gns.cannibalcult-第22节
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ring gale。 He was spent but she did not let up； seemingly oblivious to her partner's non…participation。 At last； however； she began to wilt； her pace slowing； body hunching forward until her dangling bosom was brushing against Sabat's chest。 But he made no move towards her breasts； his eyes closed as fatigue claimed him。
Finally she sank down on to him； slowly slid off him； exhaustion claiming her too。
They both slept soundly； the only noise a faint rustling that seemed to e from inside that lead coffin。 But they did not hear it。
Sabat was aware that he was dreaming and that his spiritual body had not ventured forth on to the astral plane。 Subconsciously he realised the difference； accepted the happenings around him for what they were； figments of a brain that was active whilst the body slept。 Even so he was aware of his surroundings…the French Basque coast； people who moved furtively in the shadows； an occasional glimpse of fearful features as though they expected something to materialise out of the darkness at any second。 A place of sheer mounting terror。
Sabat did not know why he knew or saw these things； only that he did。 Another age； possibly the sixteenth or seventeenth century by the way these people dressed and spoke in a French tongue that was barely recognisable。
They were heading towards a large stone…built house that stood on a cliff top overlooking the moonlit sea； a mansion heavily gabled； its latticed windows lit up by yellow candlelight。 Every few minutes the door opened to admit a visitor； hats pulled low over their faces； coat collars turned up。 There had to be some twenty or thirty men and women inside by now。
Sabat moved closer； pressed himself up against the trunk of a gnarled oak； the only cover available。 His movements were controlled by some unseen force； a robot being manipulated for some strange purpose which was at the moment denied to him。 He did not know why or how he came to be here； only that he must watch and wait。
Something tugged at the sleeve of his coat and he stiffened。 He was not alone！
'Be patient； Sabat；' a hoarse voice whispered in his ear in French that he could understand； fetid breath laced with garlic fanned his face。 'Let them all gather inside before we make a move。 We must get them all； every one of them； for the people of Labourd demand that this unholy curse of witchcraft be removed for good。'
Sabat half…turned； saw the face of his panion clearly in a shaft of moonlight。 Ageing features； cruelty stamped indelibly on the hooked nose； the close…set small eyes and the thin bloodless lips。 So familiar that Sabat recognised him instantly…Pierre de Lancre； the most feared witchfinder in Francel A gaunt figure （the humped back reminded Sabat of Pieter Daunay）； untidy straggling grey hair falling from beneath the huge black hat and spreading itself on the cloaked rounded shoulders。
'Tonight is Walpurgisnacht？ de Lancre muttered； 'and they will all e。 See； even now they are mencing their blasphemies and obscenities。'
Sabat nodded； watched the naked bodies cavorting in the lighted room。 Obviously they were preparing for a black mass。 A wizened deformed hag busied herself in front of a black…clothed altar； above which hung an inverted crucifix。 She was stirring something in a bowl； an ointment of some kind； men and women queuing up to have it smeared on their sexual parts。 Some were already copulating openly on the stone floor。 The orgy had begun。
'The ointment of iniquity；' Pierre de Lancre whispered； 'a concoction forbidden by law according to King Henry IV； made from toads' blood and the hearts of sacrificed babies。 The use of it alone is enough to earn them all the death sentence。'
Sabat watched； his contempt openly displayed on his aquiline features as he saw a handsome adolescent having the 'ointment of iniquity' smeared on his arousement； the hag taking her time； her toothless mouth twisted into a lusting grin as she slowly massaged the cream into the pulsing flesh。 The youth was tensing； her fingers were moving faster and faster。 Then he was doubled up； writhing as though in pain。 Everybody was laughing； even the copulating couples stopping and turning to watch。
'They are all in there；' the witchfinder hissed。 'Let us mete out the fate they deserve！'
Sabat was at the heels of his running； stooping panion as de Lancre covered the space between the low oak and the dark shadows cast by the house。 But nobody inside was likely to look out of the window anyway； they were too engrossed in their own activities。
