Netenyahu of the 16th Century by The Protected by Allah - HTML preview

Chapter Five:

Johannes the Captive

 

Johannes was cast once more at the leader’s feet, a mangled heap of flesh and agony. Jonathas appeared calmer now, having spent three consecutive days venting his volcanic rage upon the boy.

He raised his heavy boot to strike again, but Johannes collapsed against his legs, clutching at them in total ruin. He began to plead with a broken, jagged sob—a sound born more of hollow humiliation than physical pain. Starvation, thirst, and the deprivation of sleep had brought him to the very threshold of the grave.

In these fleeting moments lay his final hope, despite knowing the callousness of Jonathas’s heart—a heart that recognized no kin and held no map to mercy. When no answer came, Johannes resumed his begging, a lament that seemed to tear at the very fibers of the soul.

"Please... give me a chance to atone for my sin," he choked out. "I will serve you exactly as you desire, until you are satisfied. Grant me one last chance... I will do anything. You are too great to be truly angered by a wretch like me."

While Johannes’s face struggled to weep or even speak through the grotesque swelling and deep, purple bruising, Jonathas’s features were lit with a sadistic ecstasy. He feasted on his

 

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own tyranny, savoring the limitless power to avenge himself.

Yet, Jonathas’s only sorrow was that even these moments were finite. Johannes’s body—once pampered and soft—had reached its absolute limit. To push further now would be to lose the toy. Thus, Jonathas sated his pride with this display before moving to the second phase of his vengeance—a plan that would make Johannes curse the very moment his betrayal had succeeded.

After a long silence, Jonathas pressed his boot down upon Johannes’s head. "Very well. I shall be 'gracious' and grant you the chance to be one of my lowliest slaves—those who toil so that I may enjoy my life and live as a king!"

He turned to one of his men, his voice as cold as granite. "Take him to the mines. Order them to show him no mercy, no pity, and no quarter. He is to be treated exactly like the other slaves!"

A violent shudder went through Johannes. He was not surprised, yet the realization that his greatest fear had become reality was a fresh torment. To sharpen the blade, Julia’s voice rang out with mocking delight:

"I find myself suddenly curious to oversee the progress of the work down there this week!" She laughed, a sharp, cruel sound, while blood welled in Johannes’s swollen eyes, stinging his vision into a blur.

As they hoisted him up to drag him toward his bitter reality,

 

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Johannes whispered with a surrender that saw nothing: "At least... honor Your face that is within mine." Jonathas’s expression went still at those words. He averted his gaze, waving a hand dismissively. "Strike him only on his back and legs."

"Shall we feed him first, master?" one of the men asked. "He is completely spent."

Jonathas exhaled, eyeing Johannes’s condition with a cold practicality that reminded him a man cannot work if he is dead. "Feed him and tend his wounds for one day only. By this time tomorrow, he must be broken into the labor."

The men hauled Johannes away to meet his fate. Julia followed them for a few steps, waving her handkerLeader with playful malice. "Every time you look up at our rooms from the pits, I’ll be there, waving to you from above!"

The following day, Johannes walked with a leaden gait down the sloping path to the depths. Each step was a heavy tread upon the pride that was being crushed within his heart. He had walked this path countless times as a master; now, the world had inverted. Every familiar sight bared its teeth, revealing the darkness that had long been hidden from his fading conscience.

He wondered, with a sinking dread, how the slaves would react when they found one of their former masters among them. Amidst all his agony, his singular hope was that no one would recognize him. But in a place built on memory and

 

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pain, what was the chance of that?

As they descended, the biting chill of the cavern pierced his weakened body. A cold dread seized his limbs as the rhythmic thud of pickaxes and the sharp crack of the lash reached his ears —sounds that had once been a distant, routine background hum behind his window, but were now the grim reality to which he would be subjected like a beast of burden.

He was shoved into the labor ring, forced to endure his searing pain as he shuffled in a frantic circle, hauling coal from the mine to the wagons outside.

