To Train A Queen

by Commander James Bondage

  Casimir withdrew the dagger. “Well, I see that your words were no mere idle boast; you face death with the courage of a warrior. It is your ill fortune that I will not permit you to escape your fate so easily. You can only die but once after all, Princess, yet your suffering can be prolonged to any extent I desire.”

  For the first time, Christine’s bold front slipped when she heard these words as she realized that there might be worse things than a quick death. For an instant her eyes flicked from side to side as if she were a trapped hare looking for a way out of a snare, before she forced herself to resume her impassive pose. Casimir did not miss her momentary lapse. He nodded his head and said, “So you begin to understand, Your Highness. By tomorrow morning you will have a deeper understanding still, of the kind that comes only from experience.”

  He turned to the mercenary captain. “Take these two fine ladies downstairs, and have Master Harkness prepare them to have converse with me tonight.”

  Captain Boynce saluted sharply, and bellowed, “At once, your Lordship!” He spun on his heel, and led his men, including the ones still holding the two naked women, out of the throne room.

  Chapter Two

  The squad of soldiers marched Lady Emily and Princess Christine through the castle that had only the day before been their home but was now their prison. Servants stopped in their tracks when they saw the daughters of their former rulers, murmuring to each other or silently assessing the charming forms now shamelessly exposed to the gaze of even the lowest churls among them, such as the boy who kept the kennels clean and the maid assigned to collect the contents of the chamberpots.

  No, Christine bitterly corrected herself, that is not correct. The chamberpot maid and the dog boy were no longer the lowliest inhabitants of the palace; that honor now belonged to Emily and herself.

  They were forced to walk briskly, as the soldiers made no allowances for stubbed bare toes on the stone floors, nor for the fact that the girls’ legs were shorter than their own. When one girl stumbled, the men holding her marched on unheeding at the same unvarying pace, dragging the laggard until she was able to get her legs under her again. It was not long before all thought of shame had been driven from the minds of the two captives by bruised toes and torn nails.

  The soldiers marched them to an obscure corner of the castle, one that Christine and Emily scarcely knew existed, then down a stone stairway to a underground passage where sunlight entered through slanted openings in the walls high overhead, a place that neither girl had ever seen. At the end of this passage was a door that looked as if it had been built to withstand a siege. It was made of heavy baulks of rough timber, reinforced with crisscrossing riveted bands of iron and secured with a massive iron lock. It had an ominous look about it.

  Guarding the door was another of Casimir’s men. In response to Boynce’s barked command, he lifted a heavy key from a ring from a hook on the wall behind him, unlocked the door and, with some difficulty, pulled it, creaking and groaning, open. After the last of the squad of soldiers passed through, the guard pushed the door shut. The heavy thud of its closing had such a sound of finality that the girls started and glanced nervously back over their shoulders when they heard it.

  On the other side of the door, the passageway continued, although now the floor was no longer paved with smooth slabs of slate, but had a rough, unfinished feel under the bare feet of the prisoners. Nor was there any daylight to be seen. Illumination was provided exclusively by torches set in sconces on either wall. There was some unseen source of ventilation, as the smoke from the burning pitch found a way out of the low-ceilinged corridor, but the two girls felt as if they were being buried alive. The air was so close and stifling that Emily and Christine imagined that they were suffocating. The captain and three of his men selected torches and prepared to continue.

  For the first time since leaving the throne room, Christine spoke. “Please, Captain, will you not tell me where are we? Never have I been here before, and I have lived here in this castle for the whole of my life.”

  Boynce turned to look at her. In the flickering orange light it was hard to be certain, but it seemed to her that an expression of disbelief followed by one that might have been pity flashed in rapid succession across his rough features. He spoke in a normal tone rather than the bellow she had heard previously. “Do you truly not know this place, Princess Christine? I suppose it could be so. This is where your father the King sent disloyal subjects, disobedient servants and anyone who failed to pay their taxes or otherwise displeased him: the royal dungeon and torture chambers.”

