Chapter 17

Riding side by side, as we neared the castle we both began to notice disturbing signs. Initially, my darling, I didn’t know what we were seeing. But as we drew nearer, my eyes flared. I was seeing unmistakable signs of a siege or battle. As we drew closer to the castle we encountered burial parties working. Now there was no mistake. After an exchange of glances, we put our heels to our mounts, whispered to them, and in an instant the horses were flying.

Mounted on those two magnificent coal-black steeds, and with your magnificent hair flowing free in the wind, we were instantly recognized by the guard on the tower. With our horses running at their top speed, we could still hear the blare of trumpets and then see the drawbridge coming down, while the portcullis behind slowly rose out of the way. Neither of us even slowed down. Our two mounts — Satan and Satana, as usual — thundered over the bridge and then came to sliding stops in the courtyard beyond.

Glancing to the side, I could see you were doing the same thing I was doing: looking all over for signs of damage. There were none. We shared sighs of relief as we saw our darling Julia, wearing a lovely white gown, standing beside Betty Murphy. I guess we both thought that if Julia and Betty were all right, there was nothing seriously amiss. Troops of the Queen’s own were drawn up at parade, but they were under the command of Ensign Morrison! But looking closer, I realized he was wearing the insignia of a captain. What had happened to Major Fletcher?

Dropping to the ground, we both acknowledged Morrison’s salute and then inspected the troops, accompanied by him and Tom Murphy. (Another fear allayed!) The troops were most impressive and smartly turned out, although there were very neat patches showing on many of the uniforms. Connecting this with the burial details beyond the walls, it was obvious that there had been a major battle.

As I started to breathe again — and I could see that you were breathing again, too — Julia ran up to us as we left the courtyard and hurled herself into your arms. After a kiss that had enough electricity to light our kingdom for a year, she came into my arms and melted me with a kiss just like it.

Just as I was about to relax, I was stunned when Julia said, “Daddy, you must do something! Leila Jones is in prison charged with high treason!”

It was the following morning, my darling husband, and we were sitting side by side on our thrones in the Great Hall now set up as a courtroom. Quite honestly, I was scared to death. In the few short weeks between our first encounter with Leila Jones at our ball and our wedding, I had developed a deep respect for the woman. Clearly, she had changed dramatically from my first meeting and enslavement to her. Now we were just waiting.

Guards were posted throughout the hall, which was quite bare. With its three-story-high ceiling, and giant tapestries hanging from the stone walls it was most imposing. A railing had been erected across the hall behind which the spectators sat. Surprisingly — to me at least — the room was packed. Every seat was filled, as well as all the standing room. There was just an aisle from the main doors to the railing separating us from the crowd, with only a single low stool or bench placed before us.

Because of the seriousness of the day, there were no trumpeters. At the appointed time, the doors in the rear were opened and two guards marched in. They were followed by the prisoner, Leila Jones, and then two more guards. The four guards were armed with halberds and broadswords. Because of the size of the guards, I was unable to get a good look at Leila until they passed through the gate and approached the small stool.

Only then did I realize that poor Leila was in chains. Steel manacles had been forged around her wrists and ankles. Her wrists were chained closely together while there was just enough chain between her two ankle irons to permit her to walk with very small, mincing steps. Another length of heavy chain connected her wrists to her ankle chains.

Incredibly, after she was seated on the small stool, I saw her thank the guards for their courtesy. Then, my darling, my love for you leaped even higher. “Guards!” you ordered majestically, “Remove the chains from this woman.”

To say I was confused by what followed would be the mildest statement I could make. Incredibly, while Leila started to protest, the guards appeared to be delighted to receive such an order. In just a few moments the chains had been removed and two of the guards withdrew to the rear of the hall. The other two took positions one pace behind where Leila was seated, and flanking her on both sides.

Now that she was seated alone, I had my first opportunity to look at her closely. She was wearing a heavy, very coarse dark garment that was utterly shapeless. It was more like a cloak than anything else and reached down well below her knees. It was laced up to her neck from a point just above her waist. Because of the crudity and shapelessness of the garment, it highlighted her face and features.

My darling, I was utterly stunned. Leila Jones was now the most beautiful woman in the whole world! While formerly her face was bloated and puffy with fat, now it was beautifully heart shaped, with a very deep and lovely tan. Her eyes — her lovely brilliant gray eyes — appeared to be far larger than before, now that her face was no longer fat. Her nose was small and straight, and her lips were full and red. Only then did I realize that her hair, which had been long enough to reach the small of her back, was now very short. It was now in an urchin’s cut which strangely heightened her beauty. With her hair now so short, her lovely little ears were full visible and were incredibly feminine as they lay close against her head.

Pounding your gavel on the bench in front of us you initiated the proceedings. “What are the charges against this prisoner?” you asked. “Who is preferring them?”