Only three hours remained of that day, yet to Johannes, they felt like an eternity. His body was a map of unhealed trauma; his vision was narrowed by lids heavy with swelling, and his movements were sluggish from days of starvation.

When the work finally ceased, he stumbled toward the great pen with the other captives, blinded by a shame that stung worse than the fire in his back and legs. His greatest fear remained a constant throb in his mind: What if one of them knows who I am?

The salve drivers dumped two crates of food onto the dirt floor of the pen and slammed the door shut. The battle of the shadows began. Driven by the raw instinct of survival, the male slaves descended upon the food like starving predators. Johannes retreated to the furthest corner, watching them with a curled lip of disgust. Had there been anything in his stomach, he would

 

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have retched; the stench of the pen was overwhelming, with filth cluttering every corner.

Once the men had sated themselves, the women scrambled for the remains in the dirt, while children hovered behind them, waiting for a stray scrap of pity. Johannes buried his swollen face in his hands. He realized now the blessing of the meal he’d been given that morning, but how long would it last? Could he truly bring himself to bicker with these people tomorrow? In that moment, he decided he would rather starve to death than sell his dignity in such a primal, animalistic fashion.

From time to time, he lifted his head to watch the ghostly figures shifting in the dark. Slaves huddled together for warmth, while thieves tried to snatch morsels from others, stuffing them into their mouths before they were caught. The air was thick with the wailing of children, the brawling of men over sleeping spots, and the sharp tongues of women arguing over the men.

This was a world entirely foreign to Johannes. To him, luxury had never been a choice—it was the air he breathed. He had been raised to believe these people were merely his uncle’s livestock, and that he, by virtue of his blood, stood superior to all. Where did that superiority go now, as he sat condemned to this wretched fate?

He closed his eyes, broken, lashing himself with the whip of regret. He had traded his life for Catherina, a girl who would surely soon forget him while he toiled here forever. A slow, bitter anger began to simmer in his heart at the image of Catherina safe and sound, while he burned in the fires of humiliation.

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Through the gloom, the sound of a woman approached. Johannes curled into himself, trying to hide as much of his face as possible. She stood beside him for a moment before speaking. "Catherina? Is that you?" she whispered. "It took you months to find your way here... What happened? Did you actually marry Johannes or what?"

Receiving no answer, she continued, "Come on, I know this place is worse than the cells—dozens of men instead of just Jorvoss— but you’ll get used to it like last time. Come, don't just sit there crying as if it’s your first time!"

When silence persisted, she reached out toward the shadow of Johannes’s head. The moment she touched him, she recoiled. "Oh! A man! Why didn’t you say something? A grunt would have sufficed to let me know I was wrong!"

She lingered for a moment, then spoke again, her tone softening. "You must be new. I was just as shocked the first time I entered this hole. It’s disgusting, I know. We’ve grown accustomed to it, but everyone relieves themselves here and there isn’t enough water and..."

She sat down near him. "You must be hungry, like me. As you can see, the men control the food. The only way for a woman to get a decent meal is to stay with one of them in exchange for bread, and..." She sighed heavily. "I lost my partner a few days ago. Fever and exhaustion. I haven't been able to fight the others for a new one; they’re all like she-wolves."

 

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She paused, turning toward him in the dark. "I was thinking... perhaps you and I could partner up. What do you think?" Johannes remained a statue. She mused aloud, "You know, your scent... it’s familiar. Where have I smelled that? Where...?"

She reached out to touch him again, but Johannes violently shoved her arm away. She stumbled back, letting out a sharp, involuntary gasp: "Impossible!!"

The cry rang through the pen, drawing the eyes of the other captives. She clamped both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. She waited until the others lost interest before leaning in and whispering, "Unbelievable... M-m-master? What has brought you here?"

Johannes hissed through gritted teeth, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. "Shut up! Do not call me 'master.' Do you want to get me killed?"

