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1356

1356

Titel: 1356 Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Bernard Cornwell
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anticipating the pain and pleasure to come. The knife, its blade rusted and its handle a worn sliver of wood, was a castrator’s knife, used to geld rams or calves or the small boys destined for the choirs of great churches. ‘Strip him,’ the count ordered his men.
    ‘Oh, God,’ Brother Michael murmured.
    ‘No stomach for it, brother?’ Sam asked.
    ‘He fought well,’ a new voice intervened, and the monk saw that
le Bâtard
had stepped to the edge of the dais. ‘He fought bravely and he deserves to die like a man.’
    Some of the count’s men put their hands on their sword hilts, but the bishop waved them down. ‘He has offended the laws of man and God,’ the bishop told
le Bâtard
, ‘and placed himself beyond the boundaries of chivalry.’
    ‘The quarrel is mine,’ the count snarled at
le Bâtard
, ‘not yours.’
    ‘He is my prisoner,’
le Bâtard
said.
    ‘When we hired you,’ the bishop said, ‘it was agreed that all prisoners would belong to the count and myself, regardless of who captured them. Do you deny that?’
    Le Bâtard
hesitated, but it was clear the bishop had spoken the truth. The tall, black-armoured man glanced about the room, but his men were far outnumbered by the forces of the bishop and count. ‘Then I appeal to you,’ he said to the bishop, ‘to let him go to his God like a man.’
    ‘He is a fornicator and sinner,’ the bishop said, ‘and so I give him to the count to do with as he wishes. And I would remind you that your fee is contingent on obeying all our reasonable commands.’
    ‘This is not reasonable,’
le Bâtard
insisted.
    ‘The command for you to step aside is reasonable,’ the bishop said, ‘and I give it to you.’
    The count’s men-at-arms thumped their shields on the floor to show their agreement, and
le Bâtard
, knowing himself outnumbered and out-argued, shrugged and stepped away. Brother Michael saw a man-at-arms take the castrating knife and, unable to bear what was about to happen, he pushed his way out to the steps of the tower where he breathed the smoky night air. He wanted to get farther away, but some of the count’s men had found an ox in the castle’s stable and were torturing the beast, prodding it with spears and swords, skipping away when it lumbered around to face them, and he did not dare try to thread his way through the vicious game. Then the screaming began in the hall behind.
    A hand touched his shoulder and he turned, raising the heavy staff, only to see it was a priest, an older man, who offered the monk a skin of wine. ‘It seems,’ the older man said, ‘that you do not approve of what the count does?’
    ‘You do?’
    The priest shrugged. ‘Villon took the count’s wife, so what does he expect? And our church gave its blessing to the count’s revenge, and with reason. Villon is a despicable man.’
    ‘And the count is not?’ Brother Michael decided he hated the fat count, with his greasy hair and heavy jowls.
    ‘I am his chaplain and confessor,’ the older priest said, ‘so I know what he is.’ He sounded bleak. ‘And you,’ he asked the monk, ‘what brings you to this place?’
    ‘I bring a message for
le Bâtard
,’ Brother Michael said.
    ‘What message?’
    The English monk shook his head. ‘I’ve not read it.’
    ‘You should always read messages,’ the older man said with a smile.
    ‘It’s sealed.’
    ‘A hot knife will solve that.’
    Brother Michael frowned. ‘I was told not to read it.’
    ‘By whom?’
    ‘By the Earl of Northampton. He said it was urgent and private.’
    ‘Urgent?’
    Brother Michael crossed himself. ‘It’s said that the Prince of Wales is gathering another army. I think
le Bâtard
is ordered to join it.’ He shrugged. ‘That would make sense, anyway.’
    ‘It would.’
    The conversation had distracted Brother Michael from the terrible screams that sounded inside the hall. Those screams slowly subsided, became a pathetic whimpering, and only then did the count’s chaplain lead the monk back to the flamelight in the pillared chamber. Brother Michael did not look at the naked thing on the bloody floor. He stayed at the back of the hall, hidden from the gelded man by the crowd of mailed soldiers.
    ‘We are done,’ the Count of Labrouillade said to
le Bâtard
.
    ‘We are done, my lord,’
le Bâtard
agreed, ‘except you owe us the money for capturing this place swiftly.’
    ‘I owe you the money,’ the count agreed, ‘and it waits for you at

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