Before dawn

The sun had already disappeared behind the treetops, but the long-awaited coolness did not come. The air, scorched by the daytime heat, filled with moisture and became viscous and heavy. The townspeople hurried to their dwellings in the ghostly hope of finding salvation behind the walls of old stone houses. Only in the main square of the old city was work in full swing. Several workers, stripped to the waist, hammering and sawing, were constructing a huge platform. In the morning, an execution was to take place—the crowd's favorite entertainment.

A tall man in a strict black doublet approached a low door, barely visible against the dark background of a wall overgrown with ivy and moss, and knocked three times

on the tiny window. A nervous rustling and a displeased muttering were heard. In the narrow opening appeared the flushed face of the gatekeeper, red from the stuffiness and anger.

"Who else are the devils bringing?" he growled in a creaky voice, "Who's there?"

"I am Christopher North," the man introduced himself, "The commandant is expecting me. Open up."

The window slammed shut, the clanking of keys was heard, and the heavy door opened with an unpleasant creak. The man had to bend almost in half to avoid hitting his head on the lintel.

"Come in, Mr. North," before him stood a fat, bow-legged man of advanced age in tattered clothes.

After locking the gate behind Chris, he, jangling his keys, hobbled towards the low stone building of the commandant's office. A light was burning in the small square window. Chris was expected.

"Mr. Christopher North!" a short, thin man in a black frock coat, buttoned up to the top, rose from behind a table piled with papers, "I have been waiting for you for a long time. As soon as they informed me that you would come, I revised my evening plans and decided to stay. For a man like you..."

"Enough verbiage," North slowly lowered himself onto a creaky wooden chair.

"I am listening," the commandant assumed a businesslike posture.

"Tomorrow an execution will take place," the guest said in an even voice.

"Yes," the commandant nodded, "And what of it?"

"I want to speak with the condemned woman. She was my slave, and I want to hear an explanation from her lips."

"You see," the commandant leaned back in his chair and rolled his eyes, "You can talk, of course. But what's the point now? Tomorrow this worthless slave will be led to the scaffold..."

"Are you refusing me?" North interrupted him sharply.

"What are you saying!" the commandant waved his hands, "How could I refuse such a man? I merely expressed my opinion..."

"Which interests no one," Chris continued in the same tone.

The commandant flushed with anger but swallowed this pill. Pulling himself together and once again adopting a majestic appearance, he cleared his throat and shouted loudly:

"Sergeant!"

A few seconds later, a slightly disheveled young man flew into the room, buttoning his uniform on the go. His eyes were bloodshot, his face flushed. His hands were shaking so much that the guy couldn't manage his buttons.

"Brought another whore?" the commandant yelled at him, "I'll put you under arrest, then you'll know..."

"I have little time," Chris interrupted him again.

"Yes, yes," the commandant covered his mouth with his hand, "Take this gentleman to cell number five."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Commandant!" the sergeant clicked his heels.

North walked quickly along the narrow prison corridor, accompanied by the sergeant, who illuminated the path with a torch. It was quiet. The tightly closed cell doors let through no sound, but Chris knew that behind these walls, the male and female prisoners were not exactly blissful. It was as if the most ingenious human genius in sadistic inventions had built this structure with the sole purpose of inflicting as much suffering as possible on its inhabitants.

"We have arrived," the sergeant announced in a strange tone.

"Open it," Chris ordered him.

The heavy bolt rattled, and the massive door slid aside, freeing a narrow passage into the stone dungeon. Taking the torch from the soldier's hands and ordering him to wait outside, North entered the cell. A wave of stale air, mixed with human sweat and excrement, immediately struck his nose.

Raising the torch higher, he could barely make out a small figure of a female prisoner by the opposite wall. The girl was shackled in heavy leg irons, the chain of which was attached to the wall by its middle link. Her hands, pulled behind her back, were also shackled with a thick iron ring, from which a short chain stretched to the wall. Apparently, the executioners found this insufficient, and they also chained the slave by the neck, putting a wide, coarse collar on her.

The girl was completely naked, and Chris noticed how her fragile body trembled finely. But even in this state, she looked arousing. The young man involuntarily admired her perfect figure: the full hemispheres of her breasts with large areolas around the dark nipples beckoned to him, as if asking to be caressed, the flat, taut little belly tensed and relaxed with each exhalation.

