Patrick slowly recovered consciousness. A sharp pain was stabbing through his brain. He opened his eyes -- a thick darkness surrounded him. Was it night? He felt cold, There was something strange... where was he? What had happened? A smell of fresh lime and of mould... suddenly he realized something -- he was tied! He was bound at his wrists, his ankles and his waist, strung up vertically, almost hanging, his arms and legs spread. His feet touched the ground. He was shoeless, he could feel the cold ground under the soles of his feet. He shook his head to clarify his ideas but the pain increased and a dull hammering pulsed violently in his head, then seemed to come to a focus in the nape of his neck. Then he remembered -- the man lying on the road, himself bending, the man turning with a pistol in his hand, then the blow to his head.
Who did it? And above all, why? And now, what was going to happen? Who knows if Goldie and his other friends were already aware of his disappearance, if they were looking for him? How long had he been there? How was his Goldfinch?
These and a thousand other questions crowded his mind, but he could not find an answer to any of them. He tried to free himself but the only result he got was to hurt his wrists. Then he shouted, called with all his breath, but he got no answer and his headache grew terribly stronger. He tried to calm down, to put his thoughts in order, to make sense of the situation. Who would have an interest in kidnapping him? He thought, and thought again but he was not able to find an answer. He didn't have enemies. He had adversaries, of course, mainly in the area of his action against slavery, and also some in the field of business, but he refused to believe that one of them would go so far as to kidnap him. He could have been kidnapped for ransom; he was rich and his money would tempt some miserable person, but in this case, why tie him up in that odd way?
He must have been there for several hours when he heard a noise. Somebody was opening a bolt. It must be his kidnappers. There was the noise of a nearer door being opened... and finally he caught a glimpse of a faint ray of light -- there was a door, there in front. It opened and a man entered. He wore a white hood and a kind of tunic. Patrick held his breath. The man turned, carefully closed the door and approached him. By the light of the lantern Patrick saw the arrangement of the room -- it was like a cell with a barrel vault made of brick. He couldn't see any windows. It was probably underground. In the room there was only a rickety table and an old chair. The man stopped in front of him and directed the light at him, looking at him in silence for a long while, and then he burst into laughter. It was a dreadful laughter, almost that of a mad man.
Then the man said: "So, here you are, in my power, De Bruine... You are not at all bad, I think I will have fun with you. I'll bet that you were having your fun with Goldie, while I was rotting in gaol because of you! Why are you making that face? Don't you remember me?"
Patrick, frowning, shook his head: "No. If you want money, you'll have it..."
"Money later, don't worry, I'll squeeze you nicely... then I'll throw you away. But first, I want to amuse myself with you. Just as a start..."
The man put the lantern on the table, took from it a whip and started to lash at him with force, shouting: "This is for cheating on me, this is for my first month in prison, this is for the second, this..." and so continued on, counting the strokes he was giving to the defenseless body of his prisoner.
With the first stroke Patrick became aware of something he hadn't noticed before -- he had been tied up completely naked. The whip stuck to his skin and grazed it at each stroke, atrociously burning. Patrick tried to hold back his moans, he clenched his teeth and felt drops of cold sweat running down his forehead.
Suddenly the man stopped. He put down the whip, placed himself in front of Patrick, and asked him: "So then, did you have your fun with your Goldie? You dressed him like a gentleman, and you made him also pass for a gentleman. You must be really fond of him, don't you? I too loved his little ass. Even though he took so many cocks in it, it was still tight, do you know? But also your ass is not bad at all... and now I want to use it for my fun, for a while."
Patrick shuddered but kept silent.
The man went in back of him, bustled around a while, then seized him by his hips and impaled him brutally: "You don't even scream? Well, it's true, you are not so tight. But then... you are always used to cocks... Do you make Goldie bugger you? What a pig you are, a white man being the bottom for a slave... you really are a cheap whore!"
The man pumped vigorously at his back, impaling him with brutal strokes, continuing to abuse him while his hands clutched his waist roughly.
Suddenly Patrick understood, and exclaimed: "Stevens!"
