The Torturer's Apprentice

The Torturer’s Apprentice

by

von Hentzau

Heinrich, Crown Prince of the Principality of Pfalz-Untergraubund, was just finishing his mid-day repast when the courtier entered the Prince’s private chambers.

“Your majesty,” the man said, bowing low. “Your new instructor sends word that he has made his preparations and is ready to start your lessons at any time you so choose.”

“Excellent,” the Prince said. The man, Fra Gropius, had only just arrived this morning. The Prince had been eager to get started. It delighted him that, unlike many such men, experts in their field who seemed to take pleasure in wasting as much time as possible, this man came in and was ready to go to work almost immediately. “Most excellent. Tell the good friar that I shall join him momentarily. He is in the chambers that I ordered prepared for him?”

“He is, sire,” the courtier said, still bowing. “And he asked that I inform your highness that he finds the accommodation most suitable.”

“Good, good,” the Prince responded. “Once you’ve delivered my reply, proceed to the dungeon and have the warder bring the subject to the chambers I ordered prepared for the good friar.”

“At once, excellency,” the man replied, backing out of the chamber still maintaining a bow.

Prince Heinrich finished the last capon, tossed back the last of the wine in his goblet, and since no one was looking, wiped his hands on the table cloth. He stood up and called to his chamberlain.

“Fritz,” he said, trying not to show too much anticipation in his voice, “I expect to be in consultation with Friar Gropius for the afternoon. I shall not want to be disturbed.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Fritz replied. All to the good, Fritz thought. Perhaps I can get some work done this afternoon. For a change.

The Prince strode out of his chamber and set a fast pace towards the East Tower, the one that was mostly composed of unused chambers. The one with the most privacy. The one where he’d had a torture chamber installed for Fra Gropius’ use.

There was of course a perfectly useable torture chamber in the dungeon. But it was cold and drafty, always damp. And usually quite busy. The Prince wanted a venue where he had Fra Gropius’ full attention. So the East Tower it was.

A pair of guards, in polished helmets and breastplates, stood on either side of the entrance to the chamber he’d selected. They snapped to attention when the Prince approached, bringing their crossed halberds to an upright position. After maintaining the position for a few second one if the men reached out and opened the door for the Prince. The Prince strode past them without acknowledgment.

The friar was standing in the center of the chamber, an older man whose coarse brown monkish robes couldn’t conceal that, while he may have subsisted on the plain fare proper to a monk, he didn’t stint the quantity. He bowed, a monkish bow, adequate to demonstrate his submission to his aristocratic superior and new employer, but sufficiently restrained to indicate his own status as a man of the cloth.

“Welcome, Friar Gropius,” the Prince said. “I hope everything is to your liking.”

“It is quite adequate, your Majesty,” the monk replied. “The equipment is of most excellent quality. Far better than one finds in many of the Inquisition’s chambers. But that’s how it is, you know, with such large organizations. They always find so many ways to spend their money without thinking of how it could best be spent to aid those who actually do the work.”

“Quite so, quite so,” the Prince agreed. “But here, as His Highness, my father, so often says, we do not stint coins for that which needs to be done. I’ve looked forwards to working with you for so long I would not risk compromising the experience with inferior tools.”

“Your Majesty has long had an interest in the methods of inquiry? If I may say so, that is fairly unusual among those of your station in life. Most often, in my experience, they desire results and care little for how they are produced.”

“Also quite true, good Friar. But as, God willing, I shall have a good many years before assuming my father’s throne, I’ve decided that that time would be best spent learning how the various functionaries of the royal government perform their duties.” He paused for a moment before continuing in a slightly conspiratorial tone. “And, with the state of the world in the perilous times I’m sure you’re aware of what a useful function men such as yourself perform.”

“Your highness flatters me,” the monk replied.

“Not at all. When I went seeking a teacher of the arts of inquiry I sought out a man of great reputation and superior qualifications. Your name came up repeatedly. In years of practice and communities served there are few to compete with you.”

“Why, yes,” Fra Gropius replied, “I have been in the profession a good long time. ‘Twas the Year of Our lord 1529 when I first assisted at an inquiry by the office of the Holy Inquisition. I couldn’t tell you how many heretics and witches I’ve exposed in all those years.”

“You’ve rather specialized in witches, I understand?” the Prince asked.

