Chapter 26: A Horrible Passing

Joseph continued his conversation with Liala and Octavia on lighter subjects than religion and justice. He tried in vain to keep from shifting his eyes from the bulges in Octavia’s dress to the ones in Liala’s tight tunic. He was gratified when Morane came into the room.

“I apologize, Sire,” the newly ordained bishop said, “but I require your time if you are available.”

Joseph made his excuses – and took another look at the female’s anatomy – before departing with Morane. They walked in silence until they reached Joseph’s study.

“The troops managed to secure the two nearest enclaves,” Morane said. “Thank you. I believe we will have much coin to distribute by the end of the year. Since the western enclave was destroyed, there is no need for a group there but it was my understanding that there are two more in Azkoval. With your permission, I would like to send a small group of soldiers to the south to take them. I will accompany them so they know it is an order from the church and not from the king.”

“I know of only one enclave left standing,” Joseph noted. “Rucar told me on our trip westward that the one to the southeast had already been destroyed. Perhaps you should confer with him when he returns before you start your trek.”

“I would prefer we wait for Empress Yana to return with horses,” Morane said. “Short of that, I fear it would be easier via ship but I doubt I can convince any of the soldiers to agree.”

“I think it would be easier to talk them onto a ship than onto a horse,” Joseph noted.

“Riding a horse is not difficult,” Morane said with a shrug. “It is a skill that can be learned while in transit. I believe once they see they are making the trip three times shorter, they will agree readily.”

“You have ridden a horse?” Joseph wondered.

“Oh, certainly,” Morane replied. “In my youth, before the fervor for Serrat claimed me, I pondered a life as a vaquero. In my homeland, that is a man who rides horses to farm or hunt. I was proficient but that was many, many years ago.”

“I had never heard of the practice until recently,” Joseph admitted. “Morane, I will leave the way you conduct church business to you. I will place 100 soldiers at your command. These will be men I trust, not raw recruits. You can count on them to do as you order.”

“Thank you, King Joseph,” Morane said, looking at his hands. “I am humbled. I will not need such a large force. I believe 25 will suffice and it will permit us to travel faster. My biggest fear is that word will reach the enclaves before I can and they will bolster their defenses or take hostages. I believe speed is more important than might in this instance.”

“It will be however you suggest,” Joseph told him. “Once you are ensconced and have men you trust working for you, I will renounce any oversight to the church. The Serratians are the only faith I oversee now – and that was only because Drell made Wilhelm the head of the organization in return for making Serrat the state religion. I will not continue that. I was clear about that, wasn’t I?”

“Absolutely and I agree,” Morane said. “Not about the need to relinquish your hold. You can maintain that without an argument from me if you desire. I was speaking solely of the need to eradicate any state-sponsorship of a single faith. Azkoval is too large ... too diverse ... for you to choose one over another. It would be no different from you making a decree that all windows must face northward. It might make sense in some cases but people know which way they want their windows to face. The window to the soul is no different. The direction it faces cannot be decreed from the outside.”

Joseph didn’t give much thought to the “window to the soul.” He just didn’t want to be the head of an organization he didn’t understand.

“Have you given much thought to how Drell will die?” Morane asked.

“Oh, I have given the matter a great deal of thought – beginning when I was nine years old,” Joseph related. “In my mind, I have seen him beheaded, drowned, set afire, shot in the eye with a crossbow bolt. So, yes, it has been something I’ve considered.”

“I was speaking about the time at hand,” Morane said. “I have a suggestion if you will permit me.”

“Of course,” Joseph replied. “I hope you will always feel free to speak your mind to me. I might not always agree with you – or even like what you’re telling me – but I will always know the words you say are what you believe. There will never be a reprisal.”

“I understand that,” the bishop replied with a smile. “I was more worried that you already had your mind set on a way and would rather I keep silent.”

“I was going to go for the straight beheading but I’m open to suggestions,” Joseph told him.

“In our ancient texts, it is proscribed that heretics – those who corrupt Serrat’s teachings – are stoned to death,” Morane explained. “I would like for you to consider this method ... as a warning to those who in the future choose the path Drell has taken.”

Joseph looked across the desk with a raised eyebrow.

“That seems like...” he began as he searched for the words he wished to use, “a remarkably inefficient way to achieve our goal.”