The man answered with just a sneer and doubled the vigor of his strokes. Patrick was hurt, but above all humiliated, dirty, for having to undergo that beastly intercourse.
"Tell me that I am a lot better than your Goldie, whore! Tell me that my cock in your ass is better than that of your slave, tell me! And Goldie wasn't enough for your ass, you also bought Jimmy, and Barney -- did you have orgies with them? But now you are mine, mine, mine!" the man shouted while he was unloading inside Patrick with strong contractions and a terrible last thrust.
Then he slipped out. He went and stood again in front of Patrick, always covered by his tunic and hood and again burst out in that horrible laughter: "It is enough for now. Yes, I had my fun. But don't worry, I'll come back to use your ass that you so generously make available. Ah, I was forgetting... I intend to ask the little friends of your harem to burn down your villa, if they want to see you back alive. What do you think, will they obey me? How important are you to them? Oh, whore, don't worry, I'll keep you informed. See you soon, whore!"
The man left, carefully closing the door and going away. Patrick was violently trembling -- it was not only from the cold and the humidity, they were reason enough, but it was also from the disgust, the rage and the pain he was feeling. How long would he remain at the mercy of that man? If his friends didn't find him in time, how long did he have to undergo this before being at last killed? Patrick had no doubt that this was to be his end if some miracle didn't free him first. The man was certainly Stevens, and Patrick felt the deep hatred in his voice. He hoped that his friends didn't yield to that madman's blackmail -- he would be killed anyway and it was better it happened soon, if it had to happen. His arms, forced in that position, started to seem more and more heavy. He moved his fingers to make the blood circulate, he flexed his arms as much as his position allowed him. But he felt that he was not able to improve the situation very much. How long could he be able to resist?
Several hours later another hooded figure came - it was taller and more slender than Stevens.
"Hey you, I brought you some food. I'll feed you like a baby now, aren't you happy?"
From the voice Patrick judged he had to be young. "Who are you?" he asked without hoping to get an answer.
"Who am I? A good fairy. I'm going to feed you, I'll keep you company... and if you are a good lad, I'll also let you have some fun. Do you know that you have a nice pendant down there? Who knows how much longer you'll have to use it, before he gelds you?" the youth asked putting his hand on it and fondling it for a long while.
Patrick said nothing, although he wanted to shout to let him alone, but anyway he understood it would have been useless.
"You say nothing? Then it is true what he said to me, that you like being used by men, don't you? Oh yes, you do, look, look, your nice pendant is awakening. Attaboy, stallion. Look how it grows... it is really a shame you are tied up so -- think how much fun we could have you were free... but then you'd be a bad boy, you'd try to run away... He said also that you like being a bottom for niggers. How is that, don't you like white meat? He also said he tasted your ass and that you are already well used... You won't be annoyed if I check, will you? You know, a certain yen seized me, seeing you all naked, so I have to give vent to it... And then, you probably will like it..."
So Patrick had to undergo a second assault. The youth was less rude than Stevens, but to Patrick it was all the same unpleasantness. When the new gaoler had taken his pleasure inside him, he fed him his food. He put the food directly into his mouth with his dirty fingers, but Patrick ate without making a fuss.
"I need to empty myself..." he then said.
The youth laughed: "Oh yes, I understand. We didn't think about that detail. Wait, I'll go look for a bucket. You try to hold it in until I return, or else in a little while it'll become a pig sty here and we will suffocate. I don't give a shit for you, but I have to come here once a day to feed you... and also to play a while with you, of course, my beautiful stallion..."
He came back with a bucket and waited for Patrick to empty himself. At first it was difficult for him to do so, standing, tied, naked, in front of a stranger, but at last he managed it. Then the youth left, with bucket and lantern, leaving Patrick again in the complete darkness.
Time seemed never to pass... Patrick was more and more worn out and aching. He started to yield, but each time he wilted, seized by sleep, the ropes at his wrists tightened and the pain awoke him at once. For a while he continued like that until he was so tired that he fell asleep, hanging by his arms. He was awakened by Stevens' voice. The man first lashed him, then again took him, Later came the other gaoler and the routine was repeated, but with a variation -- the youth first knelt in front of him and gave him head with evident pleasure.
