Chapter Two

I hadn’t slept well. I arose later than usual with a headache and a sour stomach. My escapade the previous night left me nauseated as well as conflicted. It seemed I was up all night either vomiting in my chamber pot or tossing about trying to reconcile my feelings brought about by the story told to me by the pathetic and desperate man I had conversed with earlier. The more I weighed his story, the more conflicted I became. After all, what if what he said was true? An innocent going to his death was hardly unprecedented, I was certain. But it usually could be reconciled by the notion that perhaps he was innocent of that particular crime, but it was only common sense he was guilty of another, so justice was still served. After all, only certain types are involved in criminal activity in the first place, so if they escape justice once in a while, it will ultimately catch up with them. This notion at least, was the prevailing wisdom we were all raised to accept. After all, does not God Himself dictate the affairs of men? Is He not the ultimate author, and hence, will not He see only justice, never injustice, will be done? Our churchmen pray for divine help to guide the secular authorities in their administration of justice - and is not our king Henri an instrument of God’s will? If this is so, how could the King’s ministers be wrong, especially after grants for divine guidance and wisdom are fervently solicited?

I thought along these lines for a while longer. Finally, satisfied I had prevailed in my ethical and logical wrestling match, I ventured out to break my fast, though I might add, I was rather unsure I could hold any food down as yet.

The streets were packed with people. Many had arose early, intending to get to the Field of Justice before all the best vantage points for viewing were gone. I stepped into a tavern close to my quarters to try to get something to eat. Even this place was full. I did manage to but some bread and a duck egg; no ale though, thank you. I was fortunate the owner had goats. I enjoyed a good cup-full of milk.

I began to feel better. My knotted stomach was starting to behave and my headache was gone. I began walking with the crowd toward the Field of Justice. It would be several hours before the scheduled activities commenced. I really cannot say why I thought I would want to stand around waiting for things to happen, like the thousands of others, but as this was a rare occasion and I really had no idea what was in store, I decided to simply participate and go with the crowd.

I knew Jacquette would be there somewhere. We would not acknowledge each other even if a chance encounter occurred, and I hoped it would not. I had no idea what her involvement was in these proceedings - God! I thought, I saw her skill with a sword. Is that her job? Lopping off heads? No, that would be Chastain, her father who does that. Does she break the bones of the ones on the wheel? Likely not. She is powerful, certainly, but that is for a man to do. What, then?

There was a nip in the air that morning. It was almost October and the main harvest was ongoing. For the most part, the trees were still in leaf, though many were ablaze with red and resplendent with gold. It was cold enough that the breath of men and horses were visible. A fitting time, I mused - a good day to die. Summer is dying, and I suppose one could say the men who are about to die were likely in their summers, the summers of their years. This notion made me somewhat melancholy as I remembered that one was a boy of twenty. He is not in his summer yet. I summarily pushed these notions aside, characterizing them disdainfully as poetic drivel. I was determined to see this through, and I was going to find value in it as well.

I noticed as I neared the Field of Justice that certain participants in the commerce of Rouen were not on holiday. I walked past an open doorway and was signaled by a whistle to enter. I put my head in to see what was about, and predictably I viewed a collection of women in various stages of undress, some adorned with the lovely breasts of young maidens, some with the skin folds and pleats characteristic of flabby, malodorous and toothless whores. I noticed several men with tonsured heads who already had hired the attention of the attractive ones. “Come in!” said one of the less comely occupants, her scraggly grey hair partially covering her attenuated, withered breasts, which reached almost to her navel. She sported a fold of loose skin which encircled her entire waist almost as if it were a short skirt. She pinched her nipples and pulled her breasts out horizontally, extending them toward me and making them look like long, fat sausages. “What? You don’t like me? I don’t care. You don’t need to fuck me, laddie. You see, here is something which could be a real boon for you. As I have no teeth, I can give you a great experience in a way you will like just as well, probably better - and with my own music thrown in to boot. Perhaps you prefer I hum a march, or if you wish, a galliard!”

She began to cackle with a grotesque laugh which brought about a coarse cough and a fit of convulsive retching, culminating in an expulsion of greenish sputum drooling off her chin.

I withdrew with revulsion. I walked along with the crowd again, searching for a familiar face. There were so many strangers here. I knew no one. I had hoped to run into my friends; I knew they would be there somewhere. Oh well. I thought, the day is young.

Finally, I did see someone I recognized. It was the man I had spoken with the previous night. I approached him and signaled a greeting. “Hello, friend. I hope you have been successful in your endeavor. Did you find the man you needed to see?”

“I did. I spoke to him only a short while ago.”

“And what came of it?” I asked. “Did things work out?”

“Regrettably, only partially. I am afraid there is no appeal to be entertained. Poor Nathan is to die today. I must go home to tell a heartbroken mother how I have failed.”

“You say only partially. Does that mean you are somewhat successful?”

“I was able to get a promise from the executioner that Nathan would be given a death blow to the head, but then only after the breaking of both arms.”

“That is the best you could get?” I gasped in astonishment.

“That is it. That is all I could bargain for, considering the amount of money I had to offer. It was all the poor mother had, but nowhere near enough. The price is double for Jews, you know.” His voice cracked and trailed away as he spoke, tears flowing freely down his cheeks.

“My friend, I cannot adequately express my sorrow for you and Nathan’s mother... Nathan too, for that matter. You have convinced me of his innocence, and now alas, even if I knew how, I could not help. This entire system is beyond control or repair, I fear. Farewell my friend. For whatever it is worth, give the mother my condolences. Farewell.”

