Part 5 (1/2)
The priest went to salve his wounded pride with a skin of wine. He was joined by two of his a.s.sociates; rough, brutal men, filthy in both mind and body. They didn't care for the priest any more than they cared for anyone else, or indeed, even each other. But they hovered about him on the occasion when it would serve their interests. He had wine on this evening, which was one of their interests.
The three men sprawled on the rough benches, becoming drunker as the evening progressed. They spoke loudly of foul things, each trying to outdo one another in their crude fas.h.i.+on. The priest was actually winning this rude contest when he spotted a young girl scurrying across the street to her hut. He sat forward; she was at least six seasons, old enough.
”You there!”
The girl stopped fearfully, torn between the doorway to her hut that was so close, and the commanding tone of the priest.
”Come here!”
The girl looked longingly at her mother who stood anxiously in the doorway. Her father appeared and pushed the woman back inside. He looked sternly at the girl and waved her on to the priest. He disappeared into the hut, pulling the cover closed behind him.
”Girl, I said come here!”
The child felt fear and despair as she reluctantly obeyed the priest.
The two men with the priest leered at the little girl. This was the best part of befriending the priest. The one missing the better part of his teeth grinned widely as he felt the hardness between his legs.
The little girl watched the man grope himself and turned to flee. The priest reached out to grab her, catching only her s.h.i.+ft which ripped loose in his hand. He laughed loudly as the now-naked girl ran for the barn.
The three drunken men chased her, laughing merrily. ”First one to her gets to break her!” shouted the drunker of the two men.
It was surely a measure of the men's drunkenness that the fat priest nearly caught her first. But it was the toothless one who grabbed the little girl's ankle, tripping her up as she entered the barn. He fell upon her, his weight easily pinning her. His foul breath filled the girl's nostrils as he struggled with the rope at his waist. He pulled his organ free and with a shout of victory, grabbed the girl's shoulders and thrust forward.
It was an act he would never complete as his face exploded into blood and bone fragments. He went backward off the girl as she screamed, his neck at an odd angle. He was dead before he touched the ground, his spine snapped just below the base of his skull.
The boy moved from the shadows, holding the now-bloodied garden spade in his hand. The second man was stunned. This boy, who could not be more than 13 seasons, had nearly decapitated his friend with little more than a farming tool.
The boy turned towards the priest, who was standing there with his now-flaccid member in his hand. The sight and smell of the dead man's blood excited and enraged the boy. He knew he could probably kill the other two men with few repercussions, but the priest he could not touch.
It did not matter to him as he thrust the metal tool straight through the priest's heart. The priest's shocked expression was almost comical as he collapsed to the ground, dead.
The little girl fled screaming from the barn and the other man stared at the boy in horror. ”You've killed a man of G.o.d,” he said, backing away from him, ”you're d.a.m.ned forever!” He himself ran screaming from the barn, terrified of the abomination behind him.
The boy knew he should go after the man. Whatever protection had been afforded him up until this time surely had run out. But he was suddenly tired, drained by the rush the killing had given him. He dropped his weapon and stumbled out into the cool night air, collapsing in the wet gra.s.s.
They came for him the next morning, the clergy and the soldiers from the next town. He was bound and placed on the back of an a.s.s, and did not get the chance to say farewell to his mother who stood in the doorway as he was taken away. She knew she would never see her son again.
The men treated him roughly and he was hungry and thirsty by the time he reached the town by midday. He had never been to this town, or indeed, any town. He had never been anywhere outside his own village and it was surprising to see the number of strange faces. There was a growing crowd as his hands and feet were placed in the stocks.
He glanced to his left. A man was pinned there, alive but with his head hanging down and his swollen tongue protruding from his mouth. His stench was nearly unbearable as both his hands and feet were rotting off. The boy turned to his right where another young man, perhaps a few seasons older than himself, was confined. He had not been there as long but the skin on his face was beginning to crack and peel from the constant exposure.
The boy turned his attention to the crowd. They looked at him with a kind of malicious glee, hoping his sentence would be carried out immediately. When it was not to be, they expressed their disappointment by throwing rocks and whatever objects they could find at the three prisoners. One young man even defecated in the street then picked up his own excrement and threw it at the stockade.
