Siege (5) “Thankfully not quite yet, m’lady. Fug’s people are tired of killing and wish to hurt no more – they shall wait until we have gone before they catapult Castle Utter. They’ve threatened to drag us out, but Agraff wants to put up a fight it seems.” “He is bonkers! He’s nuts! Mad as a wheelbarrow!” “I must protest Agraff!” coughed Spicer, jogging up to the quick-stepped lord of the castle. “Rethink your decision like Pukka and Fug said, please for my sake, for all our sakes! There’s no point in putting everything on the line for Castle Utter!” Agraff stopped and everyone sighed in relief, exhausted at the speed that they had had to move, even though the old steps to the Keep had yet to be climbed. “Castle Utter is already on the line, don’t you see? Don’t you see, Spicer? My ancestors worked hard as hell to build and maintain Castle Utter and I shall not let it be destroyed freely. Putting everything on the line? I would gladly risk my life to preserve this fine piece of history. If there is nothing else that I shall be remembered for – it shall be for the protection of this fine home, this fine battleground and defensive position. It is the mat outside the house saying ‘Welcome’ – get rid of it and you’ve got a closed house, a home that is unwelcoming, it makes you not so keen to enter. If Castle Utter falls, if the mat is taken away, no one will remember the history of this great country, no one will want to step in to a past that is blocked off. History is written by the winners and I shall not let those bastards dirty this world without the truth.” Spicer grabbed hold of both of Agraff’s arms, disallowing him to sway them to his speech. “What the hell are you talking about?! You’re talking a load of gibberish! You’re comparing a home’s ‘Welcome’ mat to Castle Utter!” Spicer was shouting at the top of his voice and noticed that the rest of the group had circled around Agraff’s now cowering body. “You’re losing your marbles! At first I saw where you were coming from, now it’s all over the place. If we can walk out of here without a scratch on our bodies – let’s do it! The threat to our lives has gone! Staying is just asking for trouble. And how long did you want us to stay in there? Till they got bored? While the castle still stands, it is still a threat. Till they get old and need walking sticks? We’ll all be dead by then. Face it, this is a no-win situation!” “I can’t believe this! I married the looniest loon in the loony bin!” a realization in her tone, yet Sacha tried to cover it with a little sarcasm. “That’s it! I’m getting out of here!” She turned in the direction of the drawbridge and marched forwards, her arms swaying as her hips bounced, shaking the skirt around her plump thighs that showed at the bottom of the dress. It would be the last that Agraff ever saw of his wife. Revved up by how everyone was attacking Agraff verbally, Pukka came to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t think you’re not mad, Agraff. You’ve become increasingly paranoid because of George. But George…” “Isn’t real!” shouted Blimey, his fists shaking as if he’d just delivered the knockout blow to the tenderized lord of the castle. “He’s just a figment of your imagination!” Agraff inhaled heavily, clasping where he thought his heart was, his eyes wide. “George is real. I don’t know what you’re talking about, George is real. George is real,” he repeated, one hand and knee falling to the ground, “I see him in front of me – he’s got blond hair, a beard, boots, an eagle encrusted sword! I see him as plainly as I see you, he’s there, he’s real I tell you!” “We cannot see him, Agraff,” said Pukka, standing over him, “there’s no one there.” Agraff was finding it hard to breath and he finally collapsed, his head smacking into the bottom step of the hundreds that led up to the Keep. Fourteen Sacha marched ahead – she was leaving her husband behind. The others? They weren’t quite friends, she hadn’t known them for too long so leaving and starting anew didn’t sound too hard at all. At least, in the split decision that it had taken for her to decide to leave Agraff, she hadn’t even considered the others or the predicament she was leaving them in. It seemed to be beyond her, over her head, none of her business. It wasn’t like she would have been able to help in any way. She was married to a loon – he could have at least told her before they got married! She wasn’t leaving many possessions by walking over the drawbridge right after leaving Agraff to be verbally pummelled. It was good to know the truth – what