Morgana's Handmaid and the Creature of the Dungeon Read online

  In retaliation for his constant disruption of the proceedings, Arthur, on the urgings of Merlin no doubt, ordered the whole lot sent to Vile’s dungeon for questioning.

  “Oh, the poor man,” Alguin grinned. “That treacherous fiend must have had no idea what fate awaited him in my dungeon.” But in his arrogance, the pathetic embezzler seemed to consider himself immune to judicial process. Or maybe he didn’t believe that in being a man of God, the court could condemn him. Did the monk think because he was a part of the clergy that he couldn’t be accused of such things? Or did he see himself or the church as superior to other peoples, of every other station and condition in the kingdom, including the very nobility sitting in judgment of his actions that day? It truly looked that way.

  This angered Arthur, who realized what he must do. Arthur would have to set an example! The church was the only other ruling authority in the land, but it, too, must be subject to rules of law and justice. It was only fair. If one haughty clergyman could be given a pass and remain beyond judicial process; then how could any commoner believe in the impartiality of the legal system? Alguin’s countenance became darker and darker as he spun the story in his raspy, growling voice.

  “With that, the entire gang and the parson himself wast bound up and marched to my dungeon inside the mountain.” Then he continued in a more dry and businesslike manner, “Back then you see, Camelot castle was still being built on the heights above, and Arthur’s court still occupied a motte ’n bailey fort down the hill. Most of the thieves had heard of the reputation I had; and feared being sent thither. But the monk? Oh, no, he remained aloof and self-assur’d that he’d be freed long ’ere they made it out of the courtroom!”

  Alguin gave a slightly evil grin as he finished saying this next part: “Arthur and his court was locat’d inside the old wooden castle keep, and the silly old sod expect’d that if all else failed, the church would intercede and forbid Arthur’s men from taking him to the caves.” He heaved a raspy ominous chuckle at the sheer absurdness of this last observation.

  Well, of course no one from the church showed up to put a stop to it. Apparently, this poor fellow was not very popular among his fellow brethren at the monastery anymore. No intervention was attempted, in fact no objections were raised at all! The entire gang and the hapless clergyman were led up a narrow path until they came to a secret tunnel. Through there they were led down into the cavern, realizing the horrors that awaited them, moaning and sobbing pitifully as they were marched deeper and deeper into the bowels of the mountain.

  “Of course Merlin clearly had a hand in this,” Alguin concluded. “He would have known exactly who the parson was, and knew he’d been the very man who’d caused me to have to escape with my wife from the village years before.”

  Merlin also likely knew that Alguin would recognize the man immediately. He was quite correct. In fact, when Alguin saw who’d been brought in with the other bandits, he merely chained the remaining men to the walls and went right to work on the now-terrified Monk instead.

  Alguin’s eyes drifted to the side and across the room as he told me darkly, “I knew exactly what I was doing, you know? I knew I’d make short work of the arrogant little fellow, and in the process, extract full confessions from the real conspirators without so much as a single lashing. It was only logical after all. Any interrogator would choose the weakest-willed amongst a group of accused criminals and exert his efforts toward him. Needless to say, it work’d perfectly.”

  The rest of the story, I had to piece together later, because Alguin still seemed to be quite conflicted over what he’d done. He wrestled for years with the guilt he felt for the evil he’d perpetrated on that poor little man in that dungeon. Truly, he’d tell me years later, he wondered at times if indeed the wise old Merlin might have been testing him—testing his morality and ethics as a human being.

  “Vengeance and retribution are far better left up to the Lord and His ultimate justice,” my dear old father would have said. Alguin’s story of the plight of the misappropriating monk made me see exactly why forbearance is often the more righteous path.

  For three days, the monk endured unspeakable horrors as Alguin exacted brutal revenge, disguised in his hood and harness, with his gray robe obscuring any view of his identity, especially his hunched back. Mind you, the other prisoners eventually confessed and begged not to be left in Vile’s Dungeon one more day! Night after night they would find themselves hearing blood-curdling screams and terrified pleading from the frightened man, combined with the doubly terrifying grief-stricken, angry rebukes from the still-suffering and heartbroken Alguin.

  Alguin gladly took down their confessions and fulfilled their requests. He marched them back to Camelot in chains and lopped off their heads one after the other, performing the tasks before a jeering crowd of morbidly fascinated villagers. The heads were delivered to Arthur in baskets along with their recorded confessions. Then Arthur had the heads raised up on pikes with their detailed crimes nailed to the shaft. The pikes were planted at each gate of the castle for all to see.

  “Eventually of course, Merlin did intervene,” Alguin said, “and stayed my hand from finishing off the wretch.” Besides, Alguin could tell the petty charlatan had no idea about any plot to assassinate the king.

  “I knew. Yes. He was just a corruptible fellow in the wrong place at the wrong time; and mixed up with the wrong sort of people to begin with.” Alguin knew he was merely exacting revenge for the sake of his deceased wife. No, the mangled and pitiable man was no traitor to the crown, just a swindler who’d used his position to get wealthy at the expense of duped parishioners.

