The Citadel Ch. 05: Imprisonment

Annie's eyes followed the sound up to the ceiling, but the only visible thing of the heavy iron mass now were the sharp pikes protruding like tiny needles from the slit high above. In her current mood the gate had sounded like the low-pitched chime of a mourning bell to her, an inexorable announcement that the days of her freedom had come to an end. She wished that it would come crashing down, smashing them all together to bloody pieces, better yet those bothersome henchmen who had given her all that recent trouble.

The guards which had barred the way now stepped back and waved the visitors to go forward into the citadel. Scarface waited for some moments to let the gathered people surge forward and over the bridge beyond before he signified his comrades that it was their turn too.

A sharp call and the sudden tug on the leash prodded her forward and out of her musing. Her recollection of the previous events had come to an end and the here and now unfolded before her eyes like a newly weaved pattern. She had never been arrested or bereft of her freedom before and marched like an infamous criminal towards imprisoning or something even worse. Right now she could only see the narrow path of hardship lying before her, but there must be some way to escape that cruel fate. She had to wait and see and use her wits to survive and get the better of her captors. Although the humiliating treatment fuelled her anger and left an acrimonious feeling in her heart she thought about the benefits of subservience and how she could use it to better her situation. Yet she couldn't picture to her how she should soft-soap such disgusting guys like Slaphead or Stinker.

The passage through the doorway came to an end and opened into a stone bridge traversing the gorge in front of the citadel. The first part was built like a drawbridge with heavy chains on both sides to raise it up and cut off the way into the heart of the fortress. Now it was lowered down and resting solidly on sturdy stone groundings. Looking through the cracks between the wooden planks she could see deep into the chasm below. The sight gave her a dizzy feeling and she was glad when they reached the other side of the bridge.

The following walk through the citadel left her soon disorientated. Different buildings on top of the mountain were nestled into each other without any clear concept or composition. After passing the entry tower a steep ramp went zigzag up to another fortified wall. They passed under different watchtowers on their way up until Scarface left the main road and ushered them through a small passageway away from the more formal and prestigious parts of the citadel.

During their following walk they crossed several courtyards merging roughly into each other. The first one seemed to be used for the cavalry with a lot of stables circumventing it. The stench of the horses and their manure was overwhelming. After that, they passed different storehouses, a smithy where weapons and different tools were forged and a laundry. There were already a lot of people at work, bustling around in doing different business. Although she could hear an occasional laughter or people talking idly with each other, there seemed to be an air of oppression present which dampened the mood noticeably. She couldn't tell exactly what caused this atmosphere, was it either the suppressing tightness of the walls and buildings huddled together or the frown and fraught air on the faces of the occupants.

At least they reached a narrow courtyard almost at the rocky base of the donjon, which rose high up in the sky above them. Most of the square lay in the shadows of the thick outer walls which surrounded it on two sides. The last side was built by a cubic building which seemed to merge with the rough cliff behind it. Its unplastered wall had the same colour and texture as the natural stone behind it. The broad base was mere stone with no windows at all and only one entrance in the shape of an archway, which was broad enough to let a cart or a carriage through. The way was barred by a latticed iron grate, which looked to be closed and locked up. Separated from the base by a broad landing the upper stories showed rows of small vents in the stone wall. Maybe that had been used as arrow slits or for other ways of defending long ago, but now they were cross-barred with rusty iron gratings indicating that the purpose of the rooms behind had changed.

A rough stage with a sturdy gallows dominated the square in front of the building. A hempen rope, forming a crude leash dangled from the rafter and there were other instruments of execution assembled in its shadow. Gaping with awe at the cruel instruments she recognized a broad wooden block, a wheel for quartering and a pillory. Would she have to walk at this stage as a condemned delinquent, to die in pain and agony? She was so occupied with her terrifying thoughts that she didn't recognize the commotion building up at the entrance to the building.

