Chapter 3

I

La Trappe, 1460

Considering what was to come afterwards, the first period directly after Lucifer's revelation could be considered to be quite tame. Of course, his Cistercian brothers were not particularly charmed by his new ways. The novice had started to steal food from the kitchen, did not share or participate in any of the communal activities, skipped every mass, and neglected his chores, in that he really did not bother doing any of them at all. Although his behavior sparked outrage and calls for punishment, it remained difficult for the monks to correct their youngest recruit, particularly since scolding in silence was never going to be very effective for someone like Lucifer, who simply ignored them and looked the other way. Physical punishment was also out of the question. If one of the brethren so much as waved a cane at him, he snatched it away from his attacker and used it to give the other a good thrashing on the backside before sending him out with his buttocks inflamed. These actions soon ensured that nobody in the monastery dared to even wag a finger in his direction. The fallen angel could just continue to go wherever and do whatever he pleased.

For the first couple of years, this sort of life suited Lucifer rather well. He busied himself with seducing the finer specimen of the religious clique, taking a string of lovers for his pleasure. His current incarnation was not particularly handsome, at least not in the traditional angelic sort of way, but he had a manner of composing himself, a way of movement, that the mortals found irresistible. A flutter of his hooded eyelids, a lingering stare, or the shadow of a smile that played in the corners of his lips could seduce and lure even the most god-fearing man into his bedchamber. He particular enjoyed the smoothness of the virginal bodies of the younger men, who stiffened under his first touch, but melted like butter when he entered them, a beautiful softening of limbs and flesh, while his hands burnt hot on their clenching buttocks.

He also loved the way they repented afterward. All lamenting tears for their forbidden transgressions. Too ashamed to even pray to his father for forgiveness. Often, the psychological torment became so great that they began to harm themselves. They transformed into a scarred mess, the products of self-flagellation, exhibiting such exquisite fragility that it made Lucifer desire them even more, and what he wants, he always gets. This destructive cycle continued until his victims became so mad with repentance that they actively started to seek self-destruction, at which point Lucifer would simply move on to his next target, finding this particular phase in the relationship more bothersome than enjoyable and rather dull.

The cemetery outside the monastery (suicides were not allowed to be buried in holy ground) was almost bursting with the many corpses of these failed monks, when Lucifer finally decided that he had enough.

Oh it wasn't so much that he had gotten tired of shagging naive religious souls, but surely his newly acquired freedom had to be more meaningful than just these daily tumbles between the bed sheets. The real problem with being free, he mused, was that there were so many different possibilities, so many options available to him now, but no one reliable to tell him which goal was best and most meaningful to pursuit. Once, all he had to do was to follow the orders of his father, and later during the rebellion, it was his own boundless ambitions that guided his actions. Once incarcerated, the task at hand was plainly to not go mad and figure out a way to escape his horrible prison. But now…what should he aim for now?

What else was there to do except for pestering these beautiful misguided idiots?

The thought that he should venture out and go look for Clemens came up in his mind. Only, to what purpose? True, his dark winged brother had been responsible for his accidental release, but if Clemens was still alive, no doubt the other hosts would have talked him into doing the noble thing by now, which was to come to earth and find Lucifer to atone for his sins. Seeking out "the caring one" was basically an invitation to get himself locked up again inside that cursed box. Not much of a fun prospect, considering that eternity was a frightening long time to spend in solitary confinement.

No…there must be more purpose to his current existence than playing the prey to be hunted down by his heavenly brothers.

The answer to his existential crisis came to him one day when he was going through the many books that were at his disposal in the monastery's library.

Lucifer loved to read. The thick mildewed volumes he found on the shelves of the ancient vaulted chambers were an excellent source, providing him insight into the collective mind of mankind. Before he came to earth, he had little interest in the lives of these mortals. Now that he was forced to live among them, and experienced their messy whirlwind of emotions at first hand, he could not help himself from being strangely captivated by it.