"Yes, I understand... I’ll call you by your name... if that doesn't offend you." She swallowed hard. "You have every right to be disgusted by this place. It is certainly beneath you." She shifted nervously. "I am Isabelle. I don’t know if you remember my name, or even knew it. I’m the one with the blue eyes and black hair. The third girl who..."

"I remember you," he muttered irritably. "I’m glad," she whispered. "If you need help or... a service, you need only command me. I am at your disposal." After a long silence, she stood up. "It seems you wish to be alone

 

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today. I’ll be over there. Call me, or just signal, and I’ll come at once."

She moved to sit a short distance away, while Johannes muttered to himself, nearly gnawing on his own hand in frustration. She thinks I’m still someone important, he thought bitterly. She thinks I still have some shred of power. She doesn’t realize that I am currently the lowliest wretch among them. Soon enough, she’ll abandon me—or worse, turn against me.

Pain drove its blade deep into him, and he writhed under the agonizing weight of his ruined pride. He tried to escape into sleep, but despite his exhaustion, it eluded him. The valley's piercing chill froze his marrow.

He lay in a state of wretchedness, dreading the passage of the long night, knowing full well that tomorrow would be even harder.

As soon as the first light touched the world, the gate of the pen creaked open. At the sound, everyone leaped from their sleep instinctively, racing for the exit. Johannes dragged his leaden feet, finally staggering out last. The executioner raised his lash before speaking:

"You don’t know the rules yet: the last one out gets whipped." Johannes fell silent, bracing himself, but the slave driver added, "We’ll start that from tomorrow."

Johannes glanced at him, a thought flickering in his mind as he walked:

I thought Jonathas ordered them to show me no mercy. Did he

 

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change his mind? Or are they still wary of me, fearing my eventual revenge? Perhaps I should ignore Jonathas’s orders and use his shadow as my shield while I still can.

He tried to square his shoulders and turned to the driver with a feigned air of confidence. "Do you have any food?" The driver recoiled as if remembering a duty, then opened his pouch. "Um, yes... this sandwich. Eat it quickly."

Johannes bolted the food and hurried to join the others. Another driver approached him. "Would you prefer to dig, haul coal, or pull the wagons?"

Johannes looked toward the dark mouth of the mine. "I’ll try digging."

"That requires skill and focus. I'll explain it to you..."

Johannes turned his swollen face toward the man. "That means I won't be able to do it quickly. No... I’ll go back to hauling coal." The driver smiled, understanding that Johannes wanted the task that kept him moving fast enough to avoid the lash. A third driver placed a hand on Johannes’s shoulder. "Don’t hold a grudge against us. We’re only following orders." Johannes exhaled sharply, averting his gaze. "I know. Just don’t overdo it—especially at the end of the day. Even the strongest man breaks eventually."

Johannes worked with frantic efficiency, burning through his dwindling reserves of energy just to survive. But that was only the beginning. By the time the sun began to dip, he was on the verge of collapse. Yet, he feared the return to the pen. He felt

 

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suffocated, his chest tightening under the weight of a life that offered not a single thread of hope.

Before he entered the pen, the driver handed him another sandwich, whispering, "Hide it. And contrary to what I told you this morning—stay back. Come in last so the others don't see you."

Johannes retreated to his corner, his mind racing faster than his feet could move. At least the last one out escaped the whip.

After avoiding the chaotic brawls over the floor-scraps, he was stunned to find a man and a woman sitting in his spot from the night before. He glared at them before catching himself. He scanned the place for another space, but the only empty patches were beside the filth.

Rage began to boil over his exhaustion. His breath quickened, his heart hammering against his ribs as he paced. Then, he heard Isabelle’s voice calling:"Over here! Here!"

He moved toward her without hesitation. Once seated, he gestured to the space beside him. "There’s room for both of us. Come."

She squeezed in beside him. "I didn’t want to bother you."

"There’s nowhere else," he snapped, then softened slightly. "You look exhausted. Didn't you eat anything last night?"

"I ate the dirt the food was sitting on," she whispered, clutching her hollow stomach.

