At Flag Command School, called by some of those taking the course, ‘Funny Campus’, General Major Dennus watched stoically as the cameras played on the woman stripping. Rera was removing her own clothes, have been given that option or have them ripped off her after she was tied to the post.

One of his classmates leaned over. “Wish you were there, Dennus?”

“No.” Dennus bluntly replied, surprising to his classmates, but not to the grizzled instructor. The instructor and Dennus exchanged glances. Dennus had done his homework. He had read up on the courses and noted that this same instructor had done a tour of duty at the Palace almost three hundred years before.

“Come on General, you don’t mean that,” called one of the other members of the course.

“I do.”

“Ok, enough,” the instructor stepped in. “The General has good reason for his answers.” He surveyed the room. “Those few of us who have worked closely with our Master have reasons for our answers.” Then with emphasis, “And we do not discuss it.”

*********

The next petitioner looked terrified. This was a man who had brought his children along for the trip. Smirking soldiers, some in armour and some stripped to the waist, surrounded them, ready for orders. Rera, now naked, had her wrists lashed together and fastened to a rope passed through a hole in the pole. Pulled taut, the unfortunate woman was raised onto her toes while her ankles were tied to rings set into each side of the pole. She was now ready for her whipping.

“You brought your family. Did you think that this was to be an amusement park?” Some of the soldiers laughed at the Dark Lord’s comment, but stopped at a harsh command from the Tribune and a snarl from the Centurion.

“Well, what do you ask of me?” the Dark Lord was being impassive.

The man launched into a tale of woe. His wife was dead, killed in an accident but the person responsible had managed to avoid all responsibility both by employing clever lawyers and outright lies. He had brought his family because he had nowhere else to put them and the special fares offered had made this the cheaper alternative.

All this narrative had been punctuated by cries from Rera as her punishment was administrated. The man could not help but glance her way and stutter while speaking.

“So, my Lord, judge me as you will, but do something for my children.” The man, Rilis Murkist, who had come all the way from the Outer Rim, knelt and bowed his head. The Ladies, who had moved forward during his tale, began to chatter to the Dark Lord in a low voice. Dennus, who listened intently, thought he picked up ‘Cami’ from at least one, possibly Lady Sydney. Rera was moaning now as she was released from the whipping post.

Not allowing a debate to start, the Dark Lord held up his hand, stopping all talk. “I agree, you have been wronged. Steward!” Followed by, “Legate!” Brought both Ardent Nespot, and Legate Mangus Lictus Garius to the throne.

“You will find my judgement here.” He handed over a roll of paper to the Steward. “Seen that the First Councillor gets it and that the family is taken care of.”

Turning to the Legate. “See that they are safely transported through to the Palace grounds.”

“By your command, sire.” Another Tribune was brought over and orders were given.

“Next.”

A man came forward in chains, escorted by guards. A rumble ran through the crowd. This was the traitor, Darsis de Martis. He who had rebelled against the Dark Lord and the Empire. A rebellion that had been swiftly suppressed. Thousands had died, many innocent of anything except of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Why he had sentenced to life in prison and not been executed for treason was beyond most people’s understanding. Few realised that the courts martial that heard his case was bound by his home planet’s laws that forbade death sentences. So he had been sentenced to life imprisonment on a world designated for that purpose. All this had taken place little more than a hundred standard years before. Considering recent events, the more thoughtful citizen wondered why this broad hint had not been taken by the leaders of Ti Lepus.

No appeal had been made to the Dark Lord and he had never spoken on the subject.

“Interesting,” murmured the Dark Lord. He waved the Steward over. “You really outdid yourself here.”

“Thank you, sire, I considered that this was one you would like to deal with.” He bowed.

“You were right,” He smiled, “It will be interesting to see what he has to say.”

The Dark Lord stood, placing his hands in his pockets as he did so. His cloak flowed from his shoulders as he moved to the front of the dais.

“Speak.”