The third or fourth tine Stevens arrived, he informed him that his villa had burned out. "Ha! what a scene! Just think, I too ran with the others to try to stop the fire. But unhappily there was nothing more to do. Your little friends are obedient, do you see how much they love you? And they will obey also next time, and the next after that... Who knows when will they stop obeying? When will they decide that they prefer your money to you, filthy abolitionist faggot?"
Patrick intended not to talk with that man, therefore he listened at his soliloquy in silence. He instead talked, a little, with the other one. So one day he asked the young gaoler: "Who pays you?"
"He pays me. I never had so much money in all my life, do you know? And all this, thanks to you, in a sense. And I even get some free fun... It is great having a man at your complete service. When all this is over, I can leave with my pile of money. I will be grateful to you, you know? And I will possibly buy a young handsome slave to serve me... and amuse me in bed."
"You could have a lot more money if you freed me..." Patrick ventured.
"Do you think I'm crazy? If I free you, the only thing that awaits me is their revenge, and the gibbet from you, I'm sure. Two good reasons not to betray them. And then, while you are here, I can have fun with you every day -- why should I free you?"
"Their revenge? then it is not him paying you."
"Yes, I get the money from him, but there are others, those who finance him, I prefer not to have them against me. No, really!"
"Who are the others?"
"Ah, I can't tell you that. They are important people, powerful, you see. People with whom you can't make jokes, they have no sense of humor at all."
More days passed. Patrick's arms were swollen and he could no longer feel them. Also his legs and feet were aching, and his entire body, and not just for the lashes that he received almost every day. He asked himself if he would ever again see the sunlight, freedom. He thought of his Goldfinch and imagined his pain. Just one thing consoled him -- that his beloved was not here in his place. He preferred a thousand times it to be him in these conditions than to be free knowing that his lover was in the hands of that crazy man. He had underestimated Stevens. And now, besides hurting him, what would he try to do to his Goldfinch?
One day, he didn't know how long he had been imprisoned there, the young gaoler came with some tools, and started to drive some pegs into the ground.
"What are you up to now?" Patrick asked.
"Don't worry. I am a good-hearted boy after all. I saw that you can't hold out much longer, so I persuaded my boss to change your position. After all, he is a sensible man, isn't he?"
"Change my position, how?"
"Later I'll put a pallet here and I'll tie you down on it, horizontal, on the pallet. At last you can sleep decently and your arms don't get gangrene. I will tie you down on your belly, neither him nor me want to renounce your nice ass. It is true that it will be a little more difficult to enjoy your nice pendant, but one cannot have everything from life, can he?"
Patrick sneered: "Why take so much pain for me if in the end you will kill me? Why all this sudden care?"
"Don't talk nonsense. Nobody wants to kill you, in spite of your being a filthy abolitionist. At worst he could geld you... although I really hope not -- it would be a shame."
"To whom are you telling tales? He wants to destroy me, he doesn't give a shit about slavery or anti-slavery. He is just carrying out a private revenge on me because I sent him to gaol..."
"No, I don't believe you, you are just playing smart. He is doing it only for the cause, that's all. And we are for the conservation of slavery, but we are not murderers. And since you are so fond of being buggered by your niggers, as it seems, the treatment we are giving you is just the punishment you deserve... then we will let you go."
"Oh, yes, all so simple. Either you are really naive, or you are a complete dumb ass. And about me liking males, what about you? It seems to me that you really like this male that you have here, completely available. Don't tell me the tale that you wanted to punish me, each time you knelt here in front of my pendant, as you call it, and that..."
"Yes, all right, I like men it's true. But it is not for you to give me a sermon... you are in no condition to offend, so shut up. At least I have never been a bottom, not of a white man and even less of a nigger, of a slave!"
"But you are now in league with a murderer."
"Nobody wants to kill you, I tell you!"
"If you don't believe me, hide here when he comes, and just listen to what he will tell me..."
