Torture Me

They had her naked, on her feet, her hands strapped above her head, her back towards them. They wore hoods. They carried long sharp awls.

‘Follow the points on either side of the spine.’

The first man rammed the metal spike of the awl into Alice’s back. He twisted it out. He stood back, pleased with his demonstration. ‘That’s how you do it. Now you.’

His apprentice was hesitant. He was only a boy. He pushed his awl clumsily into the other side of Alice’s spine. Blood flowed.

‘Be firmer, boy! Try again and stab it straight down the back, one after another, an inch apart. You want to shove it right into the skin and flesh and muscle – that’s it, good and deep. Leave the buttocks. We’ll flay those.’

They bled her until her back was a mass of raised welts and running blood. She could taste blood in her mouth where she had bitten her tongue to stop herself crying out.

She heard a door open behind her – she couldn’t turn round because her hands and feet were tied. She heard a light pleasant voice she did not recognise. ‘Where is Christopher Southworth?’ Alice did not answer. The voice said, ‘I would like to show you a skinning.’

She was untied and blindfolded. Naked, barefoot, she was led through the lower dungeons where they kept the racks and the thumbscrews. They took off her blindfold. The iron maiden was open in front of her; an upright coffin, its inner front lid studded with six-inch iron nails. ‘Nothing to worry about,’ said the voice. ‘Mainly for display.’

They walked her on. ‘We could break every bone in your body one by one. We could pull out your teeth one by one. We could tear off your fingernails – one by one. We could slowly lower you piece by piece into boiling oil. We can ram you with a poker – sometimes heated, sometimes spiked. But that sounds unkind, doesn’t it? We would prefer to treat you well.’

She heard a squealing. ‘The rat room,’ he said.

She looked through the grille into the room, if room it was. It was piled with rats about three feet deep, eating each other. ‘Poor things, they have nothing else to eat but each other. I would not dream of throwing you in such a place. Not all of you at once. Look, we have slots here where we can push through an arm or a leg. One limb at a time.’

Alice did not speak. A light gentle hand stroked her agonised back. She winced. The hand stopped at the top of her buttocks. ‘We’re not going to rape you.’

They passed on. Alice could hear breathing, rapid and laboured. A hand pulled back a curtain.

A man lay tied down to a bench. He was clothed but for his left leg. His eyes were wild and bloodshot. His lips were flecked with foam. He turned his head, saw and did not see Alice.

His persecutor was bending over him absorbed in his work. He had already removed the skin from the man’s upper thigh and was intent on pulling it carefully over his knee. Alice could see the large thigh muscle pulsing with pain. The torturer made a quick incision. The man cried out and fainted as the torturer pulled the stocking of skin down the lower leg towards the foot.

‘Finish that leg, leave the other till tomorrow,’ said the voice. ‘Oh, and wake him up.’

A boy stepped forward with a bucket of water and flung it in the man’s unconscious face. He opened his eyes.

Alice was led away to a furnished room. She was given wine. She refused it. She was told to bend over. She saw a sturdy pair of legs, feet planted apart. Her arms were pulled over her head and held tightly. She heard a swish. The man with the pleasant voice began to thrash her buttocks. ‘All we want to know is where he is.’

When she came to she was back in her cell lying face down. She did not know whether it was day or night, or how many days or nights had passed. There was water and food put out for her. She drank but did not eat.