Johannes turned away and bit into his sandwich, tearing at it as if

 

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to take revenge on the hunger gnawing at his vitals. But as he felt her thin body trembling and shivering next to him, the bite stuck in his throat. He realized that if she starved, he would lose his only ally. He fought a fierce battle with his own greed before finally speaking in a choked voice:

"Fine. You shared your spot; I’ll share mine."

He tore the sandwich in half—feeling as though he were tearing his own flesh—and handed a piece to her. She gasped with joy. "Shhh!" he hissed.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, swallowing hard. "But... imagine how long it’s been since I even smelled meat! I don't know how to describe my happiness!"

"Happiness?" Johannes sneered. "In this place?!" She shrugged. "This is life for us. We have to squeeze the happiness out of it wherever we can." Johannes didn't care for her philosophy, nor was he full on half a sandwich, but he yawned as the crushing weight of the day caught up to him. Suddenly, he felt Isabelle’s hand pull him toward her thin chest. Before he could complain about the scent of unwashed toil, his eyes closed, and he vanished into a deep sleep, making up for the previous night's vigil.

He didn't wake until Isabelle was shaking him. "Quick! Get up! Everyone is already out!"

She bolted for the door. Johannes collapsed back onto the dirt, his body shackled by pain. He closed his eyes again; he simply couldn't force himself to face another day of agony.

 

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Two minutes later, he bolted upright as the crack of a whip sounded beside him. He tried to pull himself up but failed. The driver grabbed his arm and hauled him up impatiently. "Please, don't make me hurt you."

Johannes staggered, forcing his weight onto his feet. "Give me a moment. I'm going... I don't understand how morning came so fast."

He choked down his breakfast while trying to rub the crust from his swollen eyes with as little pain as possible. He pushed himself out, a heavy shroud of despair over his soul.

Throughout the day, he stole glances toward the grand building perched at the edge of the valley. He remembered Julia’s mockery and thought, swallowing his deep sorrow: If Jonathas caught Kati after all this, I’ll lose my mind. But no—if he had her, he would have dragged me up there just to taunt me with the sight of her in his hands. I’ve lived with him for years; I know how he thinks.

As sunset approached, Johannes actually looked forward to the end of the shift. At least there was someone to lean on, someone to share the misery. But suddenly, the Chief driver called for him. Johannes approached slowly, gasping with fatigue. The driver looked away, seemingly ashamed to see him in such a wretched state.

"Miss Vilmos is here. She wants to see you." Johannes recoiled, his fists clenching. "No! If I see her, I’ll pelt her with coal!"

"Perhaps she has something important to tell you."

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"I’ll only see her to stuff her mouth with coal... and light it!" Johannes shouted, turning back to his work. The driver gave a short laugh. "I see the coal has taken over your mind."

That night, Johannes went to sit by Isabelle, but two women suddenly grabbed his arms from either side. Each insisted that she would be the one to stay with him. Johannes, bewildered, wrenched his hands free.

"What is wrong with you? What do you want?"

"Master... I am Alisia, don't you remember me?" The other cut her off. "And I’m Maria. You used to love my blonde hair."

Johannes snapped, turning his face away. "You two are here as well? How did you recognize me?"

"A master’s gait and his pride cannot be hidden."

"I hope your face heals soon, Master.. it’s clear you’ve had a hard time."

He scowled at them. "Don't you have partners?"

"Isabelle will stay with one of ours instead, and everyone will be fine," one replied. "You just have to choose which of us you want."

Johannes stood paralyzed, caught between three choices instead of one. The women, of course, had no inkling that their "Master" might end up bargaining with them over a mere scrap of meat from his sandwich.

But secrets in a pit of despair have a way of bleeding out. Person

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by person, the word spread until, within mere days, every slave knew that the newcomer was none other than young Vilmos. Every one of them carried a memory of him—most of them bitter, jagged, and steeped in resentment.

The slaves fractured into two groups: those fueled by spite and those driven by sycophancy. Johannes’s name was on every tongue. Where he once struggled to find a patch of dirt to call his own, he was now ushered into the best corner. Men seeking favor offered him morsels of their meager rations, and women vied to spend the night by his side.

