Del Muero

'Hang him and whip him'.

The order rang out coldly across the landing, down the stairs to the dark cells. The murmurs which rose up among the prisoners died out as the whooshing of the whip drew bloodcurling screams from its victim. Ienello counted along as the whip thudded against the prisoner's flesh. Fifty strokes. The first for the next two days. He knew the drill. Anyone unfortunate to be picked out was hung against the wall and given fifty lashes of the hidewhip four times a day for two days, while he watched his fellow prisoners struggle to get a bit of whatever meal was passed across. He was taken down the third day and the next unfortunate was hung up.

He sighed. If only they would leave them alone. Helooked at the guards. Fools. If only they knew that one day it could be them in a cell, naked, hungry, left to rot by the king they were serving so diligently. He recalled the conversation he had overheard two days ago when it had been his turn to face the whip. The king was going to resume the trial of the rebel prisoners by the end of the month. The war between the rebel forces and the king's army had been dubbed the Battle of IIdron by supporters of the king. Ironically, no battle had been fought in Ildron, the King's valley, only that the king presided there over what must be the cruellest trial to ever have held. What a name to describe the bloody war that had cost the freedom and lives of so many. Things had been going on well until the tables turned, and the tyrant's army crushed theirs. He shuddered as he looked around him. Most of the men who had been imprisoned with him were dead from the maiming they had received during the first trial. To face that again, the screams, the feeling of helpless rage as he watched men, his men hacked up at the king's command, he was not sure what it would do to him this time. But what could he do? Nothing, just as he had been unable to do anything then.

'Don't give up!'

Ienello turned to look at the man speaking. Devon, one of the captains under his fellow commanders. His left hand had been hacked off a little above the elbow.

'We're still alive after all, anything could happen and we would find ourselves on the other side of these walls. Don't give up hope'.

Ienello thought over his words and began to counter him, but Devon insisted.

'You are one of the few among us who are still complete in body. You are strong in spirit, don't lose hope just yet'.

Ienello nodded more to get the man to keep quiet than because he believed his words. They seemed like idle tales to him. Devon was the only one who spoke with him about the old days. He would always urge him to eat whatever was available and never lose hope. Even if the man was right, it would take a miracle for escape to be possible.

The prisoner's screams rang out as the whipping began again. Ienello tried to tune it out, but his thoughts went to that time when the king first held the trial.

At the end of the war, all the prisoners were taken to Ildron, the king's valley to face the king's judgment. His men, many of them injured formed most of the surviving soldiers, a total of one thousand, five hundren men out of the seven thousand he had led out. The other commanders had faced heavier losses. Together, they had less than two thousand left. Argove the eldest commander was also gravely injured. The tyrant ordered the prisoners to be driven into the middle of the valley while he sat with the queen on a raised platform. The king promised to give the prisoners a chance to save their lives. If they lived, that would be their good fortune. Ienello knew the man was not to be trusted, amd he was proved right. The soldiers were dragged forward in tens and any part of their body the king pointed out was cruelly hacked off or smashed. The commanders watched helplessly as their men were being tortured. Jaws, foreheads, temples, wrists, shoulders, knees, ankles, ribs, hips were smashed. Eyes, ears, tongues, ribs, fingers, toes, hands, feet, scalps, even the manhood fell off different soldiers, decent men whose true crime was that they chose to stand up for their country against a tyrant who pilliaged his own people. Ienello screamed in helpless rage, he cried uncontrollably as he watched some of the men convulse to death from their wounds. Day after day, sun up to sun down their men were being relentlessly cut up. Early the third day, Commander Argrove died from his battle wounds. Ienello numbly acknowledged it when he was told. By sun down on the fourth day, there were less than fifty of them yet to face the the king's cutters, and only twelve of them untouched with serious injuries from the war. Ienello looked up to the skies. He had a feeling that he would meet his death the next day. As the first set were being dragged off in the morning, a messenger rushed to the king and announced loudly that the Pendawicks had invaded the north and were riding hard for the royal city.

The king rose up and announced to the prisoners.

'I have rather urgent matters to attend to. When I have settled that, be rest assured we will continue this. In the meanwhile make sure to rest properly'.

Then he turned and left with the queen.