  “Torture chambers?” she echoed. “I… my father never spoke of them to me,” Christine said. “I knew them not.”

  “Then you… and Lady Emily, perchance… were the only ones in the kingdom over the age of five who did not,” the captain said. “Here can be found the true source of the Harenburg family’s power. King Charles did not rely on love for his subjects’ obedience; his rule rested rather on the fear that they would end here if they failed to obey His Majesty’s wishes. The dungeons of Bartavia are notorious throughout the Empire. I had even heard of them in my homeland before I took service in Bartavia. Now you shall see them, and learn for yourself why the royal executioner is said to be the most talented in the Empire. Come.” With this, he turned and led his squad, now walking two by two, down the narrow passage.

  They came to an opening cut in the wall, which the captain entered. This turned out to be another stairway, a set of winding spiral steps cut in the rock of the palace’s foundation. It was so narrow that they were obliged to form a single file. The steps were worn smooth from use, so that the girls’ bare feet nearly slipped out from under them more than once, and even the soldiers had trouble keeping their footing.

  If the corridor above had been too hot, the lower level was unpleasantly damp and cool. They stood in what felt like a huge open space, which was poorly illuminated by the flames of several fires. From time to time the fires in one corner or another would leap higher for a moment, throwing long shadows and revealing more of the dungeon, which might have been a natural cave. At such moments they were also afforded glimpses of some of the furnishings: tables, frames, wheels and unidentifiable objects whose function the girls could only imagine.

  They heard a scream, which tore at their ears and went on and on, rebounding from the stone walls until it was abruptly cut off, followed by an ominous silence. Emily gave a brief, involuntary squeak of fright, while Christine barely suppressed her impulse to do the same.

  “Master Harkness!” Captain Boynce shouted. “We have new guests for you. Kindly come take charge of them.”

  Seemingly out of nowhere, a man suddenly appeared before them. He was dressed somewhat after the manner of a blacksmith, in a stained tunic of some rough material with a leather apron and pantaloons. Christine suspected the stains were not of the sort that might be found on the garments of an ordinary blacksmith, however. He was of medium height, had thinning gray hair and nondescript features, and aside from his powerfully developed shoulders and arms, appeared to Christine’s eyes altogether unremarkable and not the least bit frightening.

  Evidently, Boynce and his men did not share her opinion. They all moved back a step when the man popped out of the shadows, as if they were afraid of allowing him to come too close. Master Harkness spoke much like the country blacksmith he so resembled. “Begging your Honor’s pardon, but I was working with a chap who tried to skimp on his taxes, and I when I’m all caught up in the work at hand well, I lose track of the world, you might say. I’m sure your Honor understands.”

  The captain favored the executioner with a look of distaste mingled with fear. “I do not understand, Master Harkness, nor do I especially wish to. My Lord Count Casimir has ordered me to deliver My Lady Emily and Her Highness Princess Christine into your custody. I am instructed to tell you that he will have converse with them this evening, and that My Lord desires you prepare them for him.”

  Harkness
’ eyes glittered in the firelight as he studied the shapely forms of the naked girls. Something about the look in his eyes as he inspected her nudity sent a thrill of fear through Christine and made her begin to question her initial evaluation of the man.

  “I won’t pretend it’ll be the hardest job My Lord Count has ever given me,” he said. He reached into the pouch of this apron and removed a length of rope with knotted loops at either end. He approached Emily, and said, “Release her hands, if you please, Your Honor, and I’ll just slip this on for size.”

  The captain nodded to the soldier holding Emily, and he cut the rope that bound her wrists together.

  When Harkness raised a loop over Emily’s head, she rolled her eyes, made excited noises and tried to back away from him. “Easy, My Lady,” he said soothingly, as if Emily was a skittish filly that he was fitting with a halter. “This won’t hurt a bit.” The soldier held her in place as Harkness slipped the circlet of rope around her long neck, then captured her wrists and enclosed them in the remaining loop. Now, he began to pull the free end of the rope, shortening the span between her neck and hands. Emily was obliged to raise her hands upward, pull her shoulders together and arch her back to relieve the pressure of the rope. She protested to the best of her ability, making soft, gurgling sounds, and pleading with her eyes for him to relent.