He wanted to understand them. He wanted to know what made them do the things they did.

Unsurprisingly, works of history were his favorite, but he also read many religious texts, except for the bible. He deliberately did not read the bible, for he remembered having read the whole thing from cover to cover multiple times when he was still the enthusiastic novice from before his revelation. He had more than enough of it.

The other writings mainly provided him with a form of light entertainment, for he could not believe how much nonsense had been written on the subjects of god, angels and heaven alone. Most of these accounts appeared so comical, and were frequently so outright wrong in interpretation that he often found himself laughing out loud with tears of mirth rolling down his cheeks while the other monks gave him the most disapproving looks.

It was however, in these same religious books that he finally found his calling.

When at first, Lucifer came across an extensive description of hell in a 11th century text from a long dead author, the text had amused and stupefied him as much as a donkey's ass that shot out golden coins would a crowd of beggars.

The fact was, the humans absolutely did not understand their god. His father had too much love for his creations, and his mercy was too boundless to ever be capable to create such a horrible place to punish them. It was men alone who had dreamed up this nightmare realm of eternal torment, possibly only with the intention to scare his fellow humans into religious submission.

In truth, when mortals died, they went to rest in a dreamless sleep. All right, some who were particularly restless or vengeful might remain on earth as ghosts, but there was no judgment on their lives in the spirit world that would determine the final destination.

Or more simply put, there was no hell. It didn't exist.

But, as the days progressed and he learned more about this subject in other texts, Lucifer started to wonder, why shouldn't it exist?

He started to play with the idea of such a place. Following the popular narrative, he was the ruler of hell, its true lord and master. The notion of gathering souls into a realm between realities and occupying it with fallen angels, which the mortals called demons, to act out punishments on these deceased sinners, slowly grew on him.

The way he saw it, the devil had a true purpose in hell. He was there to facilitate the deceased in their afterlives, to give these poor lost things a chance to torture, maim and starve themselves towards salvation. To burn and purge their sins away so that they would learn to forgive themselves, and finally find inner peace.

If anything his prolonged imprisonment had taught him, it was that without darkness, there was no true appreciation for the splendor of light.

So could there be a more divine and honorable purpose for him than to become the creator and ruler of hell?

It took a few months for this provocative idea to seed, ripen and to bear fruit. When he finally decided to go through with it and to leave the monastery in pursuit of his ambition, he had his entire plan in place.

He was exceptionally cheerful and felt very excited the day he packed his bags and stepped through the monastery's gates, never to return. A grand vision had unfolded in front of Lucifer's eyes. One in which he had finally found a reason for his existence.

He finally understood that his destiny was not to be under the rule of god, but to be the master of a domain that was parallel to his father's creation.

As the church bells of the monastery rang again to summon the others to mass, Lucifer hastened his pace and took to the winding road that led to the French coast.

II

I was cornered in a dead end of the hidden palace tunnels with the king's guard fast approaching when I picked up the soft murmur of streaming water, coming from below my feet. Hope rekindled, I lowered myself and pressed my ear against the ground. For a moment, the only sound I heard was my own mad thumping heart, but then, it returned, the sound of splashing water rushing over wet stones.

They didn't block the sewer exit. They had moved it underground.

I beckoned my nephew to come closer so he could shine his light over the damp floor. While the heavy footsteps of the armed guards echoed down the tunnel towards us, I rushed to swipe clean the muddy surface, and soon revealed a wooden lid that closed off the entrance to the sewers below. There was no handle for lifting, and the gap between the lid and the stone border was too narrow for my fingers to get a good grip. Then I remembered my sword. I stuck it in the narrow gap and used it as a leverage to lift up the heavy structure. It worked, and a deep dark opening was revealed. It seemed to be absolutely bottomless. Holding in my breath, I jumped into the pit, just when the first men came close and struck out with their lances.

Many feet below, I dropped into a stream of stinking sludge and was immediately swept away by a fast current. It carried me, half drowning and struggling to stay afloat, out of the dark tunnels and into the wide waters of the river Thames.