  Alguin said, “I eventually realized what I was doing was wrong; and reported my findings to the court who advised Arthur to let the monk go. Certainly the fool was no threat to anyone anymore.” The monk was eventually released, and the charges of treason dropped. Arthur decreed that the matter belonged to the church, and they should do with their fellow brother whatever they deemed appropriate.

  But when he returned to the monastery, it was said he never once spoke of the horrors he’d experienced in the dungeon; because when he came back he fasted and took an immediate vow of silence in penance for his sins. A year later he died, alone in his tiny cell, emaciated from malnutrition and still quite disfigured from the torture he’d been dealt by the brutal royal dungeon master.

  Shriveled into a human skeleton, his wasted and starved body, still covered with scars and wounds from the torture, made him appear ghoulish when he was eventually found by his brothers. During that entire year the battered cleric rarely left his room you see, and didn’t eat regularly. He faded away and slowly starved himself to death. His will was destroyed, and most of the time he merely sat and stared vacantly whenever he did emerge from his cell. The other monks were soon passing along stories of their fallen comrade to those outside the monastery, and as the months passed, the stories grew and expanded to create a new, even more terrifying image of Vile’s capacity for abject cruelty.

  With that, Alguin’s reputation as “VILE” was secured, and he was so greatly feared that “law was quite easy to enforce in the kingdom for years after,” he said. “Over those next few years I saw very few prisoners once the monk passed on and the stories spread about what the fool looked like on his deathbed. Just an occasional murderer or person accused of treason; that’s all that ever got sent to the dungeon after that. Usually these were easy to dispense with; and I merely toyed with them for a few days, if necessary, until they confessed, then took them back to the town square for execution.”

  This part of his story made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up! How could he be so callous and treat people this way? What if they were innocent? They might be so afraid that they would confess to practically anything—just to make him stop the abuse! What’s more, he likely tortured them no matter who they were: women, men, the old, even young adults.

  Alguin’s dispassionate telling of this aspect of his past was q
uite different than the kindness with which he’d spoken earlier, of the blissful times he’d enjoyed with his wife. I tried to grasp how he could manage to live these two lives simultaneously: by night as a terrifying specter operating a torture chamber, by day going home to a loving wife whom he adored. I tried to understand it, but the more he spoke of his deeds as “Vile,” the more alarming it became. I felt chilled at the thoughts and imagery of him doing what he must have done to them, all those hapless prisoners.

  It did no good trying to rationalize it that many truly deserved it. That wouldn’t work for me. I couldn’t bring myself to accept the idea of hurting another human being just because they’d committed a crime. I understood removing them from society or taking away their freedoms. But I could not condone using violence against them in the name of justice.

  Suddenly I saw Alguin differently. Was I even talking to Alguin at all, or was he actually “Vile” now? And who was I to Alguin? I was a prisoner after all. I’d been sent there as a heretic, right? An icy chill ran through me. I stopped trusting my earlier instincts to try and console or comfort the man. I was not Allora. I’d been sentenced to his dungeon for the purpose of being interrogated. His job was to extract confessions from prisoners so they may be executed justly for their crimes!

  Had I misjudged yet again? Was he revealing this to me, the story of his past, only to turn right around and torture me after all? Was this his method? Or in actuality was he intending to execute me all along? If I had misjudged, what should be my course of action? My warm, comfortable feelings of connection to the earlier, kindly Alguin faded into an instinct for self-preservation when faced with the man’s stories of his alternate persona Vile.

  After telling me his story, I had to implore him, “Then Alguin, pray let me stay here with thee. I can’t leave and I don’t want to go anyway. I am thy prisoner. Keep me here as thy humble servant, please.” I looked at him with half fear, and half desperation, not knowing what fate might be in store for me. My strategy for survival was to simply offer myself to him once again as an object for his pleasure. I wanted him to understand that I wished to live, whatever that may require.

  His cryptic answer to this request gave me little immediate comfort. Coldly, Alguin commented in a rather gravelly voice, “Oh, yes, my dear girl, you will indeed remain here. You will remain with me for a while.”

  A thrill of terror shot through me as he stood up and reached for my hand. Was he finally going to lead me to the torture chamber and begin his ghastly work? Had this been a mere break in the action, and now he was going through with it? I imagined all that he might do to me now. The rack, the whips, the branding iron, the strappado. I imagined the flails, the iron maiden, and also the burning hot stool, where a suspected witch would be seated naked to have her bottom and privates burned so that the devil could no longer copulate with her.

  I realized, too, that he couldn’t possibly release me, now that I knew everything about him! But as he stood and I once again saw his muscular body I hoped his true intent was to ravage me passionately and spare me the rack and the whip.

  For that matter, what if he really did intend to enjoy me intimately for a few days before taking me back to be executed? Maybe that would give me time to convince him to keep me there in his dungeon as a slave to his carnal desires—a place where no one ever visited and no one knew what was going on.

  Could I pull it off? Could I convince this man not to hurt me? I realized every day I stayed alive down there could be precious. Subsequently I kept reminding myself that my earlier impressions of Alguin as a man capable of loving a woman and devoting his heart to her completely might very well mean that I could appeal to this softer side of him.

