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e grounds stretched up to the surrounding forest； a mass of thick vegetation that had spread with neglect； a pond of some kind； thick with algae。 The casual observer might have sensed an atmosphere of dereliction and emptiness but not Sabat。 As he alighted on an upper windowsill he sensed the presence of others； a feeling of hopelessness that wafted from within on the smell of decay。
He passed inside； changed his form to that of a hornet； buzzed his way down a long panelled corridor thick with dust but noted the trails of footprints to and fro on the floor； a regular thoroughfare。 He followed the footmarks down a flight of stone steps that were only too familiar。 The dungeons of Armageddon where he had spoken to that traitor only a short time ago！ But this was not Armageddon； this was but a parody that existed in the past； in a world where time was unknown。
Now he could hear voices； a weeping and wailing like the sound of the wind in a far off tunnel； but there was no wind because the torches which lit this passageway burned evenly without so much as a flicker of a flame。 So cold； and damp too； condensation trickling down the stone walls。
The noise was louder now and as he rounded a bend he saw the huge dungeon； too big for the torches on the walls to illuminate fully； merely keeping the shadows at bay。 A stench of putrefaction greeted him as he flew up and settled on a sagging overhead beam； the smell of rotting bodies！
His first feeling was one of revulsion。 Amongst the living prisoners chained to the walls he saw corpses in varying degrees of deposition； skeletons that had not been removed； bodies only recently dead with rats gnawing at the flesh with a horrible squelching； grinding sound。 Sabat winced； transferred his attention to the living prisoners。
Men and women of all ages； children too。 All in threadbare clothing that the dampness of this underground place was rotting on their bodies。 They had long given up shouting and screaming at the rats； accepted the presence of vermin； only crying out when sharp rodent teeth bore at living flesh。
These people cried their hopelessness openly； their pain…twisted faces shiny with tears。 They prayed for death but it did not e； for this was their fate； their hell。 But who were the gaolers in these halls of degradation？ Sabat took to the wing again； an erratic course that eventually brought him to the furthermost wall； a distance of at least fifty yards； and even then there was yet another dungeon where humanity was at its lowest ebb。 The dead were the only fortunate ones。 A child was screaming frantically to join its mother on the opposite wall； a pathetic naked figure who sagged in her manacles； her head fallen on to her breasts。 Yesterday she had whispered hoarse words of encouragement to her offspring but today she was silent。 Because she was dead and the rats had already begun to eat her。
Bowls of stinking food that was rotten before it was prepared were stacked by the entrance。 Sabat wondered who came to feed these wretches； what kind of gaoler could tolerate these conditions。 Even the vermin preferred the corpses to the morass of putrid nourishment。 The stench was strong； hanging in this airless underground tomb that housed the living and the dead； and even as Sabat was contemplating going back upstairs the sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears。
Back at his vantage point on that central beam he had an unrestricted view of the approaching men。 The one in the lead was obviously the gaoler； a squat； grimed figure clad in crude garments cut from the skin of some animal； either a goat or a sheep。 Eyes that glinted insanely； gleaming with lust and sadism as he viewed his manacled charges on either wall。 In his hand he carried a homemade whip； a length of rope to which innumerable rusty nails had been attached。 Sabat winced； those discolorations might not have been solely rust！ A shambling arrogant gait that only faltered when a well…directed blob of phlegm splattered on his cheek and ran down on to his thick lips。
The prisoner who had spat gave a hollow laugh； then pursed his lips and vainly searched his dry mouth for more saliva。 'We shall die and cheat you；' he shouted； 'and then you and your master will be forced to eat the flesh of corpses！' The guard wheeled； his arm going back； that cruel lash snaking forward into an arc； the nails ripping across the emaciated features of the helpless man on the wall； crude fishhooks that embedded in the mouth and the cheek； ripped out chunks of bloody flesh； spraying crimson as they came free； distorting and elongating the mouth that had dared to spit its defiance。
