Inquisitor

Chapter 1: The rough-hewed table sat in the center of the dark room. The braziers and irons did little to break the chill of the space. The lead ceiling of the building let the cold seep into the very core of the cells. This small prison might be attached to the Doge’s residence, but it was not what a person would call luxurious by any stretch of the imagination. This was where the most special of cases were brought. Thaddeus glanced at the scribe who was forced upon him. He noticed the other man’s black four-pointed hat had become canted. Out of reflex, he checked to ensure his was still straight. The black hat had been his identity for too many years. He took great pride in wearing it, and the fact it identified them both as members of the judiciary wasn’t lost on him. He judged the man next to him was nothing like him. At times, a pause in the interrogation would be required to let a suspect ponder the choices of their past and their future. It also gave the pain a chance to work. Most accused would scream a confession before the questioning started. This suspect had proved more resilient. The accused hung suspended before the inquisitor, her arms stretched out behind her back in a most uncomfortable position. Tears ran from her eyes, yet she screamed little. Most men would have broken like a baby by now, but the woman refused to budge on her confession. There was little doubt Thaddeus himself could have endured the pain, as well as the woman did. He sat here most of the previous night and morning. With only a hard wooden stool barely fit to sit upon, he was certain blisters formed on his ass. He was ready for a break. The questions never stopped, only paused briefly. His time to question her was running short. Even if the laws of the city allowed torture to gain a confession, there was a time limit of twenty-four hours per session. If he could not break her, she would be given a day to rest and heal before the torment started all over again. A soft handkerchief doused in perfume did wonders to hide the stench of death and burned flesh from Thaddeus’s nostrils. “Madam, if you confess to the crime of witchcraft, this would go much easier on you.” He replaced the cover over his nose after the statement. “I have committed many crimes, but I will not bear false witness on myself. I am no witch.” The woman spit blood from her cracked lips when she spoke. Her tears dribbled down her cheeks, even as she held firm to her innocence. The gaoler slapped her head for her disrespect. “I’m sorry, but you have been accused by a man of the cloth. Who do you think the council will believe? A priest or a common harlot? This charge will not simply go away.” “I am not common.” The woman coughed on her words as she fought to take in a breath. “I am not a witch.” “Yet you convinced the priest to give you money for s*x. Are you claiming the man did it of his own free will? You were caught in the act of copulation, by the night watch, in an alley. Confess, and this will go much easier on you.” “Never.” She screamed. Thaddeus motioned with his hand. “Gaoler, spin her where I can see her face.” She needed a scribe to be her counsel, yet none had been appointed. This case was strange, even by Venice standards. It was a case someone wanted to disappear from memory quickly. There would be no spectacle of an execution for this woman. The woman hung from her wrists, suspended on the wooden beam from behind her back. The pain had to be unbearable. She screamed in agony when the gaoler spun her around, his hand adding weight to her distended shoulder joints. “I know this must hurt. Confess to witchcraft and let us go about our day. I am hungry, and I’m certain you tire from this treatment.” “I’m not a witch!” Thaddeus shook his head. “We waste time here… Scribe, take note of her confession, please. The woman refused to cooperate.” He sensed no matter how long this continued, there would not be the confession the council sought. He didn’t care to question the woman to death. In a flash, the quill dunked into the ink and scratched notes into the ledger book. “You admit the priest freely gave you gold for s*x?” Thaddeus asked again and shook his head. “Yes, of course. He did it all on his own accord,” The woman screamed. “And you submit you have not made a pact with the devil and you do not currently, nor have you ever, practiced witchcraft?” “I swear on a stack of Bibles, I am not a witch,” she cried. “Very well… Gaoler, add weight to her feet.” “But I’m not a witch!” Thaddeus shrugged. “No, I don’t believe you are. But the council sent me in here to gain a confession for the judge, and by your own admission, you are guilty of fornication and tempting of a priest. You had s*x with a man of the cloth and convinced him to give you money meant for the cardinal and the city. Money that was meant to pay the fines of the people in our overcrowded prison. I hope you can see the problem with your confession. You have harmed the city and a great many people with your crime and sin.” The woman screamed as weight was added to her feet, her shoulders dislocating in the process. The sickening popping sound filled the small room. She drew in by ragged breaths once she dropped unconscious, barely able to gain a breath under the strain on her body. “May God have mercy on your soul.” Thaddeus turned to the scribe at his side. “You have noted her confession?” “I have… but she is not a witch?” the young man murmured. His pale fleshed face easy to spot, even in the dim light. “You didn’t honestly expect to find a witch in this room, did you? I have been an inquisitor for the Council of Ten for over five years, and I have yet to find a truthful accusation for witchcraft. Most are like this woman, too stupid to know she has broken the law. She should have accepted the charge of witchcraft. Better to be burned at the stake than what will happen to her now.” “What will happen to her?” the scribe asked. “If she is lucky, she will simply disappear, banished, but more than likely they will keep her until they can extract the money back from her. The council was not happy the priest gave into her wiles so quickly. I doubt a soul will come to her aid in this. I assume she will end up dead in a canal or perhaps an unmarked grave