Hanging from chains, my wrists bleeding and bruised
I stare at bare feet, with tight manacles used.
I believe July 2, 1564 is the date
I am 43 years old and widowed by my loving mate.
My castle grounds in the rolling hills before the sea
Have been confiscated and all I owned taken from me.
It is cold in the dungeon jail where I am held
The sun does not reach the wall to which I am nailed.
I am naked, hungry and full of despair
Awaiting the Inquisitor, my flesh to tear.
Someone has thrown a blood red rose at my feet
Why this is so, I query aloud in defeat.
My crimes for which I am to be tortured into submission
Are growing and harvesting healing herbs without permission
Of the Church and Bishop’s fine blessing from the Christians.
I was wealthy and free until the Dominican monks came
Invading my lands, stealing and pillaging without shame.
A Keltoi princess of noble blood by birthright
High Priestess skilled in herbology, village midwife.
My medicines would not heal the priest who fell quite ill.
Possessed of a sickness unknown to this island’s hills
That pocked the body and face
With pus and a fevered haze.
The next week upon my lands a horse and carriage rode
Driven by a priest with accusations, burst into my home.
Calling me a fire haired witch, with green demon eyes
Cursing horrible insults amidst my screams and cries,
Swinging his horse's whip upon me in stinging blows.
Then four more trespassers appeared and bloodied my nose.
They pinned me to the ground, as they tied my hands and feet,
Then tossed me into the carriage like a piece of meat.
Terrified I bounced about while the priest proclaimed his litany
And that I would confess to Satan worship in devilry.
It was night fall when we arrived where my clothes
Were ripped from my body as they broke my toes.
They tied me to a post as my back they whipped
Until into unconsciousness I mercifully slipped
When I awoke to the church bells ringing loudly to my ears
And discovered this dungeon of torture as I whimpered in fear ...
TO BE CONTINUED ...