I felt sick... heartsick. I was trying to process all the thoughts converging and conflicting in my head. I entertained the notion of leaving - just going home. No, I am already here, so I will stay, I thought. This story of the poor Jew boy was weighing on me, but I reached deep within myself for some way to rationalize such injustice. Of course! I mused in desperation. The old notions of the curse on the Christ-killers! They all will get what is coming to them. We have been taught this since we were children. But I am no longer a child, I realized. I do not believe this inane ecclesiastical perversion could be true. I reject the entire absurdity out of hand. This situation is a common example of injustice. It happens to Gentiles as well as Jews. I fear it is a condition of our nature that injustice will always be with us, especially so for the weak and powerless.

It was barely audible at first, but the music I heard was coming closer, indicating there was a procession approaching. I stood in the crowd on the side on the road as the musicians marched up, pompously playing on their muffled drums, trumpets and sackbutts; a sober march meant to sound majestic and official, as well as portentous. This was what we were all waiting for. A lot of us, myself included, rushed to get ahead of the parading musicians in order to get a position near the new scaffold. We knew that the parade would ultimately end there. There were several hundred of us trying to get the best vantage points for observation. Predictably, some fights broke out over territorial disputes. Alas, there is no bottom limit to the depravity of man. Even an occasion as auspicious as this found many who would lie and bully, steal and even murder for a pitifully insignificant advantage to enhance their position for observation of a tragic and horrendous event. And there I was... in the forefront!

Ultimately I found myself situated near the scaffold, but still near the road the musicians were on. The entire pageant had begun. Following the musicians marched a company of soldiers led by a strutting officer, who, judging from his livery, was representing the House of Valois, the King himself. Next in this garish orchestration, rode several nobles and an entourage of toadies, all resplendent in their ostentatious garb and glittering gewgaws. They all seemed to find our presence offensive judging by the way they grimaced as they looked down their wrinkled noses, as if to imply their stench was superior to our stench. Following next, a small procession of churchmen, priests as well as monks, praying piously in Latin, casting holy water on the crowd in a likely futile attempt at expiation for the entire hypocritical enormity all were engaged in.

Next in line was a fenced wagon pulled by two horses, their heads hooded in red as were the banners streaming from their harnesses. The wagon contained the three men destined to be broken that day. I gazed at their faces, their palpable fear manifested by their trembling lips and red, tearful eyes. I gazed at the face that I was certain was that of Nathan Adam. I somehow felt more shame than sorrow. I knew I was watching before my eyes the ultimate atrocity: the deliberate murder of an innocent man.

Following the wagon came another group of musicians, again playing a somber, melancholy march. It was then the men slated for decapitation were to be seen. They were led by a slight looking person dressed entirely in a black hooded cloak meant to conceal all, so even the hands were gloved. The face was covered in a white mask, a grotesque death’s head which completely concealed the person’s identity. This hideous caricature of a human walked with a limping gait, sliding one foot along rather than actually stepping, his body bent in a twisted position as if he were the victim of a broken back or perhaps an unfortunate birth. This spectre of a person held a rope, a ceremonial devise really, which was tied around the necks of the doomed men, allowing them to be led along, one following the other in a morbid manifestation the State’s power over life and death. Following up in the rear of this monstrous promenade came a small carriage containing three men. There was no doubt who they were. They were appropriately dressed in black leather jerkins with red trousers. The crowd murmured with the fear as well as contempt they felt for them. This was Chastain and his crew. But, where was Jacquette?

Evidenced by the orderliness of these proceedings, some kind of rehearsal had been carried out. All the participants seemed to know the positions they were to assume. The musicians stopped their playing and awaited further direction. The soldiers surrounded the scaffold to guard against any interference by the crowd, especially if it became unruly and threatened the nobles who were present. The representatives of the religious community made some perfunctory gestures to indicate the proceedings were sadly in accordance with the will of God and then summarily left the premises, as if their presence would somehow confound the event; but likely, the reality was they had no stomach for the actual culmination, only a willingness to participate in the preliminaries. The next actors on the stage were Chastain and his crew. They mounted the scaffold, and stood ominously with their arms folded in a gesture of imperious eminence, thus stating implicitly they now had the power of life and death as delegated to them by the Duchy of Normandy, and ultimately the House of Valois.

The crowd was admonished to silence by the orders voiced by the growling soldiers. A new character climbed the stairs and faced the crowd. His appearance, as indicated by his livery, showed he was a spokesman for the Duc d’ Alencon, likely there to voice the disavowal of any of the activities committed by the two nobles there to be executed, and any possibility the Duke himself would be complicit in any act against the crown, that in spite of the fact the two in question were his own nephews! His appearance was merely ceremonial. He read prepared remarks, ostensibly words from the Duke’s own mouth, totally repudiating the individuals facing death and reaffirming his allegiance to King Henri II.

Next to appear was the spokesman for the secular authorities of Rouen and by extension, Normandy. His function was to read the actual indictments against the condemned men and then to individually order and orchestrate the order of their deaths.

“People of Rouen,” he exclaimed. “Citizens of Normandy, loyal subjects of King Henri, these men you have seen brought to this place of punishment are to pay the ultimate price for their crimes. I will relate to you the crimes they are guilty of so there will be no doubt of their deserved death by the means prescribed by the laws of France.

“First, there is Julien de Sauveterre and his brother Fernand de Sauveterre. Both have been convicted of engaging in efforts to not only cause the death of our beloved king and his wife, our beloved queen Catherine, but to cause the imposition of the diabolical heresy promulgated by those infamously known as the Huguenots. How fortunate they are to be granted the King’s mercy rather than suffer the death reserved for such as them: to be torn limb from limb by four horses.

