Chapter 10

The Flogging

Good men must die, but death cannot kill their names. --Proverb

Spencer woke up lying on a wooden bed with a heavy woven blanket covering him. He was relieved to note that he was still dressed, and that the woman who was filling a bowl with water from a jug had not stripped him. She stood with her back to him, and turned as she heard him try to sit up.

He clasped his hand to his head, and groaned. Quickly, she came to his side, and gently but firmly pushed him back down.

"You should not try to move. You have been bewitched. You need to rest."

"Bewitched?" Spencer laid back down at her insistence. "No, I had a radiation induced convulsion."

The woman pushed his sleeves up to show him the bruising on his skin. "These are spectral markings." she said.

"No!" Reid examined the marks. "The radiation caused them. Nobody did this to me."

She wiped Spencer's brow with a cool wet cloth. "You are delirious, my friend. But do not fear. The slave who did this to you is being punished."

"Slave? Oh no" Spencer swung his legs off the bed. "I have to stop it! Where is he?"

"Oh, do you want to watch?" she asked. "I suppose you have a right to, since it was you that he attacked." She passed him his shoes. "Follow me."

Quickly, Spencer put on his shoes, and followed the woman down the stairs, and out into the street. Every few steps he had to stop. His eyes were not focusing properly yet, and his head was hurting.

"This way." She hurried down a side road. "It is in the market square."

As Spencer got closer to the square, he could hear the sounds of the crowd who had gathered to watch the punishment, and the sound of someone counting...

...and the sound of a whip, as it whistled through the air.

"...thirty six...thirty seven..."

"Stop!!" Spencer shouted, pushing through the crowd. "Stop it!"

Morgan was tied to a wooden frame, his shirt torn, back exposed to the cruel leather whip, being wielded by the brutal jailer. Morgan's smooth and perfect dark skin was torn in long open gashes, blood running down and soaking his clothes. He hung inert from the wooden scaffold.

Spencer ran to Morgan, and stood between him and the tormentor. The thirty eighth lash opened the skin across Spencer's face. He yelped in pain, raising his arms to protect himself. He was pulled away by the magistrate.

"Get back! What have you to do with this?" Magistrate Hathorne said. "Are you his owner?"

"...thirty nine..."

"Yes! He's mine!" Spencer was holding his face, the blood seeping between his fingers. "Stop, please. He is valuable. Cut him down now!"

Hathorne raised his hand, and the whip was thrown angrily to the ground. The ropes around Morgan's wrists were cut, and he fell in a bloody heap. Spencer ran to his side. He played into their rules.

"I need to take him with me now." Reid just wanted Morgan away from the mob baying for his blood. He very carefully turned him and lifted him, so that he was standing, with his head on Spencer's shoulder.

Standing there, holding Morgan, he turned to the Hathorne and a clergyman standing with him. "If my slave dies," he your town will pay dearly!"

He tried to carry him, but all he could do was drag him out of the way of the mob.

Spencer half dragged, half carried the unconscious agent out of the square along the road leading out of the town. He felt his heart beating too fast, and he was shaking with delayed shock. He expected to be dragged back at any moment, but he tried to keep up the appearance of confidence and indignation, at least until he was out of view of the surprised crowd.

Hathorne and Parris watched him go.

"There's something not right about those two." said Parris, running his finger round the clerical collar that was rubbing his fat neck uncomfortably.

"I agree. I'll have someone follow them." said Hathorne. "That white boy is either bewitched, or he enjoys black flesh."

Spencer was exhausted by the time he had brought Morgan back up to the field above the town. With relief, he laid him down on the grass on his front, head to one side. He checked his pulse, which was strong, if not erratic. He seemed to be breathing fairly well, too.

The gash across his face had stopped bleeding, but it hurt like hell. He wiped the stickyness away and pushed his hair back where it had stuck in the drying blood.

He had no water to wash the horrible rips across Morgan's back, but they looked clean. He took off his own shirt, and the remains of Morgan's sweat shirt. He folded the sweat shirt into a pad to cover his back, and tore his shirt into wide bandages, and tied them as best he could around Morgan's back and chest. When he had finished, he tried to wake him up.

Morgan wouldn't wake up, so Spencer sat next to him in the afternoon sun, and watched the activity in the town below. The group of watchers that had been so excited at seeing Morgan being flogged had moved from the Market Square to stand in the field where he and Morgan had seen the men digging earlier. Clearly something was going to happen there. Spencer watched carefully, and he jumped when he felt a hand on his arm.

Morgan had begun to waken, and had turned onto his side, and reached out for Spencer.

"Hey, Genius..." he whispered hoarsely. "What gives?"

Spencer crawled through the grass to Morgan. "Thank goodness you are awake! You were starting to worry me there!"

"I've seen Hotch." Morgan. "He's alive, but in a bad way. He's being held in the prison cell, a guy called Corey is with him."

"Oh so we aren't too late!" Spencer felt profound relief. "I will go down after dark and see if I can get to him. I may be able to free Corey too."

"It will be too late after dark." Morgan turned over and attempted to sit up. Spencer very gently helped him, trying not to touch his injured back. "They are bringing him and Corey out today to be pressed." Morgan thought back to the picture he had seen on the internet three hundred years in the future. "Not sure if I will be able to come down with you, Kid."

"Aaron survived the first night, Morgan." said Spencer, going through the internet article as well. "I'll go down just after dark and get him out." Spencer squeezed Morgan's arm. "You can wait here, try and get your strength up. We've got a long walk home, and I don't think I'll be able to carry you both."

Morgan managed a small grin. Spence smiled back. Then his attention was suddenly back on the town as the crowd in the field below became vocal.

(The men crouching in the undergrowth behind them decided now to return to the town with the things that they had learned. And they didn't want to miss the pressing.)

"They're bringing someone out." said Spencer.

They watched as Corey walked across the field to the sounds of the crowd cheering. Behind him, another man was dragged towards the shallow pit. He was left standing alone, swaying and staggering weakly, trying to keep from falling.

Spencer recognised that the second man was his Aaron, beaten and bloody, staring around blankly, going to his death. The crowd hushed as the two men were stripped of their clothes, and forced into the ditch. Spencer's eyes opened wide in fear for his lover, and he let out a little cry as he watched Aaron being so badly mistreated.

I'm coming for you, Babe. Please, hold on just a little longer!

Spencer and Derek watched as boards were placed on the bodies of the two men, and huge boulders dropped on them. Spencer winced as he almost felt the agonies that Aaron was going through. Tears of fury welled up in his eyes.

"Hang on, Aaron. We are going to get you out of there!" Spencer whispered. He felt Morgan's comforting hand on his shoulder.

"We're coming for you, Hotch. We're coming."