The Prisoner of Temple Mount

Set just after the establishing of the Knights Templar, succeeding the First Crusade. ;D I'mma enter this into the Hidden Power comp.

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4. 3 – The Inferno

3 – The Inferno

 

Harold’s decision did not sit well with the Grand Master. He had thought hard on the choices that the woman had given him, and had decided that one life for many was better than many lives for a single soul.

And he left her to worry about her punishment.

 

Which he soon came to regret.

 

She was bound to a pillar the very next morning, striped of her meagre clothing and her tortured back exposed for all to see. The punisher – Godfrey de Saint-Omer, himself – stepped onto the platform. She was to get the same punishment daily, until she could confess the breach of Tyre.

“It appears the demon has not left us, infidel,” he jeered at her.

“I know,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him, “I’m looking at him.”

He scowled, “We’ll see how much mockery you have left in you after this.”

“I fear I’ll be spent by then, so I’ll dish it out freely now: you coward that beats a woman, who challenged you and you could not answer her.”
“I gave you the answer, we do not tempt God.”

“I wasn’t tempting God, I was tempting you. You swear that this is right, and I’ll take in good faith, but swear it in the name of your Holy Land, in the name of your Cause and in the name of God.”

Godfrey shook his head, “Ignoramus,” he placed a hand on her back.

 

“Hypocrite! Charlatan!” she yelled, “See! See how your superior touches me, when he denies you the same! See! He who killed a monk for seeing a woman in his dream, is now touching one!”

“Hold your tongue!” Godfrey hissed.

The crowd of Templars began to gather, whispering amongst themselves. They thought this ought to be interesting.

“Look at you monks – staring at a bare woman! Have you no shame? Or are all your deeds in words only, and have no meaning behind them?”

 

The sharp crack of a whip hit her back, and she gasped in pain – tears gathering in her eyes.

“You’ve occupied this land for so long.”

Crack. Gasp.

“And still you cannot speak a single kalima of its language.”

Crack.

“Not.”

Crack.

“one.”

Crack.

“word.”

 

“How can you look at yourselves in the mirrors?”

Crack.

She screamed. A collective shiver ran through the audience.

She heaved a few breathes, “How can you stand there, and enjoy this spectacle? As if I were a clown at the circus?”

Crack.

Her voice broke, “How can you take so much pleasure in my suffering? In my misery? In my humiliation? Am I not human like you?”

Crack.

“Are you not human like me?”

Tears streamed down her face, her forehead sweating profusely, “Have you no shame? No dignity? Do you not know your own faith? Does it speak nothing of mercy? Or only of ridding the earth of others different to yourselves?”

Crack.

There was blood running down her back, soaking into the sandy floor. Her breathing became laboured, “Didn’t… God create us also… oh, you men of chivalry?” She looked at the faces before her, her eyesight dimming, “Aren’t we… his servants… also? Or… are we just game… for the likes of you?”

 

Her nails dug into her clenched fists, and a scream resounded once more as salt was rubbed into the open wounds.

 

Is there. No mercy. For us!”

 

Harold stepped onto the platform, “Sir, I said she had no knowledge of a breach! Must you punish her so?”

Hugh stepped up also, in a rage, “She knows, Harold of Hereford, she must know. She knows Tyre.”

“And how do you know of this?”
“The young men that attacked our roads made it plain.”

“They were but from a remote village!”

“But they knew much of Tyre and its structure. And of its breaches,” the Grand Master paused, another thought occurring to him, “And how dare you question my authority, Englishman?”

“I am merely disclosing a thought, sir,” he replied hesitantly, “Hasn’t she suffered enough?”

“With all the blasphemies she has uttered? Nay. Where there is blasphemy, there is punishment.”

 

Crack.

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