Only when the iron grate had opened fully she turned her head to recognize a big wooden cart drawn by several sturdy black draft horses coming out of the doorway. The platform behind the driver seat was occupied by a huge iron cage. The thick iron bands overlapped so close together that she was at first unable to see between them or identify, what was inside the cage. When the cart headed towards them and the big wooden wheels rumbled directly in front of them past her, she gasped in disbelief.

The cargo was human and consisted of people seated on several rows of low wooden benches. Yet, each of them wore heavy chains, manacling hands and feet together, which clinked with a tingling sound due to the jolts from the rumbling wheels. Every one of the prisoners inside the cage wore a broad iron band around his neck, which was connected by further chains to their neighbours fettering them in one single row together at each bench. The look of misery and despair on the faces made her cringe with pity for this wretched and doomed looking creatures. Most of them were naked or only clad in rags. There were more men than women, but the females were treated and chained up the same way as the males. While some of them groaned or sighed most of them stared with dull eyes impassively to the ground.

"Oh my god!" Annie breathed almost overcome by the feeling of dread and despair which emanated from the cart like a dark encasing cloud, "What have they done? What will happen to them?"

"Don't mind about them. Their fate is sealed." Slaphead murmured and spat out into the gutter when the guards on horseback following behind the cart had passed by.

"Why? Where are they taken?" she asked him while she watched the cart leaving the courtyard.

"To the salt mines up in the north. They always need fresh meat there. Although most of them will not survive for more than half a year." Scarface stated. When he noted her frightful look he continued on, "Don't worry, that's only for scum and rabble. For pretty whores like you, we have another use."

"And what should that be?" she asked him knitting her brows.

"We'll keep you for our pleasure." he laughed,"and once we're tired of your service, you'll be sold at the slave pits of Harum or Ga'rr. Big tits always fetch a good price there."

"Let's go," he turned around after she didn't answer and kept a straight face at his proposal. She thought they would lead her to the large doorway where the cart with the prisoners had emerged, for in her opinion it was obviously the prison of the fortress. Although they led her towards the edifice Scarface bent off in front of the door and guided them around the building to a passageway along the outer wall. She wouldn't have recognized it because it was so small that they had to walk solitary in a row through it. The sky was only a small slit high above them shedding only a diffuse and gloomy light to the ground. Soon they had to climb a flight of stairs which led up to the landing above the base wall of the prison. There, wedged between the outer wall and the stone cliff resided a small circular tower, reaching up towards the donjon above them.

Scarface opened a small iron-bound door at the base of the tower and let them in. There was only a small torch lit entry hall, which led to a circular staircase reaching up into the tower. After closing the door, they walked her towards the stairs and led her up. The staircase seemed to be turning and twisting forever. Their ascent was only interrupted by small window slits which let some light in and gave her the possibility to glimpse the courtyards far below. With every round of the stairs, they were further down and away, looking more tiny and dwarfed.

The stairs ended beneath the roof with a small landing. The only exit from there was a narrow tunnel which led directly into the mountain beyond. Without any break Scarface entered the passageway and walked them through. The surface, gloomily lit by sporadic torches, was sheer rock, roughly hewn out of the stone. Occasionally a frame of wooden braces supported the ceiling of the tunnel.

They trudged along for several minutes before they reached an iron grate which sealed the exit of the tunnel. The grate was also opened by Scarface and stepping through it, they entered a large circular room. It was built like the shaft of a well, reaching up for uncounted levels. Standing at the base of this monstrous cavern she felt dwarfed by its enormous size. Pale daylight was filtering through some opening in the distant ceiling, but due to its height she couldn't perceive how this was possible. The only way up was a broad staircase made of rough hewn stones that were running around the inner wall.

Several more doorways opened up radially from the bottom and into some unknown darkness. Before she could have a long close look at the whole dungeon, Scarface nudged them on towards one of them. A small straight passageway followed, before they entered another circular corridor which seemed to run around the big centre duct. Walking along the round passage, they soon reached a row of small doors set into the outer wall. All of them looked similar: blank iron doors, with a grilled hole at eye level and a small hatch, closed by a slider beyond it.