They all harbored a desperate, delusional hope: that one day the Leader’s heart would soften, he would rescind the punishment, and Johannes would pluck them from their misery. Only Johannes understood the true gravity of his predicament. He knew Jonathas; the man’s words were iron, and his decrees only ended when they drew blood.

Johannes lived in constant fear—not just of Jonathas, but of the moment the slaves would grow weary of him or turn against him. He spent his days agonizing over what he could offer to keep them gathered around him. If not for the sake of status, then for protection against the vengeful faction that waited for the slightest slip-up to rain down agony upon him.

In truth, the only currency he had was his secret sandwich. He began to barter it—half to a man, half to a woman, in a rotating cycle—in exchange for the foul swill they were fed. Meager as it was, it proved enough to maintain the fragile peace.

 

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The long, brutal winter passed in a blur of bodies huddled together for warmth. Then came the beautiful spring. Yet, its splendor only filled Johannes’s heart with a deeper melancholy. He watched the world dance in vivid colors under a warm sun, blooming over the literal bones of men and children whom the cold and disease had claimed.

He worked with a shattering spirit, watching the remains of his fellow captives tossed to the edge of the valley, left to the scavengers. The dread of death turned his face pale and his soul wretched; he knew death was the only escape from Jonathas’s infinite shadow.

And yet, for the first time, a peculiar bitterness of loss seeped into him as he remembered their hollow faces, their suppressed hopes, and their final, whispered words.

Butterflies danced through the valley, fluttering over his head— witnesses to a man living the same miserable day dozens of times without mercy. He ignored their beauty, lost instead in his ancient search for the One more powerful than Jonathas; the One who might finally break the tyrant’s grip.

That night, he decided to give that "way" another chance—the ritual that had stayed his hand from suicide. He used his fingers to pry his eyes open, fighting the crushing weight of exhaustion. He waited until the pen grew still and his partner drifted off, then he hauled his aching body onto his knees. He began those small, rhythmic movements that pain had nearly scoured from his memory.

He directed his broken spirit toward Absolute Sovereignty. With

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every prostration, as his forehead touched the dust, he found not humiliation, but a "contentment" he hadn't felt in years.

After a few minutes, he collapsed into sleep. In his dreams, he saw Jonathas—pale, sickly, and calling his name as if in desperate need. But dream-Johannes only looked at him with indifference, shut the door, and walked away, leaving the tyrant to his fate.

He continued this every night. Nothing in his outward world changed; his food did not increase, and his toil often grew heavier. Yet, he realized he had gained the same thing that the captive who changed Wilius’s life had possessed: A heart of stillness in the center of the storm.

Serenity became his only narcotic. He grew addicted to it, using it to intoxicate himself against the coal dust, to forget the sores on his fingers and the ache in his back, and to tune out the monotonous, never-ending crack of the lash. He began to pray in his mind constantly, distracting his soul by magnifying the Lord and contemplating the mysteries of creation, rather than dwelling on his own wretched luck."Greetings, cousin... or should I say, your uncle’s slave? Guess what!" Johannes stood before the Leader’s daughter. His black hair and eyes were now masked by coal soot, grime, and the gauntness of starvation. Yet his hideous state did not stop her from preening. She fought back a laugh.

"My delicate body grew weary from sitting on ostrich feathers for too long, so I decided to take a stroll in this 'lovely' valley for the spring. Lucky for you, I’ve chosen you from among the rest to have the honor of serving me!"

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The Chief driver winced at her crude arrogance, glancing sympathetically at Johannes. Johannes, however, kept his eyes fixed on the sky, showing her no emotion at all. Then, he looked at her and smiled.

"A fine opportunity to show you the beauty of nature here. Have you ever smelled the mountain flowers? They are as lovely as you."

The driver’s jaw dropped. He turned slowly to see Julia’s face flush a deep, indignant red. "Fine then, let’s go! You will wait on me!"

