THE DEATH CAGE.
Hawk heard the words dimly, as old horrors took form in that part of his mind still able to function.
It was drizzling again in the Virginia countryside. The pines stood out like wet green candles in the distance. In a clearing was a tenant house with part of the roof blown off, the barn behind it partially burned.
Beyond this was the manor house, some of the windows shot out, the veranda with its Grecian columns smudged from smoke and charred in places.
The final weeks of the war. But Hawk didn’t know that Lee’s surrender was to take place so soon. His and Colonel Spate’s mission, he learned, was to try to save the Furnbull Mills from being destroyed by artillery fire. Hawk didn’t learn until later that a combination of Confederate and Union investors had exerted pressure to have the mills spared.
Lila French had met them at the manor house and brought news about someone named Booth. It appeared to upset the colonel and he seemed displeased with her.
After the colonel had left the manor house Hawk and Lila sat at a trestle table in the big kitchen. Lila stared at the brick floor.
“I’m beginning to have a horrible feeling,” she said more to herself than to Hawk.
Hawk was young and impressed by her beauty, and he really wasn’t listening to what was said. In another part of the house three men whom the colonel had left behind as guards were moving about.
Lila leaned forward, her eyes intense in the light from a single lamp on the table. “How well do you know Colonel Spate?”
“He’s my superior,” he replied, surprised by the question.
“There are some men who want a change in Washington,” she said tensely. “The war’s about done. Amnesty for the South—” She gave a weary gesture, and now the corners of her mouth turned white. “You see, it isn’t who wins the war—at least to certain men. It’s how much they can gain from it.”
At last her words penetrated. “All the lives lost, and now all that’s concerned is money!” He was astounded.
She glanced across the shadowed kitchen to the far swing doors of carved pine. “Listen carefully. I have uncovered a plot. I thought the colonel would be interested and want to return to Washington immediately.”
“It’s something concerning this man … you mentioned a name that slips my mind.”
“Booth.”
“Yes. What kind of plot?”
She shuddered and pulled a shawl across her shoulders. “Somehow I don’t trust this room. In the old days, you know, there were sometimes listening tubes in different parts of a great house so the master could overhear what servants said behind his back.”
Suddenly she reached across the table, caught his hand in her warm fingers and drew him up a flight of narrow rear stairs to the second floor. She led him to a large bedroom with a huge canopied bed. The canopy had been pulled loose at one corner. There was a deep cut on the cherrywood footboard made by saber or ax.
She closed the door and they stood together without speaking in the once sumptuous, but now ravaged room. “The colonel won’t return for two days,” she whispered.
“At dawn we’ll slip away. Can you get us to the Union lines?”
“I—I don’t know. I can certainly try.”
“Good.” She smiled up into his face, stroked his cheek with her warm palm. Suddenly, overcome with emotion, he seized the hand and kissed the tips of her fingers.
“Have you ever had a woman, Lieutenant?” she asked quietly.
Releasing the hand, he flushed. Before he could speak, she gestured him to silence. “It doesn’t matter,” she smiled. “I was only curious. In some ways you seem so—so battle-toughened. In others so—so unworldly.”
In the master bedroom of the manor house, the only sounds were the creaking of ancient timbers as dawn touched the east window. Hawk lay with his arm under Lila French’s head. Her hair was spread out on the pillows.
“Now you’ve had a woman,” she whispered.
“I love you, Lila. When the war’s over, I want you for my wife.”
“Last night we were man and wife, and again this morning.” She moved warmly close, her breath against his ear. “I have hidden a pouch,” she whispered. “I must have had a premonition. It’s under a rain barrel next to the barn. On the north side. See that it gets to one of the generals.”
“Which general?” he wondered aloud, turning her head so that he could find her lips in the half dark. Never mind dispatches and generals with her so close.
“The nearest general,” she said, pulling away from him.
“Schofield, probably. But why the hurry?”
“I’ve suspected for some time that Colonel Spate is working not only for us, but also for the South.”
It struck him like a dash of ice water in the face. “That can’t be,” he faltered. “Why—why would he have insisted having me for an aide?”