III

A hesitant whisper. "Is he dead?"

"How should I know? He certainly looks dead." A kick in the side followed, stirring me awake. I coughed and retched up the dirty water that was locked in my lungs. Gasping for air, my eyes opened and blinked at the harsh light that seemed to engulf the entire world. I was half expecting that my two dead nephews were meddling with my mind again. Instead, the pockmarked face of a middle-aged greybeard was staring down at me. I found myself washed up at the muddy banks of the Thames, seagulls and crows circling high above my head.

"Oy, not dead then."

Alarmed, I reached for my sword, but before I could take it, the pockmarked man stepped on my hand. "Feisty one, considering he must have swallowed up half of the Thames." He remarked, and grinning, he leaned forward, steadily putting on more pressure till my fingerbones cracked like dry twigs under his boot. I let out an anguished cry.

"God, look at him!" His companion was gaping at my withered limb. "It's like his arm has been gnawed at by rats." Broader than he was tall, with a dull look in his eyes, thick meaty lips, and a neck the size of that of an ox, the man was an walking example of what the human species could be like if we would all marry our cousins for generations without end. Why he fretted so much about this poor washed up freak of nature who would probably never produce a living descendant, was beyond my comprehension. The fault of our inevitable decline was obviously not mine.

The brute stole my sword and handed it over to the greybeard.

"Diseased little bugger." Greybeard muttered, and kicked me again in the stomach. As I retched up more water and struggled to turn on my belly in anticipation of another painful blow, he used my sword to cut open my tattered shirt, revealing my deformities.

"You're a real monster, aren't you?" The greybeard gasped, taking in the lump on my back with more amazement than actual shock. "And I thought we were lucky today to stumble upon a rich corpse."

Meanwhile, his companion was visibly more repulsed by the sight. He spat on the muddy ground while he hurriedly made a cross sign to ward off whatever evil he thought he must fend off.

Greybeard knelt down to take a better look at my deformed back, strangely fascinated by this cruel joke of nature that had marked me my entire life.

"Unfortunately, all you have with you that is of any value is this rusty old sword. Also, you have proven to be not much of a corpse." He said. The way he scrutinized me as if I was a rare specimen to an eager collector of dead things was frightening. I could see by the deep wrinkles on his forehead that the wheels inside were spinning.

"Now normally," He continued in the most casual of tones. "under these circumstances, my companion and I just act like good Christians. We dispatch the poor buggers before they can run off to the city guards and get us into all sorts of trouble."

He pointed the blade at the ugly protrusions at the side of my ribcage, and trailed it down over the whole length of my wretched arm. "This time however, I think we should rather keep you alive." It was obvious that Greybeard was the brains of this illustrious pair, and he certainly had something sinister for me in mind. He flashed me a grin that made my blood run cold before he turned to his companion.

"Audemar, could you lend me a hand?"

The other man quickly approached with a set of rusty chains and cuffs that jangled in his shovel-like hands. Realizing what they were about to do, I fought to get free, only to receive several blows on my head that painfully splintered the cartilage in my nose and sent my vision into a violent spin. Too dazed to fight back any longer, I let them put the cuffs around my wrists and drag me to the back of their cart.

"Are you sure about this?" Audemar inquired. "One look at him and the little ones are going to wet themselves. Their mothers are going to complain."

"Look, if he doesn't make us any coins, we slit his throat and dump him back in the river." Greybeard replied while he helped hoisting me up the vehicle. It wasn't easy, with me being reduced by their violence to a strengthless tangle of heavy limbs. He secured my chains to a bolt lodged in the side of the wagon, and from that miserable moment onwards, I was their prisoner.

"Don't worry, we are not going to waste good bread on him if he doesn't earn his keep." Greybeard added, before he climbed onto the front seat of the double horse span.

"Ha! That's what you said last time we had that stupid dwarf." Audemar commented as he sat himself next to Greybeard.