"I don’t mind," Johannes replied calmly, "as long as you aren't afraid of the scabies."

She recoiled in disgust. "You have the itch?!"

Johannes smiled mockingly and lifted his forearm. "Oh yes. Look... it tunnels into the skin and lays its eggs inside, in exchange for the drops of blood it takes every so often. Would you like to try it?"

He began to run toward her. She shrieked, scrambling to get away, but she tripped over her own weight and landed hard on her hands. As her servant helped her up, Johannes’s laughter echoed through the air, even as the driver caught him without effort. "You coward!" Johannes shouted. "Don’t you know I can’t even reach you?"

She knitted her brows, staring at him with a strange, unreadable expression before her mocking mask returned. "I'm glad you’ve found the place that suits you, you mangy beast. I’ll tell my father

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how much you’re enjoying yourself. Farewell!"

She hurried away, taking the scent of her expensive perfume with her. The Chief driver chuckled. "I wonder which part of that conversation she’ll actually tell him." He turned to Johannes. "I liked how you used your knowledge of her to face her down. You have a powerful spirit, truly."

Johannes exhaled. "What did you expect? She came to feast on the sight of my helpless rage."

As he returned to his work, he stole a glance at the great house on the ridge. O Most Powerful, he murmured, I beg You to take Your strength and squeeze the consciousness of Jonathas. Crush his ego as he crushes us. You gave him forty years of power—is it not enough?

Time crawled forward until a day arrived that seemed like any other. The night appeared normal; food was fought over, partners were chosen, and whispers faded into the rhythmic snoring of the exhausted.

Johannes slipped away as usual for his brief prayer. But the moment he prostrated, he felt a violent surge of movement from the far side of the pen. Before he could react, a heavy palm clamped over his mouth, and he was hauled upward. He found himself surrounded by the shadows of several men.

A voice hissed with pure, concentrated venom into his ear: "I don't know what kind of animal stupidity struck that bastard Jonathas to throw you into the hands of Old Simon... but I am going to pour thirty years of bottled rage onto your head!"

 

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Panic seized Johannes the moment he realized his life was held in the iron grip of the leader of the rival slave faction. He could find no way to break free, nor any breath to cry for help. Simon leaned in, his voice dripping with sadistic satisfaction.

"Forgive us for delaying your vengeance this long," Simon whispered. "A chance for retribution comes but once, and we needed to be alone to truly savor it. I only wish I could see that bastard’s face when he lays eyes on what remains of you; only then will he realize what he forgot, and remember what he did!"

With a violent shove, Simon ground Johannes’s face into the dirt. Another man pinned him down, and they began to rain blows upon him, striking with a calculated, deadly silence. The assault continued until, suddenly, Isabelle’s voice pierced the dark, screaming to the loyalist faction: "Vilmos! They’re killing him! Get them! Get Simon!"

At her cry, life surged back into those weary, slumbering bodies. They rose as if they had been waiting for the signal, plunging instantly into a bloody fray with the rival group. The air filled with the sounds of bone hitting bone and snarled curses. The pen descended into absolute chaos; women’s screams punctured the air, and children scrambled to escape a blind battle where no one knew if they were striking friend or foe.

Suddenly, the heavy doors of the pen were kicked open. The drivers burst in, their lashes crackling as they laid into the combatants, who had no choice but to scatter, howling in pain.

 

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Once the drivers had regained control, their head moved through the gloom, searching among the bodies strewn across the floor. When he couldn't find Johannes, he began lifting the fallen. He finally discovered him, buried beneath two others. He hauled him up, shouting, "Get the doctor, quickly!"

Johannes regained consciousness to a sound he had missed—a dry, rasping voice, but one he knew, in his own way, he loved. He opened his weary eyes to find himself in the drivers' hut. Jacobus’s hand was gently wiping his face. "Awake at last? Hah, you survived!"

