Ten Leagues Beneath Contempt

Awaking in a sweat,
forsaking pleasure for regret.
Another night of blight,
had slowly passed.

The morning skies,
once fresh and bright,
darkened down no near twilight.

Once could smell,
the end of days were coming fast.

Gilles wandered as in purgatory,
beyond the grave of his estate.
Neither Heaven, Hell or peasantry,
were present save projected hatred.

He knew suspicion, he felt derision,
and grief like a sharpened stake.
Pierce his heart and now the start,
of his unknitting began to take.

Vain glorious, a Lord, devout?
He thought his soul exempt.

From guilt and doubt,
there's no way out.
Ten leagues beneath contempt!

Awaking in a sweat,
forsaking pleasure for regret.
His choired chapel,
sighed with his laments.

As accusations reached a roar,
investigations breached the door.
He put up nothing save,
his favours in defense.

The Church stirred in it's Roman lair,
the grease had long been spent.
Now all tongues spat at Tiffauges there,
ten leagues beneath contempt!

Alas, I was happier,
in the enjoyment of tortures,
tears, fright and blood,
than in any other pleasure..."

Just one falter, one misplaced deed,
and Gilles would be undone,
as he teetered on the verge of defeat.

Profaning God's altar,
bursting in on evening Mass.
He threatened there,
to crucify the priest.

Drunk on fiery wine,
with the storm lashing behind.
He then threw this Philistine,
to his foulest dungeon.

And money owed or not,
the Priest released or left to rot.
His blatant sacrilege begot,
a war machine of papal Rome.

They came for him in mourning splendour,
with the blessing of the Saints.
His fawning grin in sweet surrender,
a lesson in enforced restraint.

He knew suspicion, he felt derision,
and grief like a sharpened stake.
Pierce his heart and now the start,
of his unknitting began to take.

He thought courts bought with golden crowns,
rich Bishops he could tempt.
But traitor's gate was sought and found,
ten leagues beneath contempt.