Sabat was reminded of how he and Daunay had crept up on the chapel； experienced a momentary pang of fear in case de Lancre should suddenly thrust a pistol into his back。
'Give me a hand with this brushwood。' A whispered mand and Sabat found himself helping to pile dead fir branches up against the door； a pile that grew in seconds as they both worked feverishly。
'Good；' the witchfinder's lips stretched clown…like in what was supposed to be a smile of satisfaction。 'Now the back door。 Quickly。'
Two heaps of dry branches ready to be fired。 Pierre de Lancre had a tinder…box in one hand； a pistol in the other。 Sabat's mouth went dry at the sight of the weapon but； as though to reassure him； the other passed it over； butt first； then produced another from the folds of his cloak。
'We light the fires；' de Lancre gave a throaty laugh that embodied all the anticipation and pleasure of an eager boy at the start of a 5 November firework display。 'They will not realise what is happening until it is too late。 But if any should run the gauntlet of fire； Sabat。。。' He left the sentence unfinished； cocked his pistol meaningfully。
The fires were lit。 Sabat coughed in the pungent smoke； tried to keep his smarting eyes fixed on door and windows。 De Lancre was somewhere at the rear of the house doing likewise。
The occupants were still unaware of what was happening outside。 The big room was only dimly lit now； just those black wax candles on the altar giving an eerie glow； the repulsive hag a naked wizened silhouette with a bent back and drooping breasts； gesticulating fiercely。 The whole pany had thrown themselves prostrate； fearing whatever devilish monstrosity she might call up。
By now the flames had got a hold on the front of the house； the woodwork dry and rotten and burning quickly。 Sparks showered up； the thatched roof caught。
Screams。 Too late； the trapped coven realised the danger！ A stampede of naked bodies； some being knocked down and trodden in the rush。 The heat from the burning door threw them back。 There was no sign of the witch。 Probably she was one of the trampled； her followers losing faith in her now that they faced a death akin to the fiery halls of hell itself。
No； she had not been crushed； Sabat spotted her at an upstairs window； a grotesque oil…painting in a blazing frame； perched precariously as she summoned the courage to jump and called upon the evil powers to protect her。
A shot rang out； a resonant report from an antiquated flintlock pistol that belched fire and clouds of sulphurous smoke。 Sabat jumped； had not heard de Lancre's approach。 The latter laughed； a kind of killing snarl； those lips drawn back over broken and blackened teeth； pointed with the smoking pistol。
'So much for Marie Gaufridi； the witch of Labour！' he shouted。
The hag would have fallen back into the room had not her scrawny fingers secured a hold on the burning window frame； a hand that seemed impervious to fire。 Swaying； a hideous monkey…thing at treetop height； gibbering unintelligible curses； sunken eyes that singled out the two men standing below。
The bullet had ploughed into a breast； severed a nipple； and appeared to have gone on into the body。 Surely it had pierced her heart but she still lived； screaming and cursing。
'Go on； Sabat；' the witchfinder's killing cry。 'Finish her。 What are you waiting for？ Her magic is such that she must not live。 Even now I wonder if it is possible to kill her！'
Sabat's pistol came up； his hand shaking and having to be supported by the other。 Trying to draw a bead； but it wasn't easy。。。 not without looking into those hate filled orbs！ 'You could feel their intensity； their power。
Sabat tried to close his eyes but the lids refused to drop。 A harsh voice was screaming at him 'kill me and you will be cursed for eternity。 Spare me and my power shall be yours；'
Those horrendous features seemed to undergo a change； blurring like a reflection in a pool then clearing。 Younger； so much younger； and beautiful。 Sabat felt his stomach tightening into a ball； the vomit rising in his throat。 Oh God； it wasn't possible！ Marie Gaufridi； the witch of Labourd； had bee Madeleine Gaufridi alias Madeleine de Demandolx de la Palud alias Marie Boulle！
'Kill her； Sabat； before it is too late。 We dare not trust the fire to consume one such as her！'
Still Sabat held his fire； gazing into those eyes but no longer did they transmi
