the table, and set it aside for a moment while he assembled a curious potion,
grating bitter chocolate into a stained silver chalice, and adding to the shavings the crushed dried bodies
of a certain beetle and several drops of oil of hashish. He then half-filled the cup with a red wine in which
pieces of wormwood had been steeping, and beat the mixture into a foam with a small gold whisk.
Carrying the cup and the scourge, he passed from one room into the next.
The center room was surrounded completely with black velvet draperies: The only light in the room came
from the vigil candle in its red glass safe that burned at the foot of an inverted crucifix hung upon the north
wall. Setting the items he carried upon the altar, the Due took a candle, lit it from the votive, and moved
quietly about the room, kindling open braziers and the candles which framed several lesser shrines about
the walls of the room.
Here stood a Black Virgin, crowned with stars… her face twisted into a lascivious grin, her hands
cupped to present her naked breasts. Beside her stood a strange figure—half goat, half human, with a
burning torch between his horns and a monstrous erect phallus formed of twined serpents. Beyond them
was a depiction of Luciferge Rofocalo, the Lord of This World, rising triumphant out of the flames of
Hell, his black wings spread wide.
Now the room was well lit, and the crucified figure upon the inverted cross could clearly be seen. Its
body was marked with deep red weals, but the head crowned with thorns was mat of a braying ass.
Curls of smoke were beginning to spiral skyward from the braziers, filling the room with the scent of
burning rue, myrtle, henbane, nightshade, and thorn-apple. The Due looked upon his work with a faint
smile of satisfaction. If the existence of this place were known, it would surely mean his death, for there
were things that even the Great Beast who now ruled France could not be seen to condone. But soon
disclosure of de Sade's small vices would not matter, for the culmination of two years of ritual and
sacrifice would be reached tonight with this final sacrifice.
Turning away from the altar, de Sade felt along the wall until he had located a hidden door concealed
behind the draperies. Drawing back the bolt, he opened the door to a small closet.
"And how are you this evening, Sister Marie?" he asked genially.
The woman inside the closet moaned beseechingly, falling forward into the light. Her pale hair was filthy
and matted, and her naked body bore the suppurating sores of previous beatings. As was necessary to
this most important of all sacrifices, she was a virgin of aristocratic blood, the by-blow of an English
milord who had arranged that she be fostered at the convent at Sacre Coeur. De Sade had arranged to
have her taken from there three months ago.
"In the name of God—I beg you, M'sieur—" she whimpered.
"Yes, yes. You beg and I deny, for such is the responsibility of the strong to the weak," de Sade said
reprovingly. Ignoring the girl's stench, he lifted her easily to her feet and walked her toward the altar.
After so many days of darkness, even so little light was blinding to the young novice. She raised her thin
arms to shield her face, too weak to otherwise resist. When the Due pressed her against the altar, she
clutched at it for support Her eyes were bruised, her mouth puffy with blows and smeared with blood.
"Here, child," the Due said kindly, raising the chalice to her lips. "You must drink. It will give you
strength."
Grisalle had kept her without water for more than a day, so at first she sucked at the tainted liquid
greedily, swallowing several mouthfuls before she realized what it was. When the bitterness of it
penetrated her senses she began to struggle, but de Sade, one hand tangled in her hair and the other
tilting the chalice to her mouth, forced her to drink far more of the draught than she was able to spill.
When the chalice was
grating bitter chocolate into a stained silver chalice, and adding to the shavings the crushed dried bodies
of a certain beetle and several drops of oil of hashish. He then half-filled the cup with a red wine in which
pieces of wormwood had been steeping, and beat the mixture into a foam with a small gold whisk.
Carrying the cup and the scourge, he passed from one room into the next.
The center room was surrounded completely with black velvet draperies: The only light in the room came
from the vigil candle in its red glass safe that burned at the foot of an inverted crucifix hung upon the north
wall. Setting the items he carried upon the altar, the Due took a candle, lit it from the votive, and moved
quietly about the room, kindling open braziers and the candles which framed several lesser shrines about
the walls of the room.
Here stood a Black Virgin, crowned with stars… her face twisted into a lascivious grin, her hands
cupped to present her naked breasts. Beside her stood a strange figure—half goat, half human, with a
burning torch between his horns and a monstrous erect phallus formed of twined serpents. Beyond them
was a depiction of Luciferge Rofocalo, the Lord of This World, rising triumphant out of the flames of
Hell, his black wings spread wide.
Now the room was well lit, and the crucified figure upon the inverted cross could clearly be seen. Its
body was marked with deep red weals, but the head crowned with thorns was mat of a braying ass.
Curls of smoke were beginning to spiral skyward from the braziers, filling the room with the scent of
burning rue, myrtle, henbane, nightshade, and thorn-apple. The Due looked upon his work with a faint
smile of satisfaction. If the existence of this place were known, it would surely mean his death, for there
were things that even the Great Beast who now ruled France could not be seen to condone. But soon
disclosure of de Sade's small vices would not matter, for the culmination of two years of ritual and
sacrifice would be reached tonight with this final sacrifice.
Turning away from the altar, de Sade felt along the wall until he had located a hidden door concealed
behind the draperies. Drawing back the bolt, he opened the door to a small closet.
"And how are you this evening, Sister Marie?" he asked genially.
The woman inside the closet moaned beseechingly, falling forward into the light. Her pale hair was filthy
and matted, and her naked body bore the suppurating sores of previous beatings. As was necessary to
this most important of all sacrifices, she was a virgin of aristocratic blood, the by-blow of an English
milord who had arranged that she be fostered at the convent at Sacre Coeur. De Sade had arranged to
have her taken from there three months ago.
"In the name of God—I beg you, M'sieur—" she whimpered.
"Yes, yes. You beg and I deny, for such is the responsibility of the strong to the weak," de Sade said
reprovingly. Ignoring the girl's stench, he lifted her easily to her feet and walked her toward the altar.
After so many days of darkness, even so little light was blinding to the young novice. She raised her thin
arms to shield her face, too weak to otherwise resist. When the Due pressed her against the altar, she
clutched at it for support Her eyes were bruised, her mouth puffy with blows and smeared with blood.
"Here, child," the Due said kindly, raising the chalice to her lips. "You must drink. It will give you
strength."
Grisalle had kept her without water for more than a day, so at first she sucked at the tainted liquid
greedily, swallowing several mouthfuls before she realized what it was. When the bitterness of it
penetrated her senses she began to struggle, but de Sade, one hand tangled in her hair and the other
tilting the chalice to her mouth, forced her to drink far more of the draught than she was able to spill.
When the chalice was
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