Then he smiled, enjoying this man抯 anxiety.
Andre returned with a pitcher filled with water.
揙nce the accused was brought into the chamber, he or she was offered six opportunities to make a full and voluntary confession. Fear, in the presence of imminent pain, was generally enough to loosen an accused抯 tongue. It was only when fear did not work that torture was applied, with each step of the procedure, each jar of water, each turn of the winch, each question and choked-out answer, duly noted by the recording secretary.?
The priest angled his head up and screamed for help.
Bernat slapped the back of his hand across the fool抯 face, sending the head back down over the table edge. 揟here抯 no one to come to your aid.?
揧ou抮e insane.?
He tossed a practiced show of casualness Tallard抯 way. 揑 prefer that label to what you are.?He faced Andre. 揟ell him.?
The young man stared down at the priest. 揇o you remember me??
揘o.?
One.
揑 remember you,?Andre said in a low, dry voice. 揟he smell of your sweat. The touch of your clothes. Your wandering hands. The way you held me tightly against you.?
揕ies. Lies. Lies,?Tallard yelled.
Two.
揟he way you tried to put your tongue in my mouth. I was eleven years old and could not avoid you.?
揧ou are mistaking me for someone else. I feel for you. I truly do. But it was not me.?
Three.
揧ou would always say I was your little boy. That you loved me and that what was happening was our secret and I must not tell anyone.?
Tallard shook his head in denial.
Four.
揂nd I told no one,?Andre said. 揘ot my parents. Friends. Other priests. The nuns. No one. I kept it all to myself for twenty years.?
For the first time Andre抯 voice cracked. Horrible memories surely flooding back. Bernat had been warned that this could occur. No matter. Evil had to be faced. Tonight.
揧ou both must believe me,?Tallard spit out. 揑 have never done such things. Never.?
揟his young man,?Bernat said, 揳nd others say otherwise. The charges you currently face say otherwise. Are they all lying??
揘o. Of course not. I would never want to minimize their pain. But it was not me.?
Five.
揧ou have been shielded for a long time,?he said, keeping his voice in a hushed, reverent tone. 揃y bishops who thought they could sweep it all away with no accountability. By Rome who turned a blind eye. By prosecutors who did not want to be bothered. By the public-at-large who seemed not to care. But your crimes are clear. There is no doubt as to your guilt. So I will give you one last chance to confess.?
A strained silence descended as Tallard surely weighed his options. The truth? Or another lie? This demon had surely for so long denied who and what he was that reality no longer mattered. His psyche was convinced either that he never did anything wrong, or that whatever he抎 done had been wholly consensual. Never mind his victims were innocent children who worshiped him as the embodiment of all that was sacred and good, something predators like this bastard used to maximum advantage.
揑t. Was. Not. Me,?Tallard said.
Six.
He shrugged, a gesture that signaled disdain and dismissal. 揟hen we shall proceed and, hopefully, extract the truth.?
Andre reached down into the vinyl bag he抎 brought from the car and removed a set of iron prongs. Bernat moved toward Tallard抯 head and wrenched the neck upward, forcing the man抯 mouth open. Inquisitors who抎 worked their madness in Spain christened the tool a bostezo. Ironic, since the word meant 搚awn.?Tallard struggled as Andre forced the prongs into the mouth and pried the jaw open with a solid grip on the iron handles. From his pocket Bernat removed three long strips of linen, which he shoved to the back of the mouth, causing the priest to gag. Andre maintained his hold on the iron handles, keeping the mouth from closing, making swallowing impossible. Modern applications used a towel over the face soaked with water to cause the victim to feel like they were drowning.
Inquisitors were far crueler.
He lifted the pitcher and poured a small amount of water onto the linen strips. Eight hundred years ago a jar would have been suspended above the victim, the water allowed to slowly trickle onto the cloth, which maintained a nearly constant sense of drowning.
Tallard choked on the water that found his throat, struggling to breathe.
He kept easing the liquid into the open mouth and onto the cloth.
More gasps.
He stopped. 揌ave you anything to say? Indicate with your head yes or no.?
The stubborn fool never moved. He resumed pouring. The sensation had to be excruciating, but he felt nothing for this monster. Breathing was becoming increasingly difficult. Tallard tried to cough and choke out the water but the prongs made that impossible.