The Standard Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction with content suitable only for adults (and stable ones at that). If you are prohibited from reading such material by the laws or standards of your community please depart immediately. Likewise, if you can't tell the difference between reality and fantasy kindly leave and seek professional help.

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..........

Copyright is claimed on this work by the author. Permission to copy, republish or distribute it in any form is expressly prohibited with the sole exception of personal, non-commercial use.

(Author's note: In Part I there is a section that reads "boiling wax was poured over his primitives". That should be "privities". Wordperfect Spell Checker seemed to think I meant the former. Such is the peril of clicking through Spell Checker too quickly.)

The Torturer's Apprentice

Part II

by

von Hentzau

The Captain of the Guard entered, followed by two of his men. He reported to the Prince, then turned to face the Friar, who had stepped to his side.

"Good Captain," the monk said. "You recall the tentative instructions I gave you earlier?"

"Certainly, good Friar," the man replied.

"Very good, very good," the monk said folding his arms under his monk's robes. "You will now proceed to carry them out as I described them."

"Yes sir," the Captain of the Guard said, drawing himself up to a rigid position of attention. "With pleasure, sir."

The Captain signaled to the men. They took position on either side of Annelise, facing the door. Meekly she turned to also face the door. The Captain proceeded them through the door. The trio followed. As they passed through the door Annelise heard the Friar address the Prince.

"..most excellent equipment. Yes. However, if you will allow me, m'Lord, there are a few items I've brought..."

Then they were out the door to the torture chamber, down a short passage and into the courtyard. After the dim light of the chamber the bright afternoon light made Annelise squint.

The Captain led the little group across the courtyard. They continued on through the gate and down the sloping ramp that led to the market square of the small village that sheltered beneath the castle walls. There, among the tradesmen's stalls, a pillory and a whipping post had long stood. Off to one side there was a gibbet where the bodies of executed criminals were displayed.

They proceeded past the pillory and then the whipping post, to Annelise's temporary relief. Then they approached the gibbet. There was a low platform beneath the overhanging arm. The two guards on either side helped Annelise up onto this platform. She was then turned around to face the crowd that was beginning to gather. No one knew of course just what was going on, but the sight of a passably attractive peasant girl being escorted to the gibbet by a trio of burly guards gave them hope of an afternoon's entertainment.

The Captain waited only a few moments before he gave the command.

"Strip her," he said in a loud voice.

There was an excited murmuring in the crowd as the two guardsmen made quick work of removing Annelise's rough peasant garments. Before she could even think of resisting she was nearly naked. The discarded items were tossed assigned and quickly snatched as souvenirs by the townspeople.

In but a moment her small clothes were gone and Annelise was standing stark naked before a growing crowd of half a hundred people, many of them strangers but some she knew from the tavern. At Annelise's level of society privacy was a rare commodity, but even so to be so totally exposed to so many people was terrifying and humiliating. And there was worse to come.

The Captain gave a quick command. Annelise, distracted by the crowd, didn't catch what it was, but one of the guardsmen quickly fastened a pair manacles around her wrists. The other lowered a rope from the arm of the gibbet. With a few quick tugs on the rope Annelise's arms were raised overhead.

Next the guardsmen bent down and fastened ropes to Annelise's ankles. They forced her to spread her legs apart, as wide as they would go. When she thought they couldn't go any further strong arms forced another inch or so from them. Then they tied her ankles to rings set on the edges of the platform. And a final restraint was added. A wooden bit was shoved between her jaws and tied in place as a gag.

The Captain gave final orders to the two men as to guarding Annelise, then turned on his heel and strode quickly back to the castle. One of the men took up position off to Annelise's left. The other took himself off to the tavern until it was his turn to be guard. The crowd began edging closer, for a better look.

The men, common laborers and apprentices for the most part, leered and joked among themselves. The women sniffed in disapproval of the men's behavior, but also took good sidelong looks. Annelise heard muttered comments and questions from the crowd.

"What's she done?"

"Who knows? Brought her down from the castle. Must've done something."

It was common practice for criminals to be brought down and put on display, as punishment for minor crimes, or while awaiting execution for serious crimes. It was not common for the criminal to be young, attractive, and stripped naked for the display. The crowd was enjoying the novelty immensely.

"Harlot," sniff, snort. "Probably just a common harlot, probably displeased a royal customer."

"Cutpurse."

"Pickpocket."

"Murdered her husband.."

"..her lover..."

"What are they going to do..."

"..hanging..."

"Has the headsman been seen lately. D'you think they're going to take her head?"

"Must have done something terrible."

