A medieval Saga

By Alessia Ferrari Dream

An engaging novel, with all the ingredients to capture every reader's heart and mind

• Language: English
• Publisher: Youcanprint
• Release date: Jul 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9788831630757

Book preview

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PREFACE

  A novel that seems to be born as from a grandiose daydream, from a colourful and lively vision of a world away from us, governed only by the free laws of fantasy: a world that has not and does not want to have anything realistic and that, precisely for this reason, the author places it in a Middle Ages far from history, within wholly vague and indefinite geographical coordinates. It is a fabulous and dreamlike Middle Ages - as the story is told to a large extent. And the characters, if on the one hand they are acquiring, in the course of the narration, their precise and increasingly recognizable physiognomy, on the other hand they participate in this climate of dreamlike abstraction, so much so that they are deprived of a proper name; or, to say it better, they take the name of their function in the narrative, of their role or of their task as a substitute for identification. Here is the Minstrel and the Councilor, the King and the Princess, the Tambourine, the Count and so on: that, identified in this way with their principal characteristic, seem almost to assume an absolute and emblematic value, as if they were the figures, immobilized once and for all, of imaginary playing cards. 

And to a variegated and fascinating card game it actually resembles this novel, with the characters appearing and disappearing, approaching and moving away, seeking each other out and meeting each other, each obeying their own specific function in the narrative mechanism or, which is the same, to one's instincts and inclinations. Thus there are the good and the bad ones, the humble and the noble, the brave and the cruel one; and each one, always, with his own recognizable face: a face that - one would say - the narrator sees very much alive in front of her, just as if she belonged to a real individual in flesh and blood, to the point of being able to do it See, page after page, also to the reader. Moreover, the images that accompany the book have no other meaning: they are portraits, made with great skill by the cartoonist and artist Simona Cipollina Martorella of the main characters of the story, aimed at guaranteeing them a strong visual and almost plastic consistency, in addition to the narrative. 

Thus the action takes place, before the eyes of the reader, as on the screen of a film, or rather as on the pages of a comic book; and every episode acquires a relief that, although it has nothing - as we have already said - of realistic, has the colored and lively evidence of a freely fantastic vision. In this view, however, nothing is left to chance: the movements of the characters and their mutual relations obey a narrative device calculated down to the smallest detail; and each figure plays a precise role and carries out a peculiar function. 

At the centre of this mechanism, as if it were the invisible engine, there is a very particular character, who, absent from the action because put to death right at the beginning of the story, is nevertheless almost bound to each of the protagonists, concealingly influencing the decisions and feelings. This is the beautiful Healing    Witch, perhaps the most fascinating figure of the whole novel: an intelligent and very sweet woman, affectionate and sensual, she is the reference point, positive for the good and negative for the bad ones, of all the other characters . In her, the ideal of joy of life, of free sensuality and of delicate lightness which clearly inspires the narrator is manifested and incarnated; and therefore, in some way, the profound meaning of the entire game of the novel is revealed, which on this ideal is measured and in this ideal finds - it seems - its last, most persuasive justification. 

Edited by Prof. Giangiacomo Amoretti

Professor of Italian Literature at Genoa's University

SAGA

THE KNIGHT

The group proceeded north. It was the fifth day of their long journey. The troops recruited among the poor people had been on their way for longer, but they would have beaten paths routinely travelled and would still have remained under the command of the regular army. Instead they were a select group: the Maltese cross was granted only to the best ones. The steeds puffed white clouds into the cold air of the forest. The commander observed every little detail, because the danger was hidden everywhere. Something tickled his experience amid the mist. He gave instructions to organize the camp nearby, entrusted his horse to his Second and walked softly despite the armor. He had faced many ambushes, the ravines where bandits and fools took refuge were now familiar to him; when he could find one, he preferred to attack it first, taking them off guard and acting alone, because the surprise effect was already a sufficient advantage and exposing all his men to danger would have been too risky a choice. Moving a group of weeds, he found the entrance. He listened with all his senses on alert. A dim light came from the deep of the antrum and a good smell teased his appetite. He put down his helmet and proceeded with caution, silent as a hunting cat. He reached the heart of the cave, saw a fire pit with a cauldron full of fragrant soup on it. A candle stick was consumed in a lantern. He observed every little detail possible: in a few minutes he had deduced it was not a den of brigands or hunters. On shelves carved into the rock were vases of various sizes, he saw more pots and pans. He came to his thesis and acted accordingly: he suddenly moved a wooden panel hanging from the wall, rattling dozens of rudimentary tools dangling above.        

He saw her back there, balled up in the darkness of a secret hiding place. She raised her hazel eyes, like a fawn deer in the clearing. Go out. he ordered her. 