"Dwarfs are common." Greybeard scoffed. "You can find them in any brothel and alehouse. Cheap thrills for a bit of loose change, that is all what you get for them nowadays. No, this one is different." Greybeard looked at me, cowering in the corner in the back of his wagon. He flashed me a toothy grin.

"Besides, entertaining peasants was not exactly what I had in mind for him."

Taking hold of the reigns, Audemar struck the horses, and the whole dammed vehicle started to move.

IV

The stagnant air in the fighting pit was thick with the stench of piss and sweat.

I was dragged out into the open circular area by the chains fastened onto the iron dog collar around my neck. The straw on the floor was so wet with blood, vomit and whatever a living creature could possibly excrete in times of severe stress that I almost lost my footing. Above me came the loud jeers of a drunken, blood thirsty crowd. Lord Northumberland's men were merrily wasting away their pay on ale and whores, and were in much need of good entertainment. Stark against the grey northern sky, the proud banners of Bamburgh castle fluttered against the chilly wind.

"Look at that ugly bastard!" One of the men yelled, pointing at me and looking up at Greybeard and Audemar, who I found standing amidst the packed group of spectators. "Where did you get that monster from? Did you cut it out of the womb of a whore who had been ravaged by a deformed hog?" The crowd burst into boisterous laughter. To rejoice the punch line, some of them flung their empty goblets down into the pit, aiming straight for my head.

"Watch out hog breed!" They were so kind to inform me. "The kennel master's dogs are starving! They are going to rip you apart! They are going to enjoy hunting you down!"

Pressing my back against the wall, I watched with dread how two hounds, both the size of grown wolfs, threw themselves on a dying dog. The largest bit down hard on the dog's belly, spilling out the pink curly guts. Drops of blood were flung in the air as the attacker shook its victim violently. The other monstrous canine, taking hold of the jaw, attacked with such rage that he ripped it clean from the other dog's skull. The crunch of canine bones between the sharp teeth turned up bile from my stomach. I bend over and heaved dryly while the circle of drunkards above cheered at the sight of this bloody spectacle.

Winners were proclaimed and coins were exchanged. Most of it ended up in the kennel master's greedy hand.

"Come on!" The excited crowd yelled. "Get rid of it! Get on with the next fight!"

Four men were needed to pull back the two murderous hounds and drag them off stage by their chains. Whatever remained of the dead dog was taken away from the pit as well, leaving the starving beasts hungry for their next meal.

"Get him closer! Bring him to the center of the pit. The men on this side can't see a thing!" The kennel master shouted, keen to make a good show out of it.

Greybeard, who was standing on one side of the circular pit, jerked hard on the end my chains. I clumsily stumbled forward like a newborn fawn, falling over myself and landing hard on my hands and knees. With long strands of lice infested hair dangling in front of my eyes, I did not see that one of the beasts had already launched itself at me. It grabbed my leg and pulled me away over the wet straw, his teeth sinking all the way down into bone. Crying out in agony, and acting on mindless instincts, I kicked the beast in its belly, sending it flying backwards. As I trashed away from the snapping teeth of the other hound, Audemar pulled on the other end of my chains till the strain allowed me no more movement in any direction.

No more hiding and cowering. This was the end. These beasts were going to eat me alive. They were going to tear me apart, just like they did with the other dog. After all this was over, there would only be bits and pieces of me left, stuck between these rows of triangular teeth, rotting away inside their stinking mauls.

When both hounds we set lose from their chains, I hunched down, terrified.

What if they bit me in the face? Crushed my jaw and tore it from my skull, could I still scream? Could you even make a sound without a lower jaw? Wasn't the tongue attached to it? I tried to hold up my good arm to shield off my face, and turned my stomach away from their ferocious attacks. The larger hound grabbed my arm and cut it open with its razor teeth.