“Why do you say that?” Morane asked. To him, it sounded like a perfectly horrible way to die.

“You say he is stoned to death?” Joseph asked.

“Indeed,” Morane agreed with a nod.

“People throw rocks at him until he is dead,” Joseph said. “That could take generations!”

“No, no,” Morane cut in. “You misunderstand. He would be staked to a piece of wood much like this desktop with large nails through his hands and feet. The wood is placed on the ground. Then a series of large flat stones are set atop him until he is crushed to death.”

Joseph blinked and shook his head. In all of his wildest dreams of killing Drell, he had come up with nothing like this.

“Your texts suggest this punishment?” he asked a bit incredulously.

“It is how Serrat was killed,” Morane told him.

“And that means it should be used for others?” Joseph wondered.

“I’m sorry, again, you don’t understand my references,” Serrat told him apologetically. “Serrat was murdered while spreading his gospel. A heathen horde captured him, staked him to the ground and put stones atop him. They said they would stop if he renounced his religion and endorsed anarchy. He refused and he was killed. They dragged his body to the river and threw him in. Five days later, he emerged from the water whole. His faith had sustained him. Serrat emerged on the longest day of the year. It is why we celebrate the solstice as we do. If Drell is correct ... if he was truly acting as Serrat’s procurator ... he will emerge from the ocean in five days. I do not believe there is much a risk of that transpiring.”

“No,” Joseph agreed. “You believe it will help convince the Serratians who followed his teachings that he was misguiding them?”

“I believe it will,” Morane said with a nod. “The story of Serrat’s execution and resurrection is one that every Serratian knows by heart. By punishing Drell in the same manner as Serrat, it will show them – without a shred of uncertainty – that he does not walk a path Serrat set forth for him.”

Joseph turned away to look out a window at the ocean and expelled his breath noisily. He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully when he turned to face Bishop Morane.

“You do understand that if I were to do that to you, you would be just as dead as Drell, correct?” Joseph pointed out. “I believe you follow Serrat’s word as closely as anyone but being faithful alone will not stop you from being crushed to death.”

“I know that,” Morane said. “However, I also fully accept that I am not Serrat or even a messenger of his. I am a man who teaches the same things he taught. I pray to Serrat. I speak to Serrat. Many people of varying religions speak to their deity. The main difference between Drell and me is that I know that Serrat will not speak back. That is what separates the devout from the fanatical. I am not insane. I am not corrupt. I am pious.”

Joseph considered the words Morane had imparted.

“If you believe this is the best way to get your message across, I will order it done as your texts proscribe,” he decided. “Please let me or Choran know what we need to do.”

“Thank you, Sire,” Bishop Morane said as he stood. He gave Joseph a warm smile. “I will leave so that you may return to the young ladies who vie for your attention. It is a shame I shall be gone during the warmest months. I wonder if the young Marindar woman will wear clothing at all – and I’m positive her counterpart from Troyvet will dress just the same.”

“Don’t forget who still leads your church for the time being,” Joseph replied with a laugh. “If you’re not careful, I will order you to take them with you. Think about how your congregation will react to those two leading the charge.”

“Do you speak of the two women or of the pale one’s impressive mammaries?” Morane shot back. “Either way, the response would not be positive. I will keep my comments to myself about this matter.”

He smiled again and departed Joseph’s study.

Genrico and his entourage arrived back in Tyrell in time to witness the execution of Drell, the defrocked, ex-communicated former bishop.

Julia almost wished they had arrived a day later.

She watched with her sister and Genrico as the man was dragged from the castle by two large soldiers. They held the man’s right hand against an upright wagon with no wheels and a man in a hood drove a stake through it.

Drell screamed and shook his head from side to side. Blood flowed down the wagon and pooled at the ground.

“What are they doing?” Julia asked, aghast at what she was witnessing.

“I don’t know,” Genrico admitted. “I’ve been with you and your family for several weeks. Remember?”

Julia nodded absently as the soldiers repeated the actions on the man’s left hand. It took three soldiers to hold the man’s legs. He was kicking and flailing with all of his might but passed into unconsciousness as a wooden post was driven through his ankle to anchor him to the wood. The last stake was done almost effortlessly.

When the man was secured to the wagon, the hooded man picked up a leather strap that was already nailed at one end. He pulled it tight around Drell’s middle and secured it with a nail. With that accomplished, someone kicked the slats that held the wagon upright and it crashed to the ground.

