Rome, Anno Domini 1501

Duchess Tiziana Borgia, daughter of the Pope, sat at her desk, bent over a parchment. Casually, she let her pen run across the paper. She was only too happy to let the man, who stood uncertainly in front of her with his cap in his hands, wait. He glanced nervously around the huge office as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

She sighed, put the pen in the inkwell, leaned far back in her chair, folded her arms and looked at the man.

Visibly frustrated but restrained, she spoke:

"I don't know what tannery you worked in before you came here that let you stroll in twenty minutes late, but it wasn't owned by me, and I own a fucking tannery."

“Duchess... there ain't nobody down there, so...”

"There's nobody down there… Duchess... What's your point? That you're not needed here?”

“My point is... l'm the torturer, and there ain't nobody down there to torture.”

“You are saying that the reason... that you're not doing the job that I'm... paying you to do is that you don't have a job to do?”

“No…”

“Is that what you're saying? What are you trying to convince me of, exactly? That you're as useless as an asshole right here?”

She pointed to her elbow.

“Well, guess what, Alonso? I think... you just fucking convinced me. Let's go to the calendar. It's calendar time. Calendar time for Alonso.”

The Duchess pulled out a calendar from her desk drawer.

“Okay, you working tomorrow?”

“Yeah”

“Mm. No, you're n... You don't even know what fucking day you work. Here. You're not working tomorrow. You're working Wednesday. Here you are. There you go.“

She erased his name from the calendar with her pen.

“Workin' Thursday?

„Yeah.“

„I don't think so. Friday.”

Alonso looked and her with resignation.

“There's your name.”

“If you say so… “

„There used to be your name. Saturday. There used to be your name. Here. How about that?”

Tiziana aggressively crossed out his name for the entire week.

“Fucking with your cash is the only thing you kids seem to understand. Now, I want you to go home till I call you. Till I call you! Out!"

The torturer bowed, turned on his heel, and muttered a few insults as he shuffled out of the office. He walked through the door, straight past Vanessa, who had been waiting for her audience in the anteroom.

A servant approached her.

"Baroness Vanessa Lombardi, the Duchess Tiziana Borgia, will now give you an audience."

Vanessa stepped into the office and bowed to her.

"Mighty Duchess Borgia, how may I be of service to you?"

"Ah, Baroness, I have been awaiting you. Thank you for coming here so quickly. As you know, I conquered the province of Romagna in my last campaign. However, the land was ruled by imbecile dolts. It is savage, dangerous, and teeming with luetian scum, highwaymen, and brigands. I request that you govern the province in my stead and restore order with an iron hand."

"Duchess, you honor me. I will bring your province to order. So help me God."

Thus, Baroness Vanessa Lombardi traveled to Bologna and took up residence in the Palazzo d'Accursio, a magnificent Renaissance building on the Piazza Maggiore, opposite the Basilica of San Petronio. To pacify the Romagna, she sent out her mercenaries. Every thief, brigand, rogue, or anyone suspected of being one was cruelly tortured to death.

Moreover, Vanessa had the firstborn of every family of the landed gentry taken hostage and brought to Bologna.

The province was pacified within a few months, but the people's hatred for the unscrupulous Baroness Lombardi grew from day to day.

One day, news reached Vanessa that the Angelini, an impoverished but proud family of the lower nobility in the north of the province, were not paying their monthly taxes. They told her that they refused to squeeze the last scudi from their subjects, leaving them to starve. They pleaded with the patrician for understanding. The baroness immediately had the family's hostage taken to her office.

The guards brought Rosa Angelini, a lovely girl of twenty-one, before Vanessa. She was wearing a simple yet tasteful red dress and brown sandals.

"Baroness, I greet you!" she said, bowing.

"So, your little family thinks it can evade its taxes."

"Baroness, rest assured, my father would never go against you. But he cares deeply for his subjects. I beg you to forgive him. Our family is impoverished, and my father sometimes takes up the plow himself to get his people through the winter. He will repay you the sum he owes you as soon as he can."

"Haha, you think I'm going to let would-be landowners cheat me out of my money? Punish one, discipline a hundred. Capitano, have the girl hanged in Piazza Maggiore tomorrow."

"Si Padrona!"

"What? No, I beg you! It will break my father's heart. Please, don't do this. Don't do this to him. He's a good man!"

"Do you want him to hang instead of you?"

"N... No... I..."

"I thought so."

