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Barb goes BATS

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Barbaria1 said:
“Alright, then you’ll be requiring six pyres and stakes, I presume,” summarized Tree, unnecessarily stating the obvious.
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Someone had to. :D

Barbaria1 said:
fetch this Caledonian Devil worshiper and deliver her to the town gaol to join the others
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Is that a devil worshipper who is Caledonian, or is it a Caledonian devil that is being worshipped? Hard to say. Anyway, doesn't make much difference to the proceedings. ;)

Barbaria1 said:
“Tell you what, Tree … we are prepared to offer you one crown, two shillings and as many pints as you can quaff at the Cruxton Arms pub,” interrupted Lord Wragg impatiently.
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Depending on the period of history, a crown, two shillings, and a lot of pints might be considered good wages for burning witches. Tree should ask for expenses.

Barbaria1 said:
“I’ll take it!”
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Or perhaps he'll just take the offer, without negotiating...

Barbaria1 said:
“Whenever fools rush in, Lord Wragg will always win,”
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...and live with the consequences of that. :D

Barbaria1 said:
“It’s getting to be dusky outside. I must go.” remarked @Jollyrei darkly. “I need to be off now for it’s time to make my nocturnal rounds of the town’s graveyards to see whether anyone new has turned up.”
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I WOULD LIKE TO NOTE THAT THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NOTHING UNTOWARD IN ANY OF THIS, AND I AM NOT IN THE SLIGHTEST BIT "WITCHY". :nusee:
 
Barbaria1 said:
13,

Artfully bound together by @Harsh Martinet and @Loxuru in an elaborate coffle of rope and shackles … @Kathy, @messaline and I were about to mount the stairs leading away from Cruxton Abbey’s punishment room when Martinet abruptly signaled a pause. For the Vicar @Praefectus Praetorio was about to speak, and our handlers wanted to listen in.

And so, we waited and listened, as the Vicar declared in a deeply sonorous, but sadly regretful voice, “It causes me terrible pain and anguish to be required to denounce one so close to me, for whom I have abounding Christian Affection. As you know, @Eulalia, my Scottish alter girl and servant, came to me, years ago, as an orphan on the recommendation of my good and Holy friend, John Hamilton, Bishop of Whithorn. I have supervised her education and spiritual life to the best of my ability, with liberal chastisement and generous use of the cane. However, you would almost think she found pleasure in the beatings.”

In the pregnant moment of silence that followed, I heard the Countess drawing in her breath sharply, as well as a loud snort from the slumbering Magistrate, old slave, and an equally loud belch from the likes of the uncouth executioner who styled himself @thehangingtree.

“I fear her wild Caledonian blood carries the heresy of those parts,” continued the Vicar. “I recently caught her constructing a simulacrum of a man out of straw. I forced her to reveal its meaning and she named it "The Wicker Man," and believed it carried some powers of the old pagan gods.”

“Sounds like witchery, most definitively,” murmured @twonines .

“Can the Devil corrupt a Scot? I cannot imagine why not,” observed @montycrusto pithily.

Therefore, it is with a heavy heart,” sighed the Vicar, “that I must denounce her as a worshiper of the devil and a witch. I shall surely miss the warmth she gives in bed to my old, chilled bones, but I must do what is right.”

“Alright, then you’ll be requiring six pyres and stakes, I presume,” summarized Tree, unnecessarily stating the obvious.

“Indeed.” agreed @Wragg. “It would appear so. May we have a show of hands? All in favor of prosecuting the accused altar girl, Eulalia, for witchery? … Splendid … We must dispatch someone immediately to fetch this Caledonian Devil worshiper and deliver her to the town gaol to join the others!”

“As you wish, your Lordship,” called out Martinet from the stairwell. “Say no more. It shall be done! And rest assured that the Graf and I will wring a confession from her by morning, as well.”

“Yes, see that it’s so.” said Wragg, smug in the knowledge that all would be right for the big day. “Now, there’s just one last matter yet to be addressed. Mr. Tree! Are you prepared to enlighten us as to your fee?”

“My services are far from free,” announced Tree. Buried deep in calculated thought, he rubbed his chin with one hand and scratched his ass with the other, before drawling. “Um … let’s see, that’s tuppence for each Arkansas pine fagot … times five for each of … uh … six pyres … but no, wait a minute … mustn’t forget the French premium wood stakes … at … uh … two shillings each … plus … uh professional services at … no, wait … that’s not right … starting over now … uh, what was the question?

