1.2

- But they are cold, - said the second slyly, named his curious comrade Giles. Let's warm them up.

         He picked up a burning torch nearby and threw it into a pile of bodies. Frozen clothes slowly settled in. The rest of the soldiers rushed to the other torches. And soon, spreading the stench and the smell of burnt flesh, a bright fire blazed. Occupied with maintaining it, they did not notice how a black shadow rushed from the other end of it and disappeared in dense bushes of nettles, thistles and thistles. The rest of the soldiers also awoke. Exchanging jokes over the fire for some time, the soldiers wandered into the monastery building, where, if there is no special heat, there are walls, a roof and a fireplace. Not to mention wine cellars. In the monastery of Saint-Catherine, weak wine was made, which, although not in great demand, brought income.

         When the conversations of the soldiers died down, and the silence of the night was interrupted only by the crackling of a fire and the cries of birds in the sky, a vision appeared from the thistle bushes. A terrible black woman in smoking clothes and with blackened stumps for arms, staggering from loss of blood, approached the fire, which was still licking naked flesh. For a while she looked at the fire, then she began to read a prayer. Suddenly she turned sharply. Not far from the cesspool, near the wall where the sewage drain from the monastery was located, a small shadow appeared. After standing for a while, the shadow moved towards the woman.

- Who are you? she asked hoarsely.

I am Joes, servant of the abbot, - the shadow murmured in a barely audible voice in a childish voice.

What are you doing here? Why didn't you run away?

All exits are locked, and the soldiers could see me, - the boy's voice was interrupted.

         The woman wanted to say something else, but lowering her eyes, she saw in the boy's hands a whitening piece of parchment and a strange structure made of a narrow black rod lined with chopsticks.

What is this? she asked.

         The boy dropped his eyes to his hands.

I wrote. I wrote everything down. What was here. And this, - the boy raised the construction to his eyes. The sticks were wrapped in rope. - This is a pencil. It was invented by Father Gilbert. The pen must be constantly dipped in ink, and the pencil can be written much longer. And you don't have to carry an ink utensil with you. Only a penknife. Father Gilbert himself gave me this pencil, - Then suddenly the boy remembered that Father Gilbert Orsi was hanging on the cross, and the crows pecked his flesh with a loud cawing. Tears ran down his cheeks, and his body shook with sobs.

Quiet! the woman shouted in a whisper. “Now is not the time to cry. Tear off a piece of your clothes and bandage my hands, or all the blood will flow out of me. Although I burned them, an extra precaution would not hurt. The boy gave her a frightened look, but tore off a narrow strip from his cassock and tied the woman's arms to stop the blood. From weakness, the woman sat down. "Keep everything you wrote down," she finally said. - In the library, to the left of the fireplace, there is a door to a secret room. There the Mother Superior hid the most valuable things and books. The lever is a ring on the side of the fireplace. Pull it and at the same time step on the second slab from the wall. Then the door will open. Hurry up. I don't have long left. And we must also bury Father Gilbert. And after ... - the woman's eyes sparkled. “Later I will show them the wrath of the Lord,” she whispered. - Go. Faster.