  “Stop it! You’re killing her!” Christine shouted, vainly trying to shake loose from the soldier who still held her arms, and go to her friend’s defense.

  Master Harkness, finally satisfied with the tightness of the bondage, fixed the knot in place. He wagged his finger at the Princess and chuckled. “Begging your pardon, Your Highness, but you’ve no call trying to tell a craftsman how to do his business. Even the King knew enough to keep his peace when he came down here to watch me at work,” he said. “I’ve been tying up girls like you two for longer than you’ve been alive, and I haven’t lost one yet.” He slipped a loop over Christine’s head as he spoke. “Why, I’ll wager My Lady could fare nicely with six inches less, if she had to… could you untie the Princess’ hands, my friend…? My thanks…” he said to the soldier behind Christine, “…and you, Your Highness, have more bend in your frame than My Lady Emily, if I know anything about the bodies of girls.”

  By now, Christine’s hands were imprisoned in the lower loop, and Harkness had started the process of shortening the rope.

  “Stop! Gack! I… I can’t breathe!” Christine gasped.

  “Just lift your arms a little higher and you’ll be fine, Your Highness,” Harkness said encouragingly.

  Although it felt as if the movement would rip her arms from their sockets, Christine bent her elbows and forced her hands upward until they were in between her shoulder blades. The pain was excruciating, but she discovered that Master Harkness had not been mistaken: as long as she remained in this position, the cord around her neck would not strangle her.

  Harkness stepped back to admire his work. So too did Boynce and his men, who stared as if mesmerized by the sight. The posture forced on the girls by the ropes was exquisite. Both had their heads thrown back and their backs arched dramatically, as if they were in competition to see which could better present their delightful breasts for the men to admire.

  At last the executioner broke the spell. “My thanks to your Honor. I warrant I can handle them from here.”

  Boynce, still ogling the two girls, licked his lips and muttered, “I wouldn’t mind handling them myself.” With an effort he tore his eyes away, and in his usual roar called his men to attention, then took them back up the stairs to the castle.

  Christine watched them go, suddenly wishing that Boynce and his men had stayed, and not left them behind alone with Master Harkness. She had little doubt that the soldiers would have gladly ravished them, but she was almost certain that Master Harkness had something worse than mere ravishment in mind. When she heard the last echoes of their footfalls die away, it felt as if the weight of the palace far above was suddenly pressing down on her so heavily that she nearly dropped to her knees.

  Harkness picked up the loose ends of the ropes that dangled down the girls’ backs, and gave a gentle tug. “Come along now, My Lady, Your Highness. Milord Count Casimir wants you ready when he comes down for to chat, and we won’t want to disappoint him, will we?”

  Chapter Three

  He led them away, using the loose ends of the ropes like leashes. Christine had to concentrate on carefully placing each footstep to avoid stumbling, as the harness she wore compelled her to tilt her head up at the ceiling and she could not see what was in front of her. Beside her, Emily’s whimpers suggested that the uneven stone floor was presenting her with similar difficulties.

  At last they stopped at an alcove cut in the rock wall. Nearby was what looked like a smithy, with an anvil, a table with hammers, clamps and other tools, an assortment of chains and rings hanging from the wall, and a fiery forge.

  Christine gasped, “Master Harkness, will you not loosen this cord round my neck? For I fear I cannot long remain as you have bound me ere my hands must drop and I will breathe no more.” Emily made a muffled sound of agreement

  “Right you are, Highness,” he answered. “I’ll have those cords off in a wink. Stand just so, facing the wall if you will, Princess Christine.”

  She turned as he directed, and Harkness swung a short metal arm out from the wall where it was bolted. At the end of the arm was a metal ring that hinged open and locked in the back. He adjusted the height of the arm until it was just under Christine’s chin, then urged her forward, closing the collar around her neck and locking it with a click. He then cut the cord that ran between the Princess’ wrists and throat, still leaving her hands tied behind her back, but relieving the terrible pressure on her windpipe. Christine sighed in relief.