“I have come to beg relief as I have been imprisoned for many years. My record in prison has been exemplary. I have done all that has been asked of me and more. I have caused no disturbances and have assisted the authorities where I could. Many have written, condemning such a hard and harsh sentence. These will be known to you. I request that you allow me to return to my home world where I can live out my days in peace.” He smiled and bowed his head.

There was some scattered applause, even some murmured, ‘yes’. Then all turned to the Dark Lord who had been standing impassively listening. Even some of the Ladies seemed to be impressed.

The Dark Lord laughed. “Ah, but you were always good for a laugh. Never were you at a loss for words.” He wandered back to the throne. Settling back in, he looked de Martis over. “I see that some of the Ladies are impressed, all in all it was an excellent performance.” He smiled. “And here you have put yourself into our hands by your own petition.”

Darsis de Martis was still holding his smile and his composure, but there was a fire building in his eyes. “May I remind you that there exists a treaty between my world and the Empire?”

“Of course you may remind me, but in this case, it does not apply. Or perhaps you failed to fully comprehend all the conditions prior to submitting your petition?”

“There was nothing in the conditions pertaining to any treaty.”

“True, but the first condition explicitly states that I am the sole judge of all matters and I can dispense any judgement I see fit. You acknowledged all conditions before filling out your petition thereby agreeing to them. So here you are and what do we do with you?”

“I have been already tried and convicted in a court. You can’t try me again for the same crimes.” The prisoner was twisting and his true nature was starting to show through.

“Well I could, but for obvious reasons, I won’t.” The Dark Lord sighed. “But it doesn’t matter. You see, you committed many other crimes, including murder of several people on your way up, and conspired with others to kill many more. Steward!”

Ardent Nespot stepped to the throne. He was handed a slim folder. “Here is a breakdown of the people for whom Darsis de Martis directly killed or was responsible for killing. Send it to the First Councillor.” De Martis was snarling now, his façade crumbling.

“I protest. There has been no court and no evidence shown.”

The reply came with preternatural calm, “I am the court and you are the evidence.” He smiled and everyone wondered what sentence would be imposed.

“Legate!”

Mangus Lictus Garius stepped to the dais. “Sire?”

“You have plenty of wood?”

“I do, sire.” Some of the soldiers who now surrounded De Martis were openly grinning. They already knew.

“Crucify him, in proper form.”

The Legate, who had followed the proceeding with sharp attention, grimly nodded. “By your command, my Lord.” The order was promptly passed. The chains holding De Martis to his prison guards were quickly released and he was marched, struggling impotently, out the doors. The prison guards were escorted out of the palace.

“Next,” called the Dark Lord.

*********

Dragged to the same whipping post, De Martis was given the same option its previous occupant had. Believing that he would be getting his clothes back, he complied. The smirking soldier’s knew better.

Quickly, he was tied to the whipping post the same way as Rera had been. Two burly soldiers stepped to each side of the condemned man. Leather whips in their hands. Not the light whip used on Rera. These were the flagrum, a whip with a short handle and generally two or three long thick thongs, each weighted at some distance from their extremity with lead balls. The Centurion took his post between the two men and called, “Unum.” , indicating the man to the left.

A sharp scream echoed across the grounds as the thongs lashed across De Martis’s back.

The Centurion indicated the soldier to his right, “Duo.” . This time the whip lashed across his buttocks. Another scream rang out. There were no less than thirty eight more calls to be made by the Centurion. For so long as he considered De Markus would survive the scourging.

*********

Back in the hall, another petitioner was quivering before the throne. This one, a women shivered and stuttered as the screams followed each dull thud of the cords.

“Your claim is clear, woman, you have been wronged and the person who has wronged you will pay. But you were also culpable in part so only half of your claim is awarded.” The Dark Lord delivered His decision. With a nod to the Steward she was sent, together with her supporters, with an escort across the wastelands.

Another petitioner was dealt with before the whipping was over. This worthy was a criminal who sought a reduction in his sentence. Already cautious and learning from what he had seen happen to those who went before him, he knew what he had to say although he realised that it was risky. Happy that he had not caused anyone to die, he did not think himself in danger of losing his head. Fully admitting his crimes, he asked for mercy, pledging to do his best to go straight. Harsh commands from the open doors announced the end of the whipping.