Vanessa gestured casually to the captain to take the young convict away. Rosa spent the night alone in her cell. Tearfully, she wrote her farewell letter to her loved ones until dawn, when the hangman came for her.

Thousands had gathered at the Piazza Maggiore before the wooden scaffold and awaited the spectacle in the hot midday sun. While the crowd waited, Rosa kneeled in the Basilica of San Petronio. Trembling, she let the rosary slip through her fingers, bead by bead. Under the watchful eyes of the priest, she stammered one Hail Mary after another.

Finally, the last bead had passed through her fingers. The priest approached Rosa, held his right hand over her head, and spoke:

"May the Triune God be gracious to you and bless you into eternal life.”

She looked up to him with tearful eyes.

"I thank you, father."

"The Lord awaits you, my child."

With that, he handed her over to the executioner. He helped the girl to her feet and led her to the huge church door. Behind it waited the piazza, the crowd, and the gallows.

But the hangman told her to stop in front of the door.

"Forgive me, but the baroness has ordered your dress to be removed."

Perplexed, Rosa stared at the executioner. Yet it was useless to resist. Under the watchful eyes of the ceiling frescoes and Marian images, Rosa slipped off her red dress and stood there with only her sandals on her feet in front of the man who would send her to the afterlife in a few moments. Appalled, the priest crossed himself and averted his eyes.

The executioner grabbed Rosa's slender wrists and tied them behind her back. Then the church door opened in front of the trembling girl. Warm sunlight shone in her face. At the same moment, she felt a strong hand between her shoulders. He pushed her onward.

The sight of the naked angel walking slowly towards the scaffold captivated the crowd. No one dared to speak a word. They devoured the young girl with their gazes. They greedily eyed the young, condemned woman. Vanessa watched contentedly from one of the palazzo's windows.

With her head bowed, the girl allowed herself to be led onto the stage. The sight of the noose on the beam made Rosa's blood run cold.

The hangman led her to the small stool under the noose and helped her up. Rosa winced as he put the tight rope around her bare neck. Then he carefully took her braid out of the noose.

The chair was a few centimeters too low, so she had to stand on tiptoe. The executioner tightened the knot. Rosa gasped as the rope closed its grip.

Thus, the girl towered precariously over the crowd, balancing on her toes with her calves taut, and her head held high. She blushed with embarrassment at standing so exposed in front of thousands.

Rosa's gaze raced from face to face, always hoping that someone would come to her aid. But no one moved.

And yet, everyone was touched by the cute little lamb up there on the scaffold.

The captain stood next to her and read out the sentence. Rosa didn't listen. She looked up at the sky and stared at a lonely little cloud. Now it dawned on her. No one would come. No miracle would happen. They would do it. They would kill her...

Then suddenly, everything was silent. Only Rosa's heavy breathing and the creaking of the stool under her toes could be heard in the square. Her breasts rose and fell faster with each passing moment.

The girl felt someone step close behind her. A glistening tear ran down her cheek.

"Lord, I plead with you; stand by me..." she breathed.

With one swift move, the executioner pulled the stool from under her toes. The girl fell a few centimeters, only to be brought forcefully to a halt the next moment. The rope dug mercilessly into her delicate neck and squeezed her windpipe. Panicked, she tried to breathe. No oxygen.

She tried to swallow. The spit stuck in her throat.

She tried to cough. But all she got out was a tortured gurgle.

Rosa stretched her body as far as she could to feel for a firm hold somewhere. But there was nothing. The naked girl dangled helplessly from the straight rope.

Mad with fear, she began to kick her legs and yank at her bonds with all her might. Just to catch a single breath. To open her throat a tiny bit.

Her ears rang. Her lungs begged for air. Again and again, white stars flickered before the girl's eyes.

Rosa's head felt like it was about to burst. It seemed to swell with every heartbeat. She expected the back of her head to pop at any moment.

The girl's face turned bright red. The crowd couldn't take their eyes off the dangling beauty. They all stared, as if in a trance. Unblinking, motionless, and silent, while Rosa screamed with all her might and yet couldn't get out a single sound.

In her agony, she pressed her fingernails into her palms and clenched her toes so that the brown soles of her sandals bent. With all her strength, she tugged at the rope that bound her hands. Her survival instincts screeched at her to grab her neck. But the rope did not give way.

Her red eyes appeared to be about to pop out of her skull. The veins pulsed on her forehead. Her neck was about to burst from tension.

Bit by bit, the rope sucked the life out of her.