"Sorceress most likely. Tried to put a curse on the King."

"There'll be a burning, then."

"Have they set up the stake yet?"

On the platform Annelise caught bits of the conversation, the accusations. How could they think such things. She knew some of these people. She saw some she'd grown up with in her small village not far from the castle, other's she'd served in Pieterzon's tavern. Now they were making up the most lurid stories about her and speculating on how she was to be executed. She wanted to cry out to them that she was innocent, by sad chance a mere plaything in a royal game. But she was gagged and the more she saw of the crowd the more she realized they wouldn't listen even if she could speak. An otherwise boring day had been brighten for them by her discomfort.

Unable to protest Annelise could only watch and wonder at the behavior of people not much different than herself. The matrons looked on in self-righteousness, reproaching her with their eyes for sins or crimes unknown. Their husbands tried to look suitably proper, all the while trying to get in as good a look at her exposed charms as they could without their wives noticing. The young maidens giggled and pointed, whispering comments to each other that made them laugh. The young men resembled nothing more than an excited pack of dogs with drooling tongues hanging out of their mouths.

But the small boys were the worst. Given an approved victim and driven by urges they were too young to understand they quickly invented a game. Encouraged by the others, one would dart forward to slap or pinch Annelise, or to poke or whip her with a small stick. Seeing what was happening the guard would try to intercept them, sending a few sprawling or running for the shelter of the crowd with his boot, but they soon worked him into their game. One or two would try to distract him while another darted in to strike.

The game went on until, emboldened by success, the urchins began to target Annelise's breasts and crotch. Shocked at this impropriety several of the matrons stepped in and scattered the attackers, dragging several off by their ears to their mothers with predictions of the dire consequences in store for them.

The crowd gradually thinned down, though it never entirely dispersed. The other guardsman returned in due course from the tavern to relieve his comrade on duty. But there was no relief for Annelise. She was left standing through the entire afternoon.

When the sun had gone down, the crowd had finally scattered and the merchants had closed their stalls the Captain of the Guard came down from the castle. He ordered the two guardsmen to first untie her feet, then to release the rope that held her arms up. She nearly collapsed. After the hours of standing in the awkward spread leg position she hadn't realized how much she'd come to support herself with the rope. As for her shoulders and arms, they gone numb long before but now, allowed to return to a natural position the nerves awakened and sent lightning bolts of pain through her upper body.

The Captain gave her scant moments to recover from the ordeal before he had the men marching her back up to the castle. They crossed the courtyard with Annelise struggling to keep up on her tired legs. Her bare feet on the rough gravel didn't help either.

They entered the guard room. A rugged, bearded faces turned to look at the party. Annelise felt as if all the dark, cruel eyes were staring at her.

"Where's Albrecht?" the Captain called out.

"Here, Cap'n," a tall, slovenly guardsman said, stepping forward.

"Right," the Captain said, "you used to be a sheep farmer. Get a pair of shears. We've a ewe here that needs shearing."

While Albrecht went off to another room to rummage around Annelise was roughly forced down onto a rude but sturdy chair. Her ankles were tied to its legs and her arms pulled behind the straight back and her wrists tied. Albrecht returned with a large pair of scissors.

"They're not proper shears," he said to the Captain, "but they'll do."

"Fine, fine," the Captain replied. He motioned towards Annelise's head. "A sloppy job is all that we need."

Albrecht set to work. He grabbed handfuls of Annelise's thick, black hair and pulled them away, hacking at the strand with the scissors. The scissors hadn't been sharpened in a long time. And Albrecht wasn't gentle as he worked his way from side to side and front to back. Annelise closed her eyes, gritted her teeth and tried not think what she would look like when the brute was finished.

Soon Annelise's lovely hair lay scattered on the floor of the guardroom. She heard coarse laughter. She also heard the Captain's voice.

"Good. Now for the other pelt."

Before Annelise could determine what he meant hands were untying her wrists and ankles. She was lifted from the chair and carried, by arms and legs, across the room to where a table stood. Plates and cups had been swept aside and she was plopped onto the coarse planks, on her back, like a sack of wheat. Wrists and ankles were again quickly tied off, leaving Annelise in a wide spread eagle position.

Albrecht again appeared, this time carrying a straight razor and a bowl of soap suds. He sloppily soaped up her crotch. Then he took the razor and began scraping away at her pubic hair.

The Captain leaned over and looked at her face.

"I'd try to be very still just now," he said. "Albrecht tends to be careless and you might end up missing something you want."

Annelise kept her body rigidly still and Albrecht completed his work with reasonably few nicks. When he was done with the shaving he splashed water on her crotch and then wiped her down with a coarse towel.

