Sauragia

Chapter 22

As evening settled over the Kingdom of Cardolin, so too did things begin to settle down in the encampment of Edward the Slayer, though it did not exactly happen quietly. Tired and sore from that morning’s assault on Saurahall, the barbarian dinosaurs were rather touchy, and it did not take a lot to spark a petty quarrel over portion sizes of the stale bread and half-cooked meat they called supper tonight.

“Bleh!” said one Gorvosaur as he spat out a bone. “What was ol’ Gerul thinkin’ with this stuff? It ain’t meat, it’s a charred mess!”

“Quit whining, Mutt,” said a nearby Alvarosaur, who was exceptionally big for his kind. “It’s perfectly good and you know it. Cook’s just ex-perimenting, he says.”

“Yeah, well ‘e can eksterrymint with ‘is own food,” said Mutt. “I likes my meat raw and juicy. It’s what we got these here rippers for.” He tapped one of his many jagged, sharp, and yellowed teeth. “This puttin’ it over fire, t’ain’t nat’ral. Cookin’s for stew an’ apples an’ stuff.”

“Well, it’s what you get, so eat it or give it to me.”

“No, I’ll eat it,” muttered Mutt—hence his nickname—holding the scrap closer and nibbling at the edge. “Just what are we doin’ eatin’ this old stuff for anyways? I thought this place was s’posed t’be rich in forage and all that.”

“It is,” said the other. “You just have to forage it yourself. I found a whole tree full of wild cherries today.”

“Where! Tell me, Orin.”

“Not a chance,” replied Orin. “You find your own.”

“Fine, be that way,” said Mutt as he proceeded to utter further complaints under his breath.

Amid this dismal atmosphere, Captain Torilis and the other seven remaining guards were bound together and sitting upright along both sides of an otherwise empty tent with two guards standing at the entrance. King Edward had put them there to keep them away from the elements, but mostly to keep them from getting a good view of his encampment should they happen to escape. They were tired and dusty from their forced march to get here, but they tried to keep up their brave front in the face of their enemies. Young Filbert shifted uncomfortably in his tight bonds as he inched closer to the officer.

“I say, these ropes are downright awful,” said he. “Did the brutes have to tie so b****y tight? I can’t hardly feel my claws anymore.”

“I know lad,” spoke the captain in his usual calm manner. “But try to put up a good showing. We can’t let them think we’re breaking yet. You must control yourself, Filbert.”

“I’m trying, sir, but it is a challenge. Those dirty snakes killed my sister, you know.”

“We are all sorry to lose Lana, Filbert,” said Lieutenant Rorke, whose shoulder had been badly bandaged by the Saltrak healers. Healers who were hardly fit to call themselves such in the opinion of the Saurahallers. “But try not to think on it too much, eh. Just try and wriggle your wrists around a bit. It’ll cause the ropes to loosen up a little eventually.”

The others tried it, but to no immediate effect.

“It hurts just to try,” complained Filbert.

“Don’t try to do it all at once,” said Quintilius. “Just do it every now and then, and it’ll feel better. Best hush now, though. One of the brutes is coming this way.”

And so it was. A big dinosaur came hulking in with a collection of assorted scraps and a cup of water.

“Time for you lot to eat,” he said, tossing the raw meat scraps onto the ground before them. “Though, if it was up to me, we wouldn’t waste the effort or the food.”

“You are too kind, really,” said the captain calmly. “The very sight of you makes that rotten meat you call food look comparatively attractive.”

The slow-witted Gorvosaur took a second to comprehend the insult given and started indignantly.

“Why you pompous little lizard!” said he, raising his arm to strike. But he was immediately stopped by a voice from behind.

“Now now, don’t strike our guests,” it said in a smooth tone. “We wouldn’t be very good hosts if we did that, now would we?”

The big brute shuffled nervously as he muttered under the steady gaze of King Edward:

“Er, sorry lord. Just, uh…feedin’ the prisoners.” He scurried off, mumbling apologies along the way. King Edward then turned to his captives and said, “Sorry about that. All the r****e around here, you know.”

“Merely a reflection of their primary role model, I imagine,” replied Richard.

Edward flashed a deceptive smile. “Hardly. They do what they will. I just give them direction and purpose. I’m really quite a civilized fellow…deep down inside.”

“Very deep, I’d say,” retorted Richard. “Your hospitality is less than admirable.”

“Yes, well, that of your precious Saurahall won’t be much different by the time I’m through with it.”

“And just when will that be?” questioned Lieutenant Rorke. “From what I gather, we Saurahallers gave your lot a good thrashing today, eh?”

“Oh, soon enough,” Edward replied to the question first, seething inwardly. “Yours took plenty of losses as well, I assure you.” He paused and looked at the meat scraps tossed before them. “Oh, and I would suggest eating that if I were you. You won’t be getting more for some time. On campaign, you know. Rationing and all that.” He left with a last malicious grin at his prisoners.

“Scum!” Filbert spat after him. “I’m not eating any of that. I’d rather starve than be used as a bartering item anyway.”

“Come now, young Filbert,” spoke Captain Torilis. “We mustn’t be choosy. And we need to keep up our strength if we’re to get out of here at the first possible moment.”

Then, as though to illustrate his words, he took up a dirty meat scrap, brushed it off a little and took a fair-sized bite. He chewed stoically and then swallowed without complaint.

“I’ve had worse,” said he, taking a sip of the water before passing it to the lieutenant. “Even if I can’t remember when.”

So, given some confidence by their captain’s calm and dignified demeanour—as well as his ability to maintain a sense of humour in their situation—they each took up their scraps and began to eat. It was not a taste they were accustomed to, since all the meat was cooked at Saurahall. However, being descendants of carnivorous dinosaurs, they suffered no ill effects from consuming the raw flesh, and even felt a sort of primal satisfaction from the experience. They each took turns sipping from the water cup in between until it was gone. Then they sat back in contemplative silence as night fell on the camp. Sat back, listened, and waited.