De Tormo considered the argument. Then, he shook his head again. “Too vague, de Russe. Now, were he to worship the devil and force her to participate, it would be another matter. But you cannot base an annulment on simple discipline.”
“Discipline,” Gaston repeated with outrage. “He beat them, priest. There is nothing in the world a woman could do to warrant that kind of severe discipline.”
De Tormo was quite calm and neutral, not at all staunch and opposed to what was being suggested. Remington found it surprising that he would not lecture them endlessly for breaking God’s commandment.
“Discipline can be interpreted many ways, de Russe. What is your interpretation might not be another’s,” he replied evenly. “Nay, an annulment must be based on something much more severe, as I said. If Guy were proven a traitor to England, or….”
“But he is in jail as a prisoner of the crown,” Remington suddenly said, forgetting her promise to remain silent. “Isn’t that considered a traitor?”
“Not unless he swears he is a traitor, which he will not,” the priest replied. “If I were to ask him if he were a traitor to England, you know he would refute it. Nay, a man is only a traitor to his country if he is in league with another government or country. Guy is not guilty of betraying England herself, only his king.”
Remington looked at Gaston in confusion. He understood the priest perfectly and put out a hand to her. Hesitantly, she placed her hand in his huge palm. “What he is saying is that Guy did not betray his country with the purpose of placing a foreign ruler on the throne. Guy fought against England for England. He’s not a true traitor in the sense of the word.”
She hung her head in understanding; aware that Gaston had pulled her against the chair he sat in. He still held her hand. She listened to Gaston and the priest converse, mildly surprised that the tone was civil. In fact, De Tormo seemed to have lost his arrogant disposition and was speaking quite politely.
Then, something occurred to her. Devil worship, did the priest say? A thought struck her like lightening, so much so that she actually jumped. Gaston turned to look up at her, but she was focused on the priest.
“What if I could prove to you that Guy worshipped the devil?” she asked, her eyes glittering.
The priest blinked. So did Gaston. “You can prove this?” De Tormo asked hesitantly.
She nodded eagerly. “Aye, I can. Come with me and I shall show you.”
She flew to the door, opening it eagerly. The men were still sitting. “Get up!”
They followed her to the second floor of the keep, pacing down dim corridors. Gaston began to have an inkling of an idea as to where she was taking them, but held his tongue. He would not interfere with her plan, and an excellent one at that. He was glad he had not underestimated her cleverness.
As he suspected, she led them into the southwest turret and they carefully ascended the spiral stairs. Gaston was directly behind her in case she should lose her footing as they made their way to the tower room. Charles’ room.
Thankfully, Charles wasn’t there. Remington led the men into the room, a sinister assortment of implements and potions cluttered about the place as well as several books. The overall impression was chaotic, as if a mad sorcerer kept shop in the room. Remington pointed to the pentagram that decorated the near wall.
“You see? He worships Satan here,” she announced.
The priest’s mouth was open as he stared at the pentagram, eyed the potions and kicked at a bucket filled with something dark and slimy. He picked up a bowl and blew at it, only to be covered by a cloud of whitish dust. Coughing, he set the bowl down and eyed Remington.
In a cage hanging from the ceiling was a fat, nasty toad. The priest eyed it warily and the frog burped loudly at him.
“A toad,” he announced distastefully.
“He kept it to house his soul,” Remington said, hoping fervently that the man would believe that this was the room of a Satanist. Not the laboratory of a curious teenage boy.
“You are sure, my lady?” he asked.
She nodded unsteadily. “I told you I was married to Satan. I meant it.”
The priest’s gaze lingered on her a moment before he focused on a table holding several books. Gingerly, he retrieved one of the books and held it up to the light, examining it.
“Human skin,” Remington blurted. “That book is covered in human skin.”
The book clattered to the floor. “I have seen enough,” the priest announced, sweeping to the door. He looked pointedly at Remington. “My lady, I will testify before the papal counsel that I myself observed your husband’s house of devil worship. Have no fear that they will listen to me.”
“Thank you,” Remington breathed. “I simply want to be free of an evil, evil man.”
“No doubt,” the priest gave the room one final, disgusted look. “After seeing this disgrace, I have no misgivings that the baron should be burned at the stake. In fact, I might recommend just that.”
“But there is more to it than just your word,” Gaston entered the conversation. “What else is involved with the annulment?”
De Tormo was decidedly uncomfortable with Satan’s den behind him; he kept inching away from the door. “Indeed, de Russe. You must obtain eight testimonies from notable and trustworthy people, who, for you, will not be difficult.” He glanced at Remington. “But the lady must obtain testimonies from people who know of her husband’s indiscretions which, I fear, may not be so easy.”
