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The Knight And The Gnostic

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I haven't commented so far, I'll agree Wragg's appreciation... and I'll add that with the knight, both protector, erotic awakener and torturer-against-his-will, and the moral victory of the martyr over the abott, we get something much beyond the mere power relationhsip of executioner/victim and that's always more exciting...
 
Barbaria1 said:
Episode 37.

I hang listlessly, unable to summon the strength necessary to raise myself again. The many long hours baking in the sun combined with the continuous struggle to raise myself ... performing over and over again my unavoidably humiliating, lewd, crowd-pleasing "dance" ... has sapped the very last of my reserves.

I am simply unable to go on. The fatigue and pain are just too much. My weary head droops forward, sweat-drenched hair half-covering my face. Slowly my chin comes to rest on my chest. My breathing is shallow. My knees swing out, exposing my open womanhood for all to see, my ravaged back and arse grate painfully against the hard upright as I slide down for the final time to a full hanging position

The crowd still watches, but as I listen I am struck by a deadly silence. The jeers and insults, the raucous laughter, can no longer be heard. The carnival atmosphere has become more of a vigil. They wait and they watch me suffer, no longer with malice in their hearts but almost now with a palpable reverence.

The Abbot and his men have ceased to gloat. A hateful mask of anger and resentment, and perhaps even a bit of fear, passes over Arnaud's face.

Through slitted eyes I watch as he looks to the quieted crowd, then to me, then back to the crowd again. He is flustered. This is not the ending he had planned. He has succeeded not in making a mockery of me and my heresy. He has instead made me a martyr!

With much effort I raise my head, open my eyes and look directly to de Flebas. I am saddened to know that he and I will never, as I had dreamed, lead an armed host against Arnaud to proclaim the righteousness of our true faith and avenge the terrible sack of Beziers.

But our eyes meet. I both forgive and am reassured. He knows. He understands. He will do what I now most urgently need him to do. He will finish this. I close my eyes and wait for him to act.
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madiosi 2016 - 235-KatG.jpg
 
Barbaria1 said:
I will have a moderator insert your manip
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hanging listlessly on her cross, the Lady Barbaria manages to flick her fingers imperiously.
and her slave-moderator instantly obeys! :p
 
Thanks Wragg, we are gratified that so many of you liked the story, and saw something in it.

malins said:
I haven't commented so far, I'll agree Wragg's appreciation... and I'll add that with the knight, both protector, erotic awakener and torturer-against-his-will, and the moral victory of the martyr over the abott, we get something much beyond the mere power relationhsip of executioner/victim and that's always more exciting...
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The innocent victim, the reluctant torturer/watcher, I always find those themes interesting. I'm glad we were able to tell a story and explore some different ideas as well. Could de Flebas have done more? Possibly, or maybe we would have just had a double crux. The beauty of stories is that we can run through scenarios and see what might happen if we do this, or do that. Often the characters choose, not us!
 
phlebas said:
Thanks Wragg, we are gratified that so many of you liked the story, and saw something in it.



The innocent victim, the reluctant torturer/watcher, I always find those themes interesting. I'm glad we were able to tell a story and explore some different ideas as well. Could de Flebas have done more? Possibly, or maybe we would have just had a double crux. The beauty of stories is that we can run through scenarios and see what might happen if we do this, or do that. Often the characters choose, not us!
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Yes, we as writers often have a path in mind, but it often deviates as characters and situations develop ... all part of the process.:)
 
Barbaria1 said:
View attachment 401040 One can always go back and read it again :)
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Bravissimo! A big thank you to all you creators of this magnificent story! I am on vacation and had the benefit to read all parts at one occasion.
It was really an exciting and plesurable moment! What will be Barbara M:s next adventure? A nun, pure and spirutal like in this story, or a rebel
leader opposing the might of Rome? Or maybe someone who is captured by ISIS, accused of waging war against god? Punishble by crucifixion according to the Quraan!

