He threw her voluminous cloak about her shoulders and pulled the hood down well over her head so that it covered her face almost completely. He adjusted the gag in her mouth more securely. It was dry and coarsely woven and tasted of sweat and incense. She murmured protests against it, but it stifled them. Terror paralyzed her. God help her! This couldn’t be happening! It had to be some horrible nightmare. Soon she’d be awakening and Miguel would be there laughingly reassuring her that it had all been just a bad dream. Perhaps nothing of that dreadful afternoon had really happened. Perhaps she hadn’t found Miguel caressing Azema. Perhaps there wasn’t any fire at all outside. And perhaps that diabolical creature with the peaked hood wasn’t really dragging her off at that very moment to she knew not where! The scream lodged in her throat was suffocating her… if only she could breathe! The blackness closed in and engulfed her.
Chapter Thirty-five
“Pray, daughter of Satan, pray! Lift up your voice to the heavens and confess your sins!”
Monique struggled desperately to emerge from the gray seas swirling around her. She had no idea where she was, but whatever the place, she had the vague memory of having been dragged, even carried there.
Contrary to her hopes, no one had tried to stop her or her abductor on their short walk from the back door of the church to Fray Sebastian’s hut near the walls of the calabozo. It hadn’t occurred to anyone that beneath the heavy folds of her cloak she had been bound and gagged.
True, a few people dashing by had shouted to them, but although Fray Sebastian’s grip on her arm had tightened as he forced her to keep pace with him, he had called back casually enough. There hadn’t seemed to be any reason to challenge them. Those who had seen her hooded figure with the monk had probably thought she’d been stumbling along like that because she had either been overcome with emotion or injured in the fire. After all, everyone had been too preoccupied with his or her own problems to be concerned over a friar helping some stricken woman get to wherever she was going.
She vaguely remembered Padre Sebastian leading her into the dark closeness of his one-room hovel, and then, as she had stumbled and fallen again, he had slung her over his shoulder as though she had been a sack of flour and continued down with her into a dark, damp passageway… down into what had seemed like the black caverns of Hades. The last thing she remembered before she had completely lost consciousness again had been a damp, musty odor mingled with incense stinging her eyes and nostrils. Now it was the first thing she was aware of as she came drifting back to reality.
She was lying on something hard and clammy, but when she went to get up, she was startled to find she couldn’t. Her limbs seemed to be paralyzed. Frantically she tried to lower her arms, but they seemed to be frozen there high above her head. She tested her legs, but her ankles were held fast, too. Panic began to paralyze her now from within as she realized she was strapped down.
Although her cape had been removed and its hood was no longer pulled forward over her head blocking her view, she still couldn’t make out at first where she was. As she grew accustomed to the dim light, however, the distorted shadows looming around her finally began to take on more definite forms, and she suddenly saw with horror that she was in a dungeon.
The air was damp and clammy and the crumbling bricks in the circle of light given off by the sputtering torch in the sconce on the wall glistened with huge drops of water. For a moment she thought she was seeing long black snakes crawling up and down the walls, but then, as her eyes began to focus better, she realized that what she was seeing was in reality a sinister assortment of long black whips hanging there ready for use!
Somewhere in the dim recesses of her confused mind Monique remembered rumors about the calabozo’s hidden torture chamber—a deep, dark dungeon where prisoners were taken, never to emerge to the light of day again. But what had she to do with such things? Why would anyone want to bring her to such a place… most of all, someone like Fray Sebastian?
Even at that moment, the monk was bending over her and removing the gag at last. She coughed and sputtered as the air rushed in once more and seared her throat and lungs, but at least she could breathe again.
“No one can hear us here,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Many a scream has resounded in this chamber, but they have all remained buried here with their guilt.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” she sobbed. “Why?” Her quivering lips kept mouthing the question, even after the sound would no longer come.
