A Stag in the Shadows

by S E Turner

  Chapter Ten

  'Greetings.' His voice was low and gravely. 'I see that Coben has brought a fine selection of workers for me this time.'

  The guards pushed them through and stood them all in a line to be inspected. Twenty four captives made up of farmhands, maids and game keepers fidgeted in fear in front of him.

  'I trust that your journey wasn't too gruelling.' His sneer showed a sincere lack of mercy. 'But rest assured you will be looked after now.'

  The captives looked at each other with uncertainty.

  'You will be given soup and bread after my introduction, and then you will be allocated your jobs, and your rooms.'

  Again the captives looked bewildered.

  He went up to Tiller. 'What do you do?'

  'I am a goat herder.'

  Then Atilus was questioned. 'And you, what do you do? '

  'I look after the cows.'

  'And which one of you is the farmstead's owner?'

  Philipe stepped forward. 'I am the owner.'

  But Hezekiah was momentarily diverted, when standing next to the owner, was the most beautiful creature he had ever set eyes on. He stared, transfixed. Saskia looked to the floor. Philipe took a step back and put an protective arm around her shoulder.

  Hezekiah had been married once before, but she was a cunning vixen and a complex creature. She had tried to tame him, calm him down. But she couldn't do either. She wanted him to father her a child and pursued him relentlessly. So when she died in childbirth, taking his daughter with her, he swore he would never marry again. Unless it was a submissive young thing that hadn't learned the ways of the world and would do what he commanded. His eyes lit up when he saw Saskia.

  'This is my daughter, she is fourteen years old.' Philipe's face was grim, his voice concerned.

  'Beauty is ageless.' Hezekiah almost whispered his response. He approached, slowly. His eyes resting on hers, constantly. He took her hand. A gentle kiss was placed on the dorsal side. 'Ma'am you are without doubt the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.'

  'She is fourteen years old sir, she is a child not a woman.' Philipe stood firm, fiercely protective.

  'If I say she is a woman, then she is a woman.' Hezekiah didn't take his eyes off the beauty while his scorching words were delivered .

  Coben's look was enough to freeze hell itself.

  'With respect my lord, the girl is still very young, and not mature enough for a lord such as yourself.'

  Hezekiah took his eyes off of Saskia for the first time, and with a hooked finger, beckoned Coben to one side.

  Saskia breathed a sigh of relief, Philipe felt his nightmare had only just begun. Silence resumed while Hezekiah and Coben exchanged words. With their backs to the captives, Hezekiah put an arm around his commanding officer.

  'Coben, please do not try to outsmart me in front of the prisoners.'

  'I am not trying to outsmart you sire, I am merely pointing out that she is a girl, and not mature enough for a man such as yourself.'

  'But I do not hire you to tell me what to do, you are here to protect me and take my orders.'

  'I'm not telling you what to do sire, I just think you forget what is right and wrong because of your position.'

  'Listen Coben, I know that you are still traumatised by past events. I know that the General Domitrius Corbulo took your daughter and imprisoned her for his own desires, though word has it that he did not lay a finger on her.'

  'Sire...'

  Hezekiah shook his head, and with a finger to his lips, signalled silence. 'I know that she was only fourteen years old—but she escaped, we know that she escaped... unharmed!'

  'Please...' Coben was anxious to speak and breathed deeply in frustration .

  Hezekiah looked at him like he was talking to a naughty child. 'And I know your family were burned to death in the wagons of hell because of her escape, I know that, I remember it, and I remember how you searched everywhere for the perpetrators to bring them to justice. But that is in the past Coben. The general is dead, the emperor is dead. This is the future.'

  'But you don't want to be like them brother. You swore to me that you wouldn't be like them.'

  Hezekiah let out a deep sigh. 'Is it the girl, is that what is worrying you?' He turned to look at the innocent face and then looked Coben in the eye. 'Okay. I will wait until she is sixteen. Until then she will be imprisoned in the ivory tower.'

  'No!!...'

  'Do not push your luck Coben...' his voice was fierce. The mountain shook. The captives looked to the floor in fear.

  Hezekiah readjusted himself and softened his voice. 'She will be imprisoned. Then, when she has served two years imprisonment—she will marry me.'

  Coben breathed deeply and had to control himself. 'Marriage?'

  'Yes marriage. I need a wife, and I need an heir. She will do nicely.'

  'In two years?'

  'Yes. It will be a double celebration; her release, and her marriage to me.' Hezekiah smiled smugly at his perception.

  Coben moistened his throat. '

  'What about her father? '

  Hezekiah looked at Philipe. 'He will go into the mines.'

  'And the others?'

  'Into the fields.'

  'May I watch over the girl?'

  Hezekiah looked at him sternly. A look that lingered far too long. Coben feared that he had pushed his strong-willed brother too far.

  'As you wish. If it will bring you peace of mind for your own lost daughter. If it will help you find redemption because you couldn't save your own...'

  The icy stare that followed was cutting.

  'See to it.' Hezekiah span around to take his leave. He marched up to the beautiful girl and took her hand. 'We will meet again. You can count on it.'

