Chapter 2 – Chapter 2

Prince James saw them coming from a distance—Archdeacon Valera, backed up by a line of priests and soldiers—as he was slumped in a chair in a summer house in the castle gardens and Guarin was sitting, facing him, in his lap and riding his cock. The prince barely had time to push the bard off his lap and exit through the door at the back of the summer house before Valera was there, pointing an accusing finger at a dazed Guarin.

"Take that Jew in for inquisition," he demanded.

The young man was taken to the deep bowels of the castle, where Valera had had an inquisition torture chamber set up in one of the stone walled, floored, and ceilinged dungeons. Other moaning bodies were there on other racks when Guarin was stripped and bound to one. The rack was turned just one notch, to get Guarin's attention and assure him that Valera meant business.

The Inquisitor leaned in close to Guarin's panting face and, running his hand lovingly over the young man's beautiful body, whispered, "It would be a shame to ruin this fine young body of yours. I know that you are of Hebrew ancestry. But I don't care about that. You have only recently come to this court; you are not Spanish. You're French. You can as easily be expelled back to France. It would be a crime to break the bones of a perfect body like this. You just need to tell me who else at court is a hidden Jew. Your mistress, Margaret, perhaps?"

"No, no. I know of no one who is. And I'm not either. I am faithful to the Faith," Guarin cried out in fright. His mind was racing. Miguel? Had Miguel betrayed him? Father Mendoza had interrogated him on what he might have told Miguel. And he said that Miguel had a Jewish background. Could it have been Miguel who . . .?

But then he heard the cough and gag from a nearby rack and looked over at it. He recognized the priest, Tomás de Mendoza. The priest was here, and on a rack, and from observation, it was clear he'd been tortured, been put fully to the rack. Just as Guarin feared he was going to be. But he didn't know anything. He looked around madly for Miguel, but didn't see him. There were other men—and a few women—bound to various torture devices, though. But he couldn't see Miguel. He must be here, though. But as much as Guarin thought about it, he couldn't remember having told Miguel about his grandmother—or Miguel telling him anything about his own past, for that matter.

But he must be here.

The Inquisitor's bejeweled hand lingered over Guarin's pelvis and settled on the young man's cock, stroking it for a few moments lovingly. "Ah, perfection," he murmured. "It would be such a pity . . ."

"No, I know nothing about these matters," Guarin murmured, his voice shaking so hard he almost couldn't get the words out. "And, no, God help us, not the countess. She is as devout as they come. Her noble Catholic lineage is known by all."

The Inquisitor released Guarin's cock and ran the fingers of his hand up and down the line of the young bard's body—almost like he was worshipping the perfection that Guarin was, at least for now. The thought entered Guarin's mind at the intimacy of the priest's touch that maybe . . .

"Sir, I'll do anything for you not to put me to this torture. I'm simply a musician. I'm not involved in any scheming against the mother church. Where I come from, we are as Catholic as you are in Spain. I would never . . . and I don't know of anyone else . . . and I would do anything to please you. I have experience in pleasing a man."

"I am aware of that," Valera said dryly. "I know you would please a man who wished to take his pleasures from other men. The prince tells me what you do for him. His court priest has told me, with a bit of persuasion, what you do for him as well."

He stopped there. Guarin saw hope in that. He hadn't mentioned Miguel. Maybe Miguel wasn't here. It must have been Mendoza who denounced him.

"Please, Sir. I will give you pleasure as you have never known before."

"I think you have no idea what pleasures me." Valera gave Guarin a hard look and then stood and called for the guards. "Hang him from that device over there," he commanded, and the soldiers took Guarin off the rack and hung him, with his wrists bound, from the top of a pole that had a cross pieces with restraints on the ends. When Guarin was trussed up to the device, he was hanging from his wrists, but his legs were split in either direction a couple of feet off the ground and tied off at the ankles.

"Now you may go for a rest and not come back for an hour," Valera said to his attendants.

When the guards were gone, Valera stripped off his cassock and underclothes until he was naked. He had a powerful body—thick but not really fat. He also had a colossal erection.

Taking a whip, he laid into Guarin's back and legs, as the young man screamed from the pain—not as painful as if the priest had put the full power of his body behind the lashes, but painful enough to raise red welts on Guarin's tender body. All the time, the priest made the pretense of trying to get Guarin to provide the names of secret Jews at court. But both men knew, really, that the Inquisitor was more interested in his own sexual satisfaction and that his sexual satisfaction hinged on sexual torture.

After whipping Guarin for a short time, he saddled up behind the young man, ran his tongue over the welts on Guarin's back, kissing those and Guarin on the neck and then on the mouth when he'd turned the young man's face to his. He split Guarin's plump, reddened buttocks cheeks with his hard, thick cock and fucked him to a completion.

He was finished before the hour was up, but not really finished. He had his cassock back on when the guards reappeared and instructed them to take Guarin down and to bind him to a series of chains hanging from the ceiling. His wrists were bound over his head to one chain, and his legs were each bound, spread, and stretched parallel to the stone floor on other chains. When the guards were sent away for another hour, Valera stripped, pressed in between Guarin's spread legs, pulled the young man's channel onto his reengorged staff and fucked the musician again interminably to another ejaculation.

The Inquisitor took Guarin a third time that evening, from behind, with Guarin stretched over a saw horse device, with both arms and legs spread and secured at the base of the four legs of the device. By the time the priest was done, Guarin was nearly done as well—unconscious and breathing shallowly, almost not at all.

When the guards returned, Valera declared, "He is close to talking, but I do not have time tonight. Tomorrow he will talk and we will finish with him." They extinguished the torches in the dungeon and left the day's work in the dark. There were moans and groans revolving around the chamber—although there were more bodies on devices in the chamber than were able ever again to moan or groan. Guarin was one who still could.

Guarin regained consciousness in the night to the sensation of being unbound. There was a torch and he looked up and recognized the man freeing him.

"Miguel," he said. "You live."

"For now I do, and so do you," Miguel de Morillo whispered. "But we must be away from here—away from Aragon—away even from Spain if we want to continue to live. I have passage booked for this night on a ship in the harbor bound for France."

"You came for me."

"The booking is for two. I could not leave you. I cannot live without you."

As Guarin was freed and was hobbling away from the torture device, he suddenly said, "The court priest—Father Mendoza—he's here somewhere. He's—"

"Past saving. Past praying for even. He denounced us both. He is somewhere we can't touch him, answering for much. Come, we must go. The ship leaves on the morning tide."