“You can’t quite hide that Georgia accent,” she said. “Then he thinks I’m a turncoat, too!”
“He’s gambling that because of your youth and inexperience you’ll go along with whatever he proposes. Especially when he convinces you that certain factories and mills must be spared.”
“Then he’s just played me for a fool.”
“Will you see that the pouch is delivered?”
“By God, Lila, I’ll promise nothing unless you agree to accompany me.”
“Only if I can.”
“I’ll manage Colonel Spate.” He suddenly hated the suave officer. Some of the colonel’s actions had been strange, to say the least. He was sure he understood them now. “Do you have proof?” he asked.
Her head moved on the pillow. “No. But if he is placed under arrest—a general could order this done—then we could get at the truth.”
He drew her close, the ache in him greater than before. “I want you to do as I ask. You can find your way by daylight. Don’t forget. Under the rain barrel on the north side of the barn.” She gave him a little shove with the heels of her hands. “Please do as I say, please.”
A cold suspicion entered his mind. “You let me have my way with you,” he said stiffly, “only to bind me to you.”
“Bind you, yes. My darling, don’t confuse love and passion with duty. We have to expose Colonel Spate before innocents are killed.”
“In a war there are no innocents,” he said thinly. The suspicion that she had merely used him grew.
“Listen to me!” She sat up in the bed, a blanket across her bosom. The display of sudden modesty after their passion-filled night confused him. She squeezed his arm. “Many men and some women are working in the South gathering information,” she continued tensely. “At any: moment Colonel Spate could reveal them as Union spies. It would mean firing squad or hanging.”
Hawk reached for her. “The colonel thinks you love him. He told me. Damn it, Lila—” He bent his head over her mouth. She threw aside the blankets, started to place hands on his shoulders to urge him upon her when she screamed.
Hawk reached desperately for the pistol he had placed on the floor beside the bed. Then he saw Colonel Spate in muddied uniform, bareheaded, his back to a door he had unlocked silently with a spare key. In his right hand was a Navy Colt, the hammer eased back.
“You will die together as is befitting,” he said coldly. “You first, Lila. And as you scream in your agony I will hang him before your eyes.”
Outside, roped to a post, Hawk listened in horror to the animal sounds coming from the house. His mind blurred with rage as the man guarding him intensified the torture with a filthy commentary.
“They be havin’ a good time inside,” the burly man laughed. Lila’s agonized scream pierced the air. “A real good time.”
“Damn you!” Hawk struggled against his ropes.
“Yup. Just hope they save some for me.” The words ended in a snorted chuckle, sickening Hawk.
Inside, Lila lay spread-eagled on the kitchen floor. Two of Spate’s men held her down, one pinning her arms over her head, the other holding her ankles. She thrashed against their grip as Spate, standing over her, loosened the buckle of his belt, pulled the leather from his trousers and sent the hard belt down hard across her face. Then, without even bothering to remove his trousers completely, he knelt between her open legs, his organ erect as though from the stimulation of his own violence. She screamed in pain as he thrust, deeper and faster, inside her.
“You bastard!” she cried as he got to his feet, adjusting his clothes. Her mouth was swollen and bleeding from the belt, and now Spate brought the buckle across her naked thigh. She twisted in pain as Spate grabbed her ankles.
“You aren’t through yet, you bitch,” he spat as the hairy-faced man who’d been holding her legs crawled onto her. “There are more of us to prepare you for your well-deserved death.”
Lila gritted her teeth against the foul-breathed man who straddled her, tearing her flesh with his hands and teeth. He grunted and groaned as he worked her over, trying to press his black-stained mouth to hers. She twisted her bleeding face away, and felt a sharp pain as he back-handed her across the mouth. The hoarse chuckles of the man over her head filled her ears, and she looked up at his gleaming eyes, wet with the anticipation of his turn between her legs.
Just as the hairy-faced one let loose an animal roar with his final thrust, the craggy-faced man over her head bent down and grabbed a breast in his gnarled hand. He would be next...
In the yard was a fresh cowhide, drying but still pliable. Still roped to a post, Hawk stared in horror as he watched one of the men with a large needle sewing three inch-spikes on the inner side of the green hide. At the bottom of each spike was a three-inch cross bar and over this the rawhide was looped, sewn and then knotted on the outside of the hide.