The youth didn't answer. He finished tying him on the pallet then, raising his tunic and lowering his trousers, he lay on top of Patrick and took him vigorously: "Yes, you are right... it is not a punishment... it is just that I like buggering you... I like your ass... I like it very much. I never had a fuck every day like now, before... It's great to have an ass always ready to receive my rod..." The youth said hammering inside him and pinching his nipples, "I like you, man... I would like having you as my slave... ready to be fucked each time I feel like it..."
After he reached his orgasm, he fed him as usual and went away.
He came again, several hours later: "I don't know what makes me do this, but I want to be sure that... I am not a murderer, a killer. I don't want to find myself accomplice to a murder, it was not in the agreement. It is not that I believe you, but it doesn't cost nothing to make sure. But beware, if you mocked me, be sure, I'll make you pay dearly for it. I don't like being led by my nose. It will be me in person who gelds you, I swear. I'll hide behind that pillar and... woe to you!"
Patrick didn't answer. The youth hid and put out his lantern. They remained silent for a long while, until a noise was heard -- Stevens was coming.
The door opened and the man came in. He put his lantern on the floor and approached Patrick: "Good news, whore -- your beloved little slave Jimmy has been sold to a friend of mine, following my orders. Now I just sent the order to sell Barney too, then the other young slaves, and the last will be Goldie. I want to open my personal brothel, you know? And then..."
Patrick then talked, assuming a whining tone: "But when will you free me? I can't resist any more. I feel ill..."
"Ho ho, the faggot recovered his voice. No, I don't have any intention of freeing you, have you understood that yet? Until they obey me, I will have my fun with you and with them. But then, even if they obey me forever, and I doubt that, I'll crush you like a cockroach. I plan to make you die in a way that will make you regret having cheated on me. First, I'll geld you, then I will cut you in pieces, but slowly and carefully, so that you don't die at once. First an ear, what can I say, a finger... or an eye first? I will make your body food for dogs... But you will not die for a long time, I swear, I want to see you suffer, I want you to beseech me to kill you at once. And when I'm through with you I'll have my revenge also on those pigs of your little friends, black, mulattos or whitish. Yes, I will open a brothel, and your Goldie will be the main attraction, because he will be for free to everybody who wants to bugger him, be they clients or slaves, so that he will never be with his ass unused, empty. And I too will fuck him twice, three times per day, anyway. I'll tie him up, as you are now, but on a comfortable bed... he is not to die, he has to live for a long time, a very long time. But now enough with chat, be ready, while you are still in one piece and alive. I want to have my fun with you. Do you know that I like your ass, whore? My employee was right, in this position it is a lot more comfortable fucking you. He also worried about your getting gangrene in your arms... he has heart of gold. For the moment you have to be satisfied with my cock, but later I have an idea about your eager ass. When your hour comes, I will slip a funnel inside it and I'll pour boiling oil into you..." He burst out in mad laughter, then added: "I bet you'll like it, it will really be a hot lover, rather scorching, that one!"
The man lowered on him and penetrated him and rocked inside him until he reached his orgasm. Patrick as usual remained inert through it all, but felt triumphant -- he had made Stevens talk, he made him empty the sack of his poison and of his crazy intentions.
Stevens had been gone a while when Patrick heard the noise of the flint lock of the other one, re-lighting his lantern. The tall hooded figure was again in front of him.
"So, do you believe me now?"
"I don't know... maybe he said all those things just to scare you... Fucking shit, if they were true... He seemed like a madman while he was talking that way... What did you do to him to be hated so much?"
"He wanted to blackmail me, and I sent him to gaol."
The youth said nothing, and was about to leave.
Patrick shouted: "You still don't believe me? Will you let me die that way? Will you do nothing to stop him?"
He didn't get an answer, the light disappeared, the door closed. Patrick had hoped that what the youth heard was more than enough but instead he was still there, in the power of that mad man...
In the following days he noticed a change -- the young gaoler stopped taking advantage of him. He became taciturn. Patrick guessed that it was the sign that the dialog he had heard had shocked the youth and was having its effect -- he had to have at least some serious doubts.