The captive raised her head with difficulty. The light of the torch was reflected in her large, pitch-black eyes, and they seemed to ignite with a bloody gleam.

"Hello, Dana," North said, trying to speak evenly.

"Why have you come, master?" the slave twisted her mouth into a feigned smile, "Do you want to enjoy my torment one last time?"

"No," Chris shook his head, "I came to ask you."

"About what, master?" the slave smirked.

"Why did you do it? Why did you attack me with a knife?"

"To kill you!" the girl shouted, "And then myself!"

"Why did you need my death?" Chris was surprised, "Did I treat you badly? Did I rape you, beat you, starve you?"

"You wouldn't understand, master," the slave answered quietly.

"But you try," North persisted.

Dana looked at her master, and he felt goosebumps run down his body. The girl did not take her eyes off him, the nostrils of her small, slightly flattened, like most African women's, but pretty nose flared, as if steam was about to burst out of them. Probably, she hadn't been given water for a long time, and her plump lips were cracked. Her breathing quickened and even became intermittent. The slave was highly aroused.

Taking a breath, she rasped, looking Chris in the eyes:

"I loved you, master! But my love was not slavish! I was ready to throw myself into the flames, to die for you, but you didn't even notice it! And when that blonde in a dress with a deep neckline appeared in the house, and you sat at the table chatting merrily, hugging and kissing, I realized that I meant no more to you than an old broken hanger, whose place has long been on the city dump. Of course, master, what could a worthless dark-skinned girl mean compared to a lady like Mrs. Liliana! That's when I decided to kill you and myself, so that maybe there, in heaven, we could be together!"

Her strength left her, and Dana hung on her shackles. The thick collar ring dug into her thin, fragile neck, bringing new suffering. The girl groaned softly.

Chris rushed to the prisoner and caught her head. Feeling the flask of water on his belt, he pulled out the cork with his teeth and brought the neck to the girl's whitening lips. Dana, feeling the life-giving moisture, began to drink greedily, and her master, supporting the slave by the waist, buried his face in her still beautiful thick hair, which had managed to absorb all the stench of the prison cell.

"Mr. North," a quiet voice of the sergeant sounded behind him, "It's time for us to go."

"Forgive me, girl," Chris whispered, struggling to articulate the words, "I turned out to be an incredible fool."

Dana raised her eyes to him, and Chris saw them fill with tears. Unable to look at this any longer, he quickly left the cell and, without waiting for the escort, walked down the corridor, mentally cursing everyone around, but most of all himself.

***

The morning of that day was clear and cloudless. A light breeze blowing from the sea rustled in the wide fronds of palm leaves. Small waves rolled onto the sandy shore with a quiet hiss, playing with pebbles. Small fish frolicked in the shallows, and children took advantage of this, trying to catch them with their bare hands. But the little ones, noticing the danger in time, darted in different directions, and the young fishermen were left empty-handed. But this did not upset them. Having laughed their fill, they set off in search of new schools.

The chief of the tribe, a tall, stately man, still not old at all, paced importantly through the village, dressed in long white robes and tying his clean-shaven head with a bright red ribbon. He was tall and broad-shouldered. Even now, alone, this man could handle a buffalo, armed only with the sword that his father had once passed down to him as a symbol of male valor.

Momato turned his head towards the noise coming from the edge of the forest and understood that the hunt had been successful. The strongest men, who had gone hunting before dawn, were now dragging two roe deer and a wild goat on long, thick poles, while their comrades walked alongside, shouting loudly and brandishing spears and bows.

"Today's feast will be glorious!" Momato announced in a booming bass, "Our hunters have brought rich prey!"

"Oh, yes, father!" his younger daughter Dana ran up to the chief, "The women have already started smoking sea bass, and I, with my friends, brought two baskets of carp and eels from the mountain lake. And old Lugunya has kneaded dough for flatbreads."

"Soon a groom will come for you too," said the chief and sighed sadly, "And then I can calmly set off on the long journey to our ancestors."

"Don't, father," the girl clasped Momato's arm and pressed her lips to his shoulder, "I haven't chosen a groom yet. What if I fall in love with a man from our village?"

"Then you will have to leave and live separately," the chief smiled, "That is our custom. You will create a new settlement, and then our people will multiply."