         She pushed the boy in the back with her stump, and the frightened child, entangled in the folds of the novice's long clothes, ran to the cells. The woman hesitated, went to the utility rooms. At the entrance to the wine cellar, she stopped. The vigorous snoring of several people sounded like heavenly music to her. So Sister Louise had time to fill the barrels with sleepy grass. The woman crossed herself with a stump. How wise Mother Superior was. A secluded nunnery should not have armed guards. Otherwise, it will turn into an abode of debauchery. But he must protect himself. However, high and strong walls, narrow and winding passages did not save the brides of Christ. They did not even have time to use the gunpowder, which was in the next room with wine barrels. When Bertrand de Gos, known for his atrocities, knocked on the gate, and most importantly, treacherous murder of the husband of his mistress, Catherine le Mouy, and demanded to marry him on church land, the mother superior did not want to let him in. She heard too much about him. Many peasants came to the monastery without arms, legs, ears, beaten and burned. Few women managed to escape from his hands and from the hands of his devilish girlfriend. And those who escaped told such horrors that the events of the Hundred Years War and the Jacquerie again rose before their eyes as real. Impaled children, legs, breasts, heads hung on trees, open bellies, ruined graves and buried alive in them - all this gave no reason to doubt that Bloody Bertrand would show respect to a lonely monastery. However, Bertrand de Gault had a trump card - Father Gilbert, abbot of the monastery of St. Charles, closest to Saint-Catherine. Already a half-blind old man, in his life he had not even offended a cockroach, never raised his voice and had no habit of condemning anyone, called a saint by the whole neighborhood, was put up bound in front of the gates of the monastery. A little boy, tied to him with a rope around his neck, the same Joes who ran to the library to hide his description of the horrors that occurred some two hours after his arrival, clung to the tattered cassock of his father rector as his only salvation. The crossbows pointed at them made the Mother Superior's heart tremble. She could not allow the old man and the child to be killed because of her refusal, and ordered the gates to be opened. However, before that, she ordered to pour sleepy grass into each barrel of wine, and hide everything more or less valuable in a secret room. When this was done, she ordered the gates to be opened, and the nuns to lock themselves in their cells. Too bad she didn't think to light the gunpowder. All the same, no one left Bertrand's hands intact. And so it would be a glorious revenge on this bloodthirsty beast. However, as soon as the wedding ceremony was completed, the bacchanalia began. As if obeying an invisible order, the soldiers scattered around the monastery. The doors of the cells could not withstand heavy axes and swords. Many nuns themselves opened them, hoping to soften their hearts with prayers. Sister Charlotte, the illegitimate daughter of a knight and nurse, who lived in the monastery not too long ago, however, having seen a lot in the world and expelled for adultery, did not open the door. When she crumbled under the blows of three swords, Sister Charlotte stood in the middle of the cell, clutching a dagger in her hands. And before the first of the intruders dared to tear off her veil, she killed him with a precise blow to the heart. The others were so enraged that they did not begin to pull her out of the cell, but threw her on the bed right there and both fell at once. While one held her hands, and the second sat on her legs and unbuttoned his pants, several more people came running. How many there were and how long the violence continued, Sister Charlotte could not say. She woke up already in the courtyard in the dark, when the noise slowly began to subside. She woke up. And the others were dead. A strong blow to the head when she bit the cock of one of the soldiers who wanted to try the "barbarian kiss" briefly knocked her out of her mind. And when she saw her sisters, whom the soldier smelling of sweat demanded to be carried to the cesspool, she decided to take revenge. She did not know how, and therefore, when, staggering from fatigue, beatings and violence, she fell for the last time, and an angry soldier cut off her hands, she decided to pretend to be dead. They forgot about her and left to lie with the rest of the dead. She, having rolled out of the fire and managed to burn her crippled hands and not scream at the same time, remained alive. Sleep grass worked. Now, even if you hit on the cheeks and stab soldiers in the ribs, they will not wake up. When Joes returns, they will stuff everyone into a cellar with barrels of wine and set it on fire. Gunpowder, resin and oil, which remained there for no reason, will help them. But first you need to bury the abbot.

 Sister Charlotte hobbled to the cross. With no more arms, she could not cut down the cross to remove the body. She began to swing his stumps. The cross stood like a glove. At this time, Joes appeared. He was pulling a ladder twice his size.

She won't help us. If you can pull out the nails, you won't be able to hold the body," Sister Charlotte said. “Take a sword and a firebrand. On the one hand, cut with a sword, on the other, let the fire burn.

         The boy nodded. He went to the cesspool, where the fire was still burning, and, crossing himself, took the first unextinguished torch. On the way back, he picked up a sword thrown by some negligent soldier. Then for a long time the two of them tried to bring down the cross. The boy was chopping, the woman was swinging the cross. Finally, with a loud creak, the cross fell.