"Now what, Cap'n?" Albrecht asked.

"How about a dance?" he asked. "I think our guest should entertain us with a dance, don't you?"

The men roared their agreement. Annelise was unbound and help to her feet on the table. Someone started playing what might have been a flute. He played it so badly it was hard to tell. The men began clapping in time and calling out to her to start dancing.

At first, frightened by the leering eyes that focused on her Annelise froze, Then she tried a few tentative steps, trying to remember a jig, anything. But all she could do was a series of disjointed, out of time stumbles.

"That's not dancin'," a harsh voice cried out. "Here now, let's teach this slut how to dance proper."

Hands reached out for her. Annelise was pulled from the table. They stood her on the floor, with her belly against the edge of the table. She was pushed over, to lie on her stomach with legs hanging over the edge, and her arms stretched to the opposite corners. Her wrists were tied. Her feet were off the ground now. More hands grabbed her ankles and spread her legs apart, tying her ankles to the table legs.

Annelise had worked at the tavern long enough to know what this gang of louts intended. But she still wasn't prepared for the crudeness of their assault. The clumsiest stableboy she'd met in the barn after dark was an expert in the arts of love compared to brutal fashion in which the guardsmen used her. One after another the took position behind her, as if engaged in a drill.

At first Annelise tried to keep count. There had been how many? A dozen of them? How many had used her already? How many more were there? But she lost count and as it was she was certain some were coming around for a second go at her.

After what seemed like hours Annelise was released from the table. Trying to stand up she immediately collapsed onto the floor. One of the largest of the guardsmen picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. He carried her out the door, followed by three or four of his fellows. The remainder continued filling their cups and belting out bawdy songs.

Annelise was carried only half aware to a horse trough where she was unceremoniously dumped. The cold water revived her somewhat and she floundered around, trying to get out. Before she could she was lifted to her feet and buckets of water were poured over her, splashed against her front and back. In a final indignity she was forced to bend forward at the hips and spread her legs so water could be sloshed over her private parts.

Then she was again thrown over a shoulder and carried to the dungeons.

"About time," the dungeon keeper grumbled as the party entered. "Thoughtless! Thoughtless! Keepin' me up half the night waitin' on ye!"

He led them to a small cell, opened the door and motioned for them to put Annelise in it.

"This one'll do," he growled. "Ye might have dried her off first, though."

Annelise was lowered onto a pile of straw. One of the guardsmen picked up a ragged blanket and wrapped it around her. She lay there exhausted but unable to sleep, until as dawn began to break she finally managed to drift off.

Annelise was still sleeping fitfully at mid-morning when the keeper of the dungeon woke her. He'd brought a bowl of gruel and what looked like a pile of grubby gray wool cloth. He woke her with a toe to her ribs. When she rolled over and looked up at him he put the bowl of gruel down.

"Breakfast," he said in a voice like rusty iron hinges. He motioned towards a bucket in the corner. "You've got ten minutes to eat and do what you need to do. Then put this on."

He shook out the gray cloth. It was a sort of formless, sleeveless shift. He dropped it on the floor and left, closing the door of the cell behind him.

Annelise did as instructed and was waiting when the dungeon keeper returned. She had a distinct feeling she was not the only one in filthy wool garment.

The dungeon keeper was accompanied by the Captain of the Guard and two of his men. He, at least, looked none the worse for the wear, though his men both looked as if they really wanted a few more hours of sleep. They placed manacles on her wrists again and escorted Annelise back to the torture chamber. As they entered Annelise heard the friar in conversation with the Prince.

"I see you've added an apparatus, Highness," Fra Gropius said.

He was studying a new addition to the chamber. It was an iron pole, five feet long, standing upright. The upper end had been shaped into a point. The shaft itself was not of a constant diameter it's full length, but gradually widened. The base of the long spike was in a wide metal basin. To either side of the spike stood two more metal rods. Each of these had ha metal collar that clearly was designed to slide up or down along the pole. Each collar had a short length of chain attached to it. Another chain dangled from a pulley above the central spike. Two long leather straps hung from the end of the chain.

"Yes," the Prince replied. "My artisans worked all night preparing this. This will be our method of execution when the subject reveals her secret".

"I believe I understand what you have in mind, but perhaps you should explain the method of her execution, so that our subject understands what will happen if she breaks and speaks."

"I happened to think of a method of execution I've heard to be popular among the peoples of the Transylvanian mountains. Impalement. I decided this might have promise, but as I understood the process it appeared to be capable of considerable improvement. I've added a few refinements that I think you'll agree make it a truly horrendous process.

