The Count's Discipline by Emily Tilton

Author:Emily Tilton [Tilton, Emily]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Stormy Night Publications
Published: 2013-12-23T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Thus I began to be truly the count’s secretary, and my troubles grew much less. For the next ten months, through autumn, winter, and early spring, at the end of the year 1065 and the start of the year 1066, I spent most of every day with my count, a tablet in one hand and a stylus in the other, making little notes about every matter that concerned him. He did not write many letters, but he liked the ones he did write to reflect the little learning he had from his tutor, of which he was inordinately proud and for which he needed from time to time to be stroked.

I was chastised on Saturdays, in general, for that was the most convenient thing. I would go to confession and then return and tell the count about my penance; he would spank me, or if necessary, beat me with the strap. Then he would go to confession himself.

We did not discuss Cupid or his mother or their courts and gardens again for more than a year. We spoke—or rather, the count spoke, and I listened—on the subject of our duty to one another: mine to serve and his to guide. It will serve well, I think, to recount the story of one Saturday discipline session that I remember very well, as an example of his ways.

I had confessed to my lord’s chaplain that I had been angry with Lady Agnes and Lady Fredegonde, which was a usual sin with me, and that I’d had unchaste thoughts (Father Boso never inquired further). I had been given penance (Father Boso was unimaginative; ten paternosters was almost always the way of it).

I went to my lord’s solar and found him waiting for me with a grave look on his face. “Did you finish the letter to the duke, Sophia?”

I blushed, as I always did when I was caught in a neglected responsibility. “No, My Lord.”

“Why not? You know that correspondence with the duke is always your most important duty.”

“My Lord—I got caught up in the figures from the farms, and then the letter slipped my mind. I am very sorry indeed. I will see to it right away.”

“Right away after you pay the penalty, you mean, my girl.”

I think the reason this Saturday sticks in my mind is that the count had discovered a fault just as I was on my way to be disciplined. I was spanked every week without fail, but it was only perhaps once in a month that I had to go over the block for a strapping.

The block was made of oak, and very simply, it looked like a sort of step with a cushion for the knees of the miscreant and a smooth upper step over which she must drape herself, holding onto the far corners, which had been smoothed so as not to cut the skin when the penitent’s grip grew tight.

There were also set into the wood metal fixtures, which the count explained were for the fastening of straps should the girl being punished be unable to hold still.

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