In fact the young gaoler was anything but calm, so he decided to keep an eye on Clement. He now spied upon him often, unseen, he followed him when he went to visit the prisoner, trying to find out if something new was happening. Each time he went down to the cell he was afraid to found the worst... If the man went down with a knife, he could not be aware beforehand, he would discover it only afterwards, too late... So he decided he had to free the prisoner, but he was scared of Clement... At last he resolved to take the only step that seemed safe to him -- he had see to it that the prisoner's friends found and freed him. He was not able to write, so he could not send an anonymous letter. And as for going to talk with one of the prisoner's people... he would be discovered and he would have both Patrick's friends and the others against him... But the more the days passed, the more scared the young man was, and afraid of not stopping Clement in time.
He again hid in the cell when it was Clement's turn, and what he heard while hiding just increased his worries. No, he didn't want to be the accomplice of a mad killer. In the end he decided to do the only thing that seemed possible and safe, or at least the less risky. He heard that Roman Catholic priests are bound to keep secret what is confessed to them, at the price of dying rather than to reveal it, and he knew that in a town not so far away, there was a Catholic church with a priest of French origin... If he just had a good horse, he could get there in three hours. Not having a horse, and not knowing whom he could ask for one without raising suspicion, he gathered his few belongings, took all his money, stole a horse and at a wild gallop went to look for the priest.
When he found him, he asked: "Are you a priest from Rome?"
"Well, I am a Roman Catholic priest, yes. How may I help you, son?"
"Is it true that if someone tells you something, you cannot betray him? You cannot report him?"
"Everything we hear in confession is bound to remain a secret. That is right."
"At any cost?"
"Certainly, we cannot reveal it for any reason."
"Not even if they threaten you? If they kill you?"
"Not even then, with the help of God."
"But I'm not of your congregation..."
"This doesn't matter at all. What is your problem, son?"
"They want to kill a man, but I don't want to be their accomplice. But if they know I talked, I will be a dead man..."
The priest became deadly serious: "In this case you have to tell me. I will do all that is possible to rescue that man. And as for you, it is as if I never met you, never knew you, never saw you... You can be sure of that."
"Will you swear it on the Bible?"
"Certainly, on whatever you wish, son, on whatever you wish..."
So the young man talked. He told him everything, he explained him the situation, keeping silent only as to the role he had played. The priest asked him to explain clearly where Patrick was held prisoner. He knew who Patrick was, even if he had never met him, but he had heard about him on several occasions. When the young man had told him everything and left in great hurry, the priest, Father Duvalier, went immediately to ask one of his parishioners to borrow his gig and ran headlong to look for Patrick's family. When he arrived, it was evening. He was not able to find them quickly, since after the villa's fire they had not yet found a permanent place to settle, and the newspaper and offices were closed at that time. But by asking around again and again, he found them: they were at the Van Kleft villa.
He asked to be received and Henrietta, Hugo and Lee received him. Kutkhay was not yet back from Abilene where he had had to go to sell Barney also, following Clement's orders; and Rod had to go to a meeting with the Governor over some political problems. Father Duvalier then explained to them all that he had come to learn, in detail.
Hugo, when the priest finished talking, exclaimed: "It is really the Good Lord who sends you! You really are a the man of God! We figured out who held him prisoner but couldn't find out where he is hiding and where he keeps our Patrick prisoner. We would probably discover that, but perhaps too late. Thank you, Father. Now we have to move fast to rescue Patrick and to get hold of that man. Thanks to the news you gave us we can block him. Just think that Clement is our employee, under a fake identity! Now we just have to have him arrested and to free Patrick. What did you say are the times when Clement goes to the ruins?"
"At night time. But today, not seeing his accomplice, he may also go before that..."
Lee intervened: "From what you said, I don't think so - Clement and his accomplice didn't meet daily, therefore it is possible that Clement doesn't yet know he has disappeared. Moreover, Clement had to go at night, both because in the day he works, and he cannot be seen going there. Now that I think of it -- each evening Clement has supper at the saloon, then he goes home on his horse, since his house is outside of town... a good alibi. At this hour he can still be in town... we can have him arrested now..."
Henrietta shook her head: "No, we risk timing it wrong and alarming him. The best thing is to take our weapons and to go to free Patrick now. We will take care of Stevens later."
