Chapter 17: Judas Cradle
Logan poked his head in the bedroom. "Lee? Supper's ready, aren't ya comin' down?"
There was no answer, the room was empty. He sighed to himself, made a face. Where had the boy gone off to this time?
He went down to the squiremaster's office, checked there. Francis was probably on the way to dinner; and there was no sign of Lee. Thinking maybe the boy might still be working out in the stables, he checked their horses. Both animals were fed and watered, the straw in their stalls changed, and getting comfortable for the night.
He retraced his steps to the dining hall. Still no Lee in his accustomed seat beside Logan. He was about to leave and go search for the boy when he spotted three of the noble's boys, slipping into the dining hall by the rear door. They didn't notice him, but Logan noticed that their clothes were different from those they'd worn earlier, almost as if they'd gotten rumpled and changed hurriedly sono one else wouldknow.
Well, they were fairly close to Lee's age. No one would take it amiss if Logan were to ask them if they'd seen Lee. He waited until they were seated, then strolled up to the table, sketching a bow toward the assembled people. "Beggin' yer pardon, m'lords an' ladies," he said, catching everyone's attention in an instant, "But my squire seems ta have gone missin', an' I was wonderin' if I could ask these lads here if they'd seen him."
Nathan's, Stephen's, and Roger's fathers looked down at their boys expectantly. Nathan looked up at Logan with wide, innocent-looking eyes, and said, "No, Sir Logan, we haven't seen Lee." Stephen followed suit. Logan looked at Roger, noting the boy's hesitation as the kid said, "No, I haven't seen him."
Logan's sharp eyes noted the boy's nervousness. "Are ya sure?" he said earnestly. "When was the last time ya did see him?"
"Uh…" The boy stopped nervously, looking to the two other boys. He was transparently nervous about something.
Nathan said quickly, "He was mucking out the stalls when we last saw him." Stephen nodded, and Roger finally nodded too.
Logan narrowed his eyes. "Now think real hard 'bout this," he said to Roger. "Are ya quite sure that was the last time ya saw him?"
"Are you calling us liars?" Nathan rose from his chair angrily. "He said it was, that should be enough for you!" Nathan's father looked outraged, too, but Roger's father held out a hand.
"Steady now. Let's all not go flying off the handle." Roger's father was the Duke of Kent; a tall, imposing man with hair going silver at the temples and a calm demeanor. "Nathan, I believe the knight was speaking to my son, not you. Roger," he said to his son, "Honesty is one of the things I have tried to teach you. You know I value honesty above all else. Tell me the truth, boy, was the stables the last place you saw Sir Logan's squire?"
Roger nodded, then, at his father's stern look, slowly, slowly shook his head.
Nathan surged out of his chair. "Roger, I swear, if you tell--"
Logan stared at the other boy, who had his fists clenched and eyes alight with fierce anger; then back at Roger, who was staring at the tabletop and looking miserable. "He's in the tree." The answer came out as a slow whisper.
"What?" Logan leaned in closer to hear what the boy was saying. All conversation at the table had stopped, and the rest of the room was gradually starting to realize something was going on at the high table. The normal noise of the room was tapering off as faces stared at the knight standing by the table, and the squirming, red-faced boy in the seat.
"He's in the old oak behind the trainee's barracks," Roger said, his voice dropping lower. "Nathan and Stephen and I put him in a Judas Cradle in the old oak."
Logan spun away from the table, almost stumbling over the knight's table in his haste. Roger's father leaped out of his seat too, and Roger followed quickly behind. Logan flung the doors to the dining hall open, not caring as they crashed against the stone. He pelted as fast as he could down the hallways, closely followed by Roger's father and Roger himself, out the side door to the trainee's barracks, around the side of the building, and came skidding to a stop by the old oak. It was getting dark, almost too dark to see, but Logan could make out a bulky shape wrapped in a heavy cloth sack in the branches. And the shape wasn't moving.