“Next, we have three common criminals that have for whatever reason enjoyed living off the labors of others rather than engaging in honest work for their own sustenance. Not only are they guilty of theft and forcible robbery, they are perpetrators of wanton murder in the pursuit of their acts of avarice and cruelty. They now will be shown the meaning of cruelty first hand. Their only consolation is the fact that the holy ones who were here earlier mercifully prayed for the salvation of their souls in an act of general absolution. Would that their victims had been shown such consideration before they were stripped of their meager belongings and then murdered.

“Now to the business at hand. The five men here were given the option to choose their order of death by the simple act of drawing straws. The shortest straw drawn would die first. This was agreed upon, and so it is to be.

“First to die will be Fernand de Sauveterre. He will lose his head. Next, will be a highwayman, a loathsome criminal named Nathan Adam, likely a Jew. Well, no salvation for him, of course, just the wheel. Next, another execrable insect, Germain Duguay. He as well will die by the expert skills purveyed by our esteemed executioners from Vertus. Julien de Sauveterre is next. He, like his brother, will find his head and his body separated. Finally, good people, the reward we have been awaiting: the breaking of The Black Brigand himself, Quentin Voclaine. This monster has committed more robberies than can be counted, and likely as many murders. His death by breaking is especially gratifying, considering many of us in this area have had unfortunate encounters with him. Some have had loved ones killed for their money by this felon. No more, people! Let us celebrate! Justice will now be satisfied. Let us begin.”

A cry of exultation came from the crowd, its uproarious enthusiasm unable to be contained with the prospect of seeing the death of Volcaine. The others... so what? This is what they really wanted to see. No one would leave until the end, until Volcaine was dead. The deaths of the nobles were merely minor incidents of entertainment, mere trifles. The other highwaymen? No one knew who they were. It meant nothing to them. But, Volcaine!

Chastain mounted the dais on the level above the scaffold. He stood, holding with obvious nonchalance, almost leaning, on the huge broadsword he intended to use as his instrument of regal retribution. Fernand de Sauveterre was ceremoniously led to the dais, tied by his neck as if he were a steer being led to slaughter, by the grotesque cloaked figure who had led him and his brother earlier in the procession to the Field of Justice. Once on the dais, the rope was undone and the subject encouraged to kneel. A blindfold was offered, but was refused. The sound of drums began to be heard, increasing in their volume, then a blast from a solitary sackbutt sounded. Chastain was situated in a position three quarters of a circle from his target, the left side of de Sauveterre’s neck. As Chastain spun, the sword sang as it sliced through the air; the intended meeting with the flesh of de Sauveterre’s neck was instantly accomplished and the neck neatly sundered; his head falling in the straw, the blood from his heart spouting its last gush upon those foolish enough to be standing too close.

A few moments were given to several persons who scrambled up the steps to retrieve de Sauveterre’s body and head. Judging by their mode of dress, they were servants of a noble household, but any possible reference on their livery to the Duke of Alencon was conspicuously absent.

The spokesman again rose to speak, He signaled to the soldiers, who in turn growled to the crowd their command to be silent.

“Next,” he began,” we have before us a tragic figure of a young man who made a foolish choice early in life. Instead of the pursuit of honest work, he decided to live off others by theft and armed robbery. He was arrested and the belongings of certain persons were found in his possession. He at first denied he was a thief, that he came upon the ill- gotten goods by means of commerce and had no idea they were illicitly procured. When put to the question by the Constable or Rouen, however, he readily admitted his guilt. You may say that anyone would admit to guilt under such circumstances... but you must understand the Constable always prays for the truth to come out before any questions are asked. God then forces the truth to be told! Moreover, this man is a Jew. Is it not likely the choices he made are more prominent among those of his race?”

Someone who had perhaps too much to drink lost his inhibitions temporarily and called out. “What of Jeanne d’ Arc? Did they not pray for the truth to come out when she was tried? Had God simply changed his mind when the pope declared her innocent a few years later? Was she not declared a heretic and burned after a prayerful trial, then later conveniently declared a martyr? “

“That was the English’s doing. We are innocent of this,” protested the spokesperson.

“Innocent?” cried the argumentative drunk. “Hell, we all would have reveled in her death at the stake had we been there then. She was burned almost where we are now standing. You vermin! You vile hypocrites!”

“Someone either eject that man or arrest him,” ordered the spokesperson.

All eyes were on him as he made his rapid exit. I recognized him. It was my friend, Marcel. He was supposed to be somewhere else today with his beloved. The fool! Run, Marcel, I thought. Escape while you may!

Decorum was re-established and the spokesman continued: “Nathan Adam, you are guilty of crimes of robbery and murder. You are to suffer death by the rigors of being broken on the wheel. You will be broken from the top- down. Commence!”

The masked hooded figure led the hapless young man by the neck to the wheel and its sturdy support structure erected on the dais. His reluctance to comply was obvious, his sagging legs and trembling face telling the tale of profound and uncontrollable fear.

The two men who had had no role thus far in the proceedings came forward. They roughly positioned Adam and began tying his legs and arms to convenient parts of the wheel, rim as well as spokes. Once this was accomplished, they playfully forced the wheel to rotate, much to the delight of the approving crowd.

Nathan Adam found himself upside down for a moment. He screamed a protest, a futile cry of innocence, again swearing he had never acted criminally, and the goods he was accused of stealing had actually been purchased from another.

“He is innocent!” came a cry from the prisoner’s wagon. “I sold him the jewels and plate he was accused of stealing. He innocently bought it from me. I stole the goods in question. I am the robber. He is innocent!” Duguay’s protests came to no avail. He was to die soon in any event, so what could he lose now by lying about a co- criminal? His admission was thus ignored.

