He thought that he was to be brought in front of the Protector to answer to him directly but he soon realised he was wrong. He knew right away that he was being dragged out the back entrance of the dungeon and he was dumped into a cage on the back of a single horse-drawn cart with the driver sitting tall and observant up front on the box. The feel of the cool, clean night air was a relief to him. Redgrave could see that the nearby torches were extinguished and he realised that the almost complete darkness of the night was intentional to hide the actions of the guards.
Two horses stood quietly nearby in full tack with bulging riding bags. He was ordered gruffly to keep quiet or be run through and the cage door was quickly closed, locked with a large padlock, and given three sharp tugs to insure it was securely locked. The men covered the cage with a large waxed tarpaulin and he was engulfed in total darkness. He could hear the men mount up on the waiting horses and a murmured order to the man driving the wagon had them moving with a sudden lurch and he grabbed one of the bars before he remembered his injuries and he cried out in pain. The driver banged the cage and ordered him to shut up.
Fear tightened his stomach. Redgrave knew now with a certainty that there would be no trial. No opportunity for justice. Despite the fear, and with nothing else to do, he curled up in the cage and felt the cart jerk as the horses took it under strain and then heard and felt the cart rattle on the cobblestones as it made its way through the empty city streets – cleared in advance, he was sure, by the Guard. Slowly, he rolled over onto his back and realised with wonder that he could stretch out to his full length and soon found himself crying quietly with relief as his extended himself out fully on the bottom of the cage. Sleep quickly took him.
When he awoke, there was enough daylight making its way through the cracks in the wax of the tarpaulin to make out the inside. A little straw lay across the boards and nothing else. He examined his hands and he was appalled to see how twisted and damaged they were. His tunic was thickly covered in filth. Redgrave was alarmed at how thin he was. His muscle mass was gone. No wonder I feel so weak, he thought. There is nothing left of me. He could see through the gaps in the boards to the stone road below. The cart ride had smoothed and he could tell they were now outside the city on one of the King's Roads – still called that despite the Revolution. The heat was stifling under the cloth and he croaked more than once for water but none of the guards cared to hear or answer him. He suffered his thirst, which became almost unbearable, and he found his vision spinning. He closed his eyes and lay still.
After what seemed like an eternity, they stopped the cart, which woke a surprised Redgrave from a deep slumber. He didn't remember falling asleep and yet he clearly had. Watching the light through the cloth growing dim, he knew night was approaching. He had suffered in the cart the entire day with no water. Surely they don't want to kill me this way? No, that would make no sense, he thought as he waited.
Earlier in the day he had counted the sounds of the horses and he knew with some certainty that at least twelve men now guarded him. Two of them were officers by the sound of the orders they gave; the rest were probably all enlisted men. And all of them, he was certain, were from the Lord Protector's Guard.
He heard the familiar sounds of a soldier's camp being put together and shook his head as the men argued over simple tasks. His own men, he knew with pride, would put a camp together blindfolded and with much less noise and confusion. These lackeys couldn't even dig a shit hole, by the sounds of it. One of the officers soon took charge and organised his men. Despite his predicament, Redgrave admired the authority in the man's voice and by the manner in which he managed to get his men to respond so quickly. He hadn't even yelled, he merely spoke with clear authority in his voice and with a practised ease few officers possessed. But Redgrave could still hear the youth in his voice and placed him as likely a young captain. I wish I had taken the time to get to know the Guard officers, he berated himself. Then I might be able to talk my way out of this. He almost laughed at this thought but the swelling in his throat from being parched too long threatened to close it completely and he leaned against the bars for support.
He croaked out for attention and waited. He heard an order given and soon the cloth covering the back of the cage was lifted with the tip of a sword and Redgrave found himself looking out to a young Captain of the Guard sitting on his horse. So this is the young man, he thought. He bears himself professionally at least.
"Water," he rasped. "Please..." He could barely make out what he said and looked pleadingly at the officer, hoping he understood.
