. The morning saw me on my way, filled again with more bread and ale, and with Murielle replenished by a generous ration of grain I had purchased for her, I was ready to take my new venture in stride. Confident in my skills and usefulness in my craft, I felt quite certain of a fortuitous outcome. I was haunted with the memory of Jacquette, but not so much in a melancholy sense, but rather one of accomplishment. After all, I thought, whoever that wonderful creature was, that bewitching beauty was once mine; for what it was worth, we shared something most only dream of, and some never even dare dream of. I had her in my arms, I had myself inside her. I tasted the sweetness of her femininity. I will have that at least, forever.

The afternoon found me at my destination, the city of Rouen. I presented myself to the master armorer, a man of renown called Romilly. I gave him a letter of introduction which he graciously accepted. I was shown my quarters and introduced to some of the guild members with whom I was to share my working life.

I was able to fit in to the routine of activity with no difficulties. Our enterprise consisted of two major but separate services to the crown. One was the production of generic arms, swords, pikes, pole-axes and the like for the armies of Henri II, the current king of France in this year of 1558. The demand for weapons seemed incessant as his campaigns against the House of Hapsburg as well as chronic problems with Protestant trouble-makers required constant resupply. The second enterprise, the one I was to pursue, was the fabrication of plate armor for the gentry, the knights and aristocracy of France.

My labors consisted at first of the lesser skilled functions I had already mastered. I was aware this would be the case, as no one would be expected to simply start in at a high level operation without proving their skill in the more rudimentary operations. I demonstrated my ability to draw metal with fire, hammer and anvil. I fabricated the various parts of the suit, the greaves and vambraces and all the others. I successfully provided the mechanisms needed for the fastening and articulation of joints, proving to my new master that my former employer in Tours was indeed truthful about my abilities.

My Lord Romilly was indeed pleased with my performance. Within three months he assigned me two apprentices to train on my own. My quarters were upgraded and my food rations were improved. I was given a small stipend for personal needs and an occasional reward above that when M. Romilly deemed it appropriate. I was pleased at my progress to the point I even entertained thoughts of stepping into My Lord Romilly’s shoes someday.

Though I felt respected by some, I felt resented by some others. I detected a certain air of contempt and contumely emanating from some of my fellow journeymen. I knew I had never done a thing to offend any of them. I had been cordial and helpful, never failing to be of assistance in solving problems arising in the day- to- day operations of our shop. Then all at once it struck me. I realized the source of the friction. They feared me. They felt inadequate in comparison to my skills and believed our master saw it the same way. I was viewed as a threat.

There was one certain individual, a man named Sauvage, who displayed the most animus toward me. Not only that, it became rather obvious he was the driving force behind the treatment I was receiving from others. It became increasingly difficult to obtain assistance with lifting or otherwise manipulating heavy materials during routine operations for instance; something that is taken for granted by all of us: the availability of assistance. More often than not, I was forced to fend for myself. I would see my enemy Sauvage standing, watching me work, struggling with a burden while he would smirk at my difficulty, and signal to others to ignore my plight as well. There was another underhanded act going on. Sabotage! I would sometimes return to my bench to find my efforts compromised by deliberate damage. My apprentices, whether through lack of observance, complicity, or simple fear, denied any knowledge of the cause.

I considered reporting the entire affair to the master My Lord Romilly, but decided against it. How would it look? I would be seen as weak and cowardly, like a frightened child taking refuge under his mother’s skirts. No, I concluded, I would deal with it in my own way. I had not formulated any real plan, but I started by instructing my apprentices to guard my work in my absence. There would be no excuses accepted if any further damage was incurred. I told them any failure on their part would result in their dismissal, of which I had the power to cause to happen as their superior. I was sure they were more aware of what was going on than they admitted. I thought this would serve as a temporary solution at least. During the weeks that followed there were no more incidents of sabotage, but the air of animosity was palpable. My apprentices knew their responsibilities, but they performed them for reasons other than simple loyalty toward me. This saddened me, as I once had high aspirations for them. Now, I saw them as no more than churlish rogues. I was sure that Sauvage was behind it all. He and I eventually managed to learn to work in the same place without interacting on an interpersonal level. It was awkward, but it was working. I knew it would not last, though. He hated me. It was obvious there would be a reckoning soon enough. I was certain of it.

There was news circulating in the city. There was to be a series of executions carried out a few weeks hence. There were two men of aristocratic station sentenced to be beheaded for treason against the Crown, and along with this, a gruesome spectacle was scheduled to be carried out at the same time. In order to demonstrate to the citizens of Rouen the consequences of being convicted as a highwayman, several convicted brigands, likely men from Normandy, but not necessarily of this immediate locality, were to be brought to Rouen and broken on the wheel.

A new scaffold was in process of being built in a field that was designated for such uses. There were already pillories for flogging and a gibbet for hanging, kept there as permanent fixtures. The scaffold being built was especially intended to provide an unencumbered view for the greatest amount of spectators; it was sufficiently elevated with an even higher dais for the actual executions. The fate of the aristocrats was to be the usual decapitation by sword. Prominent individuals, especially nobles, were privileged in that their deaths were predictably swift and likely painless. The anticipation probably caused more suffering for the “guest of honor” than the actual event. It was rumored there was a special swordsman being brought in to perform the act. Not only that, he reportedly was accompanied by a team who would carry out the breaking of the highwaymen. They were reputed to be experts in prolonging the agony involved without allowing the subjects to lose consciousness, and certainly not to allow them to die too quickly. The purpose of this, of course, was to drive home the instructive message against crime as well as enhance the entertainment value intended for the populace.