Then Lila was dragged from the house, her long hair loose about the shoulders. On one cheek was a swelling, and one eye was purplish and beginning to swell. Her teeth bared, she spat at the colonel as she was dragged past him by two men, her feet digging into the ground. One firm pink-nippled breast was blue with bruises and welts.
“Damn you!” she cried as he ordered her thrown to the ground. Hawk could see blood on her stomach and thighs. He felt a raw sickness in his throat when he thought of what Spate had made her endure with his men.
As she struggled, trying to push herself free of the gripping hands, the colonel knelt down to join them. He threw an arm across her breasts, pinning her flat against the open cowhide.
“Sew it up!” he ordered, and .wiped her spittle from a cheek.
As the man with the needle began to stitch the cowhide around her. Hawk realized the full horror of what was intended.
“My God, you can’t!” he cried.
“Shut him up, but I want him conscious,” the colonel said to one of his men, the hairy-faced fellow in a gray hat and shirt and worn boots. He strode to the post where Hawk was tied and backhanded him. Hawk tasted blood and for a moment the strength went out of his legs. A gold tooth gleamed in the mouth of his tormentor.
As Hawk lifted his head he wanted the man dead. He wanted to pry the gold tooth from his head. Spend the gold for whiskey. And instead of using a privy, use the man’s grave instead. Never in his life had he held such thoughts. As the man reached for him again, Hawk snapped with his teeth, his only weapon. Trussed up as he was he nearly caught the man’s thumb. The man swore and whacked him again.
“Enough!” Colonel Spate said sharply.
Hawk turned his head and saw that Lila lay in the cowhide upon the ground, only her head exposed, the long hair matted in the mud.
She began to sob.
Spate stared at her without pity. “You got some of my men shot,” he accused in a savage voice. “You’d have done the same for me. You and this bloody fool.” Spate gathered spittle, wheeled to Hawk and spat in his face.
The hairy-faced man gave a whoop of joy.
Spate said, “Build a fire. I want hot coals. Find a length of iron.”
“Here’s a spike left over,” said one of the men.
“Good enough,” Spate said.
A warm sun suddenly broke through the clouds. “Ah,” Spate smiled. “It’ll be over soon, Lila. Just before you lose consciousness I’ll hang your lover. But first—”
Already the cowhide seemed to be shrinking, drawing in tighter about the body of the woman. Hawk retched, the vomit dribbling down his chin, the inner sickness having finally reached him.
A fire had been kindled near the barn and the fire barrel where the colonel had found the pouch Lila mentioned, wrapped in oilskin.
“Strip him to the waist!” Spate ordered, pointing to Hawk.
Men gripped Hawk’s arms while another freed his hands. They threw his shirt to the ground, peeled down his underwear. Spate looked him over as he might a prize bull about to be auctioned.
He made a gesture and Hawk’s clothing was lowered until his abdomen was exposed.
“The iron hot yet?” Spate asked.
“Won’t be long, sir,” said the man at the fire.
With his clothing draped about narrow hips, Hawk’s wrists were retied to the post, his arms bound so tightly he could hardly breathe. From a corner of his eye he could see Lila’s face, pale now, the lips beginning to redden as she bit them in her pain.
“Let her go!” Hawk cried. “I’ll do anything!”
The man with the gold tooth backhanded him again at Spate’s order.
Spate went to the house and returned with a sheathed saber which he placed on the ground. He looked down at Lila trying to struggle in the shrinking cowhide. “If you beg forgiveness real nice,” he said, “I may spare you the final agony. And run you through with the sword to hasten the end.”
“Go to Hell,” the girl whispered, face contorted with pain.
Spate placed the heel of his boot against her chin, his smile cruel. “You’ll beg.” He laughed and withdrew his foot. From the sunlight and the hot fire nearby, the cowhide began to dry faster, pulling tighter against Lila’s body.
How long Hawk sagged at the post, blood from broken lips dripping onto his bare chest, he never knew. His head jerked up when a piercing scream burst suddenly from Lila’s lips.