The two executioners picked up their tools and began. First, a hammer blow to each clavicle, then several to the wrists, smashing them to useless pulp. There was no cry of anguish forthcoming, the pain evidently severe enough to cause a paralysis of the lungs and voice. But, they had only just begun. They turned the wheel a quarter and struck one forearm, causing a sound which indicated a successful break, then a turn of the wheel and a blow to the other.

“Retentum!” I screamed. “Retentum!” trying to stop the torture and bring the death blow that was promised. Many looked at me as if I were a fool. Why would I cry for mercy? There were a few who agreed, however. Cries of “Retentum” could be heard from various members in the crowd. I was not alone.

The executioners then put their attention to the upper arms. A blow from a hammer, then from the other, an iron rod causing the arm of Adam to bend where there was no joint. One of the men then untied the hand from the rim of the wheel and articulated the broken limb in and around the spokes. The same was done to the other. Once this was accomplished, the wheel was rotated, much to the delight of most in the crowd.

“Retentum!” I cried. Soon, many others joined in. There was no ignoring the will of this loud minority, their demand for mercy would be heard!

The wheel was rotated to a convenient position. One of the men (I knew their names, but not who was who) raised his hammer and struck Nathan Adam on his forehead, causing a violent, but prolonged fit of convulsion. They both stood beside the wheel, hands on their hips as if to imply their work was done. They had delivered the death blow as promised, now if the man refuses to die, is that their problem?

I watched in horror as the poor boy quivered on the wheel while the crowd generally voiced its approval. Is this how it ends? My God! I thought.

Suddenly, the hideous hooded figure climbed back to the dais and went to the wheel. Whoever it was, this person was more humane than almost anyone in the crowd. In an instant, I saw the flash of a narrow, almost needle- like blade - the likes of the one Jacquette had in her possession, the dreaded miseracorde. The knife entered the boy’s chest easily and mercifully pierced his heart. It was over.

I had seen enough. Three more men would die that day. Germain Duguay and Quentin Volcaine would be systematically broken from the “bottom up” rather than the “top down” as was Nathan Adam. There would be no cry for retentum as there was for Adam. The request is given to ask the executioner to actually strangle the person to death prior to breaking in an effort to show compassion. Any mitigation of the rigors they faced would be welcomed by these men, but alas, there would be no such consideration given. They would die as the authorities wanted and the crowd demanded, with the full extension of time consumed in agony, once the breaking was done, to linger in unspeakable torment until death came of its own accord.

The nobleman, de Sauveterre? What of him? He would die as all nobles do who evoke the wrath of the king. The same crimes would result in being torn limb from limb if the offender were a poor peasant or even a minor merchant. But the rich? They die mercifully, and that was how de Sauveterre would meet his end that day.

Three more would die, yes - but it would happen without my witnessing any of it. I was sickened to the point I feared I would vomit. I turned my back and walked away. I felt a profound contempt for my fellow man as well as myself. How could I have ever thought such a display as this was in any remote way an expression of justice? I went toward my residence for some solitude in my cell, to gather my thoughts. No, I decided, I am getting away from here. I saddled my horse and rode like the wind - to where, I knew not, nor cared.

It was late afternoon before I decided to stop for a cup of ale and some food. I was not about to drink too much, tomorrow was a work day and I was facing the prospect of feigning necessary ignorance as to the whereabouts of one of my apprentices, as well as my dead co- worker Sauvage. I knew I needed my wits about me for the foreseeable future. I entered a tavern I had never been at before. I was not very far from Rouen, yet the subject discussed in the conversations seemed to have nothing to do with the events unfolding there. It seems I had inadvertently entered a hotbed of religious dissention. The conversations quieted down to a low volume as I entered. Evidently I, as a stranger in their midst was unwelcome, or at least needed to be evaluated before debate resumed. I ordered an ale and some cheese. I was content to sit by myself for a few moments, eat and then go. A man approached me and sat next to me without asking my leave.

“Tell me, friend,” he said, “I assume you are a friend, what do you think of Calvin?”

“What do I think of him...? What is the manner of your question, Sir? The only one of that name that I know of is a person of infamy in the eyes of the Church and King. I must admit I have no opinion of him other than I think his reputation with them is likely well deserved, though he may be misunderstood. Tell me, what do you want me to know of him?”

“He is a personification of the indignation many of us feel toward the injustice committed by both Church and King. He has spoken out against the vile avarice and corruption the church engages in. He is a champion of reform and an instrument for our salvation through the truths he expounds.”

“My friend,” I said, “you have a willing and sympathetic ear with me. I am as aware as you are about the corruption of both the church and aristocracy that rules us.”

“Then, friend, you are likely in our camp. Do you read?”

I said I did.

“Here is a copy of Calvin’s writings on the church of Rome as well as God’s plan for us. Read it for your soul’s sake.”

Confident in the fact I was no threat to them, the men in the tavern resumed their conversations. I was not a religious person, having developed some cynicism toward the theology I had been raised to accept, due simply to the observation of hypocrisy and corruption committed by churchmen throughout France with no apologies, or attempts to reform or repent. I had no idea as to Calvin’s validity, but I knew it could likely be no worse than the current structure.

I completed my meal in silence. As I rose to leave, I nodded to the man I had spoken with. He amicably raised his open hand to me in a gesture of “farewell”.