in the country. No matter the end, her life is over.” “That’s worse than being burned alive?” “If she was a witch, she might be able to keep the trial going on for several weeks before she went out in a blaze of glory. Perhaps, even play her cards right and get banished to a convent, where at least she has a chance to one day escape. When was the last time you saw a witch burned? We are not the simple folk in the country. We at least try to rehabilitate our criminals if there is a chance. Now she will be a nobody and just disappear.” Thaddeus stood, the chair making a scraping sound on the rough stone. “Gaoler, do that work you do so well. We will turn in our report on your outstanding work here. Try not to let her die before the trial. The judges might want to speak to her.” The scribe jotted down a few more notes before asking, “You don’t believe in witches?” “Of course, I do. If the church believes in witches, then I believe in them. I just don’t think they are as readily apparent as many in the clergy would like us to think they are. Let me ask you… do you believe in heaven and hell?” The young scribe crossed himself. “Yes, most certainly.” “Even if you have never seen either?” Thaddeus asked. “Your questions border on the heretical now…” The man’s eyes narrowed as he inspected Thaddeus. Thaddeus opened the door. The narrow hall outside was even colder than the interrogation room. “Why? I have never seen heaven or hell, but I believe in both because the church tells me they exist. They also tell me witches exist. I’m just saying I have never had the chance to run into a real witch. I doubt I ever will.” “Even if the clergy accuses a woman of witchcraft?” The scribe closed the door behind them. “For me, when it comes to a person’s guilt or innocence, there has to be more proof than some pompous-assed priest’s accusation. Remember, the priests are men first. Men make mistakes.” Thaddeus pulled his cloak closer around his neck. Anything to keep the chill away from his warm body. He needed food. The lack of meals had made his jaw too loose. “What do you think the Council of Ten would think of your most unorthodox beliefs? Or the Pope?” The man clutched his leather case to his chest. Out of fear or the bitter chill, Thaddeus couldn’t tell. “I would hope they agree that all men can be corrupted. To think otherwise is naïve. I have the ear of the Doge, as long as I serve his pleasure, I think I will be all right. Can you say the same in your bureaucracy? Do you trust them to support your unfounded accusations? Will anyone defend your decisions?” “Then tell me how you know that woman wasn’t a witch?” the scribe asked. Thaddeus shook his head. “Do you believe a priest is more… saintly than a normal man like myself?” “Yes, of course.” The young scribe nodded. “Then if the woman was a witch, why didn’t she enchant me to let her go? Why didn’t she cast a spell on you to kill us all? Why didn’t she have her devil lover come turn us all to a pillar of salt and take her away in a column of flame?” The young man’s mouth flapped as he tried to think of something to say. “Do you have a name, Scribe?” Thaddeus asked. “I am Geovanni of Padua, scribe of the Council of Ten.” At the gate, the pair regained their weapons, a dagger and rapier for both. The streets of Venice were civilized, but duels continued to happen nearly every day, and a minor slight could prompt an attack. Better to carry weapons and never need them than be attacked and have no defense available. To depend on the city’s watch would be a death wish. Besides, as officers of the court, both had little chance of knowing when a disgruntled citizen might take out their anger on their profession. Thaddeus made his way out of the Doge’s villa and walked out under the dim sky. The piazza was full of pigeons and hawker carts, but few patrons visited the area in the cold. “My, that is such a big title for such a young man. I will make you a promise. If I am ever in the presence of a witch, I will make sure they send a messenger for Geovanni of Padua, scribe of the Council of Ten. I’m sure I will want to see the look on your face… if I ever run across one.” Thaddeus slapped the younger man on the back. “Don’t worry, I firmly believe you will be an old man before it happens.” Thaddeus glanced at the sky before continuing. “Listen, I have spent the better part of a night and day in that hell hole, working on getting that confession. I find myself famished and suffering from a great thirst. If you have no further use of my services… I need a break. You have my report taken down in your own hand. Turn it into the council. The judges should be able to make great use of it.” “But—” Geovanni tried to finish his thought. And was cut off by Thaddeus, “ But nothing. There is a lovely little inn called La Scimmia not far from here, where the wine is warm, the porridge has questionable meat in it, and few women will bother me with offers of s*x. I will be there having a bite. We are finished here.” Thaddeus spun on his heel and left before the young scribe could raise another objection to his action. He had taken care of his duties, and now he needed to take care of his body. Afterward, he would need to take care of his soul. The interrogation had left him sullied. He knew the woman would pay dearly for her confession of theft from the church. It would have been better to admit being a w***e of the devil and repent her sins. She might have gotten away with being sent to the nunnery instead of being burned at the stake. After breakfast he would go and pray. It might yet lift the burden from his soul. Thaddeus crossed over the narrow bridge where boats filled the canal below and headed down an alley, with little light from the overcast sky reaching the cobbled path. In this land of merchants, a woman could be accused of many crimes, and she might pay her way out of most, but stealing from clergy was a hard crime to escape. The inquisitor didn’t give much hope for the woman living to see the next dawn. Her trial would be swift and final. To be a w***e was bad, to be a stupid, stealing w***e was deadly. He pushed open the door to one of his favorite haunts, the local tavern and inn known as La Scimmia. How it got named The Ape was a story for another time.