She moved slowly, obeying. He grabbed her by her wrist, without hurting her, with his left arm he immobilized her against him. Then with the sword he freed the hole that served as a chimney over the center of the cave. A little extra light did not spoil. 

Are you a healer? He asked her. 

I am. The sweetness of that woman had hit him more deeply than a spear. She stared at him languidly, without challenge. Despite his training and all he had experienced, he had never believed the witchcraft accusations launched against women. He knew ruthlessness and hatred well and could not see any shadow of these in her. The wheat of her hair smelled of hay; he felt he had to free her as soon as possible, he was too disturbed to be able to continue thinking with a cold mind. A shy smile escaped her and suddenly she slid the iron mesh down around his neck to protect his head. That kind of caress devastated him in his soul. 

Come ... she invited him, pulling him slightly.

He had never faced a surrender: that one had the taste of warm herbs and fragrant bread. She sat next to him, with the cat in her arms.

Will you arrest me now? She whispered.

He printed the answer on her mouth, in her mouth. They kept exchanging effusions for a long time, then she helped him remove the armor. When the Crusader was in contact with the naked skin on the straw mattress, he thought there were some embers underneath, from what felt to be pervaded by the heat, but when she took off her worn garment, he thought he was going crazy. He had never been with such a creature: she welcomed him, enveloped him and at the same time invaded him to the core of his soul

Commander, we were worried ... his Second had executed his orders: the next morning the group was preparing to continue towards the north-east. The Knight had returned to his role, even though the small amulet she had hung around his neck tickled him occasionally on his chest, bringing back memories and sensations connected to it.

THE MINSTREL

He was satisfied. The last stages in the villages had made him well, but the city had really granted him beyond all his expectations. His swift and jovial character, the fluent narrative telling incredible adventures and his talent with the ribeca were a pass to many rooms of rich gentlemen, always eager for entertainment. The diners usually started just drunk with music, words, dreams and finally, lots of wine. That was the right moment to round up with little loot; he was shrewd enough to understand that if he were too greedy, sooner or later they would got him and that would have been big trouble. Another non-negligible aspect of this phase was to find, sometimes, to entertain some beautiful lady. He did not find too much satisfaction with the servants, because they were girls who were accustomed to pleasing men from an early age. Dawn was the best moment to leave; also that time it was ready with the burden and the instrument over his shoulder. He would have crossed the northernmost part of the city, passed through one of its gates and travelled to new adventures. He heard some hustle and bustle nearby: when he reached the square he thought for a moment that they would set up a market or fair. He looked better though, and noticed that they were busy in the middle with timber. 

A shiver ran from the back of his head along his back; he felt uneasy and could not understand why. His legs moved toward those workers, while he seemed to have a swarm of wasps in his head. He heard himself asking for information. 

They stared at him for a few moments, then answered him, resuming their work. Then a letanìa began inside his head: It does not concern me, now I go on and cross the north gate of the city. At noon the people filled the square; the Minstrel was still there. From time to time he would chew on talking to himself about having to go, but his feet were like made of lead. Horses were heard coming, then the cart. He had conquered and kept a front seat, to be able to see well and immediately after, leaving. He had remained to be able to silence that little voice that had continued to disturb his soul for hours, but as soon as he could see who was in the wagon, he confirmed what he already knew since dawn: he saw her, bound, carried towards the pyre. From that moment it was as if everything were going in slow motion, while memories hit him like a huge wave. Many images passed through his mind and were so vivid and radiant that he was able to relive the physical sensations he had felt in those past situations: he heard the clink of the laugh of that woman, who had made his soul vibrate several times, felt the heat of her mouth, her touch, so special, the scent of her intimate hay. 

She felt Minstrel's gaze on her and looked for him in the multitude; had it not been for that subtle energy that united and attracted them to each other, she would not have spotted him almost immediately: on his face in fact, the usual bravado had been displaced by dismay. She had the strength to give him one of her honey smiles; for him it was really too much: he fled. 

THE YOUNG COUNTESS 

She had insisted with her father to be able to watch the execution. The Young Countess was like a porcelain doll: she observed only a small part of what is in the outside world from a display case. The Count often organized lunches and musical performances to entertain her, but he had never let her leave the residence, only in the inner courtyard, where he had set up a magnificent garden. During the banquets she listened eagerly to the stories of the guests, because it was a way of knowing what she could not discover for herself. It had happened several times that it was whispered about witches. It was said that they were evil creatures, capable of practicing powerful spells and having intimate relations with the Devil. She remained speechless to listen; when she knew that there would be an execution, she no longer lay in her skin, she quivered to see with her own eyes a real, terrible devil's follower.