He turned wildly, but Roger's father was already issuing orders. "Roger. Go to the Squiremaster…Ah, Francis, I see you've anticipated my request." Francis came up, holding a torch and a knife. He handed the torch to Roger. "Hold that, boy." Then, in the light of the torch, he started sawing at the first knot of rope he saw. Logan grabbed his belt knife and went to work on the other knot, and Roger's father went to work on the third.
They finally got all the ropes cut through. Francis shouted to them, "Steady, now! Bring the boy down evenly, we don't know how much damage he's suffered." Roger's father stared angrily at his son, and Roger dropped his eyes, digging his toe in the dust as the shape in the sack came down slowly.
Logan leaped forward as the sack hit the ground and started fumbling with the knot at what was obviously the boy's head. The material was wet, and smelled awful; Logan vaguely wondered what the boy had eaten, for it to smell so bad when he vomited.
TheJudas Cradle was one of the lesser-used but still ugly forms of torture. The victim would be wrapped in a heavy sheet or sack, and ropes tied around the hands, feet, and sometimes the neck. Then he would be strung up in a tree or a gibbet, and left to swing. With the cloth pressing into the mouth and nose, restricting airflow into the lungs, and the noose around the neck exerting constant pressure on the throat and breathing tubes, sound was almost impossible. Also, with the swaying movement of the body's weight against the ropes, dizziness and disorientation could set in very quickly. With the dizziness came nausea, and the victim would understandably vomit up the contents of their stomach. If the torturer didn't leave enough slack in the portion of sack around the head, the victim could, and frequently did, suffocate in his own vomit.
He finally got the knot untied just as Roger's father got the ropes around the boy's feet and hands undone. Francis took the top of the sack and pulled the cloth off the small boy inside, while Logan held Lee in his arms.
The boy's head lolled on his neck. He was barely breathing, his face almost blue from lack of air. Logan dropped to his knees, ignored the vomit smeared on the small boy's face, and patted one pale cheek. "Hey, kid," he said, his voice rough with fear. "Kid, wake up." When there was no answer, he patted the kid's chest. "Kid, wake up!" Alarmed, he placed the boy flat on his back on the ground, and pressed his hands to the small chest. His hands had to fumble for a minute; there seemed to be something oddly-shaped about the kid's chest, but he barely had time to even think about it as Francis pulled the boy out from under Logan's hands, placed him face-down on the grass, and pressed the heels of his hands at the base of the boy's spine. He pushed upwards, steadily.
The pressure under the boy's ribcage got his breathing muscles working, and the boy suddenly started coughing and spluttering as what looked like a flood of fluids came pouring out of his mouth and nose. Francis stepped back as the boy sat up with Logan's help, and the last of the flood of bile drained from his lungs. Then Lee looked up at Logan, his eyes filled with tears, and started to cry hysterically. "I thought…I was going….to die…the swinging was dizzying…I threw up, there wasn't enough room in there for it all, and I breathed some of it…oh God…I thought I was going to die…" Logan wrapped his arms around the sobbing boy and let the boy cry.
The Duke of Kent turned to his son. "Roger," he said tightly, "Whose idea was this? Not yours, I hope, although we are going to have a talk later about this."
Roger stared at the ground, tears in his own eyes. "I'm sorry, Father," he said quietly. "Nathan was mad that the squire beat him in a practice match earlier today during class. He got me and Stephen to go along with him when he jumped the boy coming out of the stables. We brought him here and hung him in the tree."
"You are not allowed to go running around with Nathan any longer, do you understand?" The duke spoke sharply. "I shall speak to Nathan's father. In the meantime…" He turned to Logan, who was holding an exhausted Lee in his arms, "Sir Logan, I owe you reparation for the way my son has acted. In atonement for harming your squire, you may command him to take up squire's duties while your boy recovers. I place Roger at your service."