"First, I've replaced the Transylvanians' wooden stake with an iron rod. A charcoal fire will be lit around the base of the impaling stake, thus heating it. The leather thongs will be fastened tightly around the subject's breasts. She will then be raised by the thongs and positioned over the stake. Her ankles will be fastened to the collars around the guiding rods, so that she may not close her legs. Another guide will be fastened around her waist to ensure that she remains in position. She will then be slowly lowered onto the impaling stake, which will enter her feminine orifice. Over many hours she will be inched lower and lower, while being slowly roasted by both the fire below and the heat from the spike, thus increasing her agony. I have calculated that, with luck and skill she should not expire in less than six hours. I believe that should be sufficient inducement for her to resist our efforts."

"Indeed it should be," the Friar replied, impressed at the Prince's ingenuity. "And I fully expect that with some care you might perhaps extend her agony to eight, or possibly even twelve hours. But we shall see when the time comes."

Annelise had turned white at the recitation and nearly fainted again.

Fra Gropius appeared to completely ignore the girl, but the Prince noticed that the Friar surreptitiously kept an eye on her.

"First things first," the Friar said. "The subject is clothed, however meanly. This will not do. She must be kept in naked state while awaiting or undergoing examination."

The Prince signaled to the two torturers stepped in. The manacles were briefly removed from Annelise's wrists and the filthy shift pulled up over her head. Once the shift was removed one of the torturers began to replace the manacles but the Prince ordered him to stop with a terse "That won't be necessary." Annelise let her arms drop to her sides.

"It is truly surprising how much effect lacking the slightest protection of a smock or chemise has in these circumstances. Especially for the weaker sex, when they find themselves exposed to the gaze of men and utterly helpless to protect or shield themselves. Often this in itself is enough torment to elicit a confession."

Annelise knew exactly what he was saying. One might have expected her stripping and abuse by the guards the previous night to have inured her to this mere display of her body. But having to stand, fully exposed, before these four men, made her want to run, to crouch behind the merest bit of furniture or a column. Her insides where twisting and grumbling from fear. Only the knowledge of the horrible fate that awaited her kept her from blurting out her "secret" then and there.

Despite her near panic Annelise did notice one thing. Both the Prince and the Friar were taking advantage of her nakedness to study her form at perhaps somewhat greater length than was called for.

"I do hope that won't be the case here, Friar," the Prince said. "If she gives in too easily..."

"I don't think you will have to fear less than adequate time to practice your art, m'Lord," the Friar replied. "I've become a fair judge of my subject over the years. If I'm not mistaken our pretty little peasant girl is made of quite stern stuff. They often are. Your well born lady will oft confess at the first sight of the implements. But a peasant girl like this, she will hold to her errant ways as if the devil himself were holding her fast. There was one peasant girl I examine, one who looked remarkably like, what is her name?"

"Annelise, I believe it is."

"One peasant girl I examined few years ago, a witch of course, who was so sunk in her sin and heresy that it took a month to prise a confession from her. Regrettably, it was all for nought, for as the flames consumed her she loudly recanted her confession and cast the most hideous imprecations upon we who had tried to bring her to salvation. A sad case. Most sad.

"But, as I say, I expect that Annelise will give you full scope to learn the art of interrogation, especially with the encouragement you've provided with this most ingenious execution device."

"So, then, shall we make a start?"

"Indeed, m'Lord. I believe our subject is in a proper state now for the inquiry to begin."

To be continued.........

Copyright is claimed on this work by the author. Permission to copy, republish or distribute it in any form is expressly prohibited with the sole exception of personal, non-commercial use.

The Standard Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction with content suitable only for adults (and stable ones at that). If you are prohibited from reading such material by the laws or standards of your community please depart immediately. Likewise, if you can't tell the difference between reality and fantasy kindly leave and seek professional help.

The Torturer's Apprentice

Part III

by

von Hentzau

It was somewhat after mid-day when the door to Annelise's cell opened and two masked torturers entered. They pulled her to her feet, pulled her arms behind her back and placed manacles on her wrists. Then they escorted her from the dungeon and across the courtyard to the tower where Fra Gropius' torture chamber had been established. At the door to the chamber they removed the manacles, and then removed her shift so that she was naked as they led her into the chamber.

Inside the chamber the Prince and the Friar awaited, engaging in conversation. They stopped and watched as the torturers positioned Annelise a few feet away from them and then withdrew to take up positions a convenient distance away.

"So, good Friar," the Prince asked, "how shall we start? The rack? The strappado? Hot irons?"