Her parents and members of the clergy would have been on a stage just in front of where they were setting up the pyre; she was allowed to watch the whole event from the terrace overlooking the square. She was happy anyway, because not even the smallest detail would have been lost from there.

That fateful day she heard traffic from dawn. She had stood up and watched through the window; they were about to complete the pile of firewood.

She opened the doors to lean out and look better: she saw the Minstrel. She stared at him; although the physical aspect corresponded, he did not seem to her the same guy she had known ...

A sunny Saturday only some time before the Count wanted to organize two days of banquets, music, dance and games. He had spent a busy period in the region that let him a lot stressed; it was a hard bone, but he felt the need to get distracted and have fun.

After the exhibition of a dog taming, who made to jump and run his animals throughout the hall, it was the turn of a musician. As always, Minstrel knew how to capture attention, telling incredible adventures. He involved the audience by making sing the refrain with him; all were projected in the heart of thrilling and love events. At the end, they refreshed the uvula waiting quivering at the beginning of the treasure hunt.

The Young Countess and her father were always the first to be able to choose their allies, with great repressed anger of the Mother Countess, who foamed mute like a snail in a cage.

I choose the musician! The girl exclaimed.

Honored... Minstrel bowed.

The guests were then divided into five groups and clues were distributed. Young Countess gave them to Minstrel.

Look, you are certainly shrewd! She said to the musician.

I will help you the best, damsel. He answered her.

The tactical choice proved to be right and the adrenaline went up with every successful search. The Minstrel read the last riddle and said: It is necessary to divide us: you gentlemen go down to the garden and pick up ten black and white stones, while I go to the stables. Let us hurry.

I come with you, Messere, said the Young Countess. 

He had had a light and unflattering flirtation in his mind, linked to the girl's young age; for a few minutes Minstrel had ruminated that it might be too risky to venture some advances to the daughter of an unscrupulous man such as the Count. Then, staring at that mouth of her, he gave in to his own fiery nature, repeating that he would be careful and that he would not go beyond a few kisses and slight groping.In the half-light, sheltered from the haystacks, he was surprised by the girl's submissive, but burning reaction. She did not take the initiative, but when he made her touch his  penis Young Countess squeezed and stroked it with ardor. Minstrel at first thought it was due to the fact that she was aroused a lot; after a couple of minutes the libido grew to the point of making him lose control, so he put his right hand behind her nape and, pushing it down: Suck it to a bone! he told her, without having anything else in his mind that hisown enjoyment.

When he put his pants back in place, he found himself wondering which soldier had instructed Young Countess so soon and with so much skill to make her expert, with the risk of being beheaded: among his many experiences, he felt that lived, thanks to her, one of the most absolutely satisfying of all.

In the yard their team was waiting for them, anxiously. For a few moments, however Count's squad was the winner. The Minstrel knew how much a noble defeated could take offence, albeit in a simple game, so he pretended to stumble and knocked over all the clues found.

The young woman continued to watch him from the terrace: she waited, hoping he would turn around, but nothing. She then called him. Being the square still deserted, her voice bounced and expanded, but he did not move at all. The workers turned towards the palace and then stared at him: it was like looking at a person petrified by Medusa, so they did not waste any more time, concentrating on their work; a delay would certainly have infuriated the Count. With the passing of time people began to fill the square, the general excitement rose. Occasionally the Young Countess rechecked the musician, but he remained there impaled, so she opted to turn her attention elsewhere. She watched as if she were absorbed by life, she took every possible detail into her mind. Finally she saw the wagon arrive, which proceeded slowly, exposing the accused woman to insults and pitches of rotten vegetables. The young girl in her imagination had figured witches as beings of horrible appearance, perhaps pocked on their faces, toothless. When the wagon passed under her post however, remained astonished. She saw a dirty, wounded creature, covered with a filthy ragged habit, ruffled worse than a soggy kitten left in the thunderstorm and, nevertheless, of a stunning beauty. Her skin was intuited as of pearl, among the dirt and the lacerations. Young Countess remembered a large shell that one day a guest of her father had brought her as a gift: it had a bad look, outside it was all encrusted with green junk and smelled terribly. They urged her to open it and she, winning her disgust, did so. Inside it was a spell of brilliant soft colours and there was a very smooth pearl, which Young Countess found marvelous more than many gems, with its simple beauty devoid of any vanity. The face of that woman expressed an enormous weariness, but also an infinite sweetness; Young Countess thought of all the ladies, the noblewomen she knew and found none of them so beautiful, not even her mother with her most triumphant dress. She felt sorry for her, although she knew she had been held guilty; as they bound her, she hoped she would wriggle, uttering inhumane lamentations, turning that beautiful face of pale moon into an infernal monster, but nothing, she remained as mild as a little lamb; every now and then a few tears rolled down her cheeks, revealing that ivory complexion. She was then ready in a short time and the Prelate rose to publicly pronounce the accusations and the verdict. In those moments everything stopped, remaining in suspense; just in that while the Minstrel seemed to wake up from a spell: suddenly he turned, began to shove the crowd like a madman and finally to run to the north door without looking back. Three members of the clergy approached the base of the pyre with torches and set it on fire.