The prospect of seeing aristocrats losing their heads invariably attracted large crowds. The inns would soon be overflowing with citizens. There would be a few good weeks of commerce as visitors from all over France would be expected to attend. The additional attraction was, of course, the execution of the brigands. There were those who were sympathetic and bewailed the cruelties perpetrated by the powers that be, and protested that the felons should simply be hanged and leave it at that. Most however, saw the ritual of execution as a welcome diversion from the meager existence of their squalid, desperate lives. That, along with the assurance that “it was seeing justice done” was more than adequate to foster interest, if not enthusiasm.

The actual act of breaking a man on the wheel is undoubtedly among the worst of all punishments. Death is always the inevitable result by design, but the method employed to get to that point has to be without equal in causing pain and anguish. The conventional manner in France requires the subject to be tied down to a large wheel of his approximate height. The executioner wields a heavy iron bar as a club, systematically breaking the limbs in a way that the bones are smashed but the skin is not broken deliberately. If the executioner does his job well, he is able to weave the broken arms and legs artistically through the spokes to the delight of the crowd of onlookers. Actual death can sometimes be prolonged for hours if care is taken, and new screams of agony can sometimes be elicited from seemingly unconscious criminals by reviving them with vinegar or even simple water. Most of the wheels are lying flat while the executioner does his work. There are wheels though, that are mounted to an axle and rotated vertically during the ritual. This seems to find more appreciation, as the spectacle is somewhat more visible to the spectators. The man wielding the iron bar has the option to cause death early in an act of mercy by a blow to the head or heart if he so desires, but this happens only rarely, as the crowd can be disappointed and angered to the point the executioner himself could be in danger. The word was, we could expect a wheel of the latter variety for our upcoming pageant of justice.

Late summer was upon us. It had been four months since my encounter with Jacquette. I was unable to forget her, not even able to keep her from my mind while I was in the arms of the occasional tart I would hire to service my needs.

The appointed day of the executions was rapidly approaching. Scores of citizens from the surrounding counties were already flocking into Rouen. It was virtually impossible to find adequate shelter; even spaces in barns and stables would soon be at a premium.

I frequented a certain inn in the evenings after my work when I was able. I enjoyed the companionship of a certain friendly group I always found there. We had diverse interests and backgrounds, yet we seemed to enjoy each other’s company. On this particular night I was surprised to find this inn overflowing with strangers. None of my usual friends seemed to be there, or at least I was unable to see any table where they were joined together as a usual group. There were no empty tables and no room to share at any either, save one. This was a table with ample room to share because there were only six people sitting at it, even while persons stood everywhere else without seats. Yet, as at this one there were empty seats to be taken, I was curious. I walked over to the partially occupied table to see exactly what the situation was. Two uniformed men of threatening appearance sat at either end of the table silently scowling ominously at the crowd while four persons sat engaged in conversation, seemingly oblivious to the others in the room and certainly not concerned with the fact they were being seen as selfish. I gazed at these strangers. One was a man of perhaps fifty, he was hard looking, I suppose you could say, dressed in a studded leather jerkin made in a military style. Two others were dressed in rather drab clothes, unassuming, as if they were nothing but peasants, which of course, they could indeed be. But the fourth! It was as if I was struck by a thunderbolt. I could scarcely believe my eyes. Under that hood was the face of someone I knew. The flaming red hair finding its way out from where it was purposely concealed told the tale. It was Jacquette!

Our eyes met briefly, but she looked away. My heart was in my throat. I wanted to speak to her right then and there. She must have known my thoughts. She glanced up and gave me a look, a signal really, telling me to not acknowledge her, as if to do so would be calamitous. I understood and acted as if I did not know her.

I remained standing near the table, not knowing what I would do next.

“What do you want?” came a question from the man at the table in the leather jerkin.

“Only sir, to perhaps share your table,” I said politely.

“Indeed?”

“Yes,” I said. It appears there are seats here and I would like to sit, if I could have your permission.”

“No one sits with us,” he snarled. “Be gone!”

One of the uniformed men rose, obviously to reinforce, if necessary, the order I had just been given.

Reluctantly, I walked away. As I did, I attempted to meet Jacquette’s eyes, even for only an instant. She only looked at the table top, unwilling to raise her head.

I began mingling in the crowd. I was totally confused by the way I had just been treated. I felt angry and began drinking more than I should. Soon enough, I began entertaining the notion I should simply confront the unfriendly, ill- mannered boor at the table and take my chances to speak with Jacquette right in front of everyone.

Fortune must have smiled upon me. Apparently, even goddesses are subject to the calls of nature. I saw Jacquette get up from her seat in order to go outside to relieve herself. I was sure by watching her from a distance she searched the room for me before she left. I knew what was expected of me. I left by another door and ran around the building, searching out the beautiful object of my desire. I found her standing by the horses. I knew she was expecting me. I went to her, my eager arms hoping for an embrace.

“NO!” she said. “There is danger for you here. You must not be seen to know me. Are you working at the armory still?”

I said I was.

“I will contact you,” she whispered. “Please go!”

I returned to my work the next morning suffering nausea and a headache. I should have known better than to overdo it, but such are the foibles of a young man, especially one suffering from love-sickness.

It was Friday, and though the next day was just another day of work usually, this Saturday was declared a holiday. Sunday was the day reserved for worship, so we never worked. The following Monday was the day declared for the scheduled executions. That particular day was to be a holiday as well. We were to be free from work for three days.

I was intent upon my labors, hammering a vambrace into shape on my anvil when my apprentice Gauthier, interrupted me.

“What is it?” I snarled, having lost any hope in ever seeing my faithless apprentices amount to anything, and showing it through my surly truculence.

“It is only that I have a message for you,” he said huffily. “That’s all.”

“The seal is broken,” I said. “Why is the seal broken? Did you have the effrontery to read my letter, you knave?”