The wounded man screamed； began dribbling blood； writhing with the agony of his terrible wound； setting off more screams down the line。 That distraught child was shrieking her infantile terror； a woman shaking with sobs。
'Cochon' the guard wound his lash back in； plucked off a chunk of bloody flesh and hurled it contemptuously in the direction of the feeding rats。 'You shall not die before your time。 Not here。 Perhaps tomorrow the master will have need of you。 Or the day after。 Who knows？'
Sabat's eyes were riveted on 'the master'。 Oh God； there could be no possible mistake。 Pierre de Lancre had been true to his word； his unerring hunting instinct had led Sabat to Louis Nevillon。 Three centuries of dying and rebirth had not changed him； the same handsome bestial features； eyes that glowed with malevolence and lusted for the flesh which hung from the walls of this human abattoir； tongue licking those cruel lips in anticipation of the meat which was his for the taking； his very own farmyard of human victims。
'Tonight； Hugo；' strong teeth showed in a merciless smile； 'I will have that woman。' A bony forefinger singled out a ely wench； a recent acquisition because her body had not yet begun to waste away。 'Take her and prepare her/
Hugo slouched forward to do his master's bidding。 The girl was screaming； trying to struggle as she was freed； but the squat man was too strong for her； tucking her under his odorous arm； ignoring her flaying limbs。
'Good；' Nevillon turned away。 'Let us leave this stinking place； Hugo。 Too many are dying here for my liking。 It is such a waste。 Keep them better fed； it improves the quality of the meat。 The Chateau of the Damned is renowned across the whole of France for its banquets？
Sabat watched them go； alone again with the damned and the dying。 The rats were continuing with their feed； unhindered； the injured man was spitting blood and groaning。 The child had fallen into wide…eyed mute terror。 Tomorrow the Beast would e again； following at the heels of his depraved henchman； singling out yet another unfortunate to grace his unholy table。
Sabat changed back to human form； a materialisation which grew silently in the shadows； and only when he stepped out into the wan torchlight did screams echo again in the dungeons of doom。 Cries of fear and hate rang out。
'He is back。 The Beast has returned。'
'No； it is not he。 It is。。。'
'It is the witchfinder！ Mon Dieu； Pierre de Lancre has at last discovered the Beast's lair！ We are saved！'
Sabat smiled； held up a hand to silence their cries of astonishment。 Thank you； my friends； but I beseech you to be silent whilst I go in search of this prince of purgatory。 To warn him with your cries might prove fatal to us all。'
They fell silent and Sabat noted the smiles of relief upon faces which hitherto had shown only utter despair。 Even the one whose mouth had been torn up into his cheek was laughing in between spitting out blood。 Pierre de Lancre； the hoped…for saviour had arrived！ Their messiah was here。
Sabat moved swiftly； mounting those stone steps silently； pausing to survey the extent of the massive hall above； but there was nobody in sight。 And even as he hesitated a fearful scream echoed throughout the building； a cry of terror that was abruptly cut off before it reached its peak； vibrating in the still； cold atmosphere。
Sabat moved fast； having singled out the door from behind which the cry had e。 Guilt escalated into cold fury； the man called Hugo had wasted no time in killing the girl。 Sabat hoped that he might have been in time to save her life； but he had been too cautious and it had cost her her life。 Now all that was left to him was revenge。
He flung the heavy door wide； saw a huge kitchen beyond。 A fire roared in an open grate and above this the freshly killed naked body of the peasant wench turned slowly on a spit。 With an oath Hugo whirled； his massive hand closing over a meat cleaver which lay on the table nearby。 But in his eyes there was a flicker of recognition and fear。
'So Pierre de Lancre has e to join the legions of the damned！ I fear though； monsieur； that your flesh will not be tender enough for the master。 Nevertheless； we are plagued with hungry rats so 。。。'
But Sabat had already anticipated that wild swing。 Hugo was as strong as an ox and just as clumsy； a sweeping arc of honed steel that would have behea