THE STATE DOESN'T MAKE MISTAKES (5)
The Rod
Both convicts were left to the tender ministrations of the assembled spectators for what seemed like hours. In fact, after two hours the Duty Corporal took up his position. The rod in his hand was about two feet long and not much more than a quarter of an inch thick. These carbon fibre rods are notorious: they are heavier than rattan, as whippy as rattan and therefore cut into the victim’s flesh worse than rattan does. The Corporal gave the rod a few loosening swishes through the air and the crowd could see the already tightly stretched blond convict tense with each pass.
“How many?” called several voices from the spectators but the Corporal ignored the calls; the prisoner was not to be allowed to know how much more agony he had to endure at any stage of his chastisement. He was not to be allowed to see the end of his suffering approaching.
Without speaking, the Corporal stood in front of the heavily breathing prisoner’s head and carefully laid the rod on the dais where he had little option but to look at it. Leaving the rod in place, the Corporal checked the belt round the prisoner’s waist. At least it would provide some protection for his kidneys in the event of an unfortunate slip of the rod, not that it would be necessary, this man was an expert. With a rod like the one he was going to use, he could deliver almost pin-point accurate blows to his target.
Instruments such as that rod were not designed for use like a whip, to deliver pain (leading to death in inexpert hands) over protracted beatings, but were used for “short, sharp shocks” which could produce permanent scarring.
Having checked the strap, the Corporal picked up the rod by the thick rubber handle, that extended about four inches from one end, and took up his position. He rested the rod on the prisoner’s twitching buttocks and gave it a little flick leaving a slight reddening on the flesh. The prisoner knew that it wasn’t the first of the prescribed strokes and that the Corporal was merely marking his target (and causing his victim to tense up).
The prisoner tried to relax but there was no point, as soon as he heard the “swish”, his entire body tensed before the first nerve-juddering blow landed. He bit down on the clamp on his tongue and knew that he wouldn’t be able to predict when the next “swish” would cause his entire body to tense again as it announced the next body-racking blow.
The corporal put the rod down under the prisoner’s face again. The prisoner groaned. Patrick could see a few tiny blood spots along the livid stripe of flesh where the rod had made contact. The Corporal lifted his subject by the chin and examined his gag. There was some sign of blood that wasn’t there before so he went across to his colleague and went into quiet conference. They seemed to reach some sort of accord and the Transport Corporal went to a heavy, locked safe under the front of the dais. He unlocked it, withdrew a smallish metallic item from it and locked the safe again. The spectators caught sight of the device and expressed their disappointment. It was like water off a duck’s back as far as the Corporals were concerned; they were professionals and knew how prisoners should be treated on the scaffold.
The device was handed up to the Duty Corporal who sat cross-legged by the prisoner’s head. With all the booing and disapproval, the crowd couldn’t hear what was said but they did see the prisoner manage to raise his head without assistance. The device was slipped behind the prisoner’s teeth and butterfly nuts were adjusted until the prisoner’s jaws could no longer close onto the tongue clamp. Another unheard word was uttered and most of the crowd swore that they saw the prisoner’s head nod. The Corporal picked up the rod once more.
There was no need for a sighting flick this time, the Corporal’s target was all too obvious. Another stroke, another yell and the prisoner was left with noticeable broken skin where the Corporal had found his mark. It took longer for the criminal’s muscles to relax that time. Standing where he was, the Corporal was out of easy sight of the prisoner who could thus get no clue as to when the next blow would land. It seemed to be forever but, actually, it was only about a minute before the boy’s muscles tensed again and the rod ripped into the initial injury. The prisoner’s body went into spasm. The Corporal laid the rod down in the tormented sight of the prisoner again and retired to a chair for another confab with his colleague.
The shock to the prisoner’s body took several minutes to subside and the wound bled freely. The Duty Corporal called to a young man who had been standing by the dais, feet apart, legs straight hands behind his back and facing the crowd since before the tumbrel had arrived. The brief but baggy red shorts, which were all he wore, marked him out a slave but he was a skilled one. He was a paramedic who had been condemned to serve a period of community service for some misdemeanour. This man wore an electronic tag by which his whereabouts could be monitored at all times and he would be judged upon his performances when the duration of his term of enslavement was reviewed.
The Duty Corporal had decided that stypsis was needed before the beating continued. The paramedic withdrew a green box from the safe and mounted the dais. He withdrew a latex glove from the box along with a tube which he uncapped and from which he applied some of the contents to his gloved right index finger. The application of the astringent not only helped to stem the blood flow but, judging by the reactions of the recipient, seemed to be nearly as painful as another blow from the rod.