“I lack the skill to read letters, your highness,” he said sarcastically, though most likely untruthfully. “There is not a thing in that letter that would interest me even if I could read it.”

I dismissed him as the worthless churl he was and unrolled the letter.

My dear Denis,

Tomorrow, most are free in Rouen. It this is so for you, I will be happy to meet you. The main road out of the city to the south will take you past a ruined Roman wall. Follow the path behind the wall to a small river. Follow the water upstream and you will find me waiting. My heart aches for your touch.

J

I awoke the next morning with exuberance. Not only was this a free day, it was going to be a great day. I was going to be with my lovely Jacquette!

I prepared my horse and left my quarters at the armory complex without eating breakfast. I thought it best to eat somewhere else. I wanted to go unobserved, perhaps a prudent move, in case there were any questions about my plans for the day. I did notice, however, there were eyes upon me. I happened a glance at some movement from around a corner as I departed. I thought it looked like Gauthier, my perfidious apprentice. I thought better of it though; after all, why would such a lazy lout be out of bed so early on a free day?

I stopped at my favorite inn for some bread and ale. I again sensed being observed, yet I saw no one I could consider suspicious. I was not alarmed, but I decided it would be wise for me to ride in a round- about way to my intended destination, just in case there was something afoot.

My instructions were to proceed south out of Rouen on the main road. I rode north out of town instead. I intended to see first if I was being followed, then once satisfied I was safe, I would take a circuitous route and intersect with the road to the Roman wall mentioned in the letter.

Evidently, my fears were groundless. I was sure there was no one following me as I finally reached the Roman wall. I found the path behind the wall easily enough, and just as I expected, there was the river. My heart began beating faster as my anticipation for the day I had been dreaming about all during the previous night was about to come to fruition. I felt a sensation in my loins as I became prematurely excited with the prospect of my beautiful Jacquette giving herself to me, and I to her.

There were some solitary horse tracks in the soft soil on the river bank. My God! My heart! It would not slow down. Then...

“Denis!”

I dismounted and raced to her arms. I could scarcely contain my passion as I kissed her lips hungrily. She responded in a way that told me she was as desperate for my love as I was for hers.

She opened her cloak, revealing her naked body, her lovely breasts, adorned by her excitingly proud and protruding nipples. She was so enticing, the lovely amber growth of hair on her vulva almost glowing with irresistible invitation, I was already as erect as I had ever been, and prepared to provide for her any desire.

“I missed these lovely fruits of yours, Jacquette,” I said as I lifted them to my pursed lips.

“Even with all my ugly freckles painted upon them as well as everywhere?”

“Even more so the freckles. I intend to lick and kiss every one of them, especially in the places you could not see!” I said mirthfully as I slid my fingers around the roundness and cleavage of her backside, pulling her cheeks apart.

‘And I have missed this soldier of yours,” she sighed, as she unfastened my codpiece and hefted me to feel my balls and the readiness of my member.

I began kissing her breasts more fervently. I buried my face between them, licking them as I groped her firm buttocks. I dropped to my knees, placing my face into the glorious meadow of amber and gold hiding the flower I wished to sense, the nectar I wished to taste. She spread her feet slightly as if to accommodate my intention. She used her fingers to open herself, enabling my darting tongue to search for its ultimate desire. My hands were still engaged in exploring her backside. I was about to enter her there with my probing fingers when she said abruptly, “Enough of this for now. I need you inside me, my love. I need you inside me now.”

We lay in each other’s arms while I entered her, firm and throbbing, excited almost to the point of spouting. I ceased moving, trying to get control and to postpone for a while the ultimate goal of my masculine nature. She lifted her feet and locked them behind my back, her pelvic muscles quivering as she moaned plaintively, “Oh, my love! My love, it has been too long... so long waiting for you!”

Once we finished, we stayed joined until I faded and could no longer stay within her. We separated, still laying facing each other, my hands fondling her, still unable to keep them off her fascinating and voluptuous speckled breasts.

“I missed you,” she said softly. “Our being together again was all I could think about. I would remember our time together and then touch myself, dreaming you were with me, using my finger as if it was your tongue or your cock.”

“Ah, my Jacquette, I confess similar things to you. I too, would entertain thoughts you were in my bed with me as my natural needs would arise and I would need to touch myself as well, wishing my issue was going within you.”

“We cannot separate again, my love. We must find a way to be together always. Do you love me, Denis?”

I had not thought in those exact terms. Certainly I was attracted to her, overwhelmingly - in fact. But declaring love implied commitment. Was I prepared to perhaps enter a relationship with a woman I hardly knew because I loved her, or because my lusty nature simply has the best of my judgment? Yet, soon I was certain, after rapid reflection, the true nature of my interest.

“I do love you, Jacquette. I believe we are meant for each other. Fate has brought us together. I am yours, and you are mine. Now, we must think things through. We must also have no secrets. Tell me of your life, Jacquette. I have many questions to ask.”

“If you love me truly, you must promise there will be no others. EVER! I will be true to you as well. There will be no men other than you. This is my solemn promise. Never betray me, Denis - NEVER - not once!”

“And so I shall not, my beloved Jacquette, and so I shall not.”

She changed her demeanor suddenly and said, “Your soldier was very brave today. I do think he deserves a reward. She began stroking me, manipulating my half- hardness to a firm countenance. She placed her lips upon it, sliding them along, kissing along its length, then taking it fully in her mouth. I lay there, enjoying this moment of exquisite pleasure, just gazing at the sky.

Suddenly, I heard the sound of horses approaching. Jacquette ceased her action and we both looked in the direction of the sounds.

“What have we here? Are we interrupting something?” came a voice in a mocking tone.

Three men approached us on horses. They dismounted quickly enough to put us at a distinct disadvantage, as we were standing totally naked in front of them.