Spate nodded his sleek head in satisfaction. “The first of the little friends you sewed to the cowhide has broken through her skin, Matt.”
The man addressed as Matt, older, with a lined brown face and frizzled graying hair visible under his dirty hat looked nervous. “Don’t you reckon this is enough, Colonel? Them things’ll kill her sure.”
“It’s a very simple method of torture really, Matt. As the cowhide shrinks the spikes penetrate the body. Eventually she’ll bleed to death.” Spate clapped his hands to emphasize his statement.
Matt swallowed. “I figured you aimed to scare her, suh. Not kill her.”
Barely had Matt spoken when the unsheathed saber was in the colonel’s hand, slashing. A gurgling cry of protest and pain broke from the man as the keen edge of the saber cut deeply into his neck. He fell, the head half severed from the neck, dead before he struck the ground.
Spate looked around. “Anybody else question my orders?” Bloodied saber in hand, Spate studied the faces of the remaining eight men. No one spoke. Satisfied, Spate wiped the blade on Hawk’s trousers, smiled, sheathed the weapon and again placed it on the ground.
In a few minutes Lila screamed, the sound awful in the silence of the peaceful farmyard.
“I want a gibbet.” Spate spotted a farm wagon across the yard and gestured to his men. “Bring it over here. Barney, you take charge.” He indicated the man who had backhanded Hawk.
When the wagon was trundled up by the men, Barney, eager to please his colonel, tied a noose to the end of the wagon tongue. He and another man hoisted the tongue into the air. Other men supported it with ropes tied to the rear wheels.
Spate eyed the dangling noose. “Barney, do you think the rope is too long?”
Barney squinted, twisted his mouth as the slow mind made its calculations of Hawk’s height and the wagon tongue length. “Seems right, Sir.”
“His neck might stretch and his feet touch the ground by the time the Union troopers ride in and find him.”
“He’ll be dead by then, Sir.”
“Good thinking,. Barney.” The soldier looked pleased, too stupid to realize he was being mocked.
Another scream broke from Lila.
“Please cut her loose!” It was Hawk who screamed now.
Spate looked stern. “I believe you neglected to say ‘sir.’ ”
Hawk, confused by pain and the agony of what was happening to Lila, recalled a name. “Booth!” he cried. “That’s the key!”
Spate’s teeth gleamed. “You’re smart, Lieutenant. That is why I requested you in the first place.”
“What is Booth? Who is he? Why is he so important?”
“The name of a fine actor,” Spate said through his teeth. “If certain conditions are not met, he will soon play his finest role!” Suddenly his fury seemed rekindled and he glared at the woman on the ground, then at Hawk. “The two of you damned near ruined it.” He jerked his hand at the man crouched by the fire.
“Is the iron white hot?” Spate demanded, and the man nodded.
Spate drew on gauntlets and picked up a pair of pincers, which he used to fetch the hot iron spike from the coals. As the smoking metal neared his abdomen, Hawk braced himself, determined to make no outcry that would give this monster satisfaction.
But when the white-hot metal touched his skin and Colonel Spate began to trace the letter S, Hawk emitted a low moan, and the pain-relieving darkness of unconsciousness enveloped him.
He came to sometime later, aware of a ghastly pain, of excited voices and of the nearby booming of a cannon. Spate and his men were running for their horses, yelling. Hawk caught the word “Yanks,” and somewhere in his hazy mind, realized that the cannons in the distance were Union Army artillery.
By the time Hawk managed to free himself, Spate and his crew were out of sight. But they had left Hawk with a reminder—a memorial to his hatred of Spate that he would carry with him the rest of his days. On his stomach, the word SPY was spelled in blistering welts.
Doubled over from the searing pain, he limped to the spot where Lila’s tortured, dead body lay. The shrunken cowhide gripped her body, and blood still oozed out around her neck. By the swollen tongue and her bulging eyes, he could tell she had strangled to death before the spikes could prolong her agonized death.
Sickened, broken, he turned away, stumbling out of the yard and heading blindly for a clump of trees. He swore in his strongest oath to avenge Lila’s hideous murder...