“So much the worse for you if you don’t know the reason!” he admonished her. “That means we’ll have to work all the harder to make you aware of the evil that lies within you before we can hope to bring you to repentance.”
“If you mean to kill me, do so now and get it over with!” she exclaimed, suddenly defiant.
Fray Sebastian chuckled his dry, mirthless laugh and continued to stare down intently at her from where he stood beside the rack. His narrow, sunken face, partially shadowed by the hood of his homespun cowl, seemed longer than ever as he stroked his pointed beard pensively.
“No, no, child, we cannot go too quickly,” he replied. “We must prolong each precious moment. You have no idea how many nights I’ve lain awake planning every exquisite step of your purification. We’ll spend many a long hour here in holy communion during the days and nights to come, until the devil has been drawn out of you completely and you repent of all your sins.”
“Mon Dieu! But what have I done that is so terrible?” asked Monique tremulously from where she lay helpless on the rack.
“The case against you is long, Monique Chausson. All your transgressions have been duly noted in detail for well over a year now, for you are most surely a handmaid of the devil. You have exhibited yourself brazenly in the streets, deliberately enticing men to the temptations of the flesh. You have been disobedient not only to your God and your elders, but to his Catholic Majesty Carlos IV and the authorities of this colony, publicly demonstrating against them and inciting rebellion and sedition. Women like you have been sent by Satan to cause trouble in this world and lead those around them into perdition. Your only hope for salvation is for you to confess your guilt and accept your chastisement before it’s too late.”
“Am I truly so evil, then? God forgive me!”
“Don’t lie to me, Monique Chausson. I have it all written down with dates and details. But when I’ve finished with you, you’ll be crying out your guilt and begging for forgiveness.”
“Merciful God! If I’ve done so many wicked things, then I beg forgiveness now, Padre!” exclaimed Monique, ready to burst into tears once more. “There’s no need to torment me. If I’ve sinned, I want to atone.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” replied Fray Sebastian with a wry smile, “but you daughters of Satan are sly ones. You think that, by feigning repentance, you can escape chastisement. But for those who have sinned, there can be no true cleansing of the soul without first suffering the pangs of the flesh… that flesh which harlots like you value more than your souls. So if you are sincere about wanting to be forgiven, you’ll accept the purging that you must go through before true purity can be reached.”
“What… what are you going to do to me, then?” Her voice was so tremulous that it was barely audible.
“We’ll start with something I’ve wanted to do from the first time I saw you flaunting yourself in the plaza.” He stepped off into the shadows for a moment and returned with what seemed to be a long iron bar in his hand. “I must first burn the mark of salvation into that sinful flesh of yours.”
He reached down and, without further ado, whisked away the white lawn fichu that filled the low neckline of her gown. Monique gave a cry of dismay and turned her head away as the cleavage of her breasts suddenly gleamed white and bold in the dim torchlight.
The monk gave a sarcastic snort. “But why should you be so modest now?” he asked mockingly as he tugged impatiently at the bodice until it yielded the fullness of her breasts comp
letely to his view. “Didn’t I see you that time on the plaza pushing your collar apart so all men could see and lust after you?”
“Oh, no, I never meant to do that!” she protested, no longer able to control the trembling of her taut limbs as she stole a fearful glance at him and saw how his eyes gleamed with a strange light within the shadowy depths of his hood.
“Hush, child with the heart of a whore! Didn’t I see you with my own eyes?” He held the tip of the brand close to the girl’s face so she could see the cross it formed. “Do you see this—the sign of our Lord and Savior?” He lowered the iron and pressed it between her breasts. She winced at the feel of the cold, hard metal against her flesh. “We’ll brand these fine ripe breasts of yours… right here… like this. Then we’ll see whether you’ll ever bare them so brazenly again.”
Monique watched in terrified fascination as the monk glided about the shadows like a silent phantom, lighting the ominous brazier in the center of the room. Its bricks blackened from the smoke and flames of past infamies, the open oven stood only an arm’s span from where Monique lay suspended on the rack.