was really happening to one was vital in one’s recovery. Not that she’d probably return if he ever did recover and forget George. Their time together had been a weaker sexual experience for her than most other people she’d been with and she’d felt very little that was ‘special’ in their bonding. Was she lying to herself? Who knew? She certainly didn’t. Archie’s Fun House hadn’t been too bad, she realized. There were her friends, the objects in the other booths, milking a wage from their clients throughout the day and night. The better, the more money, it was as simple as that, as it was with most jobs. Sacha had been a high earner, a favourite to some of the locals and sailors who frequented Lummux. Some would ask of her by name and she always greeted the customers as if she remembered the time before, but of course she didn’t. It was all part of the job, something that fooled them all, making each man who spent there considered themselves Gods of the sexual act, their ability to satisfy unchallenged, their members the most able to hang washing upon. Two, three, four men at a time in some cases. Once there had been ten poor sailors who could only afford Sacha by herself so she enjoyed and exhausted them all. Orgies there had been for the rich folk, mostly in their own homes – disgusting sights where perversions of all types were thrust all over the rooms, licking, whipping, sucking, the lot. Breasts and bottoms everywhere in all manner of positions. And then there was Agraff. She did love him, now she realized. She loved him really, but it was too late… Sacha had walked straight over the drawbridge and now stood beside the moat, hundreds, thousands of men staring straight at her, armed with swords and all manner of sharp weaponry that gleamed and glinted as the sunlight struck. She wanted to scream, but nothing flowed out of her open mouth. An arm thrust its way round her stomach, grabbing her up into the air and over the shoulder of a tall soldier. The hundreds that watched burst into laughter as Sacha was carried through the heavily armoured barbarians. Sacha didn’t squirm as she had returned to her world of the past, remembering the violent sexual parties that she had assisted in – old men, young men, married men, even old women, young women, married women. Once she had allowed two fourteen year olds to have their way with her as they passed Archie’s Fun House. She gazed from her view point at all of the passing soldiers, seeing each one as if in the nude, their manliness stuck out – she saw it as just another job, a do-able job, where each one of them would thrust and grind into her – she’d become a rich woman that night, she was sure. The soldier dropped her, feet first, inside a tent, sending her stumbling a little before she accidentally bumped into a large man in the middle. A large moustache sat on a face that was stern and not amused, while most of the hair that should have been on top of his head clearly refused to be there. He was standing in a smart uniform that barely fit the bulging booze barrel that was strapped to his front. “Ms Sacha Pibbles, I presume?” “Yes?” she asked, innocently. She was regaining her ability to control herself, but she was a little confused as to where she was and who this big fat oaf of a soldier was. “Actually I’m Lady Sacha Byrne, I married Lord Agraff yesterday within Castle Utter. Who are you?” “I am Jeller Mokkas. Funny. You’re probably the first prostitute to ever be given the title of ‘Lady’.” “I’m not a prostitute! How dare you!” “The great Sacha Pibbles? Maybe you don’t call yourself a prostitute now, but you certainly have been. At Archie’s Fun House?” “Lies! Lies!” “I did you once, don’t you remember? Four or five years ago now though, you were quite young – very nervous.” Sacha fell into a wooden seat and put a hand to her eyes as she sobbed. “I was stopping off at Lummux on a ship – ‘The Ebony and Ruby’ it was called. Your friends are dealing me a lot of hardship, my dear, and that’s not good. Not good at all.” “They’re not my friends,” she sniffed, wiping her nose with her fingers. “Yet you’re married to one of them? Fug told me that Lord Agraff was the real bastard of the bunch. Wants to turn this into an all-out siege. If it’s a war he wants, it’s a war he’ll get! But I’m not allowed to kill anyone – the law, you know. Damn loyal bureaucrats to that stupid Chief Lopps! No, you’ll help me get them out – you’ll help me get them out alright! I’m going to make that damn Lord Agraff an offer he can’t refuse! And then when I’ve got him out of his precious