UNA ESCLAVA ROMANA.png
 
Loxuru said:
The legacy of the Cathars in language.
The word 'heretic', translated in German (Ketzer), Danish (kaetter), Dutch (ketter), Estonian (Ketser), Lituanian (keceris), Norwegian (kjetter), Czech and Slowakian (kacir).
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and as the so-called Bulgarian heresy it gave us, via French bougres, English buggers ;)
 
Barbaria1 said:
Episode 10.

I hurry my young perfecti inside, hastily closing and then bolting the heavy wooden door behind me before chasing after the girls to the relative safety of my chamber at the top of the tower. As I race up the stairs, I hope and pray that de Flebas is as good as his word ... that he will do his best to ward off the likes of that vile Lord Thibault, not to mention the Abbot.

On reaching my chamber, I find the girls clustered excitedly at the window. Standing on my toes, I look out over their heads, and my hand flies to my mouth. The scoundrels are not only sacking my city, but they have set the cathedral on fire! People stream from the west front portals, screaming, their clothing aflame on their backs ... only to be ruthlessly cut down by the cordon of soldiers and ruffians who eagerly await them with drawn swords. The dead lie in heaps on the steps of the Cathedral. How many more souls must be burning inside?

View attachment 393853

What can I do? What is my duty to my God and to my people? I fall to my knees, and bow my head in prayer, asking for divine guidance. I listen to my inner self, to my self of peace, and then I rise slowly to my feet. I tell the other perfecti to remain where they are. I retrace my steps back down the stairway. On reaching the landing, I stride purposely to the heavy tower door, which I unbolt and allow to swing open.

De Flebas stands outside with his men, just as I had left them, resolutely facing a red-faced, highly agitated Lord Thibault, who has by now gathered his own heavily armed retinue behind him. It appears there is about to be a clash of arms. De Flebas and his people have drawn their swords and stand at the ready, shoulder to shoulder. And Thibault's men, who are far more numerous, have begun to move forward, advancing behind a wall of raised shields.

"Wait!" I shout. De Flebas turns, looking startled. Thibault raises his hand, signaling his men to hold back.

"I wish to speak," I continue, doing my best to appear confident. "I want no more bloodshed. There is no need to fight over me. Please take me to the Abbott. He is a man of the cloth as I am a woman of the cloth. I trust that together, under the hand of God, he and I can come to an accommodation that will put a swift end to this horror! Too many have perished already. The killing must stop! I only ask two things: that I meet with him alone and that my girls ... my young perfecti in the tower ... be protected. I want them left unmolested."

Thibault nods affirmatively, a smile of satisfaction crossing his face ... no, that is too kind ... it is an evil smirk! I had hoped for better. A shadow of doubt crosses my mind.

De Flebas, turns to remind me of his earlier statement, that he will do what he can to offer protection, but that his power to do so will be limited.

I hesitate, then I slowly remove my armor and stand before them in only my short linen shirt ... a dark patch of sweat between my breasts ... to symbolically show my sincerity ... declaring myself ready to meet the Abbott in the spirit of peace.

Thibault nods to his men, two of whom slide past de Flebas and take me in hand. One produces a length of rope. The other jerks my arms roughly behind my back. The other tugs at my shirt, baring my shoulder. My wrists are quickly bound.

De Flebas asks if that is necessary.

"For her own protection," growls Thibault, "she has surrendered and placed herself in my custody; I take no chances."

Half a dozen of Thibault's men race up the stairway. Minutes later they return, pushing and shoving my young perfecti before them ... each bound at the wrists behind her back. The binding of my own wrists is disconcerting. To see my young followers similarly bound and in some cases wearing shirts already ripped and torn is deeply worrying.

They line us up and we begin our march to the Chateau de Beziers at the far end of town, where I am told the Abbott awaits my arrival. As we wind our way under guard through the flames and carnage of the dying town, de Flebas takes his place alongside me.
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Anyone else having problem to load the images from episode 10 to episode 25?
 
Barbaria1 said:
Episode 12

This is not the way I imagined it would be! I realize with a sinking heart that I have misjudged the situation completely. I have made a terrible mistake in thinking that I could reason with this most unholy man, the Abbot Arnaud. I have, in my vain confidence in my own holiness and powers of persuasion, put myself and the other perfecti girls in great danger.