Slowly, her twitching subsided. Her eyes pleaded for mercy one last time. Then Rosa saw a dark tunnel rushing towards her. The girl's tongue protruded from her mouth as saliva ran down her chin.

The whole of Bologna was shaken. The people were moved, felt pity, guilt, were touched by Rosa's bravery, and at the same time, their vaginas and cocks were dripping. No one had ever seen anything like it.

They buried the girl with all due honor. Around her sore neck, they placed a white scarf and decorated her head with a wreath of flowers. In her folded hands, they placed a bouquet and covered the rest of her body with blossoms. Rosa was laid to rest with the face of a sleeping angel, while the whole town paid her last respects.

That evening, Vanessa sat in front of the fireplace, a tabby cat on her lap, and amusedly read Rosa's farewell letter. The wet drops had smudged the ink in places.

"...beloved mother, beloved father, I ask you to forgive me for my faults as a daughter. Do not grieve, for when you read this, I am already with God.

With love,

Rosa"

"That's so sweet..." said the baroness to herself, crumpling up the letter in her hand and throwing it into the fireplace. Trance-like, she watched as the red flames devoured the white paper. The cat purred contentedly.

*****

At the same time, the door to Tiziana's office in Rome opened.

In stepped a man with grey hair dressed in expensive clothes. He bowed slightly to the duchess. Her face lit up.

"I humbly salute you, mighty mistress."

Tiziana strode towards him, uncommonly dressed in a skimpy white tunic and brown sandals. The duchess looked more like an ancient Greek princess than an Italian aristocrat. Tiziana took the man by the hand and sank to her knees in front of him:

"Leonardo, you are a genius of an artist; allow me to kneel in front of you. It is an honor to finally meet you."

"I cannot allow such an important person as you to be below me. Please rise. I kiss your robe, Tiziana Borgia!"

She stood up excitedly, still holding his hand, and offered him a seat.

"Maestro, please sit down. I need your help."

"How can I be of assistance?" he asked as he sat down on the expensive black chair.

"As the regent of vast provinces, I rely on the people to respect the law and fear punishment. I want you to develop a machine for me that embodies the severity of Iustitia. Beautiful and merciless. A machine that every criminal will fear when he closes his eyes at night."

"Forgive me, Your Highness, but I cannot use my talents for this purpose. I abhor the idea of executions."

"I will shower you with riches. You will have your own palace, servants..."

"I am not interested in money, power, or palaces, mistress. I could live in a monastery cell..."

Tiziana looked him in the eye.

"And if I offered you my body?"

"What are you talking about? Don't make fun of an old man..."

Tiziana dropped her white robe and bared her flawless body.

"Look at me. I am gorgeous like a goddess."

He looked at her as if she were an ancient statue.

"True..."

"If you do what I ask, you can have me for one full day. Morning, afternoon, and night... For now, I'll give you one kiss..."

The divine patrician walked up to Leonardo, took him by the back of the head, and gave him a long, warm kiss. Da Vinci's trousers bulged at the crotch.

Slowly, she withdrew her lips and looked into his eyes.

"I will start immediately. Give me a desk, quill and ink!"

*****

Three weeks passed before Tiziana finally set out personally for Bologna. The mighty towers of the city could be seen from afar, surrounded by the red mass of Italian tiled roofs.

The patrician rode up to the palazzo with her escort, dismounted, and walked straight into Vanessa's office. Banging the door open loudly, she strode into the room with her entourage. Vanessa jumped up from her desk and rushed towards her.

"Duchess, what an honor! If only you had told me about your visit, I would have given you a proper welcome."

"Seize her!"

The men with the halberds grabbed the young aristocrat.

"What, why? Duchess, I have served you well!"

"Yes, you did the dirty work for me. However, after all your bloodshed, the people demand your head. And they shall have it."

"No. No! Please! You can't do this!"

Tiziana had her taken away. To Vanessa's surprise, she was not thrown into a dungeon but was instead taken to a room in the palazzo with a view of the piazza. She stared out of the window at the wooden scaffold in the middle of the square. Workmen were dismantling the gallows. Vanessa swallowed hard.

Over the course of the day, Vanessa looked out of the window again and again. A new structure had been erected on the scaffold in place of the gallows. It was a large, slender machine made of fine wood with a black triangular blade hanging from the top and with a pillory beneath it. A wooden block was placed in front of it, to which four shackles were attached. The baroness could not take her eyes off the device.

A few curious townspeople had gathered in front of the scaffold and looked at the machine. The executioner, who had hanged Rosa on Vanessa's orders just a few weeks ago, stood next to the diabolical device and placed a pumpkin in the lunette.