castle, I’ll turn him into a casualty of war! Sliced in two!” Jeller grabbed Sacha by the hair and tugged her out of the tent, smacking her across the face with his thick, rough leather glove. Fifteen “Trust you to bring all the medical supplies up here!” said Pukka, dabbing oil onto the back of Agraff’s unconscious head. “Well, Agraff told me to be prepared to stay up here for quite a while, so I just did what I was told. Anyway, once you’ve fixed up his noggin we can just stroll out of this place and never look back, right?” “Right,” replied the wizard. Bourbon and Pompey stood behind the other two who crouched either side of Agraff. They were unlikely friends if they were friends at all. Neither could convey any sort of sense towards the other but they seemed to have an unspoken understanding, of life, love and archery skills. Blimey was wandering around the circular keep, a bow over his back. The Keep consisted of two areas, one slightly larger than the other. The larger was covered with a wooden roof, a deep well at the far end, with rugs and cloths scattered to be used as beds. The second section had no roof as a set of steps wound round slightly to the highest peak in the castle, a walkway that went all the way round the Keep. Blimey slowly trod up the stone steps to the walkway and looked out upon the crashing waves of the sea and then turned to face the beautiful view of distant pastures, Lummux a little way to the north, great hills far away that dwarfed even Castle Utter. The confronting army had scattered from its large uniform groupings and had set up camps and tents. The trebuchet and catapults still loomed, however, craning over the land like bears standing on their hind legs. Deep down in the bailey, everything looked insignificant, even Bongos the donkey, who must have chewed his way through his straps again, looked like an ant rather than the grey wire-haired excuse-for-a-horse that Blimey knew him as. Blimey squinted. He thought that he’d seen a movement but it could have been anything from such a distance. But no, his youthful eyes fixed upon a large man, a fistful of hair from the woman who was half walking, half being dragged, followed by ten or so soldiers. “There’s someone down there!” shouted Blimey at the others. Their reactions were quick and Pukka immediately stopped what he was doing so that he could rush to the doorway into the Keep. The wizard looked down the steps, down into the bailey, and sure enough he spotted the group moving closer. Pukka slammed the door shut and set the wooden bar across it and then rushed up the steps to the walkway where the others had congregated. “There’ll be no bargains!” yelled Jeller Mokkas, his booming voice shooting all the way into the ears of those in the Keep. He let go of Sacha, letting her drop to the ground, her skin trembling with fear, tears rolling down her cheeks where she had been beaten. “You’ll get out of that keep or I’ll come and drag you out myself! It’s as simple as that!” Fug, who had been standing with the soldiers trotted up behind Jeller and tapped him on the shoulder. “Sir, please, I promised them a day to reconsider their position. To think about what they’re going to do, please.” “Bugger off Fug! You will not tell me how to deal with these pests - these vermin! I’ll have them out by nightfall! Dead or alive!” “Please sir, let me talk to them, try to bargain with them, please. Under the new laws, you are required to let me try this. If they attack us, it’s all well and good that you should go in there with swords swinging, but in this case, they haven’t made the first move. We must respect their position. Please, let me talk to them.” “Bah!” Jeller moved away for a moment, contemplating. “Very well, do whatever you want, go and talk to them. But don’t you ever try to show me up again or I’ll cut out your bleedin’ tongue.” Jeller began to pace back and forth around the fallen Sacha who had curled up into a ball as Fug jogged towards the steps to the keep. Two at a time, they passed quickly under Fug’s feet until he finally got close to the door so that he was within talking distance between himself and those on the walkway. “Where is Agraff? Please, I must talk with him; I won’t have long before Jeller changes his mind.” “Agraff’s hurt, he’s unconscious,” replied Pukka. “I shall speak for him.” “Good, then this is your only chance to leave before Jeller kills you all.” “I thought if we left, either way we were going to live – that’s what you said,” said Spicer, his brow furrowed. “That’s the law, but Jeller isn’t interested in politics. He’s loved the war…” “Is this a dominance thing?” bellowed Jeller from down below, cutting Fug off. “Is it because you think you’re better than me? Than us? Is that it?” There was a silence as Jeller waited for an answer he knew wasn’t going to come. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’, shall I? You insult me! You know what I’m going to do? Do you realize what I’m going to do to your bird down ‘ere, Agraff? I’m gonna teach her a lesson, I’m gonna teach you all a lesson. Today’s lesson: do what Jeller Mokkas tells you or he’ll fuck you up! You understand?! You think I’m bluffing?!” All of those up at the Keep stood open-mouthed, listening and overcome by the ferocity of his tone and words. He meant every word he said, nothing was out of place. He was brutal and a bastard. “You think I’m bluffing?!” Jeller repeated, his eyes wide, staring up at the small people that he could see atop the walkway round the Keep. “Pick her up,” ordered Jeller to the soldiers who stood behind him, “put her over that barrel.” The soldiers obeyed. Sacha was too weak to fight back and the soldiers too strong, their stiff muscles easily imagined underneath the thick armour. “Pull down my trousers.” The two soldiers closest hesitated, not sure whether he meant it or not. “Do it!” They did what he said, revealing Jeller’s erect member. He moved closer to Sacha and pulled the bottom of her dress up to her back and violently pushed in. Sacha whimpered with the pain of violation. She knew what it felt like, she’d been through it hundreds of times, but this was the roughest. Jeller didn’t care at all for what was happening, he saw it as showing his power, showing that he was not to be messed with, and it was working. When he had finished, he pulled his trousers back up and re-buckled his belt. Those at the Keep stood open-mouthed, daring to speak. Nothing that they could say could resolve what had just happened. Believing that it was just, Blimey pulled an arrow back with his bow and fired into Fug’s chest. He fell backwards and rolled down the tall flight of steps, suddenly coming to a halt somewhere midway, gaining some balance. Fug was still alive, trying to understand what had just happened to him. He wanted to pull the arrow out of him, stop the defilement of his body, but he knew it was no use. Weak and battered, Fug took several deep breaths before his eyes finally closed shut. Jeller had watched in silence. He wasn’t annoyed and didn’t show it; merely puzzled. Why that had been the reaction to his presentation of power, he could not understand. He scratched his head and looked up at those at the Keep, pondering his next move. “What are you doing just standing there?” asked Jeller, staring at the soldiers that he had brought with him. “Go get them! I want them dead!” Puzzlement seemed best fixed with fury. The soldiers didn’t need to be told twice as they jogged towards the steps and climbed them as quickly as possible, passing Fug’s bruised body. “Lay into them,” said Pukka, the first to speak up. Blimey fired another arrow, which was followed by volleys from Bourbon and Pompey. The three archers cut the infantry to pieces, arrows poking out of unguarded areas of their bodies, thin streaks of blood over the steps. Most just fell face first, while another rolled down as Fug had done, and another tumbled over the steps and down into the bailey, his body thumping the ground as if in deliberate agitation. The carnage over, the silence between the two parties resumed. Their eyes locked. A well aimed arrow could nail Jeller, punish him for what he had just done, but it would be too quick, and the rest of the army would probably swarm the castle and kill them all for sure. Keeping Jeller alive would be a good idea to show respect, even though none of them could ever respect him for real. “A few of mine for one of yours, eh?” bellowed Jeller. “Sounds like a fair deal.” He grabbed a mace that hung by his belt and slammed it into the back of Sacha’s head that hadn’t moved since her brutal violation. Jeller still wasn’t angry, even though he had lost soldiers to those in the Keep. He looked on the bright side – he knew their defensive capabilities, what he could expect during another wave of attack. Jeller never intended to walk out of Castle Utter empty handed. Sixteen Outside the tent, soldiers marched with their armour clanking together, plates of steel crashing against one another as limbs moved to and fro. Inside the tent, however, there was silence. The crashing of metal and the chatter of