"All in good time, m'Lord," Fra Gropius replied. "First things first. It's always best to be certain of what you're dealing with. Tell me, is there any evidence that our subject here has been involved in witchcraft?"

"None that I know of," the Prince said, after thinking a bit. "I merely requested a suitable subject be brought to us. I didn't think to be more specific."

"Then, m'Lord, may I suggest that today's lessons focus upon detecting a witch and the presence of demonic influences. It is a useful study, since much of our work has always dealt with this plague of witchcraft which seems to be never ending. Let us say Annelise has been brought before you under suspicion of engaging in witchcraft. What will you do?"

"I suppose I would subject her to the ordeal by water?"

"Very good, m'Lord," the Friar replied, a smile spreading across his broad face. "You are familiar with the ordeal by water, or water trial as we sometimes call it?"

"I've observed the water trial, but I've never supervised one."

"Good, good," said the Friar. "You shall have a chance to then to participate directly as we conduct an investigation. However, there are some preliminary action you, as a witchfinder, would normally perform before moving on to the trial proper."

The Friar approached Annelise. He stopped beside her and motioned the Prince to come forward.

"First, we inspect for the Devil's Mark," he said. "The subject must of course be completely naked, as is our Annelise at this moment. I see the guards were kind enough to clean her up when they were finished with her. That is good. The mark can sometime be very small and it's best that no smudge be allowed to hide it. It would be best if the scalp were entirely shaved but this rough hacking away will suffice. The pubic hair also, of course must be removed for a thorough inspection.

"Now, girl, raise your arms to the sides. There, but just a little higher. Good. Now spread your legs apart. About so far." He motioned for a distance a bit wider than her hips. "That's good. Now hold that position, please."

The Friar stepped aside and motioned the Prince forward.

"Now, m'Lord, you must search the subject for what we call the Devil's Mark."

"Just so that I understand, what exactly does this mark look like."

"Oh, they can be highly variable. The most definitive of the marks, most often found in mature witches, would resemble a patch of fur of perhaps the size of your thumbnail. Should you ever find such a mark, m'Lord, I suggest you waste no time in consigning the wretch to the flames. Such a mark indicates the witch has been fully perverted by the Lord of Darkness and there is no hope of salvation. And you might do well to take preventive measures, lest she work spells against you. Liberal application of Holy Water and plenty of garlic has always worked for me.

"More often, though, the mark will resemble a mole, with one or more hairs growing from it. Small birth marks in the shape of a demonic face or an inverted cross are not uncommon. Indeed, any small blemish of suspicious conformation may be a Devil's Mark.

"Now, m'Lord, if you will, perform a thorough examination of the subject and I shall observe. Generally it is best to work systematically, starting with the head."

The Prince placed his hands an either side of Annelise's head. He forced her to tilt her head forward, then left and right. He turned her head as far to one side as it would go and inspected behind her ear, then did the same for the other side.

"Very good, m'Lord. You'd be surprised how many supposedly trained witchfinders forget to check behind the ears."

The Prince proceeded down Annelise's front, carefully checking under her chin, under her arms. She blushed when he grasped first one nipple, then the other, and raised her breasts up to inspect the under curves.

The Prince knelt on one knee as his progress took him lower. Annelise blushed again as his fingers intruded into her sex, spreading the outer lips so that he could inspect within the cleft.

"Good, m'Lord," the Friar said as he watched the Prince's meticulous examination. "We cannot let our sense of propriety interfere with a thorough examination. We are dealing with the Devil here and the Devil is most fond of the sexual regions. Quite often he places his mark in such places."

The Prince finished inspecting the front of her legs, then stepped behind and began inspecting her back. She blushed again as he grasped her buttocks and spread them to expose her anus.

"Well, good Friar, I see nothing to arouse my suspicion," he finally said.

"The light is not what it could be in here, m'Lord, or you might have noticed this," the Friar said, pointing to Annelise's left breast.

"I see nothing there," the Prince said, stepping close to look.

"It is very, very faint," the Friar replied, "but I think it worth further investigation. I believe she will need to be restrained before we continue."

The Prince signaled to the two torturers who stepped forward and, repositioning Annelise between two pillars, quickly had her in a tight spread eagle.

"Now, m'Lord," the Friar said, producing an implement that appeared to be a needle sticking out of a small wooden handle, "the Devil's Mark may sometime be so faint as to be almost invisible. With my many years of experience I have been able to note several possible marks on Annelise which the untrained person would never notice. The telltale characteristic of the Devil's Mark is that it is insensate. We shall prick each and every suspicious region and see if Annelise reacts. She will of course need to be blindfolded so that she cannot playact, pretending to react to a prick she does not in fact feel."

