Cross Council

  ~~~~~

  In a cold, damp cell in the lower reaches of the King’s dungeons, Father Simon Peter d’Ornan lay upon a rough stone block, shivering with cold, terrified out of his wits and utterly alone. He wore nothing but the single cord signifying his vow of chastity around his waist after having been relieved of his robes by his captors. His hands and feet were secured tightly, preventing even the slightest hope of relief from the uncomfortable position on the gritty stone. He could hear rats skittering in the darkness around him and the occasional drip of water. Now and again, he heard distant screams and the closer sounds of moans or groans. His hopes of rescue were nonexistent. Two of the Master’s best Knights had come for him and they had been easily brushed aside by the king’s men. Brother Girard, the Healer, had fallen in the church and as far as he knew, Sir Ramsay was dead or imprisoned as well. He’d heard snatches of conversation during his tumultuous flight. The Grand Master was arrested. The charges were heresy and things more heinous and blasphemous than he could bear to remember. All false! All lies!!

  Keys jangled in the corridor outside the cell and then he heard the door grate open. Several men entered the room carrying torches that cast a ruddy glow in the sad little cell. Simon felt his cheeks burn as the hooded men gazed upon his nakedness with open contempt.

  “You have something to confess, my son?” One of them asked. “Surely, one as young as yourself would wish to live a long and prosperous life in God’s service.”

  Simon said nothing. It was a loaded question. He was Cistercian; these men were Benedictines working for the Holy Inquisition. He had seen them before in the market and once just outside the Commanderie talking to some of the lay brothers.

  “Come, come, now. Surely you wish to tell us how you came to be in the company of known heretics and blasphemers. If you would be so kind, Father Simon, a written testimony, duly signed by one as respected as yourself would go a long way in procuring your immediate release.” The man slipped one finger under the cord at his waist and twisted it, causing it to cut into his skin. “You were one of their confessors. Surely God wants you to cleanse your conscience…”

  Again, Simon had no answer for the man.

  “Perhaps a little persuasion is in order,” the man said and then untied the cord deftly, pulling it from under him roughly. “This sign of your chastity would be best placed in more… how shall we say… more suitable place? No?”

  Simon cringed as the man wrapped the cord around what he considered a more suitable piece of his anatomy and tied it viciously tight.

  “We will leave you to meditate for a space and then we will see what your decision is,” the man crossed himself and led the others out of the cell, leaving the priest known as Simon of Grenoble to some, alone with his thoughts and his suffering.