What is this fellow's offence?" asks Inspector-General Norrey.
"Insubordination, ser, " replies the camp commander. The Inspector-General nods, and continues to ask questions about the condemned men. Plainly, they deserve to die, guilty as they are of such crimes as theft of food, shirking, and dumb insolence. There are seven of them, some terrified, some sullen, lined up in front of the scaffold. There is a thin drizzle in the dawn air, in keeping with the sombre nature of the proceedings. The Garstang penal camp is never a happy place at the best of times. The times could hardly be worse.
"This is a guard is he not?" Norrey asks of the prisoner standing at the end of the row. Even the other prisoners seem to shun him. He wears the remnants of his uniform. He stares at the ground, refusing to meet Norrey's gaze. "What is his offence?" The commander looks sheepish, and mutters "rape of a prisoner, ser". Norrey glares at the condemned man. "Look at me!" Reluctantly, the man stares upwards at him. "You are aware of the disciplinary code, are you not?"
"Yes, ser," answers the man sullenly.
"Then you are aware that any form of sexual activity between a guard and a prisoner is strictly forbidden?"
The man looks indignant, somehow. "No one cared in the past, ser, we all did it."
"What may or may not have occurred in the past is irrelevant. You're a disgrace to your uniform. " Norrey nods again to the commander, who instructs his guards to lead the men up onto the scaffold. Nooses are fastened around their necks. He turns to address the assembled crowd. All the prisoners have been led out to witness the executions. "You are here because you have committed serious offences against her Grace, Queen Sansa Stark, First of Her Name, and against your Motherland. You will work on behalf of your country, until you have redeemed yourselves in the eyes of the Queen's Grace. What you are about to witness here today, is not revenge, but justice. Take note, that justice is served even on guards who fail in their duties." He then turns back to the scaffold. Each man is pushed forward in turn, and slowly chokes, most of them pissing themselves as they expire. Norrey watches until the last of them stops twitching, and then instructs the commander to dismiss the prisoners. Then he turns to the commander, "there are matters which I need to discuss with you."
He trudges down the muddy main street of the camp, towards the commander's quarters. Norrey is an efficient man. He joined the Queen's Inquisition, when it was established twelve years ago. His zeal and efficiency guaranteed him a swift rise through its ranks. In his five years as Inspector General of the Penal Camps, he has managed to achieve a most impressive boost to productivity. The carrot and the stick is his preferred approach. Starving, freezing, prisoners are scarcely capable of working. Therefore he has improved their rations and living conditions; at the same time, he has tightened discipline. Floggings and executions are now routine for prisoners who fail to display absolute obedience to their masters. The occasional exemplary hanging of a guard is also good for discipline. When he took over, far too many of the guards were near-criminal scum, with a passion for torture and rape. He has weeded them out, largely replacing them with a committed body of men and women who are dedicated to serving their Queen. She is delighted with his efforts, and has granted him a lordship. Not that he requires lands or titles, trumpery things. It is enough for him to have the Queen's approval. He lives to serve.
The commander leads him into his sitting room. "Wine ser?" he enquires. "Thank you, no." The room is cold and cheerless. There is a weak fire in the grate, and the obligatory portrait of the Queen on the wall behind the commander. "Do you have skilled men and women among your prisoners. You are aware that war is imminent?" The man nods. "I need smiths, fletchers, bowyers, carters, for the army."
"There are dozens. We generally hire them out to local lords and other employers. We make a handsome profit. That is, Her Grace makes a handsome profit."
"Of course. Garstang is the very model of what a penal camp should be, even if you do find the occasional rotten apple in your barrel. I have noted your zeal, and your effectiveness. Rest assured that Her Grace is aware of it too." The man smiles with relief. "However, the needs of the army come first. I will need these people. Should they survive the coming battles, I shall of course return them to you. "
"Hopefully joined by the prisoners taken by the Queen's army.'
"Of course. I do expect our army to prevail. But, we must also consider the prospect of ...setbacks. I have orders for you, in case our soldiers are obliged to retreat. Orders, which you may find difficult to carry out. But, know that you will be carrying out the Queen's express will, in doing so. In the event of a military defeat, it is likely that enemy forces will reach this camp. In that case, you must ...dispose of the remaining prisoners, and destroy their remains. I would recommend the use of quicklime. They are dangerous and desperate criminals, who on no account, must be allowed to swell the ranks of the Queen's enemies. Am I clear?"
"As crystal, ser. You can rest assured there are no firmer hands than mine."
"Good. Select the prisoners I require, and my men will convey them to the army. I believe that concludes our business together."
Norrey rides out of the gates of the camp. There are other camps that he must visit, and similar orders to be given.