Gremory (aka Gamory, Gemory, or Gomory) is a strong Duke of Hell who governs twenty-six legions of demons. He tells and knows of all things past, present and future, about hidden treasures, and procures the love of women, young and old, but especially maidens.
He is depicted as appearing in the form of a beautiful woman with the crown of a duchess tied around his waist, and riding a camel.
Conrad of Marburgh: A man of God
Conrad of Marburgh
Conrad, after receiving a commission from the Archbishop of Mainz also set to work seeking out heresy in both Thuringia and Hesse, and quickly gained a reputation for being unreasonable and unjust. According to most accounts, Conrad accepted almost any accusation as truth, and regarded suspects as guilty until proven innocent. Those accused of being heretics were quickly sought out by Conrad's mobs, and told to repent or else be burnt at the stake. Those accused of heresy were also encouraged to denounce others, with the implication that their own lives might be spared if they did so. Conrad included commoners, nobles and priests in his inquisition: Heinrich Minnike, Provist of Goslar, was one of Conrad's first targets, and was burnt at the stake. In 1227 Pope Gregory XI commissioned Conrad to eliminate heresy throughout the whole of Germany, granting him permission to ignore standard church procedure for the investigation of heresy. According to many sources, news that Conrad was to pass through an area almost invariably caused widespread panic.
Conrad pulled the cowl of his papal ordained cloak over his head, before relaxing his belt to ease the tightness of the harsh fabric chaffing against his whiplashed waist. Striding with determined rhythm, he passed through the doorway of an old flour mill recently acquisitioned by the Pope as another resource to eradicate heretics. On entering a dark inner chamber, he held back his next footstep to look up at what was suspended above his hooded head.
He smiled at the man above him, his thin lips stretched to their full extent and assuming the same grey pallor as his sunken cheeks. Tracing his thumb over the red-jewelled snake’s eyes from the left to right, he sensed a thrill of awe as he watched the casing open to reveal the rings of time that passed the recently tortured hours and days with their turning. Pausing from the distraction of the Devil’s timepiece, he craned his head upwards to check his prisoner was secured in the manner he desired. Through the flickering flames of heavily fuelled and smoking torches mounted on each wall, he saw with latent excitement the arms of his next subject were stretched out horizontally, held fast by manacle and chains. Looking down the naked form of his victim, he observed his legs were held in a vertical attitude by the weight an open topped barrel fastened by iron rings to his ankles. The similar pose his captive held to an image of Christ’s crucifixion in the Pope’s private chambers, provoked arousal to course through his withered loins, whetting his appetite for the forthcoming torment to follow. He took a step back and called up to his vIctim.
“Count Gemory, demon and Duke of Satan. On this day of our Lord, twelve hundred and twenty eight, I, Conrad of Marburg, appointee of Pope Gregory the Ninth, do assume the right as Chief Inquisitor, to extract a confession from your tormented soul. I have in my possession your artefact of evil, your demonic keeper of time. If you confess your sins and admit you are a demon of Satan, a Duke of Hades, I will order your release from the chains of torture and administer the purification of your wretched soul. If you do not confess to me now, the butt hanging from your feet will be filled with water until your limbs are torn sinew by sinew from your wretched body.”
From his position above the black robed inquisitor, Count Gemory looked down and replied with firm authority. “By purification of my wretched soul, I assume you mean burning my wretched body while blood flows through my veins and air fills my lungs. I fear not the stake or its fires. My flesh may be consumed, but my presence will not whither by your evil fetishes for self-gratification at watching others suffer. You know not whom or what you are dealing with, Conrad of Marburg. No fires of Hell can purify my soul, no dismemberment of my body will break my will and there is no such time as now.”
“You talk with the forked tongue of the Devil. I will give orders for your foul mouth to be silenced by red-hot irons before the sun sets tonight. Your time has come, Count Gemory. Confess your sins now.”
“You forget that I said there is no such time as now. As soon as the present has passed it becomes the past. The present that is yet to come is the future and in the nature of all things, the past, present and future are one and the same. I see the future that comes for you, five years from now, all of your pasts, presents and futures will merge into nothingness and oblivion. I on the other hand, who live in the past, present and future, will never cease to inhabit the portents of time.”
Conrad felt the previously surging excitement of impending torture engorging his bodily parts draining away as rapidly as a manhood satiated by a string of whores. He shouted out orders for the water butt to be filled and walked away. Two hours later a messenger arrived at his rooms.
The messenger spoke impassively. “It is done, his arms have torn from their sockets and he is down.”
“Is he – still living?”
“He is. They poured molten lead into the holes left in his shoulders to stop him from bleeding to his death.”
“Is he conscious?”
“He is. Surprisingly he seems relaxed.”
Conrad turned around and stroked his chin with his hand. “Maybe he needs a little more stimulation. Burn out his tongue with red-hot irons and then take him out to the stake. When he is made ready, I will come to watch him burn.”
As the messenger departed, Conrad opened the case of the silver timepiece on his desk. “You may be the work of Satan, but you are the most beautiful and marvellous thing I have ever seen,” he said aloud, gazing at the keeper of time acquired from the condemned man. He waited until the movement of the outer ring indicated the passing of five minutes, before making his way to the open yard where the condemned were burned on the stake.
It took over twenty minutes for Count Gemory to surrender his essence to the floundering flames seeping insipidly from the dampened branches spread out below him. Conrad stood mesmerised, his face creased with future lines of aging, as hand-sized blisters yellowed, before scorching through ochres to burnt umber on the writhing torso of the dying heretic. Satisfied another soul had been purified, he returned to his rooms.
When he opened the door to his quarters, a sulphurous aroma tore into his nose, making his eyes water and bile reflux into his mouth. He rushed to find the source of the obnoxious stench. His feet rooted to the floor when he saw what lay on his desk. In the exact spot he’d left Gemory’s timepiece, there was now a black and smouldering circular shell that crumbled into charred flakes before his eyes.
Five years later, on his way home and accompanied by a Franciscan monk, he was assassinated.