The Humiliation of Redman Dane
Chapter 7
“Where is thy sting?”
Redman Dane, a youth in possession of striking beauty and sparse good character walked briskly through the well tended gardens of Dane Hall his grim expression evidence of his perpetual state of sulkiness. Our young anti-hero’s already gloomy, mood grew darker by the day. He was in a situation which was beyond being tolerable, yet he had to tolerate it, he had no option other than to endure the daily indignity of painful and humiliating punishments.
To fail to comply risked alienating the affections of the one woman with the means to provide him with the wealth which would free him from the dismal fate which so often awaited the second son of a wealthy family. His future prospects, when Lady Dane finally exited this mortal coil (an event which could not come soon enough) was the one thing he would never risk.
However, despite what she had to offer him, Redman’s dislike for his aunt was now approaching the same loathing he had felt, for the now convalescing Ruth Gallagher. Making matters worse, was the growing suspicion that the old she-wolf actually enjoyed watching him suffer.
As he entered the walled garden, Redman noticed a small fragile creature on the path ahead of him. One of his young step-mother’s cats had recently produced a batch of tiny kittens, one of which, braver than it’s siblings, was making it’s first ever foray away from its mother, the tiny creature’s innocent mind fascinated with the the strange sights and sounds of the newly discovered wonderland.
As Redman drew level with the kitten, he suddenly swung one leg in a violent kick, sending the young feline flying into the bushes at the side of the path.
“You will have to make do with just the eight lives now bitch!” snarled the kitten kicker as he strode on towards the house.
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Later that morning, some guests , Sir James and Lady Rosemary Ness-Witcher, having heard that Lady Dane was in the county, paid her a visit. As was predictable, Anelia Dane immediately decided the gusts would be entertained by watching Redman’s daily punishment. However, on this occasion she introduced a refinement. Instead of being spanked, Redman was to be whipped with a leather riding whip. In fact it was Lady Dane’s favourite whip, which, she said, had served her well for many years.
It was not exactly clear whether Lady Dane had always used the whip on horses!
Redman had never been whipped before, but his elder brother Rufus had, and he confirmed the experience was very painful.
Rufus was not exaggerating , the whip hurt like the fires of Hell, especially as the eager footman laid it on with gusto, Redman’s bare rump was soon red raw and and in near agony. The young man himself was fighting back tears, determined to avoid the further humiliation of breaking down and crying in public.
Retaining any form of dignity was a challenge in the circumstances, as the devilish whip continued to do its worse, and leaving searing whelts across Redman’s tender skin.
Finally it was over, Lady Dane clapped her hands in enthusiastic applause “Well done Griffiths, that was excellent” she cried “There is little I enjoy more than seeing a naughty young man getting his well deserved discipline!” she laughed “even if the handsome young man is my naughty nephew!”
She then dismissed Redman, telling him to go to his room and freshen up, so that he could join the guests for luncheon.
Usually Redman would have seethed at being sent to his room like some naughty child, but on this occasion it was a massive relief, he could not wait to get to his room, and more specifically to his supply of balms and lotions which, imperfect as they were, would, at least ease some of the fire in his tortured backside.
He rushed up the stairs, almost tripping in his hast and craving for some degree of comfort from the pain.
Hurrying into his room, stripping naked before he threw open the door to the cupboard where he kept his soothing lotions grabbing a bottle of rosewater and another of beeswax and almond cream. Placing one foot on the cabinet, he poured copious amounts of what he believed to be rosewater into the palms of his hands and began rubbing it all over his well thrashed bottom.
Within seconds he was aware that something was not right, at first it was just the fact that the palms of his hands were burning, but it was then that the real pain hit him, like a burst of flame, it was as if his entire bottom had ignited, or been thrust into a furnace.
The extra strong horse liniment, with which Clara Middlemas had replaced his rosewater had proved more effective than even she had hoped, as Redman hopped around the room clutching his scalded behind, experiencing pain the like of which he had never experienced before.
He knew instantly that someone had played an evil trick on