Two had drawn swords. They came upon us and placed the points against our naked chests. The one who spoke was dressed in a leather jerkin with a loose mail shirt. The other holding a sword wore a steel breastplate and visored jousting helmet similar to the ones produced in the armory in Rouen. The third man, holding the horses, was familiar to me. He was Gauthier, one of my apprentices!

“Look!” said the man in the visor, “What have we here? It seems we have a leopard woman!” he laughed. “Look at these spots! A grotesque oddity, no?”

“She may be strange,” said the man in leather. “But look at those tits! And that cunny!”

I thought I recognized the voice from the man in the helmet. I was unsure, but it seemed familiar. “Tie this one,” the visored man ordered.

Yes, I thought so. I was fairly sure. It was Sauvage.

They held me while Gauthier tied my hands behind my back, then they struck me, knocking me to the ground.

“Now for this one! Let’s fuck her at least until she dies!” crowed the visored man, who as I was now certain, was my nemesis, Sauvage.

Jacquette gave out a wail as if she were a maddened animal. She raced to her horse, the man in leather close upon her heels. She skillfully withdrew a flashing badelaire from her saddle, quickly swinging it in an arc which struck and lopped off the top half of her attacker’s head. In another instant, still screaming wildly, she came after the man in the helmet. Faking a frontal assault, she spun quickly behind the inept villain and rapidly and efficiently severed the tendons behind his knees, causing his legs to collapse. He lay on his back unable to move, crying out of fear and pain.

“Please Seigneur Denis!” cried Gauthier, kneeling before me, “Please have mercy! I was forced to do this, don’t you see. I am truly your loyal servant! Please ...”

Gauthier never finished his final sentence. His body fell to the earth, his head now laying separately beside it.

Jacquette returned to her horse and put up her badelaire. She then carried something else with her back to the crippled man in the helmet and breastplate.

“If you intend to play with swords, you should really learn the art first. You really should,” she said haughtily. “Now I have something special for you, you shit –eating dog!” She presented the item she brought back from her horse, a long narrow, almost needle- like knife called a miseracorde. “You laughed at me after you saw my skin. You should not see ever again! She began probing the openings in the helmet of the helpless, screaming man. She poked an eye out, then the other. She probed until she was sure she found a nostril, then she pushed the blade in and struck the butt of the handle with her palm. The man in the helmet ceased screaming and lay still.

She removed the bindings that held my hands. We walked to the dead man in the helmet. I removed it and I knew I was right. It was Sauvage.

“This one knew you, did he?” she asked abruptly pointing to the headless corpse of Gauthier.

“He was one of my apprentices, Jacquette.”

“How did this happen? How did they find us here?”

“I think your message was intercepted and read. They took advantage of what they learned from it as an opportunity to do me in. Gauthier was a dupe, but the other, Sauvage, in the armor, was my enemy.”

“Well,” she said authoritatively, “this has to go!” She grasped Gauthier’s head by the hair and threw it in the river. “We cannot afford to have any connection to you that is so obvious. With no head, he may remain anonymous. Now I need to wash off - all this damn blood! While I am bathing, you need to rummage through their belongings for any money or things of value. I want this to look as if these fools were victims of a robbery. Now what about this other - the one that liked my tits?”

“I do not know him Jacquette. Just a hired ruffian, I suppose.”

“Very well. Shoo their horses after you check them for valuables. I need to wash. Wait,,, is there any blood on you, Denis?”

“No, I am clean, I think.”

“Perhaps you would like to help me clean myself. Come in the water with me and rub me. All over, I think. I would like that.”

I was amazed at the demeanor she displayed in view of the enormity that just transpired. She had just dispatched three men intent on killing me, probably: and raping her - certainly. This entire episode almost seemed to be taken in stride, as if it were an everyday occurrence. We spent a few moments in the river. I helped her remove all vestiges of the blood with which she was splattered.

“Come Jacquette, we must be gone from here,” I said.

We dressed quickly, and I checked the bodies and horses as I was instructed. There was only meager booty derived from the search, but that was hardly a concern.

“We can dispose of these items somewhere along the way back to Rouen,” she said. “You can keep the money, if you wish.”

“I do not want it Jacquette. Let’s just get out of here. We can bury these things and the money somewhere.” I then realized the money these men carried was of no further use to them. Yes, I may as well keep and use it, I mused.

I was conflicted beyond measure by the things I had just observed. I was beside myself with terror. Certainly we were justified in killing in self -defense, but we would have to prove it if apprehended. If we could return to Rouen unobserved, we could deny any involvement. But there was a loose end to consider. It was known by some that Sauvage was my enemy. There might be questions. But, what of Jacquette? How could this young woman, this person to whom I had earlier that day professed my undying love be capable of such an act of mayhem? Had she any idea how this all looked to me, as she, this beautiful naked creature with spectacular speckled breasts and buttocks, besplattered with blood, stood menacingly over a helpless screaming man, and then without care, acted to cut out his eyes and ruthlessly deliver a fearsome coup de grace?

We rode in silence. I had so many questions, yet I feared this was not the time to ask them.

We were getting close to Rouen. She broke the silence with an observation. “I think,” she said, “we should separate. I will continue on this route, but you should come into town by a route that will not associate you with the place where we were attacked. There are many visitors coming in to Rouen for the pageant on Monday. If you manage to be seen by someone known to you who can attest you were on the other side of the city, perhaps it would be advantageous. Now, my love, we have something to do. We must dispose of some items. Also, I have something else in mind.”

We guided our horses off the road we were on and followed a trail up a hill and into the woods.

“Hold!” she said. “This will do.”

We dismounted and began accumulating the items we were intent on discarding. We found an animal den that looked useful. It appeared to be abandoned, evidenced by the lack of tracks or current digging activity. We pushed the incriminating items into the hole as far as we could, then filled the opening with stones until we were satisfied we had accomplished our goal.