“Yes, witches, females heretics, and many female criminals who’ve been misled by the Devil. Women seem particularly prone to be misled into sin and abominations. Most especially the young, attractive ones. The devil seems to have an affinity for them and they seem singularly susceptible to his enticements. I only hope that I’ve been able to help at least a few of them find the path towards repentance.”

“And I’m told you’ve invented techniques of inquiry particularly suited to the questioning of women?”

“But of course.” the Friar replied, a bit smugly. “One works with what God gives him. And if the Devil has found weaknesses in the way God has made women that he uses to exploit them, then God has also made them with, um, points at which we may apply, um, coercive methods to great effect. To make them see the errors into which the Devil has led them.”

Both Prince and Friar turned to look as the heavy wooden door swung open on creaking hinges. A trio of men entered, heavy-set, sweaty and rather unpleasant looking men in metal studded leather jerkins and steel helmets. Almost hidden in their midst was a young peasant women. The Prince motioned to a spot some eight feet away from him and the Friar. The dungeon guards escorted their charge to the spot indicated and stopped.

“Very good,” the Prince said. “You may go now.”

The three men bowed, not as deeply as a courtier but perhaps as deeply as their large girth permitted, and departed, leaving the girl.

“Ah, our subject has arrived,” the Prince said. “This peasant girl has been chosen for you to demonstrate your art on.”

“Very good, Sire,” The Friar replied, eyeing the girl up and down.

She was clearly of peasant stock. The bodice of her dress could not conceal the existence of the full peasant breasts behind it. The voluminous skirt of homespun wool could not hide the swelling of her hips, or the narrowness of her waist. In other circumstances, at some time in the future, after bearing a half dozen or more children she would have the heavy body of her mother and grandmother. But at this time in life she had the full but trim form of a young, attractive peasant girl.

The Friar assessed his subject with his professional eye. The clothing was lightly soiled, but not torn. The thickl, black hair was only slightly disarrayed, with a few stray bits of straw stuck in it. She had apparently not been mistreated in her confinement.

“How long has she been held?” he asked.

“Five days, I believe,” the Prince replied.

“And you gave orders that she not be mistreated?”

“Yes. I thought it best if we started afresh.”

“A wise choice. We may thus start as if she had only now been apprehended.” He turned to the prisoner. “What is your name, child?”

“Annelise, excellency,” the girl replied, doing a sort of uncertain half-curtsey. She was uncertain of how to act among her superiors in such circumstances.

“Now, Sire, what is it we seek to learn from the prisoner?” Fra Gropius asked turning back to the Prince.

“What?” the Prince asked, somewhat surprised.

“What is it she’s accused of?” Fra Gropius asked. “Suspected witch? Elderly husband she recently married who died mysteriously? Talks to her pets, who are undoubtedly imps in disguise?”

“Oh, she isn’t accused of anything,” the Prince replied. “I merely asked my chamberlain to find a suitable subject, preferably an attractive one, to practice upon. Most likely she’s just a serving girl whose master handed her over because he tired of her or, perhaps, she wouldn’t accede to his wishes.”

Annelise nearly shouted out “That is precisely what happened, your Majesty. That smelly old bastard Pieterzon sold me for refusing to bed him.” But she held her voice. She really didn’t understand what was going on and was used to keeping silent in the presence of her betters.

“You mean she has no secrets that we must discover?”

“She knows nothing of any interest to us, unless you desire to know the names of the cowherds and stableboys she’s fornicated with.”

“But then what is the point in our putting the question to her?” Fra Gropius said, a slight smile turning the corner of his mouth.

“Why, she is only here as an object, a blank canvass on which to display your art.”

“But, Sire, our profession has a purpose, and that is finding that which the subject does not want found. Certainly I could demonstrate the technique to you upon this frail creature. But how would we know how successful we had been? We could as well whip a pile of blankets or take the hot irons to a side of bacon.”

Standing off to one side, listening, Annelise’s eyes began to grow wide.

“No, Sire. If you are to have the best of training in the art you must have a subject who possesses a secret, something which we must force her to divulge.”

“Shall I send for another subject? An accused witch or a woman who’s suspected of killing her husband? Something of that sort? I’m sure we could find one in the villages.”

Fra Gropius eyed the peasant girl for a long minute. Something in his gaze made Annelise cringe.

“Oh, no, no, no. That’s not necessary.”

Fra Gropius stepped over to Annelise. He took her arm and led her a few steps away from the Prince. He leaned over and whispered in her ear.

