Sergen easily pushed the door open several inches and could feel the countess push back. “My lady,” he said through the opening, “it is not my intent to harm you. Do not blame the young girl. It was my doing. I seduced her. If there is any blame this night, it should fall on my shoulders.”
“Like her legs were moments ago when I entered the room?” the countess countered. She pushed even harder against the door. “Weren’t my orders clear, Sergen? She was not to have you, right?”
“Yes, my lady, you were clear.”
She let Sergen push open the door as she stepped toward the middle of the room. When the door was fully open, the countess approached him, shaking her head back and forth with displeasure. “I’m afraid I’ve been too lenient with you, all of you! You all will be punished, am I understood.”
The guards’ approached Sergen from behind and the largest guard swung a stick hard across the back of Sergen’s legs. Sergen could’ve fought the guards and easily have won. He could have turned, taken the stick from the guard, and run them off, but he knew that any outburst would only makes things worse. He fell to his knees and allowed the guards to detain him.
“You, stop whimpering,” the countess ordered Darya, “you’re in trouble as well. I think a lash or two will remind you of your position in this family. Guards, when you get to the bathing room, send two female caretakers to prepare my daughter for the lash.”
Darya crouched into the far corner of the room and rested her head on her knees.
The countess approached Uric and tore away the bathing robe with which he covered himself. Uric turned his head away and covered his genitals with his hands. “And you, what was your role here?” she asked mere inches from his face.
Uric stuttered, “I, I was ordered to watch, my lady.”
“Watch?”
“Yes, watch and learn.”
“I see,” the countess said as she grabbed Uric’s wrist and led him out of the room. “Darya, Uric is hereby taken away from you. I will train him. And you are not to have any interaction with Sergen, but not to worry. I think after a lashing, you’ll understand. You will all understand that my orders are to be followed!”
Darya stood. She protested by throwing herself on the bed and watched her mother step into the hallway, with Uric pulled behind her. Darya let out a scream of frustration and buried her face into her pillow as she waited for the female caretakers to arrive.
A guard collected Uric and pushed him down the hallway. He shoved Uric into his small quarters and ordered the young man to not to say a word or he, too, would get the lash. Uric scrunched into the corner, looked away from the door, and, as instructed, he didn’t say a word.
Sergen was led to the bathing room and the caretakers immediately began the preparations for the lash. They oiled his buttocks and attached leather cuffs to each of his wrists. The ropes attached to the cuffs were knotted behind his back and the slack thrown over his shoulder.
Moments later, Darya was brought in, still protesting, still fighting. She threatened her caretakers that if any harm came to her, she’d seek her revenge. “I am the daughter of the countess. You have no right,” she said repeatedly as the led her toward the far end of the room. The caretakers ignored her, oiled her buttocks, and prepared her just as Sergen was prepared, except afterwards Darya was dressed in a light robe, whereas Sergen was naked.
Sergen spoke loud enough for Darya to hear him across the pool. “Listen, my lady. I will receive the lash first. Do not watch. Just close your eyes or look away. Don’t even peek.” Sergen made his way to her. Even with his hands tied behind his back, his male caretakers were hopeless to stop him.
Darya’s early protests and threats had given way to a soft sobbing. “Will it hurt?” she managed to ask between sobs.
Sergen brushed his massive frame against her petite frame. “Yes. But you will only receive one or two lashes. Do not fight it. When the strap lands, cry out loud so the countess sees and hears your pain. Ask for mercy. Let her know that she has won.”
Darya lifted her arms and felt the weight of the leather straps. She placed her hands on Sergen’s hips and leaned into him so that her head rested on his chest. “Sergen, I’m not sorry for what I’ve done. You’re amazing and I do love you.”
“Neither am I, my lady. Not the least sorry.” He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “But this is no time for pride. Do as I suggest and let the countess know she’s won. It will be far easier on both of us.”
Two guards entered the room and collected Sergen and Darya. Darya found some inner strength deep inside and managed to stop her sobs. By the time they entered the courtyard, her head was held high and she cast an evil eye in her mother’s direction.
The countess sat in a wooden chair on the north side of the courtyard under a large yew tree. Her back was stiff, her chin squared, and she didn’t look directly at her daughter. “Begin!” she shouted.
Darya watched as Sergen was led to the lashing frame in the center of the courtyard. The frame consisted of two poles about six feet apart and nine feet high with a single header timber across the top. To her right, her mother sat and watched as the guards collected the rope from the cuff on Sergen’s right hand, tied it to the joint were the pole and header met. They pulled the other rope tight, tied it in place to the point where Sergen was balancing on his tiptoes in the middle of the frame. Crimson, Sena, and Uric were brought out and ordered to stand near the countess.
The temperature outside had dropped dramatically and the cool air wrapped around Darya like an arctic shawl. Her nipples pushed hard against the robe and she shivered. She could see her exhales escaping, they floated away as dainty streams of white puff. She tried to control her breathing, but couldn’t. She had watched a lashing before, but this was different; this time she would know the burn of the strap. Just the thought of it almost brought her to scream out for her mother’s forgiveness, but she held her tongue and stared straight ahead with a sense of pride and rebellion.