He motioned to the torturers, one of whom produced a cloth which he bound over Annelise's eyes.

"Now, it is most important as we conduct this test that we maintain silence and do nothing to allow her to anticipate the prick of the needle."

Then there was silence. Annelise waited trembling slightly in anticipation. She felt a sharp jab below the nipple of her left breast and screamed.

"It would not seem to be insensate, good Friar," the Prince said.

"No, it would not," the Friar replied. "But there are more to test, a few more."

Annelise waited again. The Friar had said she would be pricked with a needle. That felt more as if he'd jabbed the full length of the needle into her.

Another sharp pain, this time low on her right buttock. She screamed again. Then the inside of her left thigh, high on her left buttock, on the under side of her right breast. Each prick elicited a scream, though each scream was reduced in strength as fatigue set in. Annelise realized that if the torment continued long enough she would stop reacting to the sharp jabs from sheer exhaustion. She also began to realize that most of the places the Friar suspected of bearing Devil's Marks seemed to be around her breasts or buttocks or inner thighs.

She felt fingers on her labia, spreading them. No! Not there, she wanted to scream. A moment later the needle dug into her most sensitive flesh and she gave the loudest scream yet and strained against her bonds to escape. Then she hung limply, exhausted, so exhausted she almost didn't notice the jab at the small of her back. But she did notice and responded with a whine that well summarized her misery.

"Well, I think she's been thoroughly examined," the Friar said, his voice full of good humor as if at a job well done. "Let us move along to the final test."

The blindfold was removed. Annelise, hanging in her chains with head lolling forward, saw numerous thin trickles of blood running down her chest and her thighs. She knew not whether the Prince or the Friar had applied the needle, but their idea of a prick was not the same as hers.

The torturers released the chains and then, one on either side supporting her, guided her towards the door of the chamber. The Friar and the Prince preceded her out the doorway. The two torturers and a guard followed. They left the tower and crossed the courtyard, passing through the gate, then started down the ramp as if to go to the village but at the base of the ramp they turned away and proceeded instead to the village duck pond, a small body of scummy green water hosting a considerable population of ducks. Barefoot, Annelise tried to be careful where she stepped as they drew nearer.

At the edge of the duck pond there was a crude sort of dock, just half a dozen vertical posts sunk in the bottom of the pond with crossbars lashed between them and rough planks laid upon the crossbars. It was a rickety thing and Annelise, passing by, had sometimes wondered what its purpose was. The pond was too small to be worthy of boats and no one ever bothered fishing in the uninviting pool.

The Friar led the small group onto the dock. It was far too crowded, and the weight of six bodies was threatening to collapse the structure, so he waved the torturers and the guard back.

"Now, m'Lord," he said to the Prince, "for a valid test the subject must of course be secured in such a way that she is totally helpless to save herself by natural means. It's always good, of course, that she be naked so that there be no question of interference in the test, weights hidden under clothing for example.

"Unfasten her bonds," the Friar said, signaling to one of the torturers.

The man stepped forward and unlock the manacles that held Annelise's wrists behind her back. He then stepped hastily back off the groaning boards.

"Now, Annelise, kindly lay down on your back," the Friar said.

Annelise complied. The Friar bent forward and gently grasped her ankles.

"Now, please bring your knees up towards your bosom, my dear," he said in a voice no different from that which he'd use if asking her to refill his mug in the tavern where she had worked only a few days ago.

She did as asked and as she raised her legs the Friar crossed her ankles.

"There are many ways to secure the subject," he said to the Prince. "They're all more or less equally effective. This, however, is the one I prefer for its simplicity and efficacy."

The Friar produced a short leather thong from his belt pouch. He picked up Annelise's left hand, wrapped the thong around her thumb. Then he placed the thumb of her left hand against the big toe of her right foot and fastened the thong to the toe. He did the same for her right thumb and left big toe. When he was finished he stood up and addressed the Prince.

"As you can see, m'Lord, with but two short lengths of leather she is rendered utterly incapable of helping herself in the water. For the test to be valid it is vital that she can do nothing for herself. It is of course natural for a person when they're submerged to attempt to struggle to the surface. But we must determine if she is capable of summoning demonic aid to her assistance and to make that determination accurately it must be incontrovertible that she could in no ways save herself. "

Annelise, since she had been stood at the end of the dock and turned to face the Prince and the Friar, had lain down with her feet towards the land. She heard rude mutterings and coarse guffaws from the crowd that was gathering. Then she realized why they seemed to be clustering near the end of the dock. With her legs drawn up to her chest she was a s much on display as any mare in heat. She blushed at the thought of what she looked like.