“Jacquette?”

“What? What, my love?”

“I can stand no more! I cannot live another moment in peace until you explain to me how all this came about today. You are an expert swordsman - how? You actually saved my life today, I think. You seem to be so unconcerned, so unimpressed with it all. Yet, yet I am overwhelmed with horror, terror, and mystery. Please! No more! You must explain all of this - I beg you, Jacquette!”

“All right,” she said, “what can I tell you?”

“Start with this - how is it you can wield a sword like you do?”

“I learned the art of the sword at an early age. My teacher, my father, is the famed swordsman once called ‘The Sword of Saint Omer’ owing to his original home near Calais. If you are unaware of his fame, you may possibly know the story of the English king Henry and the death of his wife Anne─Anne Boleyn, I think. I will tell you the story as I know it. In the year I was born, 1536, my father was called to duty by the English to perform a service. Anne was to die. Her head was to be struck off, as was her fate as determined by both king and the ministers of England. Anyway, the English usually employ an axe for such things. The king, for whatever reason, determined his wife should die by sword instead, probably owing to the fact a sharp sword was less messy and more certain to accomplish the goal without resorting to any additional use of a knife to accomplish final removal if the axe failed, as it frequently did, to do the job with a single blow. My father, owing to his reputation as the best swordsman on the continent, was requested to come to England.

On the day of her execution, Anne was led to the scaffold in the usual manner. My father was already standing there, awaiting her arrival. He simply stood with his arms folded, no weapon to be seen. She was given a blindfold and helped to her knees. My father says she was obviously terrified, as she was sobbing, probably unable to understand what was happening to her. She knelt for some time, allowed to say her prayers and gain some composure.

My father reached into the pile of straw that covered the floor of the scaffold. He retrieved the sword he had hidden there, a two- handed blade similar to the Scottish claymore. As Anne was blindfolded, she was oblivious to the fact my father was now ready to do the deed. He called to a non-existent assistant as a ruse-”Bring the sword!”

Anne was startled, and looked in the direction of his voice. As she turned her head, she presented the perfect target my father wanted. In an instant, Anne’s head was off.”

I was stunned. This entire tale was something I had never heard. I was impressed, yet I was repulsed. What had I got myself in to? I posed another question.

“Was that your father, the man at the inn?”

“It was. My father, my brother Francois, and then, there is Troeger.”

“Troeger?”

“Yes, he is part of our team. He helps my father.”

“To do what?”

“You certainly should know by now what we do, Denis. Be at the Field of Justice on Monday. You will see what we do.”

“You mean - you mean you are with the executioners?” I gasped.

“Denis, my love, yes! That is what we do. I assist my father. Someone has to do this business. Our family goes throughout France, called upon for our services. We are renowned as the best.”

“But- but you! How can you, a beautiful goddess of femininity be so engaged? Do you see no irony? No inconsistency?”

“Ah, Denis, we all are many- sided. My sides are simply more pronounced in their contrast.”

I was befuddled to the point I was unable to think adequately. I wanted to run, to get away from this place to another where sense prevailed. Yet, I was in some ways more attracted than I was before. The mystery, the inscrutability. I don’t know. I was without reason.

She and I sat on the lush grass we were sharing with our grazing horses.

“You know,” she said, “we incurred a very unfortunate interruption earlier. We are safe here. I need you, Denis.” She began tugging at my codpiece and at the same time began undoing her cloak. As apprehensive as I was about being in the power of this siren, because that is how she appeared - her ability to seduce me at her will; and me powerless to exercise any judgment whatsoever. I was hers and I knew it. Moreover, it was more than obvious she knew it also.

I attempted a feeble protest. I expressed my concern that in view of the events we were involved in currently, my mind and emotions were in turmoil and I would probably be unable to perform in a fashion she would find satisfactory.

“Do not worry, Denis.” She said softly. “Your soldier only sleeps. This will awaken him.” She arranged her position to enable my limpness to be held and squeezed between her luscious breasts. “You go ahead and do what you do so well. I have ways - you will see. I will take care of what is needed for this”

It took no time at all before we were lying in each other’s arms, our bodies responding to the exciting sensations of being kissed and explored by one another in every imaginable way and place. Soon enough we were in a position where we both had the option to simultaneously gratify each other. I relished the exquisite honey of love I sensed mysteriously coming from within her, as my darting tongue caused her to squirm and moan with ecstasy. She, in turn employed her talents to bring me to a point where any resistance was futile. I helplessly felt my fluids being drawn from my throbbing body to her, my cherished, my willing and eager - this perfect reflection of Rome’s fabled Suadela.

We lay for a while in silence. Finally, I spoke. “Jacquette, it is getting late. We had best be on our way as darkness will be upon us soon. I am going to go around Rouen to enter from the north the way I left this morning. Are you going to be all right if unaccompanied? There are robbers and murderers everywhere. Your safety is my greatest concern, my beloved.”

She looked at me and laughed aloud. “After what you have seen today, do you really think you should worry? Go Denis. I will be with you again soon. Godspeed, my love!”

I rode away reluctantly, leaving Jacquette to return to wherever she needed to go, Alas, I had not ascertained the location of her living quarters, I knew not any of the things one should know about someone who had just shared such profound intimacy. I realized then to my dismay I did not even as yet know her full name!

I eventually found myself on the road to Rouen I had prudently used that morning, and proceeded to head to my quarters at the armory. It was getting dark and I had not as yet met anyone on the road who would remember me if indeed it became necessary to deny any involvement with the bloody events that occurred earlier. At least, I thought my surreptitious route would give me the ability to deny proximity to the deeds of the day. This plan of mine had not borne fruit so I decided on an alternate strategy.