The Paramedic binned the glove, placed the green box out of the way of the corporals and returned to his place on the ground while the Corporals sat idly chatting while they waited for the styptic to take effect. The Duty Corporal was in no hurry, he couldn’t leave until he’d consigned his two subjects once more into the care of the Transport Corporal.
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During the hiatus, the Transport Corporal took the time to exercise the draught beast so that he’d be more fit for purpose than if he’d been left on his knees without relief for even longer. That was always a popular moment among the younger spectators some of whom would beg rides on the tumbrel and play games of “prisoner and escort” for a few minutes while the vehicle was drawn around the Town Square several times. The beast having been exercised, the tumbrel was positioned against the dais once more and he was made to kneel again. Two small boys “escorted” their friends triumphantly off the tumbrel which was then clamped securely to the dais.
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As the blond convict saw the rod being picked up once more, his entire body was overcome by an irresistible shaking and his muscles became rock-hard with tension. That was even before a fourth blow had been delivered.
“Swish” and it seemed to the spectators that the entire scaffold shook as another stripe parallel to the first one cut into the prisoner’s buttocks. Only the need for tortured inhalation interrupted the screaming. The prisoner certainly didn’t appreciate the fact that his torturer had chosen not to open the existing wound even further; all he knew was unrelenting pain. At least the ancient dental gag was preventing him forcing the tongue clamp further into the tender flesh lolling from his mouth. Two further strokes opened the second wound even more than the first one and the rod was placed by the head of the victim whose body continued its violent muscular tremors. The Duty Corporal left the boy to bleed and quake for about ten minutes before calling the paramedic to treat the second wound and examine the prisoner.
From the green box the medic took a stethoscope and a watch. He forced the stethoscope between the boy’s chest and the bed of the horse and listened carefully. He checked the boy’s pulse and even inserted an anal thermometer. Not seeming to be entirely happy with the situation, he produced a sphygmomanometer and forced it between one of the criminal’s stretched and tensed arms and inflated the sleeve. After six months in the job the paramedic knew what allowances to make for the freak readings he was monitoring.
“If you please, Corporal, what is this convict’s ID?”
“BanaW 21/10/11, slave.”
“Thank you, Sir, I’ll just complete my paperwork. Please Sir, give him fifteen minutes and I’ll check on him again. - - - Unless you’d allow me to administer a dose of vallium now?” It was a considerate try but there was no way the Duty Corporal was going to allow BanaW 21/10/11 to receive a muscle relaxant unless he was literally in mortal danger.
“Stand down, slave. I’ll let you know when the quarter-hour is up.”
“Yes Corporal, thank you Corporal.” Obviously, the slave had to demonstrate that he knew his place if he was not to receive a bad report and he climbed off the dais to stand and wait until he was called again.
It was a long fifteen minutes and the convict knew that he would not even be allowed relief from pain if he passed out. If he did, the paramedic would simply have been called to revive him so that he would experience the full agony for as long as the effects of his injuries lasted.
Some people drifted off to the shops and pubs surrounding the Town Square, having checked a notice to see when the other prisoner was due to be beaten, because there was unlikely to be anything happening for a while. Jeremy dutifully stayed and still kept trying to reassure his lover in spite of the reactions of the rest of the company. It was going to be a long day.
After the fifteen minutes, the Paramedic repeated his examination from before and, once he had applied the styptic again, asked if he could cover the prisoner’s wounds to keep them clean. The initial application of the antiseptic cream caused every one of the blonde’s well-developed muscles to tense immediately and it was a good job that the painful, mouth stretching gag was still in place. No attempt was made to stitch the wounds but a thick dressing was held in place by a conforming adhesive patch.
“Please Corporal, may I remove the dental gag and loosen his limbs slightly? I’d also recommend re-hydration.” Such practices were standard and the Duty Corporal quickly acceded to the request. The paramedic chose to leave the gag removal ‘til last. He released the clamp holding the boy’s left arm stretched tight and re-fastened it having loosened it by no more than about three centimetres. Next, both his ankles received the same limited relief.
Next, the shaven-headed slave knelt by the boy’s head and explained what was about to happen and how, if the prisoner didn’t cooperate, he would not be allowed to continue the treatment. His patient gave a tortured nod and the paramedic briefly put a hand on his shoulder before loosening his right arm and telling him to turn his wrist outwards. Without a local anaesthetic, inserting a needle of that gage must have hurt but, after the pain he was already experiencing, the boy managed to keep his wrist twisted as the paramedic taped it into place. The paramedic attached a bottle of saline solution to the needle and hung it from a vertical pole that formed part of the “furniture” of the dais. After adjusting the flow and releasing the prisoner from the dental gag, the paramedic retired to his place.
TBC