"We will now place her in the water," the Friar continued, ignoring the red flush that had come over her. "If she rises to the surface we will know that she is indeed a witch. If she is unable to save herself, if she sinks, then we will know she is innocent of witchcraft."

"How long will she be in the water?"

"Well, we must allow the test to run long enough that we have a definitive answer, m'Lord. Quite often at first the subject will bob up and down a bit, such that it's very difficult to determine if there are demonic influences at work or merely natural forces."

"But if she stays submerged too long, if she be innocent, she will most likely drown I would think."

"That is quite often the case. Most unfortunate. We do try to remove them before that happens, but it is a matter requiring rather expert and pecise judgement."

"Seems rather hard on the innocent ones."

"Ah, but at least they die, one hopes, in a state of grace. I will give Annelise conditional absolution before we begin the trial, in case the worst should happen."

The Friar stepped beside Annelise and bent over her. His voluminous coarse wool robes draped over her torso as he did so. He began reciting the pro forma Latin phrases as he made the requisite motions with his right hand.

With a start Annelise realized his other hand, concealed by the robe, was groping its way between breast and the knee that pressed against it. Rough fingernails found the nipple and dug in sharply. Annelise, surprised and pained, first grimaced, then released an animal yelp. The hand quickly withdrew and the Friar straightened up.

"What just occurred here, good Friar?" the Prince asked in surprise. "What caused her to cry out?"

"Not a good sign, m'Lord," the Friar replied. "Not good at all when the offer of absolution elicits what seemed to be an involuntary cry of anguish. I suggest we proceed quickly with the test. Bring the rope."

One of the torturers came forward and handed the Friar a coarse hemp rope of about a finger's thickness. The Friar took it and found one end. This he tied around Annelise's waist. Then, laying out the rope along the dock he tied a knot about three feet from Annelise. He handed the other end of the rope to the torturer.

"Mind you keep firm grasp of that end," he said. "We shall need it to retrieve our Annelise. Now, m'Lord. You will notice I've tied a knot in the rope. It shall serve as a reference point. If the knot is submerged we shall know that she has well and truly sunk to the bottom and is not floating. Very well, let us commence the trial."

The Friar motioned to the two torturers and he and the Prince retired from the dock. The two large men stepped forward, the dock shaking under their weight. Each took hold of an arm and a leg of Annelise, picked her up and with no ceremony heaved her out into the duck pond. She landed on her back and sank almost before she could get a last breath. Annelise pinched her eyes tightly together as the green water closed over her. A moment later she felt herself sinking into the weeds at the bottom of the pond. Then she felt herself start to slowly rise.

Panic filled her. How could she be rising? She knew she was not a witch. Yet she definitely felt herself coming up out of the weeds. Her thumbs had been tied to her toes, but her fingers were still free. Almost without thinking to do it she spread them out and felt for anything she could hook a finger around. Fortunately, the weeds at the bottom of the pond were both long and thick of stem. She managed to work the fingers of her right hand into a clump and grasped it. Then the fingers of her left hand found a good, thick strand of weed and closed around it. She anchored herself to bottom, determined they would not declare her a witch.

As she floated in the weeds anger began to fill her. Anger at the dirty trick the Friar had played, making her cry out. Anger at the callousness of the Prince is blithely condemning her to torment and painful death, as if she were nothing more than a toy to be broken and discarded. Annelise resolved to foil their plan. She would drown herself at the bottom of the stinking pond and put an end to their game. She would be dead, of course, but at least it would be comparatively quick and painless and when they pulled her lifeless body out of the water it would be proven that she was innocent, as much as the Friar seemed to want to think she was a witch.

"I'm going to expel the air from my lungs and breathe in pond water and that will be the end of it," she thought to herself. But somehow she could not quite bring herself to actually do it. Finally she felt herself starting to lose consciousness. She felt her fingers start to lose their grip on the weeds. Air began to rush out through her nose and mouth and blackness crept in over her.

The next thing Annelise knew she was on her belly on the dock. Someone was pounding on her back. She was vomiting ugly puke that seemed to be mostly pond water. From what seemed like a long ways away she heard voices.

"What say you, good Friar? A witch or not a witch?"

"It would appear there are no demonic influence at work here, m'Lord."

The Friar's voice betrayed perhaps a bit of disappointment.

"There seems no point in continuing the examination today. You men, when she's finished refilling the pond return her to the dungeon. Now, Fra Gropius, we've received a new shipment of sherri-sack from France. Perhaps you'd care to join me in sampling it?"