The man just stared at him with either disgust or disinterest on his face. Redgrave couldn't tell. He wondered what he had been told, what lies he had been fed, or whether or not he knew the truth and didn't care. Before he could ask, the cloth was dropped and Redgrave heard the horse move away. He heard the captain order water for the prisoner and soon after, a skin full of water was pushed through the bars to land beside him. His thirst had him swallowing mouthfuls of the water before he realised that the guards had pissed in it. He kept swallowing, listening to the snickering laughter outside the cloth. His thirst was too great to care. A man could stay alive drinking his own piss, he knew, but he still had to fight the revulsion that threatened to spew the liquid out of his mouth. He closed his eyes and shut the world away.
Redgrave stopped himself from drinking before he became too sick but then, despite his effort not to, he threw it all up. He settled into the corner of the cage farthest from the door and closed his eyes. Exhaustion made his head light and he felt close to fainting. He had no idea where they were going but a stab of fear kept pushing at his thoughts. He knew what road they were on. He had travelled it countless times himself. They hadn't crossed any bridges that he knew. There was one specific bridge that lay between the city and his manse and if they crossed that bridge in two days, he would be certain of the destination. But why would they be bringing me home? It made no sense and dread filled his thoughts when he thought of his wife and their two young children.
A sudden sharp pain struck his belly and he doubled over in agony as he clutched his stomach. A spasm hit hard in his intestines and in his weakened state, he could not stop what happened next and he voided his bowels into the cart. The acrid stink of the black diarrhea immediately filled the air and he wept in shame and moved away from the quickly spreading pool. The pants of his prison garb clung to his ass. Nothing could humiliate him further and he knew he had sunk as far as he possibly could.
The major swung by at the men's laughter and he looked in the cage and spied the empty water skin. He then yelled loudly for Captain Bairstow to come front and centre and then berated him in front of the men for providing sustenance to the prisoner. It was a disgraceful tirade and Redgrave felt sorry of the young officer. The major was a man of little honour.
One of the guards, a little later, while delivering his food for the night, took one whiff of the stench and threw the bread and meat into the cage in disgust. It landed in his waste. Redgrave, his hunger allowing nothing else, knew then while he swallowed the food, that perhaps he could sink farther as he tried to ignore the taste of his own shit.
The next day, the captain ordered buckets of water to be tossed through the bars to wash out the stink. The men quickly obeyed. They threw off the tarpaulin and with loud laughter, dumped bucket after bucket of river water in on him. Redgrave welcomed it but hid his joy, lest they stop. The water cleansed him and refreshed him as he watched the shit drain through the cracks in the floor boards. The men made a sport of it, trying to hit him with the most of the water from the bucket at once. He managed to catch mouthfuls of the water and swallowed it fitfully. Finally, it was over and the cover was thrown back over the cage.
But Redgrave had seen enough to know his count of the men had been correct and that they were heading to his manse. Dread filled and consumed him. One major, one captain and ten men of the Lord Protector's Guard were escorting him home.
He found that he had regained some of his voice and he tried to call out to the captain. Hearing nothing, he grabbed two bars as best he could, pushed his face closer to the cloth and started to explain out loud what had happened when suddenly and explosively, the cover was ripped off and he found himself staring at the flint hard eyes of the major seated on his horse. He held his sword unwaveringly between Redgrave's eyes.
"You will be silent!" hissed the major. "Silent or I will cut that tongue from your mouth! Understood?"
Redgrave saw the determination in the major's eyes and he nodded once in reply.
The major lowered the sword, leaned in closer and lowered his voice until only the two of them could hear what he said. "Disobey me, say one word, and I will follow through on that. It is not a threat. It is a promise, Redgrave." And he wheeled his horse away.