  “Is that better now, Your Highness?” Harkness asked. “Because, if it was me in your place, I’d not forget to thank the man who did me a good turn, and more so if I were a guest in his dungeon, if you follow me.”

  Princess Christine’s first impulse was to tell the executioner that she had no more intention of thanking him for releasing her from the cruel noose he had tied around her throat than she did of kissing his filthy commoner’s feet, and to do so in a way that would put him in his place for good, but she clamped her lips shut at the last moment before a word of this slipped out of her mouth. She was after all, nude, bound and helpless, and as he pointed out, a captive in his dungeon, where he might do anything he pleased to her and poor Emily. Upon consideration, she thought it might be the greater part of wisdom to appease him, at least for the moment.

  “Ah… yes, certes, Master Harkness,” Christine temporized, trying to force herself to speak the humiliating words, “pray forgive my lack of consideration. I am grateful for your kindness to one who is friendless, naked and alone, and I pray you show me whatever mercy it is in your grace to grant.” As she spoke, she realized that she was not merely mouthing these words for his benefit, but was speaking from her heart. All that had happened to her that day and all that she knew lay ahead came crashing down upon her, and she who had been so strong and dry-eyed, now bowed her proud head and began to weep in great wracking sobs.

  “You’re welcome, Your Highness,” he said, “and may I say that not many noble folk have such a sweet tongue for old Harkness, not unless they’re already on the rack or feeling my pincers at that moment.” He knelt at her feet. “If you wouldn’t mind just stepping up a bit.” Christine shuffled forward, and he locked her ankles in a thick wooden leg restraint.

  He rose and stroked his rough hand over the soft whiteness of the weeping girl’s flank. “As for mercy, I can’t show no more kindness to you or My Lady here than I could to any of the other noble girls your father sent down to me. This here’s my job, you see.”

  He turned away, and moved Emily over to the anvil. He cut the cord running up her back, releasing the blonde girl from the terrible pressure on her shoulders and throat, and had her stan
d on one leg facing away from the anvil, while he lifted her other leg on top of the anvil.

  Princess Christine was positioned facing the wall, and could not see what the executioner was doing to Emily, but she wanted to continue to talk with Harkness, in the faint hope that she could persuade him to help them somehow. As she spoke, she heard a hammer being plied on metal, and the rattling of what must have been links of chain.

  “Did the King truly send noble girls down here, Master Harkness? I doubt not your word,” she added hastily, “it is only that my father seemed always so soft-spoken and kind, and before this day I knew naught of you or what lay here beneath the palace.”

  “Your other leg now, if you please, My Lady…” Harkness directed Emily. “King Charles, kind? No man was ever kinder to me, Princess. Many’s the time he would leave the fine rooms upstairs to come down and visit me here, just to sit and keep company while I worked… put your hands back here, My Lady, if you will…” There were more clanks as he wielded his hammer. “He was special fond of watching when I had fine, high-born ladies and girls down here. I recall, it must be twenty summers now, when he learnt Duke Northridge had been hiding away gold that His Majesty thought properly belonged in the Kingdom’s treasury. The Duke was out of the country when it were discovered, and he didn’t come back. Well, who could blame him? Anywise, your father had Lady Northridge and her daughter Klara arrested and sent down here, and I fixed them up side by side on the stretching tables, neither one with a stitch of clothing on, and asking where the gold was hid. Now, Lady Northridge, she was a famed beauty, and deserved every word what was said about her looks. And Klara, she was a younger version of her mother, near as pretty. Lady Northridge was as brave as she was beautiful. Why, a tough warrior couldn’t be no braver than what she was. The scourge, the rack, even red hot pincers didn’t none of them loosen her tongue. It wasn’t until I took a hint from the King, and started in on young Klara with the thumbscrews while her mother watched, that she finally… Just let me fix this collar, My Lady Emily, and you’ll be ready…”