Then Hugo said: "No, from what Father Duvalier said, Clement doesn't intend to kill Patrick yet, if he wants Goldie to be sold. I too am longing to free Patrick, but I absolutely do not that Stevens-Clement to escape justice. Moreover, if we arrive to free Patrick while Clement is there, he could also kill him. Tomorrow morning we will go to see the sheriff and we will move at once in two directions, arresting Clement while he is at work, and freeing Patrick. Father, can you stay here tonight, be our guest? Your deposition in front of the sheriff would be most valuable..."
"Yes, I could stay but, I warn you, I can never say who confided the facts in me -- I am bound by the absolute secrecy of the confession."
"It will not be necessary, Father. In any case it will be Clement in person who gives the name of his accomplice, or of his accomplices. So then, will you stay here?"
"Yes, willingly, because I will then be able to return home without any more worry when I see your relative is safe." On the following morning, when they were sure that Clement, whom now they could identify, was at work, they went to see the sheriff. He immediately organized the operation. Meanwhile Rod, who had arrived during the night and been informed, organized with the more faithful men of the De Bruine enterprise, a discreet but constant surveillance of all Clement's movements to be able to block any escape attempt when he saw the sheriff and his assistants coming.
Hugo with Lee, Jack, and other men left at once to go to the ruins where Patrick was held prisoner. Clement's capture didn't pose any particular problems - the man tried to escape but was at once tackled by the men keeping an eye on him, and delivered to the sheriff. At first Clement swore that it had to be a case of mistaken identity. But in front of Rod's decisive proofs, seeing he was at that point discovered, he started to shout like one possessed, spitting out all the venom that was gnawing away inside him, wriggling with all his might, until the sheriff was compelled, in order to keep him quiet, to knock him out, hitting him on the nape of his neck with the butt of his pistol. He was bound and locked up in a prison cell.
Meanwhile the news had spread in the town and gradually a crowd gathered around the prison. They were in large part employees, ex-slaves, or friends of Patrick or of his friends. The mass of different people was almost silent, but had as a whole a menacing attitude. The sheriff tried to persuade the mob to dissolve, but no one moved away and other people kept arriving. So he sent for Rodney, in the hope that the moral authority of the congressman could control the crowd -- in fact, the sheriff feared a lynching.
Rod came at once and harangued the mob: "Listen to me, all of you! In a while Mr. Patrick De Bruine will at last be freed, they have already gone to rescue him. There is no reason to stay here. That man, Clement, is in the hands of justice, and I swear to all of you that justice will be done and that he will pay for all the evil he did to our beloved and esteemed citizen. I pray you, maintain your calm and go back to your homes, to your jobs..." he continued to talk and it seemed that he was gradually convincing the people to go away.
But a man shouted aloud: "All right, Mr. Rupert. We will do nothing, don't worry. But we stay here -- if they take Mr. De Bruine to the Van Kleft villa they have to pass by here. We want to see what they did to him and, I swear, if they hurt him, Clement will not leave that prison alive!"
A choir of "Right!" and "It is so!" come out vigorously from the crowd that seemed to press even more tightly around the prison, even more menacing.
Then Rod went to call Henrietta, asking her to come with him to stand in front of the prison door and stop that crowd. From the priest's tale he guessed in what condition Patrick would be and he was afraid that, seeing him, the fury of the crowd would break out.
At first Henrietta would not hear of it. With harshness she said: "If they lynched him, that man would pay just a part of the evil he did to Patrick and to all of us."
But Rod made her note that Patrick absolutely would not agree to a lynching, and at last he managed to convince her to go with him to the prison. When they arrived there, the crowd had grown, there were not less than five hundred people. Everybody respectfully gave way to Henrietta and Rod, but everybody was looking with a dark expression toward the end of the road, waiting for the arrival of the men who would be bringing back Patrick. The town sheriff obtained reinforcements from the federal marshal, but in all they were just seven men. Although armed, they could never stop that sea of people if the prison were attacked. It was frightening to see all those hard faces, that compact mass waiting in absolute silence -- it was a scene that really struck fear in the heart.
Rodney, in his heart, was praying that a new tragedy didn't burst out, now that everything finally seemed to be returning to normality.