A eunuch entered the courtyard. Darya saw the strap’s handle in the eunuch’s right hand; its leather strap snaked around his forearm, wrapped around his neck, and dangled near his feet. He approached Sergen from behind, looked at the countess, and waited for the order.
Darya closed her eyes as Sergen had told her to do.
The countess raised five fingers and the eunuch uncoiled the leather strap, letting it fall and twist on the ground like a wicked serpent. He drew it back over his shoulder and hesitated a moment. Then the strap tore through the air with a whooshing sound before it landed on Sergen’s right buttock with a crack. The sound echoed off the small enclosure of the courtyard and ricocheted in Darya’s ears. She clenched her eyes tighter and the sound alone tested every nerve she had. It seemed to seep in, looking for frailty in the young girl, but she held fast. She didn’t say a word or open her eyes.
Sergen tightened his jaw, gritted his teeth, and waited for the next lashing. Then the sound again, the strap cut through the air. Whoosh, crack! When it landed, it set his flesh on fire and he collapsed into the straps that bounded his wrist. He pulled himself up, was back on his tiptoes and he didn’t make a sound when the fifth lash brought welts across both cheeks. Darya, as Sergen requested, never looked.
Crimson, Sena, and Uric couldn’t bear to watch and found the ground before their feet after the second lashing. They only heard the remaining three. Crimson was the most detached during the lashing. As she stared at the ground, she thought of Sergen and how they were together just hours before in the countess’s bedroom. She thought how it felt then, and now, it seemed empty. It taunted her. She couldn’t help but feel that her previous life held something better, something more. She closed her eyes, trying to remember.
Suddenly, the courtyard was quiet. None seemed to want to acknowledge it. Sergen’s hands were untied and he was pushed toward the countess. He dropped to one knee in front of her.
“Will you test my resolve again, Sergen?” the countess as
ked.
“No, my lady.”
“Very well. Kneel beside me. I want you to be part of my daughters’ punishment. You will prove useful.”
She leaned toward him, grabbed the thick of his bicep, and whispered, “Just know, my dear Sergen, I could have taken your manhood today and I warn you, do not test me again.”
She motioned to the caretaker near Darya. “Bring her forward.”
Darya pulled away from the caretaker. It was obvious the caretaker was uncomfortable, even afraid, of manhandling her. He stopped and looked at the countess, who nodded and unsympathetically waved her hand in the direction of the lashing frame.
Darya scowled at her mother, but didn’t say a word. She pulled her cuffed hands away from the caretaker and without escort walked up to the lashing frame. She tossed one rope and then the other over the joints and header joist and watched the loose ends sway back and forth. She gave her mother a deep gaze as she waited for the ropes to be secured.
The caretaker secured her to the frame, then removed her robe and set it aside. The coldness of the air wrapped around her and seemed to reach her bones.
“Sergen, how many lashes does my daughter deserve?” The countess asked aloud. “Before you answer, know that I have a number in mind. If you suggest too low a number, then I will certainly double or triple it or who knows. How many?”
Sergen hung his head low, trying to find the right answer. If he answered, “none,” the countess would become angry and take it out on Darya. If he answered, “one,” she would accuse them both of not learning their lesson. He quickly answered, “Two, my lady. I think two is fair punishment. She is young and this is her first lashing. The coolness in the air makes the punishment far worse.”
Darya was shocked. She expected Sergen to say “none,” but kept her gaze on her mother until she saw her raise her hand. Darya closed her eyes and lowered her head.
The countess indicated two fingers.
Darya heard the eunuch approach her from behind, his lash snaking across the ground. The eunuch quickly let the first lash cut through the air. When it landed on Darya’s skin, she gasped and lost her breath, she struggled to get it back with a deep inhale. Her head wilted on her shoulders and fell toward her chest. Her eyes were closed but they seemed wide open. The strap stung, but she didn’t cry out as Sergen had suggested. She found this first lashing erotic for no particular reason other than she was completely naked and helpless. This, for some reason, excited her and she had never considered being spanked as an erotic event, but now it seeped in. Those thoughts quickly went away when the second lash landed and brought tears to her eyes.
Darya lifted her head, caught the salty tear with her tongue when it ran past the corner of her lips. She looked toward her mother and shouted, “Are you pleased, Mother?”
The countess smiled a twisted smile that revealed some uneasiness. “Pleased? Do you want another?” she countered.
Darya wanted to rebel and say “yes.” But she knew better. She knew her mother’s sinister side.
“No.”
“No, what?”
“No. I don’t want another.”
“Then I am pleased.” The countess stood, motioned to the caretakers with her hands as she spoke. “Take this one back and cleanse his wounds. Take the others back to their quarters. Take my daughter to the bathing room and cleanse her welts. Then take her to her room. I will suffer no more insolence!”
The countess watched as they were collected and removed from the courtyard. She didn’t say a word, convinced that her point had been made and taken seriously.
Chapter III
~ Blunder and Restitution ~
The generals were still distraught at the king’s choice to head into Poland. As politely as they could, they one by one through the night tried to change the king’s mind. The king for the most part ignored them while respectfully acknowledging their concerns. Finally, he had had enough and closed the conversation with an order that it was not to be discussed and that everyone should retire for the night.