Soon the flames spread and smoke started to rise. Young Countess was very disturbed by what she was witnessing, but could not look away. The woman became a flame herself, seemed to emit light, because a great glow emanated from her body, spreading around her figure. Young Contess squeezed her eyes, saw that many shadowed their eyes with one or two hands.

All of a sudden the general murmuring changed tone and there was an acclamation: the Captain of the Crusader Knights had returned. The young daughter of the Count was really surprised, because instead of going to the front of the stage, bending over in front of her parents and the high Church members to pay homage, he went without hesitation towards the pyre.

THE RETURN

After passing the last curve that hid from view the city walls on the hill in front of them, they saw the smoke rise. The Captain gave a start to the heart to which he could not explain. He looked at those clouds that were hurrying towards the sky and sent him anguish. The wind then brought cries of shouts, then spurred the steed to a gallop without hesitating another moment. He felt the anxiety crawl like the cobras he had seen in the Arab countries. The drawbridge was lowered as soon as they saw the scarlet cross and arrived in the square in a short time.

The crowd kept rumbling; many ranted, others recited prayers and supplications. When they saw him break in and a short distance from his squad, many began to cheer.

The flames of the pyre rose high, but they were nothing compared to those that Knight felt blaze inside him. He brandished his sword and pounced on the pyre with a fury that had never even tried against the bloodiest of the Saracens. He began to hit as many timber as possible; after a few minutes the blows continued blindly, the cloak got on fire, he felt the body burn under the armor.

Captain, please, come back! He heard his Second scream, between the crackle.

By now it was the only human voice left, the rest of the crowd staring at the scene totally hypnotized. In spite of the smoke and the temperature he managed to look carefully at the Healing Witch, he distinguished her even though it was now a human torch. He felt his heart melt and in an instant he spurred his steed to throw himself into that fire and merge with her, like two rocks in a lava tongue. But his Second stood against him and the horse reared, causing him to fall.

Knight woke up wrapped in many bandages. He was burned on so many parts of his body, but it was not those wounds that caused him the most excruciating pain. Despite the recommendations, he wanted to get up. He found his own squad in the courtyard, arranged in a circle. They had brought a heap of hay, some flowers, and laid what remained of her on top, wrapped in their cloak. Knight dragged himself and they opened a gap to let him pass. He fell to his knees, cried, desperate. He stroked her remains with extreme caution, as if they were made of clouds, whispering the sweetest words. He looked up for a brief moment and realized that, to prevent them from violating the burned body and taking her away to disperse, they had fought: several had injuries, his Second was also burned in several places and with a black eye. Knight felt so desperate that he could not articulate a thought. He heard hissing beyond the human circle: She was a witch, a harlot, she was condemned, she deserved it! The man of the Church surrounded by a group of people from the rich part of the city felt powerful, reminded to Knight of a fat peacock in a farmyard. 

Now she paid for her sins! Knight replied, in a firm voice. 

We must disperse her body in Consecrated Land, tried to add the Prelate give it to us, or you will be cond ... 

Enough! Thundered the Crusader We'll take care of it ... Your ...Worship. He stared at him so authoritatively that the Prelate could not find the courage to oppose him. He adjusted himself to the black and stiff hat and turned, starting to swing towards the building in front, followed by the host of his sympathizers.

THE FAREWELL

Minstrel felt the air slit his lungs by pricking them, his side aching so almost unbearable. He was not used to certain efforts, but he could not stop the broken course he had started. That feeling that had pervaded him several hours before went on: his mind seemed closed to itself, besieged by too many memories, while the body continued to rebel, as if it could break away. He thought of the time when his father cut off the head with an ax to a hen: for a few moments it kept to scamper untidily through the threshing floor, while the severed head seemed to stare at it incredulously from the ground. He found himself in the antrum, a beam of light descended from the hole in the fireplace. He did not know why he wanted to go back there or how it was possible that the shelter had remained intact... He stared at the pottery, took a small amphora, sniffed it. He saw Healing Witch with the eyes of his mind in front of him, her greasy fingers, with her smile that buried his heart ... Stay lying down, relax ... the Healing Witch had told him why she had seen him move. Minstrel, however, had raised his torso resting on his elbows and had suddenly clung her. She had screamed and, laughing, had exclaimed: What are you doing, I still have ointment on my hands! 