The feast was in full swing when four large boats with people armed to the teeth moored to the shore, commanded by a tall officer in a richly embroidered doublet and a huge hat with a luxurious plume. Drawing their muskets from their belts and baring their blades, they rushed towards the village with wild cries, smashing everything in their path.

Panic began in the village. People, forgetting about the feast, rushed into the forest, but it turned out that the path to the saving thicket was cut off. The bandits, who knew the habits of the locals well, surrounded the settlement from all sides, and no one managed to slip out. Gradually tightening the ring, the bandits herded all the inhabitants into the center. A separate squad dragged out of the light reed huts those who hoped to find salvation within their native walls, and set the shacks themselves on fire.

"Who are you, and what do you want from us?" the chief shouted, but received a blow to the stomach and collapsed to the ground.

"Quiet, macaques!" the leader shouted when his men, wielding whips, herded everyone into the center, "My name is... Actually, it's not important anymore. You, or rather, those we leave alive, will call me Master. And the rest have no need to know my name. Is this giant your leader?"

"This is our chief," old gray-haired Lugunya stepped forward, "The great and wise Momato."

The bandits burst into wild laughter, accompanied by shots and waving of sabers. The leader, waiting a few minutes, raised his hand, and his team immediately fell silent. Nodding towards the still prostrate chief, he ordered him to be stood before him. He himself sat down in the place where Momato himself had presided just recently.

"Well, what, monkey?" the leader asked with a smirk when his men, with kicks and whips, lifted the chief and put him on his knees, "They say you're the most important and wisest here?"

"I am a man," Momato answered proudly, trying to get to his feet, but was beaten again.

"Shut your mouth, black-faced cattle!" the main bandit roared, "You have no right to call yourself a man! Because here I am the man, and you are a dirty, stinking creature."

Momato proudly threw back his head and suddenly spat in the face of the man in the hat. The latter turned crimson with rage, and his henchmen froze in silent bewilderment, not knowing what to do next. The leader, leaning forward slightly with his whole body, hissed like a snake ready to attack:

"You will be hung by your feet from the tallest palm tree, macaque! Your death will be long and agonizing, and no one will be able to help you, because before I string you up, I'll finish off all your kin. Hey, what are you waiting for? Line up all this rabble before me!"

The pirates rushed to carry out their captain's order, and in a couple of minutes the entire tribe was lined up in a long row. The chieftain slowly paced along this line, sometimes stopping in front of one of the natives, inspecting him from head to toe. Finishing the inspection, he again sat down in the chief's place.

"All males—to that tree!" the leader ordered, pointing to a thick palm.

In a matter of seconds, the order was carried out. All the men were gathered near the trunk of the coconut palm and a reliable guard was posted. The captain smirked maliciously and sharply raised his hand. The next instant, shots rang out, and one by one the natives fell to the ground with their heads blown open.

The women raised a cry, wringing their hands and cursing the murderers. Momato's nerves couldn't take it. Throwing aside the bandits who stood behind him, the chief rushed at the captain, but he, deftly drawing his sword from its scabbard, lunged, and the blade pierced the giant's body, exiting from the other side.

Momato froze for a second and fell with his eyes rolling back, letting out a long, drawn-out groan.

"Father!" Mara jumped out from the crowd of villagers and rushed to the chief's body, but two pirates grabbed her and dragged her aside.

"Murderer!" the girl shouted, trying to break free from the strong hands of the robbers.

The captain of the bandits again twisted his face into a brazen smile. Whispering something to his adjutant, he, as if nothing had happened, grabbed a piece of still warm roasted meat and began to eat. The adjutant, nodding briefly, called over two hefty pirates and pointed to the tree.

Momato's body was dragged by the feet to the palm tree, and, throwing a thick rope over his ankles, they hung him upside down from a sturdy branch. A wail rose among the surviving villagers, but it didn't bother the captain. The pirate calmly enjoyed his meal, smirking sweetly.

Having stuffed his belly, the chieftain ordered all the remaining provisions to be loaded onto the boats and sent to the ship standing at the roadstead. Wiping his mouth with a palm leaf, he again walked along the rows of natives, selecting the most beautiful and sturdy girls, whom his men immediately grabbed and led aside. There they were stripped naked, their hands tied behind their backs with previously prepared thin rawhide straps, and with kicks and whip blows,