The boy was glad it hit the prisoner to his right and not him, but he was left with the stench of the feces and the rotting vegetables as the crowd tired and left the three in their misery.
The boy did not want to talk to either of his companions. The man to his left occasionally shouted out in delirium, but beyond that it was largely quiet in the town square. The boy began to cramp in the awkward position and tried to s.h.i.+ft his weight, but it was no good. The cuts and scratches he had received from the thrown objects began to itch as the blood mingled with his sweat.
Finally the unrelenting heat began to diminish as the shadows lengthened. The older boy to his right began to fidget in fear and he wondered what could be worse than what they had already endured.
He quickly found out as a group of leering men stumbled over to their location.
”Are you sure we can't have the pretty one? I'm sure he wouldn't mind too much.”
Another man punched the first good-naturedly, but with warning. ”No, can't touch that one. He's a priest-killer anyway. You don't want to b.u.g.g.e.r the d.a.m.ned.”
The man moved behind the boy and smacked him on his rear. ”I don't know, might be worth it.”
The other man laughed uneasily and pulled him away from the boy. ”Stop foolin', Tom, we got this one here.”
The boy could not see what the men were doing behind him but he quickly pieced it together by the squeals of the boy next to him. The men, four or five at least, began to rape the older boy. They took turns and it was apparent from the different voices that others came and went. The boy next to him was slammed forward and back in his stocks as the men took him from behind.
The younger boy swallowed hard, feeling his backside cringe although he was not being touched. Although sympathy was deemed of little worth, he could not help but feel it for the other boy.
”Hey Nell! Too bad you don't have a tool, you could come over here and give us a hand, so to speak.”
The men all laughed raucously at the joke and a female joined in. ”I got the only tool I need right here.”
The boy tried to look over his shoulder. The woman was just barely in his field of vision and was moving out of it as she came toward them. But not before he saw she held a broom in her hand.
The men laughed even louder at her crudeness. ”Then by all means, m'lady, join us!”
There was a chorus of agreement. The boy could not see what was going on but knew the woman had indeed joined them when the older boy's squeals turned to screams and the laughter of the men increased.
The sound of hooves drowned out the laughter and a sharp crack of a whip elicited cries of pain from some of the men. The band scattered, angry and frightened.
The boy had no idea what was going on. A band of horses circled the stockade, creating a cloud of dust. The town lawman came stumbling out of the nearby pub with the local clergy in tow. ”What's your business here!” he demanded.
The leader, an older, elegantly dressed man replied. ”Release this boy immediately.”
The clergyman began to protest but the man cut him short, throwing down a piece of parchment. ”It has been approved by his Grace, as you can see by the seal. His Grace does not appreciate his orders being questioned or disobeyed.”
The local priest glanced at the parchment and although he could barely read, it was indeed his Grace's seal. The elegant man looked down at him disdainfully. ”Release him. Now!”
The lawman scrambled to obey, fearing both the specter of his Grace's wrath and the more immediate threat of the band of well-armed men. The boy felt the stock loosened and tried to stand upright. He nearly fell because he could not feel his legs. One of the soldiers who had dismounted caught him, holding him upright until he regained feeling in his legs.
The boy was confused and looked upward to his savior, but the man on the horse had no compa.s.sion in his gaze. ”Were you touched?”
The boy shook his head and the man seemed satisfied. He turned his attention to the lawman. ”Give the boy a horse so he can return to his village.”
A horse was quickly brought out. The boy looked at the animal with misgivings. He had never been on a horse before. The band of soldiers moved to the edge of the town, with the exception of the man in charge.
Events were happening so quickly that the boy had a hard time grasping the fact that he was leaving. He glanced over to the stocks where he had so recently been confined. The older boy, still confined, had blood dripping from his mouth. He walked over to him.
The older boy looked up at him, dazed. There was little room for compa.s.sion in this harsh world, but the older boy would make one request of this one whom was so obviously blessed. He swallowed hard and sought to wet his tongue so he could speak. He finally croaked out the words.
”Please kill me.”