The king's soldiers grabbed everyone maimed or not and marched them eastward to a prison close to the southern end of the Slovian Mountains. They were led down many stairs, past many prison cells filled with faces etched with misery, into a dark hall filled with empty cells stretching as far as Ienello could see. They were stripped of all clothing and pushed into various cells. When it became obvious that the cells would not be enough for everyone, rhey were forced to cramp together. As many as twenty to thirty persons were forced into a cell meant for ten persons. As the soldiers left, they sneered at them to be patient. They would soon begin to die, and the rest would have enough space.

Many died within days of their incarceration. It was hard to tell the time as it was always dark and there were no visits except the two times when food was brought, a meagre amount that could not go round. The roof leaked continously and it was always cold and smelly. The sides of the cells were thick to prevent communication between cells. Ienello's cell was close to the end of the row. Each time the guards brought food, Ienello would ask the date, the day and time; and soon he was able to establish a sense of time. He would also ask how the war was going. The reports he got over the first months of the war were not encourging. He kept praying, for the sake of the people that the king would be victorious, though slavery under the Pendawicks could be no worse than what the people were suffering under their king. The war lasted a full year, the king was victorious and seemed content to leave the prisoners to their fate. However six months later, the queen visited the prison and the whippings began.

The eerie silence brought him back to the present. A guard, Mezron was pointing at him with a whip. He beckoned on him to exit the cell. Ienello briefly considered ignoring the wicked fellow but thought better of it. As he made to exit the cell, Devon held his arm.

'Be strong, don't let them break you'.

The guard was incensed and ordered Devon out. The whippings were savage that first day. Ienello wondered if Devon had purposely drawn the guard's attention on himself. He was grateful for the reprieve, but it was only delaying the inevitable. He would certainly be picked out one day. Later that day, the guards were in an obvious state of excitement. They gathered in groups discussing under their breath. Occassionally their voices would rise but there was no way for Ienello or his cellmates to know what the excitment was about. Hopefully Devon would know. The next day, Devon was unceremonously pushed into the cell and the guard hurried off. Everyone was suprised. Devon looked white and had a lost look in his eyes. His cellmates focused their gaze on him.

'Devon, what's with the guards?', Cassio asked.

'The...the king', Devon stammered. waving his good hand frantically'. 'He...he is comming for us'.

Murmurs filtered in from the other cells. 'Get a grip man. Tell us everything'.

'The senior officer came yesterday and ordered all the guards to be present at the grounds today by noon. They are going to present themselves to the king. The king is going to inspect the prisons. All the prisoners from the Battle of Ildron are to be transported later to the King's Valley to resume their trial'.

'We were told it would be at the end of the month', one prisoner said.

'Who told you that?' fired another prisoner. 'Anyway, now or then, what's the difference? We're going to be dead'.

'Except it isn't just death', a quiet voice said. 'I wish it was'.

Ienello looked at the last speaker, a young man named Alvaro. He was one of the soldiers under Commander Jardon. Ienello was not sure he had seen the young man talking to anyone before this time. He was so young. Ienello wondered what his reason for joining the rebellion was.

'We can do something Ienello'. Devon held him in a vise, his eyes wide with fear. 'We can't continue to be sitting ducks. If we think about it and plan it properly we can do something. We are soldiers for goodness sake. If we work together, broken or not, we can escape this place'. He paused. 'I will rather die trying to escape this place than face the king again, rather die'.

The cell was quiet. Ienello was at a loss for words. Could they really make a good plan of escape? How many could escape? Of the eleven men left in the cell only two of them were still whole in body. Could Devon be right? They all seemed to be waiting for him to say something. Any response he could have thought up was preempted by the noisy return of the guards. The king's coming was delayed. The relief the guards felt at not meeting the king was palpable. They turned their attention back to the prisoners. They would continue having a field day until the king came.

A prisoner was ordered out of one of the formost cells. The screams of the prisoner as the whips landed was bloodcurling. Ienello recognised the voice. It was Domingo, one of his men. Rage rose in him as the guards laughed. Abruptly the screaming stopped. The man was proclaimed dead and dropped unceremoniously. A murmur rose among the prisoners. No one had ever died at the whips before. The guards could care less. Another prisoner was picked to replace the first. Over the next seven days, two others died during the whipping. This could not go on. Something had to be done.