I headed back to Rouen. Likely there were still crowds in the streets as well as at the execution site. I knew that because there would be no merciful reprieve afforded the two highwaymen, and the fact they were to be broken from the “bottom up”, that is to say, starting with the feet and ankles long before the chest and head would ever be reached, there was a likelihood they would live for a protracted period. There would be those who would stay till the bitter end, reveling in the suffering and horror, gleefully snickering at their desperate pleas for a merciful completion by blade or hammer. I had promised to meet my friends Bertrand and Arnaud after the executions for an ale or two, but I decided against it. I was so disgusted by the entire process, I thought the last thing I wanted to do was discuss it, let alone celebrate it. I knew by Bertrand’s views on the subject that was exactly what would happen. It would be prudent to avoid his company that night.

I avoided the section of the city near the Field of Justice. I stabled my horse and went to my room. I had too much on my mind to relax. I was horrified at what I had seen today. I had realized earlier that Jacquette was the hooded figure in the pageant of death. Her function was more theatrical than anything else; rather minor and could easily be dispensed with, I thought. Yet, someone feels she has a significant role. I wondered who exactly orchestrated this garish display of barbarity. Her father? The Counts of Normandy? How could I ever see her again, knowing now what I did about her? Oh, I already knew she was a participant, she had told me as much. But now that I had seen her in action, how she had skillfully dispatched poor Nathan Adam, though as an act of mercy, along with the way she had killed the three men two days ago with such ruthlessness, I feared her now. I would never be able to love her the way I had. Whatever we had together was no longer possible. But, I thought, I made a promise to her: my undying fidelity and commitment. Will it be that easy to put a stop to our love, our promises to each other? She still had me in her power; that I knew. I loved her uncontrollably and without question. I fanaticized about our times together, our bodies engaged in expressions of adoration of each other’s attributes; her exquisite breasts, the wondrous amber garden of love between her legs where I sought and relished her most treasured flower. I suddenly found myself weeping, tears of frustration flowing down my cheeks, my spinning brain trying to sort and make sense of it all.

All of a sudden a new thought occurred to me. Tomorrow I would return to the armory, and to my work. There would ultimately be questions. I needed to plan for any eventuality. I would, of course act as if I was unaware Sauvage was missing. I would also have no idea about Gauthier. There was no reason for me to be held in any suspicion, I thought. It was likely the bodies would not be found for some time, if at all. But, the loose horses! Somebody will ultimately find them, and their ownership ascertained. The only connection I have at all to Sauvage was we were co- workers - that and the fact he hated me and did not try to hide it. I would have to say I was mystified about Gauthier. Perhaps, I would suggest, he was unhappy with his position and took advantage of the long holiday to leave with no one noticing. No, that would not work. Likely his possessions were still here. He never would have abandoned them.

There was a likelihood there would never be anything more than a casual inquiry even if the bodies were found eventually. These men were of no real import, only common workers in the armory. If they were aristocrats, then there would be questions, but it was most probable there would be no interest. I would get a new apprentice, I suppose, and someone would be found to replace Sauvage. Life would go on.

Morning found me groggy from lack of sleep. I had tossed about all night, considering possible problems that could arise and the best way to deal with any eventuality. I was now somewhat satisfied I was prepared to face whatever would transpire.

I consumed a small bit of bread I had saved from the day before, splashed some water on my face to hopefully stimulate my brain and left my cell to go to work.

My bench was cluttered with pieces of sheet metal I had intended to fabricate into a set of greaves for a larger armor project I was assigned to produce. I began inspecting the pieces, trying to determine how best to approach the forming required to get the fit needed for my customer.

“Good morning, Seigneur Babineau,” came a voice from behind. It was Leclerc, my other apprentice.

“Good morning Richard,” I said, rather surprised at his cordiality, considering his behavior of late. “You need not address so formally. How about Monsieur Denis instead?”

“Very well, Monsieur Denis.”

“Please,” I said. “Refresh my memory. What was it I assigned you and Gauthier to do? What are you working on?”

“If you remember, Monsieur Denis, he and I were cutting blank plates to be hammered into a cuirass. I must tell you, Jean Gauthier is not here. I have not seen him since Friday.”

“Have you any idea?” I asked with feigned curiosity.

“I do not.”

“Very well, Richard. Continue with your assignment as best you can. Hopefully, our man Gauthier is only ill, or otherwise temporarily indisposed. I wager he will be here tomorrow.”

“This is most strange,” said Leclerc. “He knows the rules. He is not allowed to leave here without permission under any circumstances. He had to have been accompanied by a journeyman or other official of the armory. He knew that. Why would he risk his position?”

“I have a suggestion,” I said. “I think it would be a good idea if you would ask the others here if they have seen him or if they know anything. Then, once we know the facts, I can decide what to do. Perhaps Seigneur Romilly knows something. I am sure it is nothing alarming. Once you have gathered the information, report back to me.”

I had worked for several hours on my project when Leclerc appeared again.

“Monsieur Denis?”

“Yes, Richard?”

“I have news. Not only is Gauthier gone, but Monsieur Sauvage failed to be here today as well. Further, neither has been seen since Saturday, when someone said they were seen riding off together. Their personal belongings are intact it seems, so it is unlikely they deliberately left their employ here. I fear something has happened.”

“I will talk to Lord Romilly. This is something he needs to know about. Thank you, Richard. You may return to your cuirass.”

I thought it prudent to talk to Lord Romilly at once. If nothing else, I thought, at least I would leave the impression I was concerned, and by logical extension unaware of any of the circumstances surrounding the incident. He listened to me without comment as I related the particulars as I knew them. Once I had completed relating the “facts” he looked at me curiously and asked: “Why are you so concerned, Denis? I have been aware for some time of a friction between you and Antoine Sauvage. It seems a little unnatural you would care if he were ever here again or not. I certainly hope there is nothing more to this than a temporary misfortune of some kind. You may go now. Thank you for your information, Denis.”