The second went for the deformed lump on my back, and I could just imagine, seeing it so vividly in my mind's eye, the animal tearing at it with its claws and teeth, stripping away the flesh till the white of my rib bones shone through.

"Come on then you coward, get up! Get up, and fight you deformed hog! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!"

During that cheery chanting, another goblet was flung at me and landed within my reach. I grabbed it with my shriveled hand and smashed it into pieces on the skull of the hound that clung onto my other arm. Surprised by the suddenness of the attack, it let go with an angry howl. With both my hands now free, I grabbed the chains of the smaller hound that had dug its claws into my back. I wrapped it around its short sinewy neck and tightened it, praying to all the angels and saints and God above, that it would soon choke to death.

Meanwhile, the first dog was coming back. Its white-rimmed eyes were glazed over with a mad ferocity. Just when it launched itself, I managed to get the smaller one off my back and swung it by the chains at the other canine. The two beasts crashed into each other and landed on their backs with their paws in the air.

The crowd went wild. From their view, it was pure comedy.

The larger dog was about to roll back up, but I was faster on my feet. I picked up a piece of broken shard and stabbed it into the beast's maul. It punctured the roof of its mouth, and sent the dog howling as it crawled away in agony.

The other one was still lying on the ground. Maddened, pained, deranged with fear, I sank my teeth into its throat and ripped through its jugular before it could rip through mine. As I tore away strips of flesh, blood pumped out like a fountain. It painted a crimson mask on face, and turned me into a savage beast while I continued to tear the animal apart, filling myself with soft mouthfuls of chewiness while I savored the warm metallic tang on my tongue.

It wasn't till the dog master's men started to beat me down with canes that I crawled back into a corner to allow them to get to the dying animal.

"What did I tell you?" Greybeard exclaimed after the fight was over. He slapped Audemar triumphantly on his shoulder. "Our monster is a champion!"

"That monster of yours is the devil himself!" The kennel master spat as he reluctantly handed over a fat purse of coins to Greybeard. "He ruined two of my best fighting dogs!"

"Oh come on dog master. It's not like we didn't make it easier for your precious pups. We held him down long enough for them to even go take a long hot piss at him." Greybeard mocked. "We cannot help that your dogs are not up to the task."

"We do thank you for feeding him for us though." Audemar taunted. "If you have more of your dead animals at your disposal, we are more than happy to take it from your hands."

"Curse you both for bringing him here." The kennel master hissed, boiling over with anger and indignation. "I bid you, leave by the first rays of the morning and never come back!"

It was a request that we had heard many times before. Against all odds, I had fought and survived many dogfights had been held in numerous towns and garrisons, only to be told that we had outstayed our welcome after the whole bloody affair was over. This traveling act was quickly running out of places to visit.

"Take that vile creature with you!" The kennel master said. When he turned to leave, he added. "You should dispatch it. That deformed demon is an abomination. To allow it to exist is an offence to God!"

"You hear that." Audemar told me after the dog master had left our camp. He kicked the bars of the cage with tip of his boot to get my attention. "The old dog breeder commands us to be rid of you."

"Nah! The old man is a sore loser. I am not going to dispatch the hog who finds me these fine bags of golden coins. No matter how hideous he is." Greybeard told him, and stooped down to peer through the bars at me.

I was cowering inside my tiny cage with my knees drawn up against my chest. Naked, filthy, and crawling with lice, and I was shivering of pain and exhaustion. Crusted blood covered the countless slashes and bite marks that were all over my body. The fresh wounds on my hump and limbs were still open and gushed out slow trickles of blood.

"You think we should do so something about those nasty cuts?" Audemar asked.

Greybeard shook his shoulders. "It will heal, just like the last time. Just don't forget to give him something decent for supper tonight. It seems wrong to starve him now that he had made us such a pleasant windfall."

V

That night, Audemar left me a bowl of water and some scraps from their supper. Although I was starved and dying of thirst, I did not take it. My spirit, crushed and broken, seemed to have fled, leaving behind only my body to suffer its cursed fate. I could not be motivated to perform any action. Not even one that would fulfill even my most dire of needs.