Well, you put enough on me ... he grinned, lying down.

He perceived a movement that brought him back to reality; he winced, putting his hand on the dagger. Pitch had come, gazing hopefully, with a toothbrush tail. 

He caressed the kitten, giving and receiving consolation. He wanted to leave immediately, but he felt empty; it was like a river of which only the bed remained: all its elements call and wait for water. He greeted Pitch, but it turned to him and then jumped on the bed, starting to purr as if kneading. Minstrel felt overwhelmed by emotion and went to curl up there next to it. He fell asleep and dreamed the first time he had snuck into the cave. He wanted to steal something, and rummaged everywhere like a mouse. He found a small bag that seemed interesting.

Take it, I do not need it, I picked other berries of the same type and I have already put them to dry ...  Caught on the action, the musician was ready for a fight with a daring escape, but when he turned he was dazed by that face that smiled at him, shy and sweet.

He felt his throat sting and his eyes widened, returning to the present. Knight was standing in front of him.

What are you doing here, go out immediately by replacing what you have stolen.

Sir, Minstrel began you must know that ...

Run!

It was a peremptory order; then he got up and prepared to leave that place forever. Knight looked around, then removed the panel that hid her secret refuge, he was in search of something he finally found: a dress sewn a little crooked. He yielded to the temptation and sniffed it. The pyre had reduced Healing Withch to an ember: although seeing her so had torn him in, smelling again her scent through that very simple dress caused him a deep melancholy, which he could not cope with. He began to weep again, unable to find comfort in any way.

Goodbye, Pitch... Minstrel murmured.

Hearing those words, Knight shook himself and understood.

Wait. Help me to close this cave, so that no one can ever violate it.

After a few hours they had rolled several rather large rocks in front of the entrance. The musician remained incredulous in front of the physical strenght of the Crusader, who seemed to be cut off despite being wounded.

He tried to convince Knight to make as little effort as possible, but he did not want to spare himself at all. In the end it turned out to be a good job, it looked like a normal wall with some shrub here and there. The two men stood and watched it in silence for a few minutes. Then they looked at each other and both of them spontaneously wondered what so special she had found in that other different man. So they were ready to take leave and Minstrel held out his hand to the Knight.

You will find her on that hill, the Crusader told to the musician right on the edge, where the view sweeps up to the horizon.

Thanks, but I will never return here around...

Do not lie ...You know well to be a mercenary, even if not for the war ...

I will make sure they do not find me... I desire to go far ...

So good luck, music man ... 

Thanks.Watch over you ... He put the instrument in place and hid the tears with his fingers in his movements.

No ... She will watch over all of us ... concluded Knight.

THE COUNT

Sire, we could not prevail over the Crusader's decision! The Prelate was almost purple; the Count stared at him, rather bored. He had never endured the disputes between the Clergy and the Crown,  he couldn't stand to pay attention to matters between the Church and its own soldiers! He had already been forced to provide troops to fight in the Holy Land, a war effort that he considered useless, even counterproductive. Last year agriculture had made it much less because of the absence of a large number of men, most of whom would never return. The only advantage of this sort of mass suicide was in the abandoned wives who he had consoled in turns almost every night. If someone had returned, he would also have found aa a surprise small arms that would soon grow and help on farms. The Count was a beautiful man: tall, slender, lean and muscular physique, long straight raven hair, well-groomed beard and mustache, big black eyes without the slightest shadow of fear. He had therefore never had  problems to charm a woman, although among the country people some women denied him their graces; he liked their genuine and straightforwardness quite a lot, he found that game extremely exciting, just as during hunts, when the wounded prey sought shelter in the bush and he finally came to inflict the coup de grace. 

Do not waste your time on such trivial matters, come on ... the Count was looking for a short cut so that the religious would stop beating him The Knight has assured you that he will take care of it personally, he will not dare not bury it, he has taken oaths, he will follow the dictates, do not worry, Your Excellency.  

That... That Witch, that harlot, we finally annihilated her! 

There was a blow. The Young Countess was on the threshold and stared at them with a mixed expression of contempt and disgust. She turned, hurrying along the corridor and on the stairs. 

I hope I have not troubled your daughter with my tone, with these terms but, Sire, you know that ... 

Do not worry Your Excellency, it's a young girl with a difficult character. replied the Count.

