There is a basic principle that must be upheld, and it is the duty of the interrogator and jailor alike to deliver punishment to those that would tear apart the fabric of our society.
I never knew her name; she was convicted of heresy against both the church and the king, in the town of Saint Malo. She had been held in the prison cells below the city wall for several days after her capture and conviction. When she was brought to me, she was still clothed, well fed and beautiful. Her hair was a smooth flowing cascade of honey over her while shoulders. Her light skin was smooth and unblemished from injury or disease. Her dark blue eyes looked clear and bright as she stared defiantly at me.
She had spoken out publicly, this was the worst part of her heresy, and determined her punishment.
While the heretic’s fork is not found in all dungeons, its small size and flexible use in producing prolonged torment has made it somewhat popular. It consists of a small spike, a little more than 6 or 7 inches long, both ends ending in a fork with pointed tines. A strap is sometimes attached to keep it stationary on the neck, though if the device is embedded well in the flesh, I have found it is not necessary.
The girl stood before me, defiantly waiting her fate. I smiled kindly, and explained.
“For your heresy, you will be punished with the application of the heretic’s fork. Sometimes called the devil’s fork, this device will prevent you from speaking. A most appropriate punishment, don’t you think?”
I showed her the device and saw her defiance falter for the first time. Her eyes grew large, and she spoke. “Sir, I have done nothing to deserve this. I can not avoid this fate, you have me in chains. All I did was to speak the truth.”
“And so this device will prevent you from speaking your truth again.”
I set the fork down, and turned to her. With a single, forceful yank I pulled her dress from her shoulders. It ripped and slid down to her waist, exposing perfect breasts that wiggled slightly as she tried uselessly to cover herself. Two more strong pulls and her dress lay at her feet, and she was naked. The exposure of prisoners in this way is absolutely required in my technique. It tears the mind, and accentuates whatever physical torment is experienced with humiliation.
I took a moment to view and touch the perfect flesh of this young girl; the shapeliness and firmness of her curves were impressive. I determined that I would visit her and watch her suffering, for she was a remarkable specimen of young womanhood. She shivered slightly from fear, for the dungeon was hot and sweat shown on her bare flesh, trickling down to pool in small pockets of her skin before gathering and running further. My finger traced one of these rivulets, and she shrank back from my touch.
Picking up the heretic’s fork from the table, I nodded to the jailor. He grasped the girls hair firmly and yanked her head back all the way so that she was staring wild-eyed at the ceiling. She gasped, and began to struggle slightly.
The fork pressed against her soft flesh just above the collar-bone. Pressing in firmly, the sharp point slid over the bone and wedged behind, a small trickle of blood showing against the white of her skin. Quickly, before her panic could set in and she struggled more, I pressed the fork in firmly at the center, and the top part slid in below her chin.
When in place, it formed a perfect wedge. The top pressed in and under her collar-bone, and the top sunk well into her soft flesh behind her jaw bone. Her head was so far back that she could not dislodge the fork, it was embedded in her flesh and her neck was already curved so far back that all she could do in struggling was to drive the fork deeper.
When the jailor let go of her hair, this is exactly what the girl did (they all do, it is part of the torment of the fork). She struggled, and strained, trying to push her head back or sideways to dislodge the fork. While she did this, the fork raked the inside of her soft flesh, digging deeper with each movement. When her strength failed her and she relaxed her neck to lower her chin, the fork dug deep once again.
She tried to scream. Screaming is done with the mouth open, which lowers the jaw. Thus, her screams simply drove the fork deeper, and her screams sank into a muffled cry as her mouth closed. Blood burbled from between her lips, a sign that at least one of the fork tines had been forced through her soft pallet and into her mouth.
Sinking to her knees, she continued to stare wildly at the ceiling, bleeding from her chest, neck and mouth. Her muffled cries were strange, quiet in comparison to the agony she must have been feeling. Her naked body shook violently, and tears streaming down her cheeks reached and mingled the blood on her neck.
I reached around to the back of her neck, taking the strap and buckling it in place. This assured that she would not be able to dislodge the fork by hitting it on the wall or floor or some other protrusion of her cell (though to do so would surely tear a huge hole in her chest and chin). At my direction the jailor yanked her to her feet and dragged her down the passageway to her small dungeon cell.
The girl was worth visiting again, and I did so the next day. She lay in the corner of her cell, still shaking a little, blood dried on her neck. Unable to eat or drink, she was suffering severely. Rats were attracted by the smell of blood and had tried to nibble at her flesh. She had learned to stay as motionless as possible, for motion moved the fork and created new pain.
The third day she was brought to me. She was semi-conscious and unable to stand by herself. The fork had embedded itself deeply behind her collar-bone, and well within the soft palette of her mouth. The tines surely had torn the underside of her tongue by now.
I unbuckled the straps that held the fork in place, and forced the fork deep within her chest in order to remove the top points from her chin. She moaned at this renewed torment, though I quickly removed the lower tines as well. She fell to the floor, her chin slowly lowering and resuming its natural position after three days of being forced up beyond its normal limit.
She was healthy. She would be given food and water. If no serious infection set in, she might survive, though the damage to her neck and mouth would probably make speaking rather difficult. If she did speak again, she would be brought to me and her torment would be greater.