I left Lord Romilly with a feeling of foreboding. I wished I had been more prudent. He suspected! Damn it, he knew! My very attempt at subterfuge proved to indicate my possible involvement. I concluded my best plan of action would be to keep my mouth shut. Perhaps I should have told Lord Romilly that I and Sauvage were at odds but had made amends. No, that lie could and would likely be exposed. Just keep the mouth shut. Anything I say now could easily come up and bite me from behind. I need to be careful whom I speak to about any of this. Leclerc... what of him? He was certainly uncharacteristically friendly and helpful today. I think even this could be a ruse!

I consumed the rest of my work day absorbed in my project, meticulously forming the sheets of metal I had been developing from flat blanks to become the greaves for the protection of the front of the lower legs. I found it necessary to employ my apprentice to directly assist me in my operation, to work the fire and to keep one of the greaves-to- be hot while I hammered the other.

“So, Richard, do you like what you are learning here? Are you happy to be part of our guild?”

“I am, Monsieur Denis. It is a fortunate thing for me to have been accepted as an apprentice. I am grateful to Seigneur Rommily as well as my uncle Charles, my father’s brother, who is an armorer in Marseille, and who enabled me to be placed here.”

“All right, Richard, let me be candid with you. I mean you no offense, but you must have been thoroughly instructed as to the code of conduct for apprentices as well as the consequences of non- compliance. Correct?”

“Yes. Certainly.”

“Confound it! How is it then, you were so insolent toward me? Your behavior bordered on downright insubordination. I could have had you dismissed. Actually, I still could.”

“Yes,” said my apprentice, “and that is the same thing Monsieur Sauvage told me. He threatened to have me sent away if I did not comply with his orders.”

“Orders? What orders?”

“I was to watch you in order to report to him anything that could possibly be used to bring you trouble against your reputation. I was ordered to cause you confusion when possible by upsetting the progress of your project by secretly damaging your work.”

“And did you?”

“No, I did not. I may have appeared to co-operate, but in truth, I have done you no harm.”

“Do you know what brought this about, this contumacious behavior on the part of Sauvage, and I have to say, Jean Gauthier?”

“I fear to tell you. Monsieur Denis, please do not demand this from me.”

“You must tell me! You will tell me!”

Leclerc stood for a moment, looking at the floor. He was obviously conflicted, but I did not care. I demanded information.

“Richard! Tell me, damn you! If I need to, I will involve Lord Romilly. Now, what is the truth?”

“Very well,” he said, resigned to my insistence. “Soon after your arrival here, Sauvage was held to account for some careless work he was producing. Lord Romilly mentioned you as an exemplary role model in that he was highly impressed with your work, especially in view of the fact you were only a newly made journeyman. Sauvage was humiliated and felt resentment, and then ultimately felt threatened. He decided he would make you look bad by disrupting your project surreptitiously. He had an ability to cow others to his will by bullying them. By using threats and lies he was able to recruit a few of us to cause you distress, either by refusing you assistance, or damaging your work.”

“Should that explain how you and Gauthier came under his influence? After all, you were assigned to me, as my apprentices. How could you be so disloyal as to turn on me, especially since I had shown you nothing but kindness?”

“Please, Monsieur Denis, please forgive me. I was being threatened with expulsion if I did not obey him. He was going to tell lies about me to get me dismissed.”

“Lies? What lies? Explain, Richard.”

“Very well. Ever since I and Gauthier have been here, Sauvage has shown an unclean interest in us. He decided to leave me alone once he was able to successfully seduce Jean Gauthier to surrender to his bidding. I know this to be true because one day I discovered Gauthier and Sauvage engaging in an unnatural act in the stable. They saw me and threatened to have me expelled for being a bugger if I breathed a word. Sauvage had Gauthier in his control exclusively, and everything would have probably been all right except Gauthier was then assigned to you as an apprentice. This was too much for Sauvage. He want on a crusade of sorts to ruin you.”

“A bugger? He was the bugger, and he threatened to accuse you?”

“Yes”, Leclerc went on, “and just who would be believed if I had to deny it? I was a new apprentice. I had no alternative and no support, especially since Gauthier was more than pleased to play the role of a catamite.”

“And now, Richard,” I said, “tell me true, what more do you know about Sauvage and Gauthier. Do you know more than you say? As to their whereabouts...where are they?”

“I know no more than what I reported to you. I saw Gauthier Friday night last. We stopped work at the same time, I went to go to our quarters, but he did not accompany me. He said he had to see someone. I know no more.”

“Very well, Richard. Keep this conversation to yourself. You will regain my trust by your further good behavior. I will protect your reputation as well as I can if anything unfortunate arises in the future. I hope you have no trouble with Sauvage. Thank you for your assistance with these greaves as well. You are dismissed. Return to the project you were working on.”

The days following were spent the same way. I was intent upon my project. My apprentice Leclerc and I seemed to establish a cordiality I had not experienced in some time. I found great enjoyment in being able to answer his questions and watch him use my instructions to produce good results for his efforts. I noticed a strangeness on the part of several of my co-workers who had previously seemed to shun me and frustrate my efforts. They were no more cordial than before, but they seemed wary of me, as if I had some extraordinary power, as if I had caused the two men, Sauvage and Gauthier to come to some misfortune. After all, some seemed to be surprised I was still at the armory... alive! I wished I knew what some of these men knew. What did Sauvage tell them? That he intended to kill me? Now, I am here and they are not. Perhaps I was feared, I was not sure.