The Dark Lord sat and ruminated for a space. Then sat forward. “Very well I will give you mercy, but at a price. You will go to a frontier world and stay there. You will also be under sentence of death if you play Me false. Legate!”

“Sire?”

“Take this man to where De Martis is suffering. Let him view the manner of his death.”

“As you wish, sire.”

The Dark Lord turned back to the petitioner. “And you, your sentence is suspended unless you commit another serious crime. Then you will suffer the same fate you are witnessing if you fail.” With another nod, the man left with his escort.

*********

Semi-conscious, De Martis was released from the whipping post, believing that his ordeal was over. He was mistaken and soon realised it. Dragged across the ground to another set of posts he was thrown onto the ground in front of one, while a notched beam, called a patibulum by the soldiers, was dragged from the pile. Raising himself to his knees he stared uncomprehendingly at the wooden beam in front of him.

One of the soldiers, wearing only a loin cloth, carrying a heavy mallet and holding a spike said something. The man who had been ordered to observe, wondered what was going to happen. He didn’t have to wait, the other soldiers flipped de Martis onto his back and pulled his arms across the beam, securing them with rope. Kneeling, the nearly naked soldier placed the point of the spike at the wrist of de Martis, raised the mallet high and brought it down without hesitation. Another scream rang across the ground.

The spike was swiftly driven in followed by the other wrist being secured to the accompaniment of more screams. With a grunt, the soldiers raised themselves up, removing the ropes first. The nearly naked soldier nodded and spoke a word of command. Two long poles, forked at one end, were produced as the beam was lifted by the solders at the foot of the upright post. This, the soldiers called a stipes. The poles were placed under the patibulum as it was pushed upwards sliding against the stipes. De Martis respond to this treatment with further screams before falling into a stupor. The one who had done the nailing had, in the meantime placed a ladder against the back of the upright post and guided a slot in the beam to a corresponding tongue at the top of the post. A bolt passed through a hole in both secured the beam to the upright.

De Martis hung unconscious from the spikes in his wrists and the unwilling observer thought that this was the end of the matter. But the same semi naked soldier had procured another spike. Waving to the remaining soldiers he approached de Martis again. This time he held the spike, a longer one, to the foot as the legs were bent and the feet positioned with ropes to the semi naked soldiers satisfaction. Further blows of the mallet drove the spike through both feet and, after removing the ropes, the soldiers stepped back to admire their work. The screams this drew from de Martis showed that he was still alive.

The observer felt ill but managed to keep himself from throwing up. The Centurion clapped him on the shoulder and spoke in their own tongue.

“Boni operis, ut viveret quidem die.”

With a laugh, he left to report to one of the Tribunes. The observer stood there unwilling to comprehend what he had just witnessed. After some time had passed another soldier came to him. The soldier did not speak, but indicated that he was to leave. With one last look at the body of Darsis de Martis, naked and pushing himself up and down on the cross so that he could breathe, he left. The soldiers called this movement, ‘The Dance of Death’. The lesson was now seared into the observer’s brain.

In the Hall of Hearing, the day continued.

*********

It was now the 33rd Merecri, the petition hearings had lasted four days, much longer than expected. Each day had its quota of executions, harsh punishments interspersed with acts of mercy many unexpected, distributed by the Dark Lord. Each day the tension racked higher. Both First Councillor Lonna Kittitk and Marshal Nikki Du Massi grew more concerned and watched carefully the actions of the Dark Lord on their view screens. This day, when they saw Him for the first time, they drew back in alarm. The Dark Lord was wearing His Dark Sword.

He didn’t use it on the first petitioner or the tenth. Indeed, He seemed to be relaxed, but the acute observer would have seen certain signs. The most obvious were the Ladies. They were gathered together, unsmiling and seemed on edge. The Head Steward and the Legate were also unsmiling and quietly talking together.

The crisis came, as always, unexpectedly. A young couple stepped forward. “Speak,” they were commanded.

*********

“Sire, My name is Doclossa and this is Remassa. We wish to marry but our parents are opposed. Both sets. So we seek your blessing.”