Except the first one, which was broader and made of wood. Slaphead opened the door and slid in only to return after a minute with a big wad of keys in one of his hands.

"Number nine is free and ready." he announced and took the lead. When they reached the appropriate cell he inserted the key, unlocked the door and opened it.

"At last," Slaphead sighed and started to unknot the leash around her neck. Next followed the rope, hobbling her feet and in a final step he removed the fettering's around her wrists, freeing her hands. Without waiting on Scarface grabbed her upper arm and shoved her unceremoniously into the darkness beyond the door. She stumbled in and in the next moment the door clanked shut behind her and caged her up.

It was not the first time that Annie had been confined to a cell these days. Nevertheless, her current condition was a bit better than the last one during the recent night. Rubbing the sore and chafed spots on her wrists where the hempen ropes had cut into her skin she examined her whereabouts. The cell here in the citadel wasn't much better than the one in the old watchtower. Built of rough stones it was as tiny as the last one. A narrow corridor stretched away from the cell door, which almost filled the front side. An elongated stone platform built-on towards the right wall acted as a rough bed. At least one could fancy that, mostly because there were patches of dirty straw on it and some sullied rags which could serve as a blanket.

She took some steps past the platform towards the end of the room. This part was better lit up by daylight from a narrow slit high up in the wall that shafted down into the cell. Squinting her eyes while she looked up, she recognized a patch of blue sky and some clouds. Such a small sign of the free world beyond and so unreachable. She sighed and dropped her gaze back between the narrow stone walls.

In the left back corner the floor declined towards a lowered rough stone set hole. Considering the pungent stench wafting out of it that was the privy. Remnants of old feces were smeared around the edge that seemed to have seen its latest cleaning years ago. She cringed with disgust thinking about squatting down over it and emptying her bowels. Even pissing into it would be a formidable challenge to her senses keeping her revulsion at bay.

Yet, a soft rumble in her lower belly told her that she hadn't visited the smallest room for a lengthy period. Undecided about what to do she stood there for quite some time. However, the pressure in her bottom didn't lessens at all and at least she pulled herself together. Safe for a puddle of water which had collected in a hollow beside the toilet there was nothing to use for the cleanup afterwards. At least she had to rip a broad stripe of cloth from her underskirt. After dropping the makeshift towel in a convenient distance she gathered her skirts together and squatted down over the hole. I took several minutes before she was able to slacken her bowels enough to do her business. Her relief was accompanied by some audible plops which sounded from deep down beneath her where the drain pipe seemed to open into a bigger duct filled with water. She was glad that her skirts covered the hole completely, else the pungent stench would surely have made her reek. Eventually she finished her business and dipping the cloth into the puddle beside her she was able to clean her butt cheeks sufficiently considering the unfavourable circumstances.

A sigh of relief escaped her lips when she stood up again. Her exploration of the cell was finished and there was nothing much more to do. She returned to the cell door to spy out of the small port in its middle. Yet, the viewing angle was too narrow to recognize anything special besides the opposite stone wall. She strained her sense of hearing, but there were not much to perceive. Either the stone walls were thick enough to dampen even the tiniest sound or there was not much going on in this part of the dungeon. Since the goons hadn't taken the main entrance, she thought that she had been brought to a more secluded or even private part of the prison. She couldn't imagine a reason for that treatment, but eventually she would find out soon enough.

Bored, she left the door and returned to the beam of light at the back of the cell to examine her clothing. At least her hands were free now and first she tried to mend the torn lace of her bodice. Pulling off the garment she knotted the ruptured straps together and threaded them in the right pattern into the eyelets again. Before she put the bodice on again, she adjusted her chemise so that it covered her breasts as demure as before. Torn and mistreated the bodice didn't fit that snugly as before, but with some tugging and twisting at the right places she was able to set it reasonable straight again.

