Desliz Del Tiempo

'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.