I back away, reflexively from that beast, Bernard, as he now advances on me and the other girls, but flight is impossible. We are helpless with our wrists bound behind our backs. He and his assistants quickly surround and take hand of us., hustling us off with blows and curses. My tunic is ripped completely away, leaving only my torn linen shirt to cover me.

The Abbot Arnaud and de Flebas watch us go.

View attachment 394434 We are taken down a narrow stone staircase that descends into the subterranean bowels of the building. Flaming torches mounted on the walls light our path as we stumble along, cursed and manhandled every step of the way by Bernard and his men. I am in the lead, and behind me I hear my girls cry out at the rough treatment, and the unmistakable sound of rending fabric. The brutes will have us all half-naked before long, I think.

View attachment 394435Elizabeth, the closest of the others to me as we descend. She is one of the youngest, and soon forgets her training and bearing as a perfecti. Terror stricken, she begins to vehemently curse her tormentors. I hear her rising hysteria, and wish there was some way to calm her.

View attachment 394436 But foolishly, she puts up a struggle and tries to break free, goading her handlers into treating her even more roughly. Behind me I hear the scuffling of feet, more cursing ... both hers and theirs ... and then her pitiful yelps of pain as they beat her and force her back in line behind me.

We reach the lowest level, and at the end of a long corridor, we come to a heavy wooden door. Bernard, who leads the way, produces from under his cloak a huge black iron key, which he inserts and turns in the door's massive locking mechanism. The door swings aside with a loud groan. Bernard reaches out to grab me by the shoulder and propel me roughly into the musty dark chamber beyond.

I immediately feel the clammy chill of the place, and hear the sounds of scurrying rodents. I shiver involuntarily, partly out of fear and partly from the cold. Torches are lit around the walls, and the girls are herded in after me.

As the chamber is illuminated, it's purpose is clear ... it is a well-equipped chamber of torture, replete with all the necessary wooden racks, stocks and horses, a Judas cradle, breaking wheels, and a host of other customary mechanical and hand tools of the inquisitioner's trade. The gray stone walls of the chamber are festooned with heavy rusting iron brackets, from which dangle chains and shackles, plentiful enough to secure dozens of unfortunates if necessary.

View attachment 394437 Bernard signals two of his men over to me. They quickly untie my wrists, back-pedal me over to the wall, and shackle my wrists high over my head. Then, in a single motion, Bernard rips the ragged remains of my linen shirt from my shoulder, leaving me shamefully naked to the waist, back pressed hard against the cold clammy surface of the dungeon wall. I gasp at the swiftness of my shackling and cast my eyes down in embarrassment at my sudden near nudity. It won't take much for what remains to fall away.

The other girls are hustled past me into an adjoining chamber, from which I hear their loud pleas for mercy mingled with terrified shrieks of horror. More of Bernard's assistants enter from the outer corridor and rush past me toward the second torture chamber to which the girls have been taken ... laughing and joking among themselves as they hasten to loosen their breeches.

My lovely young perfecti ... these pure young girls I have personally chosen for their innocence, wholesome virtue and goodness of heart, are about to be subjected to a mass gang rape ... and I alone must bear responsibility for their brutal deflowering and degradation!

I rattle my chains and call out, "Stop. Stop! In the name of God. Please stop! The perfecti girls are innocents. Do what you must to me, but please leave them alone."

My pleas go unanswered, the last of the men pass by on their way to the adjoining chamber, and the heavy door separating it from my own slams shut, muffling the sounds of what is going on within.

I am left alone with Bernard and de Flebas, who has just entered the chamber. Moments later, he is followed by the Abbot, Arnaud, who swishes past me in his long clerical robes. He in turn is trailed by several other men of the cloth, clutching the crosses that they wear around their necks and mumbling to themselves. They make their way to the other side of the room and seat themselves on either side of Arnaud, who has already taken his place behind a large wooden table.

View attachment 394438 As they are seated, Arnaud stands and solemnly declares, nodding to Bernard and de Flebas, "Let the inquisition of Barbara de Moore, the unholy and heretical head perfecta and servant of Satan himself begin!"
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hmmm - the pics don't open
 
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