As the coals began to glow he stirred them with the long-handled iron and then left it lying there to continue heating while he turned once more to where she lay helpless and weeping. His eyes already seemed to be burning into the spot where he had decided the brand would first sear her flesh.
The monk began to mumble prayers over her, and instinctively she tried to murmur her own, but the words stuck in her throat. She couldn’t take her eyes off the tip of the iron lying there amid the crackling flames and stared at it with hypnotic fascination as she watched the cross on its tip begin to glow. The tongues of fire licking hungrily at it seemed to be slowly imbuing it with a life of its own.
The chanting of the monk rose in volume until it reached a feverish pitch, the Latin phrases so accelerated now that the incantations were no longer distinguishable. Beads of sweat glistened on the ruddy blur of his features as the fire sought out his Mephistophelian features beneath the shadow of his hood, for the heat from the brazier had quickly warmed the chill of the room, making the stifling closeness of the atmosphere all the more intolerable. A clammy sweat bathed Monique as she lay there numb with terror, her fear increasing with every moment as the cross glowed with greater and greater intensity among the burning coals.
Fray Sebastian pulled it out and held it up for closer scrutiny, peering at it critically and holding the palm of his hand near enough to feel the heat emanating from it. But he wasn’t satisfied yet. He submerged it among the coals once more and turned back to her.
“Fire purges,” he told her, in the manner that a teacher instructs a student. “Perhaps it’s fitting that while that wicked city above us is being purged, you, the handmaid of Satan, be purged here below.”
“My family will miss me,” she warned her captor in a last desperate effort of defiance. “You’ll have to answer to my grandmother and my guardian for whatever you do to me.”
Fray Sebastian laughed humorlessly. “Oh, they’ll miss you, all right,” he agreed, “but they’ll more than likely come to the conclusion that you were lost in the fire and give up looking for you after a day or two. No, child the fire was a godsend. That’s why I saw the opportunity to take you and seized it immediately.”
“But what will you say when you release me? You’ll have to give an accounting—”
“Silence, strumpet! The Holy Inquisition gives an accounting to no one! Suffice it to say I have very special plans for you. Meanwhile, we have time. There’s no need for us to go too quickly.” He seemed to savor the thought of the long, clandestine nights ahead of him when he could at last torment this wench whom the devil had sent to torment him.
“I have resolved to control myself and not be quite as zealous with you as I was with those other wenches I chastised in the past,” he continued. “That last one I purged expired before she could recant. I don’t want to make that same mistake with you, child, so I promise I won’t torment the demons within you more than your flesh can tolerate, for I especially want you to live until you’ve confessed and repented. As I told you, I have important plans for you.”
Despite the heat of the room, a cold chill gripped Monique from within. The man was mad! How could she reason with him? But then the whole idea of the Inquisition was mad! This diabolical monk was simply the venomous fruit of a weed that had been permitted to grow far too long in the garden of the Church. It should have been uprooted long ago, yet there was nothing so difficult to reason with as fanaticism.
“But what is it I must confess?” she ventured. “Exactly what is it you wish me to say?”
“You know full well the gamut of your sins,” he snapped back, “and you must tell me everything. How many men you have led into sin… how many men you have let possess your body…”
“Mon Dieu! I’m not as bad as you think, Padre! I’m… I’m still a virgin—”
“Lying won’t spare you, you know. You must confess to me every sinful deed you’ve ever done… every wicked thought that’s crossed your mind.”
“But I swear I…” She paused. “I… I’ve been kissed a few times, but… God forgive me! Is that so wicked?”
The monk walked over to the wall and chose one of the long multithonged whips hanging there. The metal tips on the ends of the one he held gleamed in the candlelight with the same intensity as his eyes as he passed the thongs almost caressingly between his fingers.