To my stunned amazement, Leila rose from her stool. Standing with her back erect she said clearly, “The charges begin with high treason, Your Majesty. But they include dereliction of duty, public fornication, and many more.” Although it seemed impossible, she held her head up even straighter and added, “I am preferring the charges, Your Majesty, and with your permission will prosecute the case.”

My darling, I can’t tell you how proud I was of you at that instant. You glanced at me, almost imperceptibly shook your head, and quickly rolled your eyes. The whole series took but an instant. To Leila you said, “Who is defending the case?”

“There is no defense, sire,” she replied. “Nor can there be one—”

“But there must be!” you interrupted. “Miss Jones, you are accused of a capital crime. But before I continue, tell me something: In your opinion, what would be an appropriate sentence of this court should you be found guilty?”

“I should be whipped continually for at least forty-eight consecutive hours. Sire, you can use shifts of torturers ... No!” She shook her head vehemently and began again, “I mis-spoke. The whipping must take place in eight-hour segments, with eight hours off for me to truly savor the pain which feels like white-hot wires scoring my body wherever they land. This whipping must continue until all the skin has been flayed off my body.

“At that time, I will be taken to the public square and hung. But rather than the normal dropping of a trap door, I will be hauled up by a rope around my neck so that my death comes from slow strangulation. Then my body will be drawn and quartered. One quarter of my remains will hang from each of the four corners of the castle until my bones dry up and fall into the moat. This will serve as an example to anyone else who contemplates high treason in this kingdom, Your Majesty.”

I could see you were about to vomit as she carefully laid out her punishment. But then you asked, “Have you suffered any punishment in the meantime, Miss Jones?”

“Scarcely any at all, Your Majesty,” she replied, “and I’m very glad you brought the subject up. Your torturers are a bunch of wimps. All of them! I turned myself in at the prison with instructions that I be given 100 lashes. All I got were about thirty! Would you believe it? There was not a single torturer in the kingdom who would give me any more. No one! I couldn’t believe it. Now, Your Majesty, what are you going to do about that? How can you possibly maintain order in your kingdom with castle torturers who are so wimpy, they can’t even beat an ugly little fat girl?”

“Miss Jones, without addressing your basic complaint,” you replied, “I would merely ask if you have looked at yourself in a mirror lately? Have you?” I was ready to cheer, my darling! You took her all aback. She was dumbfounded by your remark. Did you let it go? Did you move on? Not my beloved darling. You repeated, “Have you looked in a mirror, Miss Jones?”

“No, Your Majesty. But what can that possibly have to do with anything? I am charged with high treason! Why are you wasting time like this?”

“I will ignore your outburst, Miss Jones. But for the third time, have you looked in a mirror?”

The poor girl was crushed. Her body sagged a bit as she replied, “No, Sire, I have not. But why did you ask?”

“Because if you had, Miss Jones, you would have learned that you are one of the most beautiful women in my entire kingdom. ‘Fat’ was one term you applied to yourself.” You just shook your head and continued, “Although your body is covered by that ... that ... shapeless garment, I can tell by looking at your arms and legs that you are quite slender. I can trust the evidence of my own eyes with respect to ‘ugly.’ While I prefer my beloved queen’s emerald green, your gray eyes are incredibly lovely. Your skin is like golden velvet. Your hair coloring — every shade imaginable from medium brown through gold, to platinum — is incredibly beautiful. And it has magnificent natural body and wave. No, Miss Jones, you are neither fat nor ugly.”

You paused and then raised your voice to address the entire crowd. “Is there anyone present this morning who will undertake to defend Miss Jones against these charges?”

At that point, Julia arose from her seat in the front row and came through the gate. “Beloved father, I will defend Miss Jones.” Julia was utterly magnificent in a very simple dark blue gown that accented the blue of her eyes.

Before you could respond, Betty Murphy joined Julia and said, “I will defend Miss Jones, Your Majesty. There is a story here that must be told!”

A murmur swept the courtroom. While you were waiting for it to die down, Susan Hastings appeared. “I will defend Leila Jones,” the young girl said. “I must, Your Majesty, and you must allow it! She is my mother.”

Then she ran to Leila, lifted the girl from her stool, spun her around, and in an instant had untied the laces gathering Leila’s garment and allowed it to drop from her shoulders, exposing her upper body. Leila’s whole back was a mass of bleeding cuts from the whip. “Just look!” she exclaimed. Then she spun Leila around to face us again and added, “And look!” Whip marks scored her breasts and shoulders.

At that instant, my darling, I had to look away. I could taste the bile in my mouth as I was about to vomit. The woman was bleeding from myriad deep cuts in her body that were further irritated by the roughness of the burlap material of the garment she was wearing.