Decus ferocitatis bestialis
Quaseo, cum tui molis, cudate,
dei, adversarium, vos cudate,
They put a hood on my head and take me away. I’m humming the sacred mass. “I call forth the sinner”, I hear the nearing sound. I climb some stairs, the wood creaking under my steps, then we stop, on my hands and legs they tighten the ropes, someone kicks me and I almost lose my balance. I hope you perish. “Let us see your face, murderer!”
The sound rips off the hood from my head. A bald man grins at me with tattoos on his face in a purple cloak. The spokesperson. I throw a weak smile, hastily moving my eyes, sometimes looking at the gathering crowd, sometimes at the grey sky.
The spokesperson turns to the audience and expatiates on my guilt. I hope you perish. Above me is the hanging rope which is now put in its proper place — around my neck. The spokesperson grabs my hair and whispers in my ear. “Die, murderer.”
He slaps me. I hope I had killed someone close to him. A little dizzy from the punch the whole crowd is blurry. When I come round I see my brothers in the back rows. They are marching towards me wearing black cloaks, their hands entwined according to our ordinances, and I smile. Now I watch only the sky and wait for the gods’ decision until the spokesperson kicks me.
On the top of a building a dark figure raises a bow. I look at the spokesperson. “Perish”, I say and at that exact moment an arrow puts him to death. The crowd roars and my brothers slowly approach the gallows. Soon, I hear their chanting of the sacred mass. I look up and release a quiet groan. “Ah, Missa Bestialis.”
Now I am protected, the gods have decided. My brothers stand before me and sing the refrain. Someone in the crowd meets his death. Then another. More and more. “All of you perish”, I whisper, then join the chorus. Guards hurry to our location but as soon as they approach they all pass into oblivion. And I become more and more powerful. Even the Sun hides in fear. Yes, fear us.
The crowd nicely goes quiet. Nobody remains. My brothers loosen the ropes, I bow before their immensity. Before long it’s night, the town barren, dread sweeps the streets and nothing is heard but the sacred mass.
Translation of the Latin text:
The beauty of bestial ferociousness
Please, with your millstones, strike,
gods, the enemy, strike,
you gods, the enemy.