“The butterfly is yellow”

Annelise turned her head to look at him, confused.

“That, my dear, is your secret,” Fra Gropius said. “The butterfly is yellow. His majesty will try to make you say that. Repeat it after me, but look this way, that His Majesty will not see what words your lips form. And do it quietly, that he not hear.”

Annelise turned her head as instructed.

“The butterfly is yellow.” she whispered.

“Very good,” Fra Gropius said, leading her back towards the Prince. “Now, don’t forget it. And recall that it is a secret. You will not reveal it, even if I ask you to.”

Fra Gropius turned back to face the Prince.

“What I have done, Majesty,” he said, slightly pompously, “is given Annelise a secret. It is a sentence the she and I know, but you do not. It will be your task to force it from her.”

“Very clever of you, Friar,” the Prince replied. “But what’s to prevent her from screaming out the words on the first stroke of the lash?”

“Because, Majesty,” Fra Gropius said, slightly smirking, “when Annelise reveals the secret, Annelise will be put to death. I think that will give her incentive enough, don’t you?”

Annelise grew noticeably more pale at the words.

“Indeed, it will,” the Prince replied. “However..”

“Yes, Majesty?”

“What if, in the course of the inquiry, the subject decides that a quick death is preferable to continued torment?”

“Simply prevented,” Fra Gropius replied. “Make the method of execution sufficiently horrible and of sufficient duration that whatever other tortures you choose to inflict will seem endurable by comparison.”

“Have you any suggestions along those lines? I’m sure you’ve encountered some quite inventive methods in your travels.”

“Indeed I have, Majesty. You might consider the fate of a fool who attempted to assassinate the King of the France.”

“I understand they’re quite good at these things. Go on.”

“A team of horses was tied to each arm and leg, then driven in different directions. And for a touch of the style for which the French are well know, while the horses pulled the fellow apart boiling wax was poured over his primitives. Of course, the actual implementation did not go off without problems. The fellow was stronger than anticipated and the horses were unable to tear him apart. The executioners were required to use their knives to help things along.”

There was a muffled thump as Annelise collapsed into a heap on the stone floor.

“Oh dear,” said Fra Gropius. “I do hope this isn’t indicative of how she’ll behave in the middle of a session.”

It was some minutes before Annelise was able to collect herself. The Prince was all for throwing a bucket of water over her, but the Friar counseled patience.

“Now, how do we start?” the Prince asked.

“Quite simply. We show the subject the implements,” the Friar said. “You’d be surprised how often the sight of our devices will convince a miscreant to repent. I suggest you try it.”

The Prince went to Annelise. He stood, towering over her for a minute or two. He marveled at how she seemed to shrivel beneath his gaze. Finally he spoke.

“You have a secret, prisoner,” he said in his most authoritative voice. “Do you see these implements?” He motioned at the array of fearsome devices.

Annelise nodded, then answered with a barely audible “yes”.

“Do you know what hey are? What they are used for. What they can do?”

“Yes. Some of them,” she answered, still in barely audible voice.

“Do you want us to have to use them on you?”

“No.”

“Then you must reveal your secret to us.”

Annelise started to speak, then stopped. Fra Gropius had quietly stepped to her side.

“Remember, child, when you reveal the secret, you will die,” he whispered.

Annelise, eyes welling with tears, looked from the Friar to the Prince and back. Would they really have her killed if she revealed the secret? What would they do to her if she didn’t? Would they really execute her in such a barbaric manner as the Friar had described? Not knowing what to do, she resolved the safest course was to do nothing. She stood between the men, looking past them, lips firmly closed.

“So, Friar, she seems not easily intimidated. What implement do we use first?”

“None, Majesty,” he replied.

“None?”

“The implements are best employed when the subject has been properly prepared. Annelise has been confined but treated more or less kindly. She is not much different than if the guards had just brought her from her tavern or farmhouse. However, after a month or two chained in one of the lower dungeons, given only moldy bread and water, she would most likely be much more cooperative. Quite often a subject is ready to confess after a week or two of such treatment without need of further persuasion.”

“I see your point, Friar, but I’d rather not wait a month for my next lesson.”

“Of course, there are ways to achieve similar results more quickly. Please summon the Captain of you Guards and I will instruct him in what needs to be done. We will then continue the inquiry on the morrow.”

to be continue..........

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