  To be sure, he’d only said that I would remain with him down there “for a while.” He didn’t say he was going to tie me up and torture me. Not yet anyway…

  Chapter 5

  Inside the Dungeon

  Alguin led me over to the bed which was made of dingy coarse cloth stuffed with straw. He pulled off my robe and laid me down upon it. Fortunately the robe was under me, which was a much better alternative to whatever might be crawling inside that mattress at the time! Then he went back and fed the fire with more wood, and stoked it until it blazed bright. This left me alone with my thoughts for a few minutes. He turned and faced me, silhouetted by the fire glowing behind him, and for some reason known only to him, he smiled.

  This confused me. First, he had manipulated my body and terrorized me in the darkness; exciting me with his fondling while we were back in the entranceway to the tunnel. Then he’d led me into this cavern bedroom and fed me dinner without harming a hair on my head. He’d told me about his true identity, his past, and his personal torment. Was he now going to take my body passionately and make love to me?

  There he stood silhouetted by the fire, grinning pleasantly. He looked down on me lying there naked, using his thick robe as a blanket. His eyes gave away his intent. I certainly recognized the look he was casting my way—seen it many times before—and yet I noticed even more evidence of his intentions toward me when I cast my eyes further down his bare body! Fears of violence perpetrated upon my flesh faded fast, especially when I saw how he’d become quite aroused.

  Emotions stirred within me, and it’s hard to explain even now. Perhaps it was relief that I was going to be spared the pain and anguish of torture mixed with a sense of lustful anticipation. He was about to make love to me, this gigantic fellow who clearly desired me now and held absolute control over my existence. For some reason this combined to give me a sudden unbridled desire for him to take me into his warm embrace. After taking a good long gaze at the swelling and pulsing erection between his legs, I instinctively reached out my hand and gestured for him to come over to me on the bed. It occurred to me that deep within my soul, somehow, I really wanted and needed this beleaguered, lonely man to be my lover. I didn’t care anymore whether he was Alguin or Vile. I’d seek and find both men and both personalities within his soul; and bring them together to make love to me as one. One sinewy, muscular beast of a man whom I totally belonged to.

  As I thought of these things, he removed his leather harness, leaving pronounced white streaks on his body from where the leather had covered his flesh from soot and grime. Now totally naked, he downed another mug of frothy ale, which had tasted very refreshing earlier. I wondered where he’d gotten it—it tasted much better than the swill we received at the castle.

  He eyed me and continued to grin in the firelight; then he walked over to me. He stood next to the bed, surveying my naked body, and with an alluring glance I invited him to curl up next to me. He snickered mischievously. But then again, he was quite filthy from years inside that terrible dungeon; and if we were going to make love, he should probably have a bath I reckoned. So I raised up to kneel in front of him on the bed and kissed him passionately on the lips while he bent down to me. He sighed with pleasure. I tasted the delicious ale on his lips! Then I boldly whispered to him my own plans for him that evening; and he not surprisingly had no objections.

  “Let me free thy mind. Thou art going to be a new man when I finish with thee,” I promised him. I got up from the bed while he eyed me amusedly. I then went to find some rags, some towels, and a kettle. He even had soap! I don’t know what it had ever been used for; save for dishes, but he had it there in his kitchen that’s for sure. Alguin sat on the bed naked and watched me ambling about collecting and preparing things so that I could wash him.

  Surprisingly he had most everything I needed, so I used a large mixing bowl to whip up some soapy water, then scrubbed him down in front of the firelight. Alguin was impressed at my thoroughness and loving care, responding with a quite lovely erection in the process. He chuckled when I looked down in awe of his swollen manhood and complimented him on his endowment. “Thou art bless’d,” I said throatily. “Generously equipped, so it would seem.”

  Throughout his bathing I continued to feed the fire and keep the room nice
and warm while I washed and scrubbed off years of grime and soot from his shoulders and legs. I scrubbed out his finger nails with a brush, washed off his chest and back—even wiped down his head and cleaned out his ears which made him chuckle. When we were done, all cleaned up, he looked fantastic; and my new, shipshape lover was quite ready to take me to bed. Yet instead of grabbing and dragging me down to his mattress, my new lover chose rather wisely to give me a bath too!

  Good thinking on his part I must say, because only a day before, I’d been pelted with rubbish, spat upon, and once even had horse dung hurled at me, as I recall. On top of that, I’d been in this sooty dungeon for several hours, and if we were going to be intimate together, I most certainly could use a good sponging off. I could only hope there was still enough of that birth control in me to ward off pregnancy!

  My new man was gentle and thorough, cleaning me everywhere, and making me feel like brand new. When we were finished, cleaned and dried off, we looked at each other and embraced as a couple, standing together in a puddle of sudsy water on the cave’s rough stone floor. I smiled at my giant hunk of a man; caressed his chest and shoulders, then playfully reached down to stroke his more sensitive appendage. He was indeed my magical ogre, the gray-green moss-covered beast from my mandrake-laced dream. But there was a difference this time. I’d cleaned off this big monster, tamed him one might say, and now we could lay down in bed together and make love for days on end.