“Perhaps a good flogging will set you to remembering better,” he told her. “Are you so depraved that your wickedness no longer even seems like sinning to you?”
“I… I’m so confused,” protested Monique, anxiously eyeing the restless whip in his hands. “Just the thought of your doing so many terrible things to me fills me with such fear I can’t think straight!”
The monk shrugged his scarecrowlike shoulders beneath his loosely fitting robes. “A few hours a night with me and my multiple persuaders should help stir your memory,” he told her. “The days go by slowly here in the dark. You’ll soon come to anticipate my nocturnal visits as the weeks go by, and before long you’ll find yourself remembering many things to confess to me, I’m sure.”
The brand was glowing red-hot now, and the flames sizzled and crackled about it, announcing its readiness. The monk hung the whip back up on the wall and went over to the brazier. This time there was no need to test it.
“Now we’ll begin!” he announced with obvious pleasure at the prospect. He withdrew the glowing rod from the fire and reached down to steady her with his free hand.
She was twisting and turning in a frenzy of terror now, weeping hysterically. Already she could feel the heat radiating from the brand, but with her outstretched limbs strapped firmly to the rack, all she could do was writhe wildly, struggling desperately… vainly… to dodge the downward sweep of that sizzling cross. She was like a fluttering butterfly pinned fast to a board, futilely making its last stand against the inevitable.
The monk tried again to steady her to receive the full impact of the torch, but the feel of her breast brushing against his hand during the struggle seemed to disorient him. He suddenly paused and stood there, looking down at her in fascinated awe. His breath quickened, and the hand that had touched her breast began to tremble violently. Those dark, smoldering eyes were glowing now with more intensity than the red-hot brand he held suspended in midair.
After a moment he gave a start and seemed to come back to reality. Angrily he dug his fingers into her flesh until she moaned in pain.
“Cursed woman! Try your wiles on me, will you?” he roared.
Turning away in horror, he thrust the iron abruptly back into the fire while he tried desperately to regain control of himself. May God forgive him for his sinful thoughts! For the salvation of his soul, he must not give in to his desire for her. One more reason why he had to purge this spawn of the devil, for in so doing he would be cleansing himself of his own lust for her. But he knew now
that he would never know peace until Monique Chausson was destroyed.
Chapter Thirty-six
Miguel was desperate. He had been searching frantically for Monique for over an hour, and she was nowhere to be found. Now, with the fire fast taking on the proportions of another major catastrophe for the city, it was even more difficult to look for her.
Everything had turned into a hellish nightmare since that moment he had turned to see Monique standing there in the Ducole hallway looking at him with wide, accusing eyes.
To make matters worse, Azema had made him lose precious minutes by blocking his way and insisting on arguing, until finally he had been obliged to thrust her aside and dash out despite her protests.
The irony of it all was that, since his pact with Monique the morning after the hurricane, he hadn’t been near Azema’s bedchamber, and that afternoon was to have been his last meeting with Henri at the Ducole town house. If only Monica hadn’t suddenly appeared out of nowhere to complicate matters! Whatever had possessed the girl to go there in the first place? Poor sweet sensitive child! She had unwittingly given Azema the perfect opportunity to enjoy a brief moment of revenge against both her ex-lover and her rival.
Of course, Azema simply resented the fact that he had been the first one to break off their liaison. Her vanity had been pricked, nothing more. And her pride was probably doubly wounded because it had been an inexperienced girl like Monique who had won out over her.
No, the only one he was worried about in that not-so-humorous comedy of errors was Monique. The memory of the look on her face wrung his heart. He didn’t know how he would ever be able to convince her now that he hadn’t betrayed her trust in him… that he had, in fact, broken off with Azema.
His sweet little ward—so young and passionate, so uncompromising in her judgments! All he wanted to do now was find her… kiss away her tears and make her understand. She had to know he hadn’t deceived her, that she had misjudged the significance of what she had seen.
Iron Lace Page 22