Dust flew up and hid Drell from view until it settled. Drell never moved a muscle and Julia wondered if the man was already dead. To make sure he wasn’t, the hooded man dumped a bucket of water over the fallen priest. He awakened with a fresh scream.

Jonathan Burbridge stood on the dais, flanked by Elena and Joseph. Julia looked and saw Octavia and Liala standing off to the side, not on the dais but right next to it. Both were dressed demurely, much to Julia’s surprise. She figured that with the every person within two day’s walk of the capital inside, Octavia would probably be naked to her waist.

“Drell of Davron, you have been found guilty of murder, rape, treason and other crimes against nature and Azkoval,” Jonathan said in a loud voice. “Your sentence is death by stoning, as proscribed in the ancient texts of your former church. Do you have any last words?”

Of course the man had no last words, Julia thought, he has been crucified to a wagon and had lost most of his blood in the process.

“What’s stoning?” she asked Genrico.

“I have no idea,” he said. He had seen some appalling things in his life but even his face was white at what he was witnessing. “Whatever it is, it is nasty business!”

“Agreed,” Victoria said. She clutched his arm tightly and regretted not joining her mother in passing up the chance to watch an execution.

“Gods above,” Genrico said. He pointed without really thinking about it when he saw 10 stout men lifting a huge flat stone with ropes and boards.

“By all the gods above!” Julia muttered. She watched, her mouth open, as the men carried it across and lowered it onto Drell’s screaming form. It covered him from his shoulders to his feet, leaving only his head visible.

Those closest to the scene turned away at the sound. The heavy stone pressed down on Drell’s sternum, slowly crushing his ribs. One of the rib fragments must have punctured a lung because the next scream was accompanied by bloody foam that sprayed out of Drell’s mouth.

It was the last sound the former priest made. As the men let the stone down farther, the man’s movement ceased. Blood came out of the man’s eyes and ears. The end of Drell’s screams allowed everyone nearby to hear the final bones snap.

Jonathan gave a nod and the men began to lift the rock off the dead man. One slipped slightly in the blood and an end of the stone fell back down, shattering more bones in the priest’s recumbent form.

Several people wretched into the dirt, unable to bear the horrible spectacle they had been so interested in witnessing when the day began.

Julia felt tears in her eyes and shook her head to clear them. She looked up when Morane took Jonathan’s place on the dais.

“Citizens of Azkoval,” he said in a voice that boomed over the hushed silence the execution had caused. “What you have witnessed is the death of a heretic. In the ancient texts of the Most Holy Church of Serrat, it is written that the only true way to judge a person’s heresy is by stoning. Drell’s body will be thrown into the sea. If he is true in his beliefs ... if he truly was holding Serrat’s hand when he committed his atrocities ... he will return from the sea in five days. This is how Serrat proved his dedication, for those who do not know.”

There were more whispers through the crowd.

“I ordered this execution over King Joseph’s objections,” Morane continued. “As High Bishop of the Most Holy Church of Serrat, it is my duty to root out those who offer false prophecies. The men who insist upon desecrating the name of Serrat will be punished the same way unless they confess their sins and repent. Let word go forth ... there will be no tolerance for those who use the church for their own gain.”

Julia was shaking her head in amazement. The brutality she had seen had left her speechless. She couldn’t believe that Joseph had watched the event with barely a facial twitch. Jonathan and Elena had been just as devoid of emotion.

“That was the worst thing I’ve ever seen,” Victoria said in a small voice.

“I think that was the point,” Genrico replied. “Let us wait until we hear what transpired at the trial before we make a judgment on today’s actions.”

“I would have to hear something unbelievable before I can justify this in my mind,” Julia said. “I will never forget this as long as I live.”

The solemnity of the capital lasted only until lunch. Perhaps the citizens were buoyed by the memories of friends and loved ones who had fallen victim to the depravity of the castle.

Indeed, one woman broke through the line of soldiers that surrounded the procession leading the corpse to the sea and spat on the body. She kicked at him feebly as a soldier grabbed her around the waist.

As the week progressed, Julia seemed out of sorts. Genrico had explained the situation to Victoria and she accepted it without question.

Amelia had accepted that King Joseph had done what he thought best and let it go. Only Julia continued to question the execution.