Johannes’s reply was a mere rasp, strangled by agony. "There isn't an inch of me... that doesn't hurt. Agh..." Jacobus clasped his hands together, his expression animated. "It was shocking news! Even Jonathas sat up in surprise; he thought Simon was dead ages ago! It seems there was a 'misunderstanding'—they kept him alive as a slave instead of finishing him off. But he’ll wish he were dead soon enough, once he feels the heat of Jonathas’s hospitality!"

Jacobus let out a mocking laugh, but then another voice—bright and laughing—joined in. "You have no idea how happy I am that you survived, cousin! And that Father finally allowed us to visit you!"

Johannes’s brow furrowed instantly. "What are you doing here, you fat cow?"

"Checking on you, you scrawny thing!" Julia replied. "How strange —why don't you take better care of your health, you poor

 

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wretch? Guess what gift I brought you!" The heavenly aroma of fresh cake reached Johannes’s nose just as Julia popped a piece into his mouth. "I’ve discovered I don’t like seeing you like this," she said playfully. "Now, eat!"

Johannes swallowed the morsel with difficulty. The contrast was jarring; the softness of Julia’s skin felt alien after weeks of the calloused, rough hands of the slave women. He managed a ghost of a smirk. "Careful... you might catch the scabies."

Julia’s hand recoiled as if she’d touched a hot coal. "Scabies! Oh, no! Damn it, I forgot!" She shook her hand in disgust, her lip curling. "I’ll leave the cake here. When you want it, take it!" A faint smile finally ghosted across Johannes’s bruised face while Jacobus let out a belly laugh.

After a brief chat, Johannes looked at the older man and asked, "Father, who exactly is Simon?"

Jacobus rubbed his face, his eyes distant. "He was a partner of ours. We used to ride out together to raid for many years. When we finally seized control of the mountain and grew to about twenty men, Jonathas decided he should be the Leader of the gang. He gathered the men, bribed them, and convinced them to oust Simon.

Afterward, he picked them off one by one—each man meeting a 'convenient' end."

Jacobus chuckled softly, his voice tinged with a dark irony. "It seems I’m the last of them still standing."

Johannes’s eyes widened, and he whispered, "Thirty years... he

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waited thirty years for a chance at revenge, only for me to be delivered to him on a silver platter."

"Heh," Jacobus scoffed, shaking his head. "But I doubt Jonathas feels his so-called 'revenge' has been satisfied yet. He’s barely allowed you five days of rest before sending you back to the grind." He paused, his expression hardening. "You fool. How did it even cross your mind to challenge him like that? Haven't you seen how he crushes everyone, friend or foe? Whoever that woman was, was she truly worth throwing your youth away for?"

Johannes closed his eyes, offering no answer. Julia leaned in, her hands on her hips. "If you know where she is, tell us. Perhaps then he’ll agree to see you, and you can make amends."

"I told him everything," Johannes replied flatly. "And my hope isn't for his forgiveness anyway."

She threw her hands up in exasperation. "And what is your hope then? To remain with the slaves forever? You're mad!" Johannes looked toward the window, his gaze distant. "Jonathas won't live forever."

She recoiled as if stung. "Really? And do you think whoever comes after him will save you? On the contrary, you must exploit his presence now, or your situation will become utterly hopeless!"

A shadow of misery crossed Johannes’s face. Julia softened her tone, but remained firm. "Listen, I’ll try to intercede for you. I’ll tell him things about you that you never said yourself. But don't you dare let my efforts go to waste. Do we have an agreement?"

 

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He turned his eyes toward her, weighing her words. "I must be hallucinating. Is that actually you saying these things?" Jacobus and Julia both laughed, but the conversation was cut short; their permitted time was up. Johannes watched them until they vanished, his ears straining to catch the fading echo of their footsteps.

An hour later, stifled by his own thoughts, Johannes strained every muscle until he managed to sit up, gasping for breath. When his eyes fell upon the cakes waiting for him, tears blurred his vision. In that moment, it wasn't the sweetness of the cake that burned his throat, but the bitter longing for a discarded dignity—and the painful realization that his salvation now hung by a thread held by Julia.

 

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