Logan looked at the other boy, and shook his head. "He had the honour ta stand up an' tell the truth," he said finally. "I respect that. Punish him how ya will; it's Nathan I'm gonna ask atonement for." He got up, carrying Lee, and strode off toward the castle.
Every head in the dining hall turned as the doors flew open again. Although the meal had mostly concluded, the people in the hall sensed that there was still more to come in the drama unfolding before them, and no one had left the hall yet. Logan set Lee carefully on his feet, and when the boy's legs buckled, Francis ran an arm around the boy and helped him sit carefully on a nearby chair, holding a cup of water. The boy sipped it gratefully where he was, too weak from his ordeal to move much.
Logan strode to the high table, and stopped in front of Nathan, whose face had gone papery white at the sight of Logan's angry eyes. "Nathan of Dashell," Logan said in clear, precise tones that everyone in the room could hear, "I hereby charge ya with the abuse and injurin' o' my squire. I demand that ya place yerself at my service until such a time as my boy can resume his duties."
Nathan started spluttering in anger, but his father beat him to whatever he was going to say. "My boy has better things to do," he said smoothly. "I'm sure a simple apology will suffice."
Logan raised his voice so that everyone in the dining hall could hear. "Respectfully, M'lord, I don't think that'll do at all," he said, keeping a tight rein on his anger. "M'lord, yer son strung my squire up in the oak tree behind the trainee's barracks in a Judas Cradle. My squire is sick, disoriented, and it'd be cruel ta ask him ta resume his duties so soon after such torture. An' as the knight an' adult in charge of the boy, I ask that reparation be made."
The Earl of Dashell rose from his seat. "The boy was just having fun, as all boys do," he said indignantly. "Your squire wasn't seriously harmed. I don't see why you have to interrupt his daily routine for your comfort."
Logan placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. "M'Lord, it ain't about my comfort," he said. "It's 'bout makin' the boy face the consequences o' his actions. If he injures someone, he's gotta learn ta be responsible fer what he's done. An' it ain't the first time he's picked on my boy. He ruins my squire's possessions, and mine too, with stupid pranks. Maybe if the boy spends a day doin' Lee's chores, he'll learn what bein' responsible is. And I resent that insult ya just gave me, implyin' I was doin' this just fer me. Let's settle the matter." The hand on his sword hilt left no doubt how he wanted the matter 'settled'.
The Earl of Dashell turned to the King and Queen. "Your Majesties, I protest this intrusion into my time. I have more important things to do than fight duels with knights over petty matters."
The King rose. "We do not consider this a 'petty matter'," he said gravely. "It has come to Our attention that Our pages have been similarly mistreated by your son, as have Her Majesty's serving maids. We are of the opinion that this matter may best be settled with a duel. Please come to the main audience room."
Francis tried to insist that Jubilee remain where she was, but she wanted to see Logan fight. With an uncomplimentary remark about Jubilee being 'as stubborn as your mentor', Francis helped her into the audience room and placed her in a chair near the center of the room where Logan and the Earl would be fighting. The rest of the King's court ranged themselves around the room, watching as the two men walked into the cleared space in the middle of the room and drew their swords. Logan touched his forehead to the hilt of his sword, saluting the other man with his blade. The Earl didn't even bother, and this elicited a disapproving murmur from those watching.
Jubilee pressed her knuckles to her mouth, staring as the two men crossed swords and nodded to reach other. The Earl swung first, a smooth overhand stroke that Logan parried easily. The sword swung past Logan's middle, turned around, and came back in a high arc that would have taken Logan's head off if he had been there when the blade came down. He was not; instead, he spun past the Earl's sword and took a swipe at the man from the left side, a stroke that slashed the rich burgundy velvet sleeve. Jubilee saw Logan's muscles bunch slightly, and realized he could have ended the fight right there by slashing deeper. He hadn't, and that made her wonder.