“Tell you what, Tree … we are prepared to offer you one crown, two shillings and as many pints as you can quaff at the Cruxton Arms pub,” interrupted Lord Wragg impatiently. “Take it or leave it!”

“I’ll take it!”

“I wonder whether the poor chap will ever awaken, to the fact it’s he who has just been taken?” observed Twonines in an aside to the other Magistrates.

“Whenever fools rush in, Lord Wragg will always win,” added Montycrusto, nodding his head knowingly.

“Whazat?” startled @old slave .

“It’s getting to be dusky outside. I must go.” remarked @Jollyrei darkly. “I need to be off now for it’s time to make my nocturnal rounds of the town’s graveyards to see whether anyone new has turned up.”

“Meeting adjourned,” pronounced Wragg, as the Countess surging past him, hooked arms with him and propelled him toward the doorway. The expression on her face resembled a threatening thundercloud.

Satisfied that no further drama was about to unfold, Harsh Martinet jerked at the rope tied around my waist to set his coffled charges in motion.

“Let us pray,” I heard the Vicar say as I stumbled up the stairs, followed by Kathy and Messaline.

TBC

(Note: special thanks to PrPr for kindly contributing the text of the Vicar’s stunning denunciation of his Scottish altar girl.)
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Superb chapter, Barb! The reader's heart is torn as he hears the vicar's sadness at denouncing his young slave servant girl. His conscientious efforts over the years to flagellate chastise her with the cane must have been a substantial drain on his manhood. His heartbreak over losing her services availability submissiveness warmth in bed is palpable! :(
 
14.

Bound by our wrists to the back of a cart, @Kathy, @messaline and I were led through the streets of Cruxton town on our way to the gaol. We were bared to the waist, as the Countess @Wragg had insisted that she would not stand for any of her servant staff being driven from the manor stark naked. For the sake of decency she made sure we were given skirts to wear before we departed.

“Otherwise, what would people say?” she had pronounced with a shudder. “We must keep up appearances!”

And so we trudged along, with @Harsh Martinet and @Loxuru, who were brandishing whips and felt it their duty to see that we moved along briskly, applying them liberally to our backsides whenever we faltered.

Although night was falling and it was well after curfew, the rattle of cart wheels on cobblestone pavements, along with the steady crack and zing of whips, punctuated by our gasps and cries, were sufficient to attract plenty of attention. Windows were thrown open as we passed so that the good folk of Cruxton could lean out, take in the scene and offer their jeers and taunts.

Our route took us for a distance along the town’s high street, and then through a welter of lanes and back-ways until we reached the very edge of town, for we were not directly headed for the town gaol. Martinet and the Graf had been ordered to detour by way of the Vicarage, where they were to take the Vicar’s Scottish altar girl, @Eulalia, into their custody.

Just before we left the high street we were joined by the good Vicar, @Praefectus Praetorio, who had caught up with us after remaining behind to pay his respects and bid adieu to the Countess Wragg. He was needed, of course, to direct us to the Vicarage. And given that none of us had ever set foot near, much less within, the premises, he decided to regale us, between stinging lashes, with a quick history of the place.

“The Vicarage of Cruxton stands on glebe land first gifted to the church by Baron Raoul de Wragg, seigneur de Conches-en-Ouche, companion of William the Conqueror,” he explained proudly. “The first Norman Vicarage of rude stone construction was completed in 1072 and sited near the arched and vaulted Norman church. The site remained the same through seven centuries, though the parsonage was rebuilt more than once.”

“Amazing!” said Kathy, hoping to win favor by acting impressed.

“In France, every stately house is older than that!” sniffed Messaline indifferently

“Owww!” I cried as Martinet and Loxoru delivered a double lashing to my back.

“The house as you soon will see,” continued the Vicar with unabashed pride, “is a symmetrical, three-story edifice of red brick with a grand, ivy-covered entrance.”

And indeed it was exactly as he described. I craned my neck to look up at the pretentious facade that towered over us as we pulled up to the entrance, while doing my best to ignore Kathy’s yelps and shrieks as she took three harshly applied lashes for meandering off the gravel drive and stepping on to the immaculately manicured lawn.