With unexpected interest, the Dark Lord leaned forward. There was a gleam in his eyes that made the Head Steward uneasy.

“Really, why?” Before they could speak, the Dark Lord spoke again, “How old are you?”

“I am seventeen and Remassa is fifteen, sire.” The boy, Doclossa replied.

The Dark Lord frowned. “Both of you are young for such a commitment. Especially you, young lady, you are underage for sexual relations, so I can see why your parents are opposed. But I also see that there is more. Explain.”

With a sigh, clearly Doclossa had hoped to avoid this, he explained, “Sire, it is complicated. Our families have been fighting each other for many years. Our grandparents were in business together and there was a dispute over money. It became bitter and there were acts of violence, from both sides. Some went to prison and worse. I really don’t know who is wrong or right now, but we love each other and we want to put all this behind us.”

Sitting back, His eyebrows raised, the Dark Lord seemed nonplused. One of the Ladies stepped forward and said something. A nod was given in reply. Even the grim soldiers, surrounding the pair, ready to do whatever was required, looked at Him with interest. There was an air of expectancy as the case was considered. The Dark Lord stood.

“Remassa and Doclossa, are you prepared to live elsewhere?”

The two grasped hands and, clearly unable to speak, nodded.

“Steward, here.” As He stood, a roll of paper was produced and handed over. “You will travel to a frontier world, the same where I recently sent others. You many not marry until Remassa reaches sixteen, the marriageable age on that planet. You will both have that passage of time to think things over.” He smiled. “I wish you well.” There was clapping all around. Even the Legate and his soldiers smiled.

The two seemed ready to fall to their knees, when there was a shout of protest.

With a frown and a glance towards the interruption, the Dark Lord with an impatient gesture signaled the two young lovers to be removed. Two soldiers started to hurry them away.

A group of people rushed forward, shouting “Stop,” and “We protest.” The two young people hesitated.

“Go.” From the Dark Lord had them scrambling out of the Palace grounds.

Sitting back on the throne, the Dark Lord surveyed the group before him. There was clearly two groups and they were openly antagonistic towards each other.

“It’s your fault. If you had raised your daughter properly...” One woman was saying to another. The reply from the woman addressed cast doubt on the other’s son’s birth and referenced the family’s perceived lack of morals.

“Silence,” The Dark Lord hissed. He stood. “I will say this once, why are you here interrupting the petitioners?”

A man stepped forward. “That was my son!” he shouted. “You let him leave with that whore!” At that statement, there was an audible gasp of indrawn breath from all the onlookers.

“You are a fool!” His hand on the hilt of His sword, the Dark Lord stalked menacingly towards the front of the dais. Staring at this, the Legate, Mangus Lictus Garius, looked over at the Head Steward. Receiving a nod, Mangus signalled his soldiers. They all started to move away from the group. Throwing a glance at the Ladies, both Ardent Nespot and Remi of Doscue began to edge away from the Dark Lord as well.

Another man, together with a woman, also moved forward. “My daughter is no whore. Your son is a seducer!” the man shouted. The woman turned to the Dark Lord and screamed at him, “You gave her to, to that, that animal. You are no worse than those murderers!”

White with anger, the Dark Lord stood still for a fraction. Everyone else had moved well away.

“No worse? Really?” He replied softly.

With a single motion, the sword came out. With a leap, the Dark Lord was at the group, heads flew to the left and right. There were screams, stilled abruptly as the entire group were slaughtered. The Dark Lord made no sound. Suddenly, it seemed, He was the only one left standing, all around were bodies missing heads, arms and sliced in half.

The crowd was struck silent, until He turned facing the crowd, surrounded by a glowing nimbus. With an awful chuckle, He asked, “Whose next?” With a laugh, He advanced on the petitioners, sword still in hand.

With a cry, the nearest ran, a couple fell and were trampled. Others followed. The Ladies had vanished.

The awful laugher followed them down the hall. With a raising of His hand, lightening bounced off the walls. Every viewer’s image vanished as all cameras were destroyed.