  Chapter Eleven

  With Hezekiah gone, Coben took some deep breaths. He faced the wall, away from the prisoners. Then he took control, straightened his jacket and turned around.

  'You will all be given a job to do.'

  He called two of the ledger bearers over.

  'These men will go through your strengths, and then you will each be assigned a position.'

  The captives looked at each-other. Saskia gripped hold of her father's hand tightly.

  The captives lined up, Saskia and Philipe followed them.

  'Not you two. You stay with me.'

  Philipe looked perplexed. 'I have to stay with my workers.'

  Coben went up to him and pulled him out of the line. He leaned in so that no one else could hear. 'If you want your daughter to be safe, then you have to do exactly as I say. '

  Bewildered and reluctantly, the two of them stood at the side and watched the proceedings.

  The ledger bearers began to move among the captives.

  'Name?'

  'Tiller.'

  'What do you do?'

  'Goat herder.'

  'Okay, take this number. Keep it safe. You will need it tomorrow.'

  The clerk wrote down all the details and then Tiller was given a card. He looked at it and slipped it in his pocket.

  The clerk moved on.

  'Name?'

  'Moira.'

  'Occupation?'

  'Cook.'

  'Okay, take this number. Keep it safe. You will need it tomorrow.'

  Another clerk was also filling in the entries.

  'Name?'

  'Atilus.'

  'What do you do?'

  'I look after cows.'

  The clerk looked up. 'So what job is that?'

  Atilus shrugged. 'I don't know. I just know that I look after cows. I milk them. I feed them. I talk to them. I look after cows.'

  The clerk looked at him suspiciously and licked the tip of his pencil. 'Cow-herd.' He wrote down the position in his ledger.

  Atilus smiled at his new title.

  'Take this number. Keep it safe. You will need it tomorrow.'

  Slowly and systematically, the captives were all given a job title and a number. Some of the women h
ad to be given new jobs like sewing and tanning hides; the men had to learn carpentry and roofing, others would be put to work in the laundry and the kitchens. Most of them were content with their new roles.

  Still, Saskia and Philipe could only look on from the sides.

  The ledger bearers checked notes, ticked off job allocations and went through the numbers again, just to make sure that no one had been left out. They looked over to Coben who nodded and sent them off with a wave of his hand.

  Two more guards stepped forward.

  'Follow these soldiers, they will now take you through to your accommodation.'

  Coben gave out the orders and held back Saskia and Philipe again.

  The guards looked at him and pointed to their wrists. Coben shook his head. The guards were not happy. But Coben had spoken. They took the captives away. Down through the passageways where they saw that the long building was partitioned into many smaller rooms. They were plain rooms, with no curtains on the windows. It was partially light outside and cruelly exposed iron beds with menacing shackles .

  The captives suddenly went cold.

  'Where are they taking us?' said Tiller.

  'I don't know, but I don't like the look of this,' said Moira.

  'This has to be hell,' said Atilus.

  The young women were trying to be brave, the younger men even braver, and then they saw the iron braziers at the end of the hall. They watched as a new set of metal stamps were clamped into the branding iron and the iron was thrust into the red hot coals burning in the drum. The guard cruelly took Tiller's arm and the other pressed the heated brand into the back of his wrist. The red hot iron seared his skin. His eyes filled with water, his heart raced as if his body was on fire, but he never moved when the iron burned him. He didn't even blink.

  One by one the prisoners were branded and led through another long tunnel that fed a mile below the surface of the road. Then they climbed up an incline of steep steps that would take them out into the open again. Rows and rows of sheds greeted them and lines of farm workers queued for their supper. Two guards were waiting for them. The largest one had a huge scar that puckered his skin from the bottom of his earlobe to the outside corner of his mouth, making his reddish complexion even more hideous. The smaller one had several teeth missing, and his face caved in on both sides.

  The scarred man stepped forward and spoke with his hand resting on the leather pummel of a coiled whip. The young women froze in terror. The men tried to remain strong.

  'You've been given your orders and your numbers. Your designated working area is visible by a number in the field or in one of the barns. You work in the area assigned to you. Does everyone understand?'

  His head bobbed up and down as each of the prisoners grunted that they understood.

  'There are guards positioned around the perimeters watching at all hours. You can see the ten foot high barbed wire fence all around you. Anyone foolish enough to get past all of that, will be caught and will be punished. You will be locked in the iron rooms until the king sees fit to release you.' A sinister smirk spread across his face. 'Though most will spend their final hours impaled on the falchions—ceremoniously displayed for the king's pleasure on the palace gates.'

  That was enough to stifle any thought of fleeing.

  'The first horn will sound at five in the morning. The cooks will go and prepare the oatmeal; the workers will line up and wait. The cooks will give out two rolls to each worker, this is to last throughout the day. They will also give out a flagon of water to each worker. The second horn will sound twenty minutes later, and is for all workers to get to their stations.

  'Anyone who is late or caught sleeping in will be publicly flogged. Is that understood.' He looked around at the ashen faces nodding wildly, and getting more jittery with each command.