With your permission, I will bring her a few words of comfort... said the Prelate.

Of course, go ahead. 

The Count felt extremely uneasy, in a dark mood; was still pervaded by that feeling that a few days hovered in his soul and could not drive away. And the more he thought about it, the more he concentrated on freeing himself of that weight on his chest, the more he could not do it and hurt him whenever he breathed.

Suddenly he went down to the stables and mounted his horse. He was looking for a way to feel relieved, but the pain in his breastbone tormented him like a dagger stuck deep. He arrived at the house of a widow who willingly gave herself to him without limitation, making him feel powerful, flattering him with a thousand praises, inflating his ego like a frog its goiter. As soon as she saw the Count, she bowed to him and began to thank him almost endlessly for his preference. He stared at her, she began to undress. When she was ready she laid down, encouraging him. He approached and tugged at her hair; she moaned and stroked him, as she had done many times before, only to her surprise, she did not feel his usual turgidity. She tried not to show anything and went on like that, helping him undress. The Count let her do it; she, not getting results with touch, decided to try with her mouth. After a few minutes, he pulled her off and hit her, insulting her: You are not capable! He added.

Then he went out like a fury: he was blinded by anger and frustration.

On the contrary, the pain in his chest had not ceased, he tormented him constantly. He stopped galloping in front of the courthouse and almost got out. He wanted to go in and asked the guards to take him downstairs to the interrogation room.

In order to overcome the malaise he had tried to move his mind from the last events, but it had not worked. Now he had decided to face the ghosts that were buzzing in his soul.

When the basement door was opened, he entered with a large torch, handed over the key ring and ordered the soldiers to stay out there. Along the corridor the torches were lit, but in the hall no; then proceeded to do it himself: 

slowly the environment was outlined.

He had gone and returned from that place many times in the last nine days. The prisoners were held in cells arranged in a semicircle in front of the torture means: it was a psychological tactic to terrorize those who assisted. When they led there the Witch he felt happy, because it was a long time since there was not a prisoner. The Prelate's assistant began to list the indictments, but he could not understand a single word, he seemed to be speaking from a very distant place, in an unknown language ... The Count's whole ego was magnetized by that woman. It made him very nervous to be disturbed that way, so he approached his Councilor and whispered to him: Let's hurry u ... I can't wait to use of my hands ...

It was the first of eight days in which that woman was tortured in many ways; the Count was always the director and almost always the executor of these practices. The brutality of that man, the delightful taste for sadism led any defendant to confess in a few hours and she was certainly not less. They then had to almost drag her exhausted behind the big bars; the Count entered immediately behind. She looked at him quietly, with a hazy view. Torture gave him an intoxication of enormous power, he charged and got excited: he was then preparing to jump on her like a jaguar on a gazelle.

Now I want to have fun, Healing Witch.

You are not yet satisfied, Sire ... she murmured.

So you dare to say your opinion... Well, then I think I'll find even more taste, I love the fight... so saying he kept her chin raised with gloved fingers. The Count thought he knew those like that woman: they were proud, they put resistance with their nails and teeth to the point of exhaustion. This could not but make him euphoric in his soul: there was in fact nothing more satisfying for him to possess a female with brutality. He looked at her again for a few moments, she held his gaze and he found himself thinking that it was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen; he was happy she was courageous, because this would have meant greater resistance and consequently more pleasure to be drawn for him. As the thread of these thoughts came to an end in his mind, she moved; she began to raise the habit that covered her. Taken by surprise, the Count stood still and looked at her and when he saw her naked, he felt pain in his groin. She put the garment on the ground and lay down on it; then she opened her legs and pointed her hazel eyes, very warm and placid, in the flaming ones of the noble. He would never have supposed it an affront like that.

He went near her and grabbed her hair. She did not utter a single hiss.

The Count turned her on all fours and took her, insulting her like a dog all the time.

That woman had caused him trouble for a long time, disturbed him and stole his sleep; now that  she was finally reduced to a black ember, why could not he find peace? 

What have you done to me? He shouted with his whole self What have you done to me, damned Witch?! Suddenly he glimpsed his leather gloves in a corner. He remembered that he still wore them when he stopped abusing her. He also remembered that he had been impressed because, having taken himself to recompose, he had found that both the flap of his trousers and penis were very impregnated. At that point, even the gloves were, becoming too slippery to let him to finish the work, so he had removed them. Now he took them and immediately he smelled her. He felt the sensation of a hungry fair that perceives the blood in the air: he was completely out of control, prey to a kind of schizophrenic attack. He grabbed the keys, opened the cell where she had remained for eight days and began to masturbate himself with impetuosity. Reached the apex, he wanted to dirt where she laid. So he did. Immediately afterwards it was for him how to awaken from an epileptic crisis: he came back to himself and left that place. 