I stopped at my favorite inn for an ale or two. I was famished, and thought to share in the chickens usually served Saturday evenings. Also, I hoped I would be seen there by someone I knew, thus establishing the probability I was entering Rouen from the north and therefore unlikely to have been anywhere near the place where two other armory employees, and a third man as well, now lay in pools of their own gore.

I entered the inn and looked about. Ah! There were Bertrand and Arnaud, two of my favorite drinking companions.

“Hello, my friends!” I said in a jovial manner. “How nice to run into you. Have you been here long?”

“A short while. Enough time for an ale or two. So what brings you here, Denis?”

“Hunger, Arnaud! I have been on the road all day, it seems. I rode north to an area close to Longueville this morning. I had heard there was a small farm for sale, and I thought I would look into it.”

I hated lying, especially to my friends, but sometimes extraordinary measures needed to be employed. I hoped this would be the extent of my necessary fabrications.

“And, just what in hell would you want with a farm, Denis? You are already one of the fortunate: a skilled worker with a well- regarded reputation. Do you not think you should stay where you are? I would wager your skills will be in even higher demand soon enough. Consider the insanity we see in our lands today: the Protestants, the wars with the German States as well as the Duke of Savoy. A farm might be a great thing to have except for the perils brought by pillaging brigands and desperately hungry soldiers, especially if things deteriorate to a worse condition than they are now.”

“Yes, you are probably right, Arnaud. I sometimes let my dreams surpass my good sense. But, would it not be a fine thing to own a farm, even if one was an absentee landlord?”

“Denis!” Bertrand interjected, “you are not the Duke of Normandy. You are a worker in metal, not a lord of high station and wealth. Stay out of the sky, my friend!”

“Ah yes, you are both right. I will try to stay on the ground, so to speak. Tell me now, why are you both here? Any special reason, or merely to pass some time? Have you eaten, by the way?”

“No, we have not. What do you propose, Denis?”

“My friends, I propose we share a chicken or two. I am buying! You are my guests!”

“Thank you Denis,” said my friends simultaneously.

“Wench!” I cried to the young lass near our table. “Two chickens and some cheese!”

While waiting for our meal, we continued our conversation.

“I expect both of you are going to the Field of Justice on Monday. Do you know anything about those who are to be executed?” I asked.

“Only that they have been convicted as highwaymen and they are to be broken as an example,” said Bertrand.

“What of the nobles who will lose their heads?”

“I think they are related to the Duc d’ Alencon. They are sons or cousins, I think. At any rate, they have been convicted of treason. Lucky for them they are nobles. If not, there would be some extra work for someone with four horses on Monday, instead of just a single swordsman.”

Bertrand chuckled at his witty comment. Arnaud found humor in it as well.

“Why the scowl, Denis?” asked Bertrand. “You have no stake in these proceedings on Monday. Enjoy the day off! Celebrate!”

‘Let me ask you both something,” I said. “Were you here the night before last, when the crowd was here?”

Bertrand said he was. I inquired further. “Did you see, or do you remember hearing of a group of persons seated by themselves, unwilling to share accommodations?”

‘I cannot say, Denis. It was a busy night. There were many unfamiliar faces, visitors coming for the festivities, I imagine.”

“There was a table occupied by four people and a pair of guards. I wanted to sit with them, but I was rebuffed, and I wish I knew why,” I said.

“I can tell you why,” came a voice from the other end of our table. “I know who these people are of whom you speak.”

“And you are...?”

“My name is Verdier, but that is of no consequence. I come from Vertus. I know of the persons you are asking about. They make their home there and are in the employ of the Compte de Vertus”

“So what of them, my friend,” I asked. “What can you tell me?”

“They are persons you do not wish to know. They are demons the king and his courtiers employ to carry out executions when a spectacle is desired. The eldest is Lucien Chastain, once known as the Sword of Saint Omer. The others are his children. Vile, evil miscreants they are, reveling in the pain and death of those the king and his government have condemned! You will see what they do on Monday next. Their cruelties know no bounds.”

“And what of the children?” I asked.

“Two of his helpers are his children. The third, I cannot say. One of his children, a young woman, is a vile ugly medusa. They say her skin is forever spotted by the blood her accursed father spilled before she was even born. She cannot wash it away. I know people who have seen her skin. It is a horrendous sight. But there are worse things about her. I know from unimpeachable sources that she has six tits arranged like a wolf bitch. More, she drinks human blood from the executions she participates in, and then excretes shit that is made of bone! Hard red bone!”

“Thank you for telling me what you know, my friend,” I said, not knowing if I should laugh in his face or run my dagger into his guts for lying about the girl I had just spent my day with.

“You are certainly welcome, friend,” said Verdier. “Perhaps you could spare some of the cheese and chicken when it is served?”

“You are welcome to my share,” I said. “Suddenly, I am no longer hungry. I bid you all good night. Enjoy your meal.”

I really hadn’t lost my appetite, but I thought it wise to leave when I did. After all, I accomplished what I had intended: to establish to some degree I was in a place nowhere near where Sauvage and his accomplices were to be found - and I had no doubts they would be found eventually. It might or might not cause enough interest to start an investigation, however. After all, murders and robberies were commonplace. Usually, the only time there was likely to be any investigation would be if a rich or prominent person were the victim. The rest of us scarcely mattered at all and would not initiate even the slightest effort from the authorities charged with the maintenance of law and order.

I managed to find a vendor selling meat pies before I arrived home. Not my desired fare perhaps, but adequate. I stabled my horse and went to my quarters. I lay on my bed with my head spinning, trying to reconcile all that had transpired that day. I know it was a long time before I fell asleep. Before I succumbed to slumber, I decided I would attend mass in the morning, perhaps if nothing else, to learn of some news.