  'Those of you who are cooks go to barn one. You will be brought vegetables and chickens from the fields. Sacks of grain are in the outbuildings. You will start to prepare the evening meal right now. You will make bread rolls for tomorrow and the day after that. It's up to you to provide for the masses.

  Those of you who are tailors, there are piles of garments waiting for you in barn two. Launderers, there are streams to wash the clothes in. The rest of you will go to your designated areas.' He looked around at the captives; branded, dishevelled and holding their meagre possessions. 'Does everyone understand?'

  Nodding heads and murmurs indicated that they did. One person was already planning an escape though.

  'We can get out of here,' said Tiller as he looked around him.

  'You heard what the guard said,' whispered Atilus, almost aghast at what Tiller had just proposed. 'We can't.'

  'We can make a run for it though,' continued Tiller, looking around in earnest. 'I can scale that fence easily and hide in the trees for a few days.'

  'Where will you go?' asked Atilus.

  'I will go back home, I will help Mistress Nolene build up the farmstead again.'

  'But the guards will hunt you down and find you. You will put the Mistress in danger. You cannot escape.' Atilus was fearful of what Tiller would do.

  'Or put our lives in danger. They would surely punish us as a warning to others,' chipped in Brack, the newly appointed cordwainer.

  'It's too risky, and besides, look at the people around you, do they look scared or beaten? No. They were all smiling when they saw us arrive.' Moira stepped in.

  'They've probably been ordered to do that.' Tiller's voice was thin .

  'Please don't try to escape Tiller, we are a team, we will stay together and support each other. Promise me you won't do anything hasty,' said Brack.

  There was no response.

  'It's better to be here and live, than to be free and forever on the run. I will keep you fed. I will take care of you, you know I will.'

  'But we are prisoners Moira, slaves to that King Hezekiah.'

  'We are not prisoners Tiller. Master Philipe and Mistress Saskia are prisoners. Goodness knows what will become of them.'

  The hideously scarred guard stepped forward. 'Silence over there!'

  His whip cracked loudly, and they all stood to attention.

  'You are not here to gossip, you are here to work. Unless you are planning an escape...' He cracked a sinister smile and narrowed his eyes. The pummel of the whip drummed on the palm of his hand.

  'Why couldn't Coben come with us?' whispered Tiller. 'We've got the ogres from hell here.'

  'Because he's looking after the master and the mistress,' said Moira even more quietly.

  Without warning, the whip came crashing down on Tillers back. He fell to the ground as another one slashed across his shoulders. He frantically called out to the perpetrator to stop. Another one split the air and sliced into the skin where the first had not quite punctured it. Tiller screamed out in agony. 'Please stop! '

  Another ripped into his buttocks, and another, each strike more vicious than the last.

  'Have you learned your lesson?'

  'Yes, yes, I have. I'm sorry. I won't do it again.' 'What won't you do? I need to hear it from your snivelling lips.'

  'I won't talk. I won't say a word. I will remain silent.' The words fell out of his mouth like gibberish.

  'I don't believe you,' and the brute resumed the heavy precise strokes, his great arm jerking backwards and forwards, slashing through the air in a constant rhythm.

  Before Tiller lost consciousness, he saw someone tearing the weapon out of the monster's hand.

  'Yurg, if you do that for long enough, then he won't be able to work, now will he, and I don't think the king will like that. Do you?'

  The voice was easily recognisable. The whip was broken in two against his trunk of a thigh.

  'You won't be needing this anymore. Now let them go into their quarters, let them eat, let them have water, and let them sleep. They've had a tiring day.'

  Coben lifted the unconscious man, and carried him into a long building. Moira followed to tend to his wounds.


  'These are your rooms,' he said, laying Tiller down and carefully rolling him onto his belly. The women will go over there and the men will go in here.'

  He jutted out his chin to another long shed that was a few feet away from the one they were standing in. These were just two of many. Each shed consisted of twelve beds, six on each side and facing each-other, made of wooden frames strung with hessian. The mattresses were stuffed with goose feathers, and each bed had one blanket folded at the foot.

  At the end of the room was a long wooden table where a bowl of water for a strip down wash was placed. An old grey piece of linen was next to it.

  In the very bad weather, this would double up as a place to eat. In the better weather, they would eat all their meals outside. A huge pan stood by a back door where all the dirty plates would go and be collected by a designated worker.

  Moira looked around in anguish.

  'Yours are exactly the same as this,' Coben answered the look on her face. 'Water pumps are behind the sheds.'

  'Water pumps?' Her tone suggested surprise.

  'Nothing fancy I promise you. In the winter, I can guarantee you won't wash for months.' His rhetoric wiped the joy from her face in an instant.

  They turned to the shivering man.

  'He's in shock.'

  'I expect he is, he's never had a beating in his life.' The tears weld up in her eyes. 'But thank you.' She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands.

  'Careful as you clean the wounds. May I suggest ripping a piece of your under skirt. The material will be softer.'

  Moira did as he suggested. Atilus brought in a bowl of clean water.'