THE COUNCILOR

It was all over. He felt so emptied: he was a big man, tall, a real bear, yet at that moment he could take the place of the skin before the big fireplace in his room. That morning at dawn it had reached the ninth day of great commotion, in the town. He recalled the afternoon when a company of Prelate soldiers had returned euphoric; they shouted, shouted at the top of their lungs: We got her! Your Excellency!

He was in the kitchens, he went there as soon as he had some free time; he liked to relax preparing  foods, giving vent to his own inspiration first and satisfying his palate, then.

Hearing those cries he appeared to check what was happening. The commander of the party dismounted and entered the palace to summon the minister of the church, who was in the main hall of the Count.

Continuing to observe, he saw a body with long legs and a hood on her head, lying on her stomach on the saddle of a horse. Living in close contact with the Count, he knew they had been looking for that woman for a long time. She was accused of witchcraft and the Prelate had lately insisted on intensifying her research, because the fame of her talents had crossed the borders of their region; he had noticed that several foreign people roamed the countryside looking for her and that annoyed him a lot.

I think it is a truly oversized affront, Sire. He said one evening, raising the volume of his voice considerably, while he dined with the Count We need to organize more patrols, especially in the woods or the situation will get worse, and you too will figure as a puppet.

I understood! The nobleman thrust a knife into the table, the words of the Prelate had made him nervous So let it be! Beat all the  area as well. 

Seeing her captured made the Councilor understand that the events would soon be precipitated. In the next few hours there followed a great confusion, a swirl of people, until she was taken to a court cell in the interrogation room.

He had enough experience with women to know that a beautiful body did not necessarily mean a harmonious face, so when they removed the hood he let his gaze linger on that oval. He descended gently along the features of a face that he considered entrancing; she expressed a tenderness that was as bright as a spring morning. Her eyes were big, warm and liquid, her well-drawn eyebrows, her fleshy mouth, her white teeth, and her simply fabulous skin: faint in the color, smooth, reminded him of the petals of a rose.

The inquisitorial process began; the Count prepared various tools on a table. The Councilor shuddered along his back: he had seen his master use them dozens of times in the most disparate and cruel ways; shortly before he had manifested his restlessness, hissing him to be impatient to start, which confirmed his longing held back for some time, which would have resulted in a profound agony for her. It seemed to him a horrible prospect, but he was forced to remain there, impassive, with his irises wide open. In fact, it was like seeing a fragrant bloomed rose garden under a violent hailstorm when, in some years, the first too hot days trigger ice rains: there remains a few sparse branches, the leaves all pricked, the petals ripped from the goblets made in shreds scattered everywhere...

She confessed, but the Count continued undaunted almost to exhaust her. When he finally allowed her to be led to the cell, he motioned to the Councilor; it meant having to recover and put the tools back in the bonnet: so the good giant man began to do that work, trying not to show the tremor that rose from his knees to his fingers. He hoped to get out of that room as soon as possible: as a soldier prepares to face the last part of the battle hoping to survive, so he placed his soul in some way ready to witness the final act of that day. Unexpectedly, he saw her naked, and felt himself overcome by desire. It was like when the clouds move away from the moon: suddenly it shows itself in all its shining beauty and all creation is enchanted to look at it. That beatitude lasted only a few moments, because the Count pounced on her; after a few minutes he felt a sharp stabbing in his right hand and a feeling of warmth. He looked down and saw blood dripping; he had tightened a tool to the point of hurting himself. Pose remedy using the same to tear a piece of cloth from his jacket and bandaged his hand. Then he cleaned the blade and finished rearranging those tools of torment. The Count broke away from her a few moments later: he had a glorious and relaxed expression, at last the beast was satisfied. 

I retire for the night, get everything right and organize the surveillance. he told him. 

The Prelate followed him, along with the row of members of the Tribunal: to the Councilor seemed to be rats returning to their dens after having renounced a dispensation. He gave orders for guard duty, placed two soldiers outside the door; but just when he was about to leave, he could not resist the temptation to turn back to the cell one last time. She laid still and he worried. While he was unlocking the door, a little voice told him it was a stupid thing to do: it could have been a device to make a curse and to flee... and otherwise, in any case, she would have died in a few days... She heard the key turn and rose slowly. Councilor was tense, but as soon as the Witch turned, he felt his heart squeezing like a sponge. He took off his jacket and covered her. He then went to get a pitcher with water and clean rags. He put the everything on the ground. 

