Dark souls

1.3

  The boy looked at her. Fear on his face gave way to doubt, then to determination. He went to the nearest barrel and made a hole in it the third time. A thin trickle flowed, filling the rest of the barrels. He did the same with three more.

"Now go," Sister Charlotte said. - Do not take sin on your soul. I will do everything myself.

         She swayed and fell. The boy rushed to the still-smoldering torch and fanned it. Then he handed the torch to the woman and rushed upstairs from the cellar. At the exit, he crossed himself and carefully locked the heavy bolt behind him.

         Sister Charlotte held the torch to the nearest soldier. The fabric of his pants, soaked with wine, took up quickly. Sister Charlotte crawled over to the next one. Soon the whole basement was on fire like a big fire. Sister Charlotte threw the torch into the barrels and sang "Te Deum"*.

         From the heat and smoke, some soldiers began to wake up. However, the sleepy grass made them clumsy and drowsy. And before anyone realized what had happened, the fire engulfed their bodies, clad in light armor.

         Finally, one soldier woke up from the dope and furiously began to pull off his armor and slap his body, trying to beat down the fire.

"You're wasting your time," Sister Charlotte said. “You will still die here. The door is locked. In barrels, in addition to wine, there is also resin and gunpowder. So you will make a great dinner at Satan's feast.

         The soldier looked at her wildly and rushed to the door. The heavy bog oak stood motionless.

- Oh, you witch! the soldier roared, rushing towards Sister Charlotte. - I'll kill you!

“I’m going to die anyway,” she said, smiling evilly. “And after what you and your master have done here, death will be your reward.” Only I will not die alone. And with all of you.

         The soldier clutched his head and rushed to the door again. The heavy air made it difficult to breathe. The heat that penetrated under the light armor baked the body no worse than a brazier. The howls of awakened soldiers blocked the noise of the fire. Sister Charlotte watched this with a cruel smile on her lips.

         Finally, feeling the approach of death, she cried out:

- God's justice be done! and laughed an evil laugh.

         As the last sound of her voice died away, her head fell to the stone floor with a dull thud. The basement continued to burn. Acrid smoke crawled out from under the door. The soldiers, barely moving their legs, coughing and sneezing from the suffocating air, crowded around the door and tried to break it, shouting loudly. Soon the screams subsided. Following them, the knocks on the door subsided.

         Dawn broke over the monastery. Heavy clouds, driven by the wind, briskly ran across the sky. When the first rays of the sun fell on the roof of the monastery, Bertrand de Gault and Catherine le Muy came out of the church. The baron looked around the empty courtyard and the fallen cross.

- What the hell happened here? he growled.

         Katerina pointed to a puff of smoke rising from the monastery building.

- Some nun survived.

         She drew her dagger and walked towards the door. There was a dull explosion behind them, causing the woman to jump away. The baron walked around the yard and stopped at the cesspool. A smile appeared on his lips.

- Well done guys, nothing to say. Made work easier.

         He noticed a ladder against one of the walls. The stones above it were scratched. Obviously, someone did not have enough height of the stairs and he, clinging to the old stones that had fallen out in places, climbed the wall. Bertrand de Gault stepped on the first rung.

         When he reached the top, the wall rose another eight feet above him. He did not follow the path that someone else had taken before him. On the other side of the wall there is a deep ditch with water, and whoever ran this way must have either drowned in the cold water or froze to death if he could swim out.

         Bertrand de Gault descended to earth. Catherine le Muy approached him.

"All our soldiers are dead," she said grimly.

- What's happened?

- Some nun spilled wine and burned them.

- Well, to hell with them. Let's hire others. We have money. Yes, and the monastery is not poor.

         He burst into loud laughter and slapped his girlfriend on the back.

- I like it here. I'm staying here.

- Fine. We'll just do it our way. This will be our castle. Our house. Our nest.

- Agree.

         The sun peeking out from behind the clouds illuminated a man and a woman in black robes, who stood embracing, a fallen cross and a bunch of charred bodies in the middle of the devastated monastery courtyard.

         A lone figure in torn, wet, sooty clothes, constantly crossing herself and whispering something, without looking back, fled from the monastery. Joes, to whom fear, despair and determination gave strength to get out of the monastery, breaking off his nails and freezing in the icy water, weakening, ran to the forest. Leaning against the broad trunk, he sank to the ground. Frost bound his body. He really wanted to sleep. Struggling with sleep, he kept repeating and repeating what he composed on that terrible night:

  How the sun is born

                                       Over our sinful earth,

                                       So now the lover, having broken his vow,

                                       In the arms of someone else's wife.

                                       As long as the husband wanders on distant wanderings,

                                       Ready for different dangers

                                       The wife betrays the deeds of the lascivious

                                       Vows that are given in the wedding.

                                       The vow is broken - and there is no salvation:

                                       Waiting for the marriage life of their death.

                                       Wife - in the dungeon, lover - death,

                                       The duel is ready cause.

                                       However, the cruel lover is ready -

                                       Having attacked her husband from an ambush,

                                       Insidiously killed him - blood was shed,

                                       God has no mercy on him.

                                       Believing that he was favored by fate,

                                       Abandoning all principles of honor,

                                       He became, we curse the native side,

                                       Robbery with the devil together.

                                       Nuns in a distant forgotten skete,

                                       If they are alive, they could tell

                                       How he ruined the skete, arranged a revelry,

                                       How he celebrated the wedding with blood.

                                       How he dishonored God's sheep

                                       How he killed priests

                                       Like a kind and quiet holy father

                                       From the grave threatened him with hell.

                                       That in eternity his family will suffer,

                                       Endure all this pain

                                       That the angels in the sky will all weep

                                       And pray to God for forgiveness.

                                       Forgiveness will be given only when

                                       When in this hellish clan

                                       Soul born without sin

                                       She will sacrifice herself.

                                       When the cruel torment itself

                                       Will go with a smile, without fear,

                                       The generation will be forgiven and the darkness will recede:

                                       God no longer requires execution.

         Finally, his strength left him, and the Christmas sun illuminated a lonely small crooked figure in the winter frozen forest - the last victim of the massacre perpetrated by Bertrand de Gault on the eve of the holiday.