“In France, the clergy … they do not live so outwardly as Kings …” commented Messaline with a haughty huff and a toss of her blond tresses.

“Punish her for that, if you would, please,” snapped the Vicar peevishly.

“Of course,” said Martinet, applying the lash vigorously.

His honor assuaged, the good Vicar invited us all inside. Martinet and Loxoru exchanged quizzical glances, but decided that they must do as they were told. So we were freed from the cart and ushered, huddled together, into the entrance hall, which was impressively quarried with black and white marble and simply paneled. On the walls were dozens of portraits of prior vicars, all managing a look of holy disdain and condescension. In the corner was a fine piece of cabinetwork … a triangular cupboard in dark mahogany, with carved doors and drawers with inlays of light wood … which Messaline promptly declared to be of inferior quality compared to those she had seen in France.

But the Vicar wished to direct our attention to the right, off the entry, where a narrow wooden staircase wound its way up to the servants' quarters in the attic, just under the eaves.

“There we’ll find my altar girl, Eulalia,” instructed the Vicar, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But given the time it takes for these old bones to ascend those steep stairs, it would be best if you fellows would go up and get her. You’ll find her at the end of the low, narrow passage leading off from the landing, locked in a tiny room behind a heavy oak door secured by a massive padlock. Here are the keys.”

“Why more than one key?” replied Loxoru quizzically.

“Yes, yes. You’ll need a second key as I left her chained naked to her bed this morning after administering her daily caning and before leaving to pay my daily regards to the Countess at Cruxton Abbey. The girl submitted almost gratefully to her thrashing and probably doesn’t pose a flight risk. But one never can be to careful, you know, especially given her recent penchant for ritualistic occult behaviors.”

“Right, leave it to us. We’ll bring her down straight away,” called Martinet, already half way up the staircase with Loxoru clumping along not far behind him. “You watch the others, Vicar. And keep a very close eye on them. They’re all witches you know!”

TBC
 
Barbaria1 said:
the Countess @Wragg had insisted that she would not stand for any of her servant staff being driven from the manor stark naked.
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Spoilsport!

Barbaria1 said:
“The Vicarage of Cruxton stands on glebe land first gifted to the church by Baron Raoul de Wragg, seigneur de Conches-en-Ouche, companion of William the Conqueror,” he explained proudly. “The first Norman Vicarage of rude stone construction was completed in 1072 and sited near the arched and vaulted Norman church. The site remained the same through seven centuries, though the parsonage was rebuilt more than once.”

“Amazing!” said Kathy, hoping to win favor by acting impressed.
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It's never too late in life to learn interesting things, even if you're going to be burned at the stake the next day, I suppose. :confused::doh:

Barbaria1 said:
“Yes, yes. You’ll need a second key as I left her chained naked to her bed this morning after administering her daily caning
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She'll miss that sort of thing when she's...um...burned. :facepalm:

Barbaria1 said:
“You watch the others, Vicar. And keep a very close eye on them. They’re all witches you know!”
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It still bemuses me somewhat that this town insists on condemning all their most attractive women as witches. Surely there is another way. :rolleyes:
 
Barbaria1 said:
“The Vicarage of Cruxton stands on glebe land first gifted to the church by Baron Raoul de Wragg, seigneur de Conches-en-Ouche, companion of William the Conqueror,”
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Wow! Companion of the Conqueror! The Wragg line has a most ancient and honorable pedigree! What happened to the present incumbent? Too many generations of excessive inbreeding?

[The fact remains that the names of only 15 men who were with Duke William at the battle can be found in reliable sources. This group is sometimes called the "proven companions,"]
Barbaria1 said:
“The first Norman Vicarage of rude stone construction was completed in 1072 and sited near the arched and vaulted Norman church. The site remained the same through seven centuries, though the parsonage was rebuilt more than once.”
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That detailed history is so fascinating. [Wake up old slave!]
Barbaria1 said:
You’ll need a second key as I left her chained naked to her bed this morning after administering her daily caning and before leaving to pay my daily regards to the Countess at Cruxton Abbey. The girl submitted almost gratefully to her thrashing
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It seems the good vicar knows how to treat his slave servant girl. Chained naked to her bed. He's given her a vision of heaven!
 
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