The cathedral was located close enough to my quarters that I chose to walk there. The service was crowded with participants, some surely in Rouen solely attracted by the executions scheduled for the next day. My participation was merely perfunctory; I responded to the Latin prayers of the priest in the customary manner, and said the Pater Noster with all the rest. I was becoming somewhat troubled. How was it that all these people were here praying and acting so righteously when tomorrow they would probably revel in observing a bloody spectacle? I was sure there was no one intending to lend moral support or to otherwise minister to the subjects intended for execution. Everyone was going to go simply to see them die, and the more gruesome the exhibition, the better.

Walking back to my home, I met a co- worker; one of the several who had been faithful toward me in spite of the efforts Sauvage had employed to ruin me at the armory. “Hello, Marcel,” I said in greeting.

“Good morning, Denis, going back home?”

“I was. Do you have anything in mind?” I asked.

“Have you broken your fast yet?”

“No, I have not. I am hungry as a lion. Would you like to share some bread and ale? And perhaps an egg would be nice,” I opined.

We walked together for a short distance and entered a tavern. We orders a loaf of horsebread and ale. There were no eggs available, all of them having already been bought by the extra persons currently in Rouen.

“Are you going to see the executions tomorrow?” asked Marcel.

‘I intended to - yes.” I said. “And you, Marcel, are you going?”

“No, I think not. There is something wrong, I think, with the idea of breaking men on the wheel. I am from Paris. I have witnessed it several times there. It holds no fascination for me. I decline attending.”

“But what of the two nobles who are to lose their heads?” I asked. “Surely you have no objection to traitors being beheaded.”

“If all were subject to such a simple execution, I could find it acceptable. My own brother was convicted of a similar crime of treason - except he was drawn and quartered. He was subjected to a summary judgment and handed over to the executioners; the same, I fear as the ones who were brought in for tomorrow’s “pageant”. I feel all should perhaps face justice the same way the nobles do, no breaking on the wheel, no drawing and quartering, just the sword or perhaps the gibbet, if they used a drop method instead of strangulation, - quick and painless. But there would then be no entertainment for the blood- hungry masses, so it is unlikely anything will ever change.”

I could tell by the fervency of his tone that this entire subject agitated him. “I see this angers you, Marcel. Attendance is certainly not compulsory. What are you planning to do tomorrow? There will be no work to do.”

“Well, Denis, I have a lady friend. She and I are of the same mind about these things. Tomorrow we will be far away from here for the day, enjoying the early autumn air as well as each other.”

I felt some envy toward my friend. My love and I would be near each other tomorrow as well, but under less than desirable circumstances, I feared.

I bid good- day to my friend and went to my quarters. It was early afternoon and I had no plans. I longed for Jacquette, the touch of her breast upon my cheek, the excitement I felt as her beautiful red and golden meadow caressed my eager lips in our special embrace. I had no real idea when I would see her again. I knew she was somewhere near Rouen, probably with her family - her team, as it were. I thought about searching for her, but my good sense prevailed. I was already warned by her to not indicate she was known to me. Better just be patient. Time would tell.

I lay on my cot for some time. I thought about what I would likely see tomorrow. I was unsure how I would react. I had seen a few executions, two were hangings and one was a decapitation. I had never seen a man broken but I was certain it would likely be no more offensive to my sensibilities than any other execution I had observed, as generally I had no objections to the concept or the methods employed. I believed the more horrendous the actual proceedings were, the more likely the deterrent effect would be for those intent on similar pursuits. The big difficulty for me was reconciling the idea that the person I loved was an integral part of the actual goings on. I was entirely confused by the concept of this woman I loved; how could she, someone capable of the most tender and profound expression of erotic love, be able to participate in an enterprise such as she does? Her capabilities were without question, judging from the expertise with a sword she displayed the day before. She was obviously well trained, and had the attitude toward the dealing of death I suppose one would need to be involved in her business. I wondered then, how would this now bode for me if somehow I evoked her anger. I had pledged my fidelity to her, perhaps unwisely, considering my proclivities toward lustful pursuits. Now, I thought, I may as well be married. Worse than that, I should perhaps think, even worry, about the likelihood of keeping my own head on my own shoulders. Well, I mused, from this time forward I would endeavor to keep my word. I did love her, I was convinced. So, if I did stray for a dalliance, it would be innocent enough. NO! No dalliances. Remember her miseracorde!

I had a borrowed copy of the writings of Suetonius belonging to My Lord Romilly. I thought I would pass the rest of Sunday in pursuit of knowledge, reading about the lives of the first twelve Caesars of the Roman Empire. I was so totally distracted with the anticipation of tomorrow’s events as well as my experiences with Jacquette and the escape from my likely untimely demise the day before, I was unable to concentrate on my studies. I decided I would go to my favorite inn to spend some time. Likely some of my drinking companions would be there.

As fate would have it, there were my friends Bertrand and Arnaud. They had apparently been there for some time already, judging from their evident states of inebriation. I sat on the bench directly opposite their position at the table, fortunately for me the last place available, due to the crowd.

“Well, my friends,” I said, “How fine is this? You are here, I am here. Let me buy you both an ale. Wench!” I called to the buxom lass carrying pitchers to the rowdy customers at the other end of our table. “Three pitchers!”

‘Thank you, Denis,” Bertrand said. “I was just about out of money. I would have to have borrowed from Arnaud, and being in that rascal’s debt is about the last thing anyone would want. Right, Arnaud?” Bertrand playfully poked Arnaud’s shoulder and they both laughed heartily.

“Hell,” said Arnaud, “I am about out of money too. I feared I was going to have to be in your debt!”

“Well, my dear friends, never fear. I, Denis, will be your benefactor tonight. I shall pay.”