Friday was passing as the days preceding it, my efforts concentrated on my work, not because I had no other concerns - because I did: the entire prospect of being found out for my involvement in the deaths of three men, though my enemies, and also heartsickness over my Jacquette, how I longed for her, and at the same time how I had become to fear her. But, where was she? How would we possibly ever be together again? How could we ever be, knowing what I do about her and her family, after what I saw at the Field of Justice? Could I in any way love such a person, an instrument of death? I used my work as a way to deflect more significant worries, to channel my energies away from ineffable apprehension and torment.

“Monsieur Denis?”

“Oh, Yes Richard. What is it?”

“A messenger is here. He needs to see you.”

A man presented himself, wearing unfamiliar livery. I assured him I was Denis Babineau, the person to whom the message he had was intended for.

I suspected I knew the sender before I even looked at the intact seal or the writing on the outside.

Denis, my love,

Oh, how I long for your touch, I am in need, the direst need of you, Denis. We cannot be apart. We are destined to be together forever. We now must speak of these inevitable things, to plan our lives, our future of love and joy. Please meet me where we last were together. You know the place. I will wait for you on Sunday. We will be safe there to do whatever we desire. Please be there early so we can spend as much time together as possible. I am in need of your love, your body, your touch. Please do not be late. I have plans for us and many things to tell you. You may trust the person delivering this message. Do not fear.

J

I left the armory preoccupied with a tumultuous dilemma. My overwhelming need and desire for my love, Jacquette, and my disquieting disgust for the things I saw her involved in caused an ambivalence I could not reconcile or cause to abate by simple logic or contemplation. I needed counsel, yet whom could I trust to lend an ear? A priest? Not hardly! There was no one I could confide in with absolute confidence. I only knew of one place to go and one thing to do. I decided to go to my favorite inn and tavern and seek out my friends. They may not be fountains of wisdom, but at least I could vent my frustrations, albeit indirectly.

I was pleased to find my friends seated at their predictable table, involved in their usual activity of drinking ale and expounding balderdash. They were no less pleased to see me. Arnaud caught the attention of the serving wench, and I was treated to a pitcher of ale.

“Arnaud!” I exclaimed, “What a surprise to see you here. It was only a week ago you swore to never set foot in here again. I see you and your nemesis are on speaking terms. You ordered me a drink and she delivered. A change of heart, Arnaud?”

“Well, Denis, the ways of love are mysterious sometimes. To tell the truth, I and Adrienne are in an understanding. I apologized to her and her father in order to regain entrance to this place. She has since recognized I am the only man in her experience who has abused her and then apologized. To her, this is a display of virtue. She and I are now the best of friends. I promised to keep my hands off her in public and she allows me any liberty I desire in private. Besides, her father seems to like me!”

“Ah, Denis,” exclaimed Bertrand, “good to see you. We missed you the other night. Were we not to meet after the executions? You were there, were you not, Denis?”

“I was there for a time, Bertrand, but I left early. I started getting sick - the stifling crowd and stench in the mud, I expect. That and the fact I had too much to drink the night before.”

“You really missed something, Denis.”

“What? What did I miss?”

“Volcaine’s death.”

“What of it?” I asked, trying to discourage conversation along these lines, indicating lack of interest by my tone of voice.

“It was glorious!”

“In what way? How could you say it was in some way describable as glorious?”

Arnaud signaled to his new-found love to provide us with some more ale.

“I thought it rather well done, myself” Arnaud said. “It was more than I expected, that is for sure.”

“To begin with, the other executions went on as expected. Now, how much did you see, Denis, before you left?” Bertrand asked.

“I saw the boy die.”

“Well, that was a mere preliminary. Things really got interesting after that, but he next one to face being broken really did not last long. It was almost as if the executioners had somewhere else to go, so they sped things up. By the time the man had his upper legs smashed, he was already dead. I thought the executioners were more skilled than that. We were all very disappointed.

“Next, of course, was another decapitation. It went on as one would expect. No one I saw even seemed to be remotely interested. They wanted the grand finale.

“They brought Volcaine to the wheel, led by that horrid little homunculus or whatever, and fastened him down. He was to be broken from the bottom- up like the one before, so they started by breaking all his toes with pincers. They smashed the tops of his feet with hammers, and then his ankles went. All this time Volcaine remained rather resolute, in that he hardly cried out. The crowd began murmuring, voicing dissatisfaction that the inflicted pain was inadequate. The executioners seemed to sense the crowd’s displeasure; they gave the wheel a turn, bringing the man’s hands into a convenient position, and smashed his thumbs and broke his fingers as they had his toes. Volcaine screamed, much to the crowd’s delight. They turned the wheel again, picked up their iron rods and smashed Volcaine’s knees. The shins went next, then the upper legs. Volcaine would not respond to anything done to him by the executioners. They managed to weave his legs somewhat around the spokes, the broken bones enabling unnatural positions. They poured cold water on his face. This revived him enough for him to sense pain. He screamed again as we in the crowd hooted and laughed. In an attempt to be innovative, the executioners next used their iron rods to pry Volcaine’s elbows in the direction opposite their natural intention. Now, this must really hurt, as then he gave out the best screams of the day. Then, after that...”

“ENOUGH!” I yelled. “I want to hear no more! You may revel in this, but I assure you, I do not. The next time we see each other I expect an entire different subject of conversation, or there will be NO conversation. Good night, Bertrand. Good night, Arnaud.”