Next came her skirt. Lifting it up, she first examined her underskirt. The formerly white linen had obtained a brownish tinge, especially at the hem and in front of her body where her pee had meanwhile dried up. The pungent odour had lessened somewhat at least enough that she decided to keep it on. Dropping her upper skit over it, she smoothed the woollen cloth out. The fabric was clotted with mud on many spots and the hem soiled and torn. Yet, she had no possibility to wash or needle and thread to mend it so it had regretfully to stay as it was. She tried to rub some of the biggest dirt lumps away, but resigned from it when smudgy substance didn't come off that easily.

There was nothing else to do, so she went to the platform to sit down and rest. Leaning against the cold stone wall behind wasn't that comfortable, but she didn't want sit upright. After some time she must have dozed off because suddenly she awoke with a start from the sound of some voices in front of her cell. A moment later the door opened with a clanking noise and two figures stepped into the room.

To her surprise it was none of her former captors. Instead, two women wormed noisily their way through the door and into her cell.

"You know Mathilda, you never know whom they send nowadays hither!" the first one talked over the shoulder to her companion.

In the dim light she looked at the first glance like an old hag right out of a folk tale. A crooked nose adorned her strung-out face, the warty skin stretched over her sharp features. The remainder of her wiry white hair stood on end bordering her head. An earthen brown dress hung somewhat loose from her bony limbs, held together by a broad leather belt slung around her waist. The tight dark red jacket worn over the gown was unbuttoned and reached a little below the hips.

"Aye Bethany, Sir Malcolm got quirky the last time. You never know what's bugging him now!" the second woman responded.

As opposed to the first one she was as pursy as a barrel. Her puffed up face was all round with red rosy cheeks and pouting lips. Safe for her pinhead-sized pig eyes, which gleamed perfidiously behind bulgy eyelids she would have resembled a cherub. Besides some fatty black curls, which escaped at the back off her head and around her ears, her head was all covered by a white linen cap. A black bodice cut into her buxom breasts, which seemed to spring up and out of the all too tight cleavage. Beneath her waistline a forest green skirt, split down front flowed around sturdy thighs, showing a modest peek of her light grey mousseline underdress.

"Oh my, what do we have here?" Bethany crooned when she had reached Annie and leaned forward to get a better look at their newest prisoner in their custody.

"A real beauty!" Mathilde exclaimed abuzz who had followed closely looking over her shoulder, "and a wealthy one! Look what fine clothing she is wearing. My daughter would love to have such a nice bodice."

Bending over she reached with stubby fingers towards Annie's breasts and rubbed over the surface of the cloth, "Ohhhh, its velvet ... and a thicker one too, sooo gleamy and smooth."

She squinted her eyes, "Look Bethany, she has the same size as Angela. I bet this bodice will be a perfect fit for her too!"

Taken aback by this unexpected onslaught Annie backed away nervously from them and batted Mathildes hand away from her bosom.

"Get off me, you impudent hay bags!" she snapped at them, "That's my clothing and i am still wearing it! I will never give it to you!"

"Now, now, ... keep your hair on!" Bethany laughed like a billy goat as she tried to calm her, "Don't be so prudish! Mathilde get a bit overexcited sometimes. She means no harm."

Registering the still greedy look in Mathildes eyes Annie wasn't so sure about Bethanys assertion and tried to keep a distance from them.

Bethany pretended to not have noticed her distrust and continued rambling on, "And who are you? What's your name?"

"My name is Annie, Annie from Hearthome, ..." she answered slowly, still worried about those two cronies, especially about Mathilde who had taken advantage of the break to come too close to her.

There was no more way to back off and she was so tired off being molested and bullied. Oh, no not again, she thought indignant and jumped suddenly up and tried to push the fat woman in front of her away. Shoving with all her power she was able to topple the surprised Mathilde over and into the back of the cell. Turning around she faced Bethany, who was still baring her way out.

"Get out of my way!" she hissed at her opponent and when the old crone didn't move she lunged out at her.

Yet, despite her apparent fragility the old hag dodged her onslaught easily. Suddenly the wrist of her slamming hand was caught in an iron grip and twisted painfully around. A raucous cry escaped her lips, but Bethany not only continued to increase the ache on her joint lock, but slammed also her second hand under Annie's chin and bent her neck forcefully back.