“Take two daggers like scissors and pull out the nails,” said Sister Charlotte. The boy nodded, and in the pale dusk of dawn, among the scattered swords, shields and crossbows, he began to look for daggers that could be used as pincers. The woman, meanwhile, tried to hold the sword with her stumps in order to use it as a shovel. Nothing worked for her: the sword constantly slipped out of her hands. In addition, a large loss of blood made itself felt. The boy, tired of fighting with nails that were rebellious to swords, crossed himself and grabbed them with his teeth. Reading a prayer to himself and trying not to look at the terrible wound between the abbot's legs, he dragged and dragged nail after nail until, finally, he pulled everything out. He untied the ropes holding his arms and looked back at the woman. She sat wrapped in the remains of her clothes. The boy walked up to her and touched her on the shoulder. The woman hardly opened her eyes.

- I'm dying. And there's still a lot left to do," she said in a weak voice. – What were you doing here? Why did you go with Father Gilbert?

- I wanted to be like him. I wanted to become a priest, the boy said.

- And now?

- Now? Now I don't know. Now I want to become a squire, and then a knight. To find Baron Bertrand de Go and fight him. To kill him. For myself, for Father Gilbert, for you and for your sisters.

- For myself? What did they do to you?

         The boy lowered his head.

- They ... they forced me ... they used me, as Edward the Second used his favorites.

- Sodomized?

- Yes ... They forced them to give them a "barbaric kiss." They made me touch their loins with my hands. They wanted me to urinate on the cross and lie down with a nun in front of them. And when I refused, they stabbed me ... in the ass, well ... there ... the shaft of the spear. And then they beat me. Every now and again. In turn.

         The woman looked at this little boy. She guessed about the stains on his clothes. Now she is very sorry that life is leaving her. She could prolong the agony of the tormentors.

         The boy wiped away his tears with the sleeve of his robe, smearing the dirt over his already grubby face.

"Help me up," Sister Charlotte said. The boy reached out his hand to her and grabbed her by the elbow. – Can you do it here? The boy nodded. "Then I'll do the rest."

         She, swaying, went to the cesspool, where the last torch was still burning down.

"Bury him," she said without looking back. “And pray for me.

         Lifting the torch, which seemed to weigh at least a ton, with difficulty, she gripped it tightly with her stumps. Stopping every minute, she went to the wine cellars.

         The boy looked after her. He wanted to say something, but decided to finish the job first. He walked around the monastery cemetery, hoping to find a dug grave. However, there were no dug out, but he found a sagging one. Clumsily using a heavy sword and helping himself with his hands, he dug a hole large enough to bury a man. With difficulty dragging the body of the abbot, he threw the corpse into a pit and began to cover it with earth. When the corpse disappeared, the boy carefully trampled the ground, so that the Baron de Gau and his soldiers would not tear it up and abuse the corpse.

         Sister Charlotte meanwhile descended into the basement, leaning against the walls. She would gladly sit on the steps, but then she could simply not get up from them, so she drove away the saving thought. The torch interfered with her and strove to burn her face and hair. Finally, she reached the oak door, which, fortunately, was not locked. Trying not to snuff out the torch, she placed it carefully on the barrel. Then, after resting again, she began to drag with her stumps by the head and legs and with her teeth by the clothes of the soldiers lying on the stairs and in the corridor, to the barrels. After dumping everyone in the center of the basement, she pulled out several bottles and smashed them near the sleeping bodies. Wine splattered everywhere. Sister Charlotte took out more and more bottles. Finally, when the sleeping soldiers, the floor and the barrels around were thoroughly flooded with wine, Sister Charlotte decided to rest.

- Dagger with you? asked Sister Charlotte breathlessly. The boy, looking wide-eyed at the wet soldiers, nodded. “Poke holes in a few barrels to be sure.

- But this is ... murder! he whispered in dismay.

- Turning away from us and this place, God gave us the right to decide for ourselves. I decided to kill them. Better them than they will still kill and torture other people. They will not stop themselves, but how many lives we will save.