He woke early the next morning to select his one hundred men. By the end of breakfast, he had selected the one hundredth soldier for his troop collection and ordered all of them to be ready for movement at noon. He next focused on the orders for the quartermaster. “You have three hours to equip my men with horses, stakes, blessed silver crosses, and the necessary provisions for a week long trek into Poland. Furthermore, I require civilian clothing for the men.”
The request was unorthodox, but the quartermaster was up to the task. He sent twenty men to raid the abandoned homes of Narva for civilian clothing while he focused on the collection of supplies and provisions. Minutes before noon, he had everything in place near the south gate of the camp. He found the king huddled with his generals and interrupted them with a salute. “Sir, the requested provisions are ready and the civilian clothing has been collected.”
Rehnschiöld, still massaging his sore thumbs, approached the king, “Sir, I see that you are intent on this suicide mission. Am I to go with you?”
“No, Karl. You stay with the generals and report back to Sweden for supplies and men. You are in command until I return. Allow the generals to move forward with our plans, but no matter what, keep the supply line open to Sweden and be watchful of our flanks. Leave reports of our successes and failures at the headquarters in Riga. I will read them when I return and catch up with you soon.”
“Yes, sir,” Karl said, somewhat relieved that he wasn’t expected to tag along. He offered, “Why not travel to Riga and take a boat to Gdansk. That would put you just north of Poland and cut your trip in half. King, your mapped path takes you along the Russian front and through unmapped forest.”
The king inspected the last bit of provisions while Rehnschiöld spoke. He placed his hands on Rehnschiöld’s shoulders. “Your concern, Karl, is noble. Yes, I thought of it, but there is a chance another blizzard will blow across the Baltic and trap me and my men at port in Riga. While not as efficient, it’s far more plausible that I’ll make better time over land. I know the path through Russia is sparsely occupied, mostly young forests and flatlands. You do understand why I must do this?”
Rehnschiöld didn’t answer. The king reached into his breast pocket, found the letter and map. He placed them in Karl’s hand. “Find Viktor in Riga and give him this travel plan. I received word that he accepted the commission I offered and he should be there. Tell him to catch up with me as soon as he can.”
“Yes, my king.” Rehnschiöld busied himself by checking the harness and reins of the king’s horse and then quietly disappeared.
Exactly at noon, the king called his troop to order and lined them up in formation. He approached them on horseback and spoke as his horse snorted and prodded in front on the men. “Men, we are strong, well trained, and well equipped. We are heading south into Poland, not for land, not to break the Lithuania alliance. Our mission is not to conquer. Our mission is that of rescue. We are moving south to rescue my sister, Crimson, from the horrors of the trade.”
The men’s apprehension rippled through the formation. The king’s eyes paced the men like a caged tiger; his eyes stalked each man and waited for the murmurs to cease. When the men quieted, he continued, “We will not wear the uniform of Sweden. We will not receive any additions of men or have a supply line. Many of us will not return. But men, we will achieve this mission. We will rescue the young princess.”
He pointed the nose of his horse to the south, “Prepare yourselves and mount near the southern gate. We move in ten minutes.”
As the troop of men passed Pskov, the town of purling waters, the snow began to let up and they made good time until they reached the Velikaya River. The king consulted with his second in command, who had just returned from a survey of the river. He reported to the king that it was a torrent of nearly frozen water. “Sir, it rushes as if it were angry. There is no safe way to cross. I suggest we move further west.”
The king considered the
report, but decided to press forward, “We will cross and make camp on the south side. The area appears to be heavily wooded, and will offer us some protection from the weather. Gather the men and have them fall in behind me.”
The king was the first to arrive at the riverbank and he immediately noted that while the commander’s report was technically accurate, it failed to capture the spirit of the challenge. The river was rolling over itself, waves slapped against the wind and twisted as if they were in agony. The ice-cold water crested like some fairytale sea monster he had heard of as a child; one that seemed capable of rearing from the depths of a stormy ocean to destroy entire fleets of ships. When the men were situated along the river, the king compelled his horse into the furious water. The icy water grabbed the animal’s legs and the current almost undercut the animal. The horse snorted and neighed, before backing out of the river. The king knew the river was too deep and the current too strong to walk the horse across here. And deep down, he knew he couldn’t let the river beat him; if it did, then it would’ve been far better to be stuck at a port in Riga rather than at a river in a cold forest.
The king galloped along the river until he found a more favorable crossing point. This time, the horse made it to the middle of the river before the current almost washed them away. The raging water was well over the quarters of the horse, at times reaching and cresting over its withers. The icy water nipped with millions of little teeth at the king’s legs and fed like ravenous rogues at his toes and then there was no feeling at all, just numbness and a burning tingling. The horse stepped cautiously forward, but lost its footing and momentarily going under a large wave. The current carried them several yards downstream. The king held on tight and when the frigid water hit his chest, he lost his breath in a solitary and painful exhale. He dug in, yelled for the horse to move. With a final push, the horse jutted forward and found shallow ground on the far bank.
Crimson's Captivation Page 9