bored soldiers was faint and hardly penetrated the deep concentration of Jeller Mokkas. He slouched in his wooden seat, his fist propping his face up, digging deep into the cheek so that the skin rippled up to the eye. What to do next remained heavily on his mind since he had left the castle. He had seen blood spill, some of which by his own hand, but the fury built by revenge was not churning inside of him. After all, this could be his last opportunity to battle, the Jabs having taken over most of the known world. He did not want to quickly get this over and done with, but he had never expected the resilience of those at Castle Utter. It was the challenge that drove him, but coming up with a foolproof plan would take a lot of thought. Opposite Jeller, in the corner of the tent, was a stool. There, Fug had managed to persuade him that they must attempt to get the inhabitants of Castle Utter out peacefully and not harm them – it was the law after all. Reluctantly, Jeller had agreed. Thus it had come down to one word, one ‘yes’ or one ‘no’ that had determined Fug’s life. Jeller realized this with it weighing heavy in his gut. He would not admit it, but it did. Fug had not only been his official emissary but a good friend, his second in command. “Ruttard Sav to see you, sir,” proclaimed the guard outside of the tent just as Jeller’s mind began to wander. “Send him in.” He ran his hand over his eyes before the man entered, trying to pop his mind back into the present. Ruttard marched in and stood at attention. “Sir!” he shouted, obediently, “Reporting for duty as new official emissary and second in command, sir!” A silence spread through the tent seeing as Jeller wanted to be too preoccupied to talk to the new deputy – he certainly didn’t have the humble nature of Fug. “Sir?” Ruttard didn’t like the silence. “I presume that you are in deep thought about those damn abominations over at Castle Utter. We must destroy them, sir, for what they have done – rule with the iron fist and pound them!” Jeller looked up into Ruttard’s eyes. They were clouded with destructive capabilities, destructive needs and urges. “Oh yes sir,” continued Ruttard, “give the order and I shall pound them with trebuchet! In moments, there shall be nothing left standing and the threat shall be gone. We shall all return home to our families and rejoice in a Jab-ruled world, our enemies slaughtered!” Jeller stood up, his eyes wide, gaping straight into those of Ruttard who backed away slightly, scared of what the general might do. The dark eyes seemed to delve into Ruttard’s mind, then deep down into his throat and then his heart, searching for a soul. Grabbing the emissary by one collar, Jeller moved so close that the breath of both of them could be felt by each other “You’re a disgrace to this life, Ruttard! Your mind is hell-bent on death and destruction! You want to return to your family? What if I kill you now then I do the same to your wife and children – I’m sure you’ll all meet up in the afterlife.” Jeller smacked a palm across the top of the emissary’s head, taking him to one knee. “Those men in there have shown perseverance and I shall not let you kill them with one foul swoop! Get out of here! Don’t let me ever see you again!” Seventeen High in the sky the air was thin and the wind was harsh, clouds roaming endlessly, melting and building into hundreds of different shapes and figures. Percifil beat her wings up and down, her feathers gleaming pure white from the sharp rays of sun that hit through the openings in clouds. Few troubles plagued her mind during this migration west across the sea below. Others of her kind had gone on ahead and left her lagging behind, but they knew she would turn up sooner or later; she always did, as she preferred the luxury of slow and steady, now and again diving into the choppy sea to drink or catch foolish fish that had ventured too near the sky. This was the life. Few worries meant little thinking, so Percifil could just enjoy, enjoy what she had been given – her life, her world; the beauties above and below passing with bursts of speed from her smooth wings. Below, the land was nearing. There was a great building of stone that stood close to the sea, with hundreds and thousands of people beyond. The other birds had flown down to the town to attack the scraps of fish, but Percifil decided to visit those highest to the sky. She fluttered down and landed on the top of the crenulations. A strange wail screamed from her beak which woke up one of the people nearby. ***
Copyright © 2004 Jack M Brown |