Thank you. she said, holding out the garment to return it to him Take it back, you already run great danger, to use me these kindnesse ... 

As he reached out, the woman took it from him. 

You are hurt... she said, with a slight worry in her voice; then she promptly began to trade to remove the material he had tightened around the palm. 

The Councilor was moved in front of that creature, who was tormented and raped but wiped the cut he had with care and slithered it diligently with a cloth. He was speechless. She looked at him intensely in his dark green eyes, waited a few moments, then whispered: You do have other wounds, far deeper, here ... and passed her index finger on his chest They hurt you and at night howl worse than the wolves when you sleep, don't they? she continued, still staring at him. 

Yes, that's it... he admitted. 

Then she took the jacket and laid it on the pallet. 

Lie down on your stomach, she told him. 

He felt dazed, but did what she had asked him. The Healing Witch began massaging him on his back and, very slowly, went up to his shoulders, then on his neck and temples. He perceived her energy and wondered how it could be possible, after the torments she had passed. Finally she laid down naked on his back, dead weight. 

Let's start breathing together ... Follow me ... she exhorted him in a whisper. 

They fell asleep, he saw a bright light. From a distant meander of the mind he remembered of having to get up and go back to the palace, so he moved and woke her, with the greatest sweetness  possible.  He secretly returned to the basement the following night. He felt like a worm, because he seemed to take advantage of the situation, but the need for her was impossible to control. He had also accomplished, for the first time in his life, something really dangerous for his own safety: he had in fact taken away the dust that helped to free the intestines of the Prelate and had dissolved them in the jug of his master. He did not want him suddenly appear there below while he was with Healing Witch. 

Councilor hesitated outside the bars, looking down. 

Well, what are you doing there, counting the ants and the beetles? She laughed, breaking the ice. 

The Councilor opened the cell, entered, but was still embarrassed. The Witch came up to him and stroked his bald head. He had brought blankets and set them on the ground. She massaged him with greater skill, this time not leaving out a single point; then again they joined their breaths.

Sometimes, souls make love before bodies ... she whispered in his ear.

He felt ecstatic, at a higher level than when he was satisfied with a woman, yet the carnal desire for her was enormous.

The third night he entered without hesitation, he took her in his arms saying: Today instead, the bodies will do it first .. and kissed her with ardor.

In that handful of days, Councilor imagined fleeing together and living in the forest, by expedients, but happy.

My rosebud, you are the turning point of my life. I want to take care of you and ...

She put her fingertips on his lips. She looked at him steadily: Do not use your mouth to paint a dream in your mind, but for something else.

As they merged, he set out to prove his intentions: he could not, he did not have to lose her. She turned him on his back and began to guide his breath for a vault of the souls; a few moments before dying down, she said to him: I must entrust some secrets to you ... Forgive me for this burden which will weigh you down, but I am forced to do this way ...

The Councilor felt his face very hot, his cheeks and his neck soaked. He had fallen to his knees too close to the fireplace and he didn't know how much time he had spent that way, he was crying profusely. That clouded view was not enough to make the bundle he had prepared for the escape disappeared, which he had then left without hesitation in a corner the night before, as soon as he heard the Count in the courtyard giving orders to summon him. 

THE PRELATE

The Prelate believed that the Count was a man too superficial, on certain occasions. That morning, seeing the Knight behaving in such a totally wicked way, he had thought he was prey to demonic possession. Even his soldiers, who had defended and protected the charred body of that witch, must have all gone out of their minds. He forced himself to regain his mental clarity: soon the King would have revealed his grievances, because the messenger sent to court to inform His Majesty of the execution had received orders to leave only the seventh day of imprisonment of the woman. On the other hand, he did not have to answer for his actions directly to the crown, but to the Pontiff for whom, he said, it was not worth the trouble. After discussing with the Count, he had hastened to follow his daughter's steps and knocked on the door of her rooms. A servant appeared. 

Tell Young Countess that I have arrived: the time has come to read the Holy Scriptures and tell the evening prayer. 

He was let in, sat next to the young girl and handed her a large tome, while he had another, almost on his knees. He told her which parts she had to read and she performed. From time to time he interrupted her and leaned toward her book to correct her pronunciation or to indicate words he wanted to check she had studied the meaning. The Young Countess found herself staring at those stubby and plump fingers, a slight tremor assailed her, she could not drive it away. She had felt the change in herself during the last year: she looked in the mirror at the appearance of a woman, although still a bit sour. It had happened several times to wake up with a sense of great heat and to be enchanted to stare at several boys. She had also spied on his father's men kissing the servants in some hidden corner and felt a strong excitement. 

Consequently she dreamed of being grabbed by strong