“Things are that good at the armory, Denis? You have money for this? “

“I am always willing to buy ale for my friends, Arnaud. You will do the same, when the circumstances warrant, I am sure. This is quite a crowd tonight,” I observed.

“Yes,” agreed Bertrand. “Everybody here is looking forward to tomorrow. There are rumors going around that the wheels they are going to use are like the ones they use in some cities in the East, like Prague and Nuremburg - that is to say, they rotate on an axle. More fun, no?”

“Fun, Bertrand?” I asked.

“Yes, fun! Fun for us. Hell, even fun for the executioner! Maybe even fun for the men tied to the wheel. Fun! What is wrong with you, Denis?” Bertrand seemed somewhat offended at my remark. He continued: “Why do you think all these people are here? This is an occasion for revelry, Denis - for celebration, yes, for fun! We are going to see justice done, and done in a way that will leave no doubt our society does not treat criminals lightly. I personally cannot wait to hear the screams and the begging for mercy as the brigands on the wheel have their bones snap under the blows of the executioner’s hammer. My most fervent desire is that one of them is the dirty bastard highwayman that robbed my parents, killing my innocent mother on the process. I hope one of them is him!”

“More ale, Bertrand?” I asked.

“Surely, and thank you. I must say, Denis, you are uncommonly generous tonight. Did you come into an inheritance?”

“No, nothing like that, I assure you. I just want to be here and enjoy your companionship.”

The amount of ale my friend Arnaud had consumed so far that evening seemingly had now got the best of him and caused to impair his judgment. As the lass brought our next round, Arnaud, in a playful mood, thought he would take advantage of her, as her hands were full of pitchers. He casually placed his hands on her ample bosom, hefting one breast, then the other, as if he were somehow comparing their respective weights. Taking offense, the girl let out a yelp, then slowly and deliberately placed a pitcher in front of me and one in front of Bertrand. The third, she purposely, almost ceremoniously, spilled of its contents over Arnaud’s head, then striking his head with the same pitcher, she caused a cry of pain from my friend and a roar of approving laughter from the crowd.

“Damned wench! Strumpet! Did you see what she did? She attacked me! You both are my witnesses.”

“Yes, I saw, Arnaud,” I chuckled. “I am surprised at you. You, as a person who frequents this place should know what happens to anyone who tries such a trick with her. Have you not seen or heard of her behavior before? She is a notorious termagant, Arnaud. She is no one to trifle with. You are fortunate she only did what she did. She is reputed to carry a blade tied to her leg.”

“Not only that, she is the proprietor’s daughter. I think voicing a complaint would be ill- advised,” added Bertrand.

“Perhaps so,” Arnaud growled, “but this is the last this place will ever see of me! I am going. Are you coming, Bertrand?”

Reluctantly I said good night to my friends. We agreed to meet at another tavern near the Field of Justice on the morrow, after the “festivities” concluded.

I sat by myself for a few moments, trying to finish my ale before starting on the rest of the pitcher Bertrand had abandoned.

“Is this seat open?” asked an unknown man, obviously of some prominent station, judging from his manner of dress and the insignia on his coat.

“Yes. Please, have a seat,” I said as I beckoned to him to join me.

“Thank you, my good man,” said the stranger. “Seats are at a premium here. I need to sit for a while. Can I buy you some wine?”

“Really, no, but thank you. I have had a large quantity of ale already, and I fear overdoing it and becoming sick as it is. So, what brings you to Rouen?” I asked this question merely to start a conversation. Of course I knew why he was in Rouen.

“Perhaps you can help me, my friend. Are you from around here?”

I said I was.

He continued. “Are you familiar with the events scheduled for tomorrow?”

“Of course!” I said. “Everything is disrupted in Rouen because of it. Crowds... no room at taverns. I am certainly aware of what is going on.”

“Well, my friend,” he said, “I am in need of information. I am on an urgent mission, and need to contact a certain person tonight or for sure before noon tomorrow. You see, I am in the employ of a certain individual who hopes to procure justice, and if not justice, mercy for her son who is to die tomorrow afternoon.”

“Justice? How so? The men to die are already judged guilty. The punishment is the justice, is it not? You want to thwart justice?”

“No, not thwart it, insure it is meted out correctly. An innocent man is to die tomorrow. I am here to prevent it. The person I represent has hired me as an advocate, at a cost ruinous to her, to beg for her son’s life. His name is Nathan Adam, a young man of twenty, wrongfully convicted of a crime of which he is innocent.”

“Innocent?” I asked. “Was he not convicted in court? On evidence?”

“No, my friend, not on evidence, but desperate admission under torture. He was subjected to the horror known as “pear of anguish”, which, if you do not already know, is a diabolical instrument resembling a pear which is designed to expand when a handle is turned. The pear is placed in a body cavity and caused to operate. Sometimes it is put in the mouth where the jaw is broken and the teeth disrupted, sometimes a woman may have it put in her cunny, but usually it is shoved in the person’s ass where it causes so much pain when used that no one can withstand it. Nathan Adam only admitted to a crime to stop the torture. His pitiful admission under that torture is what passed as evidence. He is guiltless, yet I fear he is doomed nevertheless.

“I need to find the executioner to plead for mercy. I hope that by paying the sum I have, that if exoneration is not possible, at least the horrors of the wheel can be mitigated and a merciful death- blow can be provided quickly. Please, do you have any idea where the executioner can be found? I have come such a long way. I must find him.”

I was unable to help this desperate man. I only expressed my hope he would find whom he sought in time.

It was getting late. I was becoming tipsy and somewhat nauseous. Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day. The story I had just heard was on my mind as I rode home. I wondered if I should rethink my adamant stand on execution, yet I was in no mental condition to entertain any dissonance or ambivalence. Much needed sleep was encroaching upon me. The morning would be here soon enough for thought about such things.