For what was the whole damned wretched point of it all?

Why quench the thirst in my parched throat or fill my empty stomach, just to keep myself alive to experience yet another day of this horror and shame?

Most of those who once loved me, were dead, and buried deep underground for their mistake.

Those who knew me and had survived would refuse to even speak my name, or it would only be with hateful scorn and in the same breath to seal a curse.

Margaret had not resurrected a dead king. She had brought back a useless hollow shell. I had become a helpless victim trapped in a horrible series of cruel misadventures. The men at the fighting pits, who jeered and spat at me, and wished to see me slaughtered, they thought of me a savage animal. My captors, who had taught me, like strict masters a feral dog with sticks and endless whipping, to fight on their command, and to beg for the scraps from their tables, they looked at me and saw a fun fair monster that they had caged for their abuse and exploitation.

I was seen as no more but a beast and was dealt with like a beast.

The more the world treated me in these ways, the more I forgot that I was human, and the more my burdened conscience told me that it was fair.

It was no use to keep denying the truth.

Richard Plantagenet's life was over, and all that was for me left was this horrible wretched existence.

And I, who was seen by the whole world as a mindless vicious animal, should start to act like one.

Finally giving in to the thirst, this worthless and base animal crawled to the bowl, bowed its head and lapped up the liquid with its tongue. Dried blood dissolved in my mouth. Salted tears streaked down my filthy cheeks and dripped into the water below.

A speckle of light appeared, drifting in the dark on the other side of the bars.

"Uncle."

Realizing who had come to visit me, I quickly turned away, hiding myself in shame.

"Uncle." My little nephew Richard spoke again.

I crawled further back into the shadows, away from the light. "Leave me alone." I said in a shivering voice. "Have I not endured enough?"

"I am not here to harm you." The bright little light changed and took human form when it passed through the bars. "I saw what those men did to you. I am truly sorry."

"I don't deserve your pity." I spat out bitterly.

"Mother once told me that every men on this earth deserves mercy." There was such kindness in his voice that it shamed me even more. "We're all God's creatures."

"Not me." I shook my head, and hid my gaze behind my dirty strands of hair. "I am a Godless creature."

And in my mind, I saw the men who I had sent out to the Tower. They were creeping up the winding staircase towards the two princes. My brother Edward's children, who I had once sworn, with my good hand on the holy scripture and the other holding that of my brother's, to love and protect. Instead, I had summoned these two deadly shadows that now edged over their peaceful sleeping faces, and muffled their cries when their rough hands stopped them from breathing.

I had murdered my nephews.

I had broken my vow. I had taken two innocent young lives who had never truly injured me, and who were of my own blood.

I am a monster.

So how could all of this misery I am now in, not be my rightful punishment?

"Why are you pitying me?" I dragged in ragged breaths as my nephew's ghostly presence continued to wreck my heavy conscience.

"Don't you see? These men are entitled to treat me as they do. I deserve all of this. I am unworthy of any kindness." I bowed my shoulder and hung my head low. Lower than a dog, lower than the worms wriggling in dirt. Lower than the dirt on the soles of a beggar who sleeps in his own vomit in the gutter.

"I don't deserve your kindness." I muttered, trying so very hard not to cry, but failing miserably, and finally breaking down in hot remorseful tears. "I beg you. Please, don't be kind to me. Don't be kind to me."

The boy reached out and put his hand on my shivering skeletal frame. "My poor confused uncle." He whispered into my ear. "They have not let you sleep for days now, have they?"

He embraced me and gently cradled my head in his lap. "You're tired. You're hurt. Close your eyes."

"No, oh no, I am afraid I shall never be able to sleep again." I whispered, my eyes wide, staring and seeing nothing but darkness.

"Don't fear my uncle. I shall stay by your side, and no bad dreams will come to you tonight. I assure you. Now rest uncle. Rest."

TBC