The Baroness stared unblinkingly at the black blade from her window. The next moment, it dropped down the rails and slid cleanly through the pumpkin.

The amazed Italians applauded.

Vanessa turned pale. She had never seen anything like it. This masterfully crafted machine had only one purpose. Making heads roll. And hers would be the first.

The young aristocrat looked down at herself. Hot piss was crawling down her legs.

A cheer went through the crowd as the doors to the palazzo opened and the guards led the naked patrician, gripped by her arms, into the square. White as a sheet, she allowed herself to be led to the execution site. Vanessa was paralyzed. The impressions were too much for her. The stares of the crowd. The shame of being displayed naked. The sight of the sadistically beautiful machine she was walking towards. The thought of what the black blade was about to do to her thin neck. Never had she felt so alone.

Uneasily, she climbed the wooden scaffold without taking her eyes off the cold steel that patiently awaited her.

The executioner instructed her to kneel in front of the block. Vanessa obeyed. His rough hand gripped her delicate neck and pressed her down. She lay prone over the block while he secured her neck in the lunette between beneath the blade.

With her neck fixed in the pillory, she stared at the red pillow in front of her. She felt the cold shackles snap shut, one by one, around her wrists and ankles. The metal clamps were firmly anchored in the block. Vanessa couldn't move a millimeter. Escape was out of the question. She was fully at the mercy of her tormentor.

The girl looked up. She let her gaze wander over the sea of people. And there she stood. Beyond the crowd, in the window of the palazzo, from which she had watched Rosa's execution. The duchess grinned maliciously at her former aide and winked at her.

With distraught eyes, Vanessa stared again at the soft pillow that would catch her head at any moment.

An unbearable tingling went through the back of her head, running down to her nape.

Her breathing quickened with each passing moment. Vanessa's last moment in this world had come. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and awaited the blade.

Suddenly, she gasped in shock. A sensitive tickle ran across the sole of her left foot. She immediately tried to pull it away, but the shackles would not give way. She tried to turn around, but the pillory did not allow it.

The executioner dipped the brush into the bucket of salt again and ran it over the patrician's right sole. A tortured laugh escaped her as she tightened her toes. Then Vanessa heard the patter of small hooves climbing the steps to the scaffold.

Beads of sweat trickled down her forehead. She was still afraid to lose her head at any moment. But at the same time, it drove her crazy not to be able to see what was happening behind her.

The executioner led the little white goat to Vanessa's feet. It stretched its neck and looked with its rectangular pupils at the salt-coated soles, which the patrician involuntarily held in front of its face. Then the pink tongue shot out and greedily licked up the salt.

Vanessa immediately contorted her face into a tortured grimace and started laughing like a madwoman. The crowd joined in.

"Stop it! Stop it! Please!" she screamed at the top of her lungs.

She tried to kick the goat in the face, but the restraints left her no room. The hungry animal continued to lick, unperturbed. Vanessa's laughter turned into screaming. Meanwhile, Tiziana too was giggling, watching from the palace as her subjects doubled over with laughter.

"I can't breathe! Stop it! I beg you!" screamed the baroness, her head bright red.

But the goat not stop. Vanessa desperately tried to scratch her soles with her toes. But it was in vain. Her feet were too far apart.

She felt as if her stomach would burst at any moment as the nimble tongue of the goat ran over her toes. The pain in her lungs and muscles was unbearable. At the same time, the thought of the cold blade above her neck tormented her.

With her eyes wide open, she stared at the red pillow and screamed her throat hoarse. Her laughter only allowed her to take small breaths of air, which she immediately roared out again. The shameful agony dragged on for seemingly endless minutes. She almost begged to be decapitated.

Her salvation came in the form of a click to her right.

"No! No...!"

An ice-cold shiver went right through the aristocrat's neck. Warm liquid splashed against her chin. Silently, her head fell onto the pillow and rolled across the scaffold.

Vanessa's headless body jerked against the restraints, only to go limp the next moment. Her corpse lay motionless, chained to the block, its neck still fixed in the lunette.



The severed neck resembled a volcano. Everyone was amazed at how much blood gushed out of the young body. Bucket after bucket poured over the scaffold and dripped ceaselessly through the wooden floorboards. The crowd couldn't get enough of it.

None of this mattered to the little goat. Undeterred, it continued to feast on the salt on Vanessa's motionless soles.

And thus, the Duchess Borgia secured the love of her subjects.