"That I would, m'Lord. Tiring work, ferreting out witches."

When Annelise finally stopped puking the two torturers picked her up like a sack of wheat and carried her back to the dungeon. She was roughly dropped on the straw in her cell. One of the torturers tossed the ragged shift on the floor next to her before he closed the cell door. After a while, when she had regained some of her strength, she put it back on. Then she curled up on the odorous pile of straw covering the floor of her cell.

After a time she heard footsteps in the corridor outside her cell. A tin bowl was slid through the small opening at the bottom of the metal door. It contained an unappetizing gruel. Annelise looked at it for a long time before deciding she really was hungry enough to eat it, even though she hadn't eaten since the previous day. She crawled over to the bowl and picked it up. There was no spoon, so she dug into the thick, sticky gray goo with her fingers.

Immediately she felt lumps in the gruel, three of them. Her first reaction was repulsion at the thought of what kind of offal might have gone into the gruel, but then she became curious. She fished one of the lumps out and cleaned it off. To her surprise it was a large piece of stew meat. She bit a piece off. Despite the gruel that still clung to it, it tasted wonderful. She wolfed it down, then pulled the other lumps out. They were also stew meat, and a better quality of meat than most peasants were used to putting in their pots. She greedily ate them and then, her appetite restored, even finished off the gruel.

She slid the bowl out through the slot and then returned to her straw heap to ponder the why of it. She knew little of the ways of the castle dungeon, but nothing she'd ever heard had indicated that the prisoners were fed anything more than the smallest amount of vile slop needed to keep them alive. So why had someone hidden chunks of beef in her gruel? That could not be the usual way of things in the dungeon.

What must have been hours later, though Annelise could not tell for sure, there being no light from the outside to judge by and nothing else with which to judge the passing of time, she heard footsteps again in the corridor outside her cell. At first she thought it must be the dungeon keeper making his rounds. She'd heard his footsteps before. But then she noticed something different about these footsteps. The dungeon keeper had a bad leg. His step made an odd, arhythmic sound. These footsteps were even, quicker and lighter.

The footsteps stopped outside her cell. Annelise heard the sound of rusted metal scraping against rusted metal as the latches holding the door were released.

"Oh no, not already," she thought as the door started to swing open. "Give me the night at least to recover myself."

Instead of the torturer she expected a woman entered the cell. An old, old woman, who's broad, wrinkled face beneath her wide brimmed had proclaimed that if ever someone should be suspected of being a witch, this is she. There was even a wart aside her nose.

"Who..." Annelise started to say, but the woman cut her off with a shushing motion.

"You do not know me and you shall not," the woman said quietly. "I do not know you nor shall I. My only charge is to use what feeble powers I have to maintain your health as long as possible. Stand up and take that rag off."

Annelise backed away, frightened by the strange woman, and clutched the filthy garment to herself.

"Do not be alarmed," the woman said in a soothing voice. "I will do you no harm and perhaps, with luck, a bit of good. Come, stand up."

Hesitantly Annelise did as ordered.

"They used the needle on you?" she asked.

Annelise nodded. Some of the places still hurt.

"Being dunked in that filthy pond will not have been good for the places they tormented. I have some salve that may help."

Reluctantly Annelise let the shift drop to the floor. The woman removed a small crockery pot sealed with a wide cork. She dipped a finger in and removed a globule of material that looked like mutton fat. This she began daubing on each place where the needle had left an obvious mark, as well as on several scrapes Annelise had received while being hauled back onto the dock. Almost immediately Annelise felt a soothing sensation.

"Is this witchcraft?" she whispered.

"Hardly," the woman replied with an amused laugh that was almost a snort. "Just a bit of herbalism mixed with knowledge passed down from my grandmother's grandmother."

She worked her way around to Annelise's back, continuing her ministrations. When she was finished she came to stand in front of Annelise.

"Now, is there any spot I missed?" she asked.

Annelise nodded and, somewhat embarrassed, reached down with both hands to spread her lower lips.

"I might have known," the woman said, making a clucking sound with her tongue as she applied the soothing ointment.

Then she replaced the cork in the pot and returned it to the bag she carried under her cloak. She turned to the door.

"Rest as much as you can," were her final words as she stepped out. "You will need all your strength." She closed the door behind her and Annelise heard the sound of the rusty latches being closed.

To be continued.........

Copyright is claimed on this work by the author. Permission to copy, republish or distribute it in any form is expressly prohibited with the sole exception of personal, non-commercial use.