Not for the Galleys

The racking of the bar wench was proving tedious.

The inquisition of the slave for poisoning the brave soldier boys had run past the watchman's first bell and the rack master and his team wished to retire to the tavern themselves.

But this was a serious matter; the Faction may have used the wench to strike terror into the garrison who regularly caroused the rickety wine dens huddled around the west gate.

The boys had left their barracks late that previous evening and settled on Sulla's den where there was wine, ale and flesh to taste and enjoy. The bar slave had served the four and then she and the kitchen slut had earned some coin pleasuring the soldiers.

It was in the morning the alarm was raised with three dead in their billets, having vomited blood and bile overnight. The fourth had time to tell his officer of where they had been before dying himself.

The Inquisitor General had the den raided and all the slaves dragged into his chambers for questioning. It had been immediately judged that Sulla had nothing to do with the crime and the slaves were the source of this outrage.

The general judged the bar wench to be tortured first. Stripped of her greasy loin cloth, she was strung up by her arms and put to the question.

"Slave, did you serve the soldiers last night?"

Sulla's wine den is known for his willing wenches

Frozen with fear, she couldn't answer before the whipmaster was told to give six lashes across her back.

Shrieking and now profusely sweating from the exertion of trying to evade the whip, the girl pleaded for mercy and admitted she had served the four.

"Now slut, tell us did you know the wine was poisoned?"

Her gabbled answer of "no" led to the six more lashes.

The slave girl from the bar screamed her innocence under the lash

"Master, mercy! I know of no poison. I serve good wine for the men. No more of the lash, master"

"Girl. you lie. Lash her belly and breasts."

The single tail lash was replaced for a cat of tails lash, each knotted leather cord beaded with metal bits.

Under the onslaught the slave roared with agony until she fainted, hanging slumped from the chains above her head.

A pail of cold water was thrown over her glistening hide, bringing her around to be asked again "did she know of the poison?"

She nodded.

"Now to save more pain tell us who gave it to you. Names now!

The Inquisitor General knew that when she could give no names except that of her fellow slaves, she would need to have the truth extracted on the rack.

With each turn, the rack master extracts the truth from the slave

The slave was unshackled from the overhead chains and dragged semi-conscious to the rack. Tied by her hands and feet, the Inquisitor ordered the racking to begin and that for it to be finished by his return from evening prayers and supper.

The girl could give no names even as her limbs were stretched to breaking point.

Held taut like a bow string and her ribs corrugating, the rack master nodded for the use of pincers on her nipples.

Yet, despite the shrieks and pleading for mercy, she could give up no name that meant sense; calling out the name of master only made the men laugh and whip her belly.

So, now with Inquisitor General's return pressing, there seemed little sense in not turning the wheel to the extreme.

Threatened with even this, the girl couldn't give an intelligible answer, so she was stretched past breaking point

A sickening pop of dislocated shoulders, an agonised roar and then silence.

On his return, the Inquisitor understandably enraged, ordered the slut's shoulders to be pushed back into place and that she spend the rest of the night on the Horse, the better to watch how his lazy men worked on the flesh of the kitchen slave.