I was disgusted with my friends. I considered going somewhere else for more ale, but I simply went home instead. Tomorrow was Saturday, and a work day. I may as well get some rest, I thought. I lay on my berth for a long time without being able to sleep. My mind was swimming, confusion and frustration taking its toll. I had to meet Jacquette Sunday. I was having mixed feelings, to say the least. Still, I was in love with her and I had every intention to stay with her forever. I was just unsure exactly what our relationship would become. I looked forward to spending the day with her, engaging in the acts of erotic pleasure we found so mutually gratifying. But then... what then? Likely as not she will be going back to where she calls home, Vertus, I believed it was. This was not an impossible distance from Rouen for occasional visits, but occasional visits would hardly do. I thought it impossible for a young woman with the sexual appetite she seemed to have, along with my perpetual need for erotic satisfaction to find a way to adequately reconcile our lusty desires while constantly apart. If we were to be true to each other, as we promised to be, we had to be together.

I simply could not sleep. I lit a lamp and attempted to read some of the book I had borrowed. I was interrupted by a conversation outside my cell. I thought I heard a familiar voice. My name was being called. It was Lord Romilly.

“Denis,” there is someone here to speak to you.”

I left my cell and presented myself in the hall. I was greeted by Lord Romilly and two others. They were dressed in the livery worn by those employed by Viscompte Beauvaise, the official constable of Rouen.

“Denis Babineau, we are here to ask you questions about any knowledge you might have pertaining to the deaths of three men who were found today south of Rouen. Two of these men were employed here at the armory. We know this first because their horses were found and they were bearing the Armory’s mark. One of the men at least, is known to you, a certain Antoine Sauvage, reportedly with whom you may have experienced some enmity of late. Another man, unidentified as yet, could be one of your apprentices, a certain Jean Gauthier.”

“Dead? But how?” I asked, feigning astonishment.

“Murdered by brigands, apparently.”

“Seigneur, Romilly,” I said, “have you seen them? Are they who this man says?”

“I have not as yet. I intend to after this meeting.”

“Why - why do you come to me? How would I have any information?” I asked.

“We asked questions of your co-workers. Sauvage and Gauthier have not been seen since a week ago, last Saturday to be exact. Several persons here have attested that you have been at odds with Sauvage for some time. Someone told us he was intent upon ruining your position here and that you were fully aware of it,” said one of the investigators.

“Aware? Who told you that?”

“That person will remain nameless, Monsieur Babineau.”

“Even if it were true that I and Sauvage were not friends, I fail to see how I would necessarily have any involvement in his death.”

“Self- preservation is a powerful motive. However, your disputes with a co- worker are of small concern to us. Usually, we assume in cases like this the motives are legitimate, though in this particular case the circumstances do not imply self-defense or even consequences of robbery, even if it appears a robbery probably took place.”

“How so? I do not understand you,” I said.

“These men were executed, Monsieur Babineau. It is that simple. I expect the actors in this tried to make the whole thing look like robbery. Why would a robber not take the horses, however? The dead men’s swords have no blood on them. There was no fight in my estimation. Have you any skill with a sword, Monsieur Babineau?”

“My skills lie in making them, not using them, My Lord.”

“Someone possesses the skills of a master. There are three men dead who were obviously overwhelmed by an assailant - perhaps more than one, but I think not.”

“Perhaps all this is true,” interjected Lord Romilly, “but does this merit such an investigation? Also with the crowded conditions in Rouen of late, due to the executions, how is it not possible the assailant is not a local, but a transient who is now no longer hereabouts?”

“All these things are possible,” said the investigator. “As I said, under usual circumstances there would likely be no substantial inquiry into the deaths of workers or peasants. This time, however there is a complication. The third dead man happens to be the squire of a Knight of the Realm, a certain Monsieur Lavale, who happens to be a nephew of the Compte d’ Nevers, and as such demands and is entitled to satisfaction. He and his squire were here for the recent executions, and were somehow separated. He identified his squire as one of the dead men, though the top of his head was nowhere to be found. Likely it became an object to be gnawed on by a wild animal. Nevertheless, I am charged by my Lord the Constable to find this miscreant, this murderer, and bring him to justice.

“Now, Monsieur Babineau, there is as yet no evidence to indicate your involvement, save some of the very tenuous circumstantial variety. I need to know your whereabouts last week Saturday, as this was the last these men were seen. Where were you then?”

“I was north of here around Longueville. I happened to be looking for some property - a farm to be exact.”

“Is there a way to corroborate that? Did anyone see you?”

“No, but I did meet friends of mine later in the north part of Rouen at an inn. I stopped there on the way back from Longueville.”

“Names?”

“Bertrand Archambault and Arnaud Cornette.”

“Where can I find them, please?”

You will usually find them at the Black Raven Inn. However Bertrand works as a baker for Villiers and Arnaud is a fuller. The fulling mill is next to the Seine...”

“I know where it is, thank you. Now, Babineau, I admonish you, I suspect your likely involvement in this. You are forbidden to leave Rouen or have any contact with your two friends you mentioned. Violation of this could go a long way toward your implication. Do not test me!”

I was dismissed without further ceremony. I returned to my cell and fell on my bed. My God! What have I done to myself? How will I ever extricate myself from this morass? I knew I would be watched. I had no way of leaving Rouen. I had no way of seeing Jacquette on Sunday, no way of getting a message to her even if I knew how to reach her. I was suspected of murders I was physically incapable of committing. Did that really matter? If the only thing desired from this was “satisfaction”, a pound of flesh, as it were, would I not suffice--even if innocent? There was to be no sleep this night. I had to prepare myself to avoid any mistakes in the questioning I knew would come.