She watched him 'dance' around the Earl for a while, parrying thrusts easily, deflecting blows that would have crippled or wounded badly if they had landed. Several times she could see how Logan could have ended the fight, and didn't; she wondered more and more about the purpose.
Finally Logan did sweep in close enough to draw blood from a shallow, superficial slash down the Earl's arm. As soon as he saw the blood, Logan stepped back and held his sword at the rest position. The Earl, understanding the rules, nodded and sheathed his sword, examining the rip in his sleeve as they waited for the King's decision.
"The fight was fair," The king stood on the dais before his throne. "The Earl of Dashell has been fairly bested in combat by Sir Logan. Therefore, it is Our decision that Nathan, the Earl's son, take up the duties normally performed by Logan's squire until such a time as the boy is fully recovered. Is this understood?"
Nathan looked about to protest, but the Earl shot him a look that quelled all protest immediately. The boy bit his lip, and, in the first display of self-control Jubilee had ever seen, bowed to the King. "Squires, I believe, begin their duties at eight in the morning?" Logan nodded. "You will report to Sir Logan at eight o'clock tomorrow morning, Nathan of Dashell," King Richard said sternly. "If you do not, you will face a flogging for disobeying a royal order." Nathan's eyes widened, but he only nodded. Then he spun and left the Hall.
Logan slung an arm across Jubilee's shoulders and helped her stand. By now, the effects of oxygen deprivation had mostly worn off, and she could walk normally, although her legs were slightly wobbly. "Logan?" she asked hesitantly as they made their way slowly up the stairs to his rooms.
"Yeah?" Logan said, looking down at the boy.
"Back there…that duel…you could have ended it a lot sooner than you did. Why didn't you?"
Logan opened the door to his room and sighed as he stripped off his shirt. "I wanted ya ta see what a real duel is like," he said. "I wanted ta show ya how a duel's conducted. 'Cause truthfully, I don't think yer gonna get any taller. Yeah, there's a lot of time left before ya become a full knight, butyou ain't grown much the last winter or so, an' I don't think yer ever gonna get as tall as Duke Gilbert. So I'm gonna start showin' ya what a duel's gonna be like, how yer gonna haveta behave, and what it's gonna be like, so you can get ready. I wanted ta stop it earlier, kid, but I didn't cause o' you."
Jubilee was surprised that he would do that for her. "It wasn't necessary," she said. "I should be okay by tomorrow. You don't need to have Nathan do what I should be doing."
Logan sat down on his bed, and looked at the little boy sitting on the cot in the opposite corner of the room. "Kid, I don't want ya gettin' up off that bed tomorrow unless ya have ta," he said. "Ya need a rest. It's been a hard winter fer ya, with all the harassment and stuff that's been goin' on. An' it'll serve that boy right; he's gotta learn that his actions have consequences, so maybe next time he goes ta sabotage someone's stuff he'll remember how hard it is ta repair that stuff. Now, is there anythin' they've ruined that's gonna need repairin'? 'Cause if there is, give it ta me now so I can take it down ta the stables while ya git changed."
Jubilee grinned. "You need a new girth strap," she said. "And stitching one of those is hard. It's hard getting the needle through the leather."
Logan grinned. "Good 'nuff." He went to the chest of his things, took out his saddle, and left the room with it.
Jubilee sighed as the door closed behind him. God, it was getting harder and harder to restrain her impulses; she wanted to melt into his arms and never let go; she wanted to tell Logan she was a girl and be able to meet him, in bed, the way her body was urging her to. She pulled off her dirty clothes, smiling at the thought of Nathan washing the tunic smelling of her vomit, and slipped on clean clothes before lying down on her cot. Her wrists and neck still hurt a little from the rope that had been tied around them; even with the sack between her skin and the rope hadn't cushioned them enough. She was sure she was going to have raw marks there by tomorrow.
Sighing, she slipped into a deep, dreamless, exhausted sleep.