For the first time in a long time, he felt the flicker of anger starting deep within him. He welcomed it and covered it as a man might with that initial flame whilst lighting a fire in the wind. He took stock of his appearance and grimaced at the site of his hands. His small finger of his right hand stuck out straight; the bone had fused the wrong way. His left hand was curled up and almost useless with all the little bones in the back broken and not correctly set. He gave his body a once over and grimaced at the multitude of bug bites that covered him. His head was full of lice – he knew that already – and he had spent many hours in his cell amusing himself by finding nits and crushing them. He had sunk so low. From the most senior military man in the Realm, hero of the Revolution, to a man in a cage being slowly eaten by insects. His anger flared inside him and brought with it some modicum of dignity. It was such a welcomed feeling and it gave him brief focus.
Determined, Redgrave grasped the small finger and found where the break had been and snapped it again. The pain hit him like the buckets of cold water. It woke him fully out of his stupor and he muffled his scream by jamming the fist of his other hand into his mouth. The pain washed through him and he embraced it. He tore the hem from his prison garb with his teeth, made small strips and tied the broken finger to the next one to brace it. He then looked at his left hand and grimaced. He tried to force the hand to straighten but it was locked. There was nothing he could do about that and he sat back in the cage, revelling in the feel of his beating heart.
Redgrave glanced out the bars and recognised a passing copse of trees. At this rate, he would be home early in the morning in two days. Two more days and he would be dead. Fuck this hand, he thought and stoked the anger within him.
The horse pulled the cart and cage along the arced driveway that passed in front of the verandah and the main entrance. There was a small barrack tent erected in front of the house that bore the mark of the Guard. The cart was stopped directly in front of the manse's large double door. The dust settled and everyone remained stationary. The tent looked like it had been here for a few days. Redgrave looked around, desperate for any sign of his wife and children.
Suddenly, the front doors banged open and Redgrave watched in horror as first his wife Rebecca, and then his two young children John and Amanda were thrown out the door to land mere feet from the cage. He reached through the bars to try and help them and cried out their names. His children slowly and painfully picked themselves up and it was clear that they had both been severely beaten. Their faces were black and blue and their eyes were almost swollen shut. They started toward their mother, calling out to her, but she continued to lie unmoving at the bottom of the stairs.
"Leave her!" barked a recognisable voice and the children cowered in fear and stopped moving. Redgrave looked over to see Lord Protector Healy standing at the top of the three stairs that led up to the entrance. He was flanked by four senior officers of the Guard. Redgrave knew them all and they had their heads so firmly up the Protector's ass that they shared his bowel movements.
Healy looked over at the major who had escorted Redgrave.
The major dismounted and strode over to the Protector and saluted crisply.
"The traitor is delivered as per your orders, Lord Protector!"
Healy looked over at Redgrave and sneered. "Well done, Major Reid. Any problems on the road?"
"No sir, we kept him hidden as you ordered. Bairstow gave him water at one point but I handled it, sir."
"Very good, major. Move your men out and wait for further orders. I want you and your men to cover the approaches. Move out."
Major Reid acknowledged the order and bellowed at his men to follow and they all watched as they wound down the driveway and exited the grounds. Redgrave ignored it all. He continued to call out his wife's name and was rewarded with a small movement of her head. Her dress was torn and barely covered her. Her skin was mottled and bruised. Blood ran down her legs and he knew that she had been beaten and raped repeatedly. She struggled to lift her head at his cries and finally managed to look up at him. His children whimpered and cried for their mother and Redgrave could only look on in horror at the state of his family. The pain and anguish in his wife's eyes was straight from the pits of Hell. He screamed her name and his children's cries became wails. She locked eyes on him and he saw in her eyes loathing and hatred and he realised with horror that she blamed him.
"Silence them," ordered the Protector.
One of the Colonels marched down the stairs with a smirk and drew his dagger. Redgrave cried out for mercy. His children looked at him on hearing his cries and seemed bewildered, not understanding this new fear. They did not know what they had done and he heard the oldest, no more than ten cry out 'daddy' before the knife slit his throat from behind. The blood fountained into the bright daylight and hit the cage and Redgrave. The youngest, his daughter of eight, turned to her brother just as the knife ended her life in a similar manner.
Whatever remained of Redgrave snapped and he went berserk. He dimly remembered the cries of his wife. He watched, almost remotely, as her life was drained beside their children and he tried to reach through the bars in vain, hands grasping the air. He didn't notice when he crushed his own cheekbone in an attempt to push through the opening.
He watched, screaming as his children and wife were dragged and then picked up and thrown into the house.
He watched as the Lord Protector grabbed a torch placed near the doorway and casually throw it deep inside the open door. A large roar answered and flames immediately sprung to life in the fuel soaked house. Smoke billowed out the doorway and the Protector faked a cough, smiled and moved closer to the cage just out of reach of Redgrave.
"You should have left your nose out of my affairs, Redgrave," and he walked around the cage to watch from the other side. He nodded to his men and one of them approached the cage and unlocked it. Redgrave dragged himself through the opening, desperately trying to reach the Protector, but he was struck down from behind and he fell out of the cart to the driveway. Two of the men stepped forward and starting dragging Redgrave toward the house by his feet, his face down into the dirt. When he started to struggle, they kicked his head and he slumped, stunned and unmoving. Together they hoisted Redgrave by his arms and legs and climbed the stairs to stand at the burning entrance to the manse. They swung him between them and on the count of three tossed Redgrave across the flames, deep into the burning house.
As the flames and heat touched Redgrave, he was instantly revived and he struggled to stand but his atrophied legs would not support him. He rose to his knees and stared out the open door to see the Protector looking in from across the lawn, laughing at him.
His impotent rage boiled up through him. The sight of his children's and wife's murder remained seared into his eyes and burned them red. His hatred for this man threatened to overwhelm his remaining senses. Despite his wrecked throat, his voice boomed loud and clear.
"HEALY! HEALY! I'll make you pay for this, you fucking bastard! HEALY! You killed my family! I will fucking kill you, you evil bastard!"
As if in response, flames shot up higher in the entranceway, obscuring any sight
of the men outside and his last vision of Healy was watching him turn away, still laughing. Redgrave tried to move to the entrance but the flames stopped him. Redgrave turned and coughed against the smoke as he struggled to move clear of the flames. His hand struck the bodies of his family and he wept and tried to wrap them in his arms. The flames shot higher and burning debris landed on his back. He screamed in agony and writhed onto his back to extinguish the flames. He batted frantically at the flames that had erupted on his clothes and fought desperately to extinguish the searing pain. Screams tore from his throat.
Redgrave managed to extinguish the flames on his clothes and dragged his way clear of the front hall. The walls, doused in fuel, burned freely but the wooden floors were still free of flames and he quickly slid his way over to the hall that led to the kitchen. He took one last look at his family to find that they were now engulfed in flames. He sobbed and begged their forgiveness and disappeared around the corner into the hallway. He started to whisper the Lord's Prayer to himself between bouts of coughing.
Thick smoke filled the room above his head and he saw he was crawling under a thick, roiling cloud. The sounds from the flames were loud around him, almost deafening. The smoke burned his lungs and yet he continued to crawl forward and pushed open the kitchen door. Flames shot out above his head as the air of the kitchen turned to fire. The heat was so intense he thought at any moment that his skin would simply burst into flame. Somehow, he reached the trapdoor to the root cellar.
He took one look at the back door that led to the outside. It was only a few feet away and was free of flame. But that path, he knew, would only lead to a quick death by sword stroke from waiting guards. Instead, he struggled with the small ring that opened the cellar door and pulled it open enough to be able to drag his body down and through. He slid down the wooden stairs and heard the door slam shut behind him. The air was fresh and cool and thankfully clear of smoke. He could breathe between coughs that wracked his frame. He slowly crawled his way on his belly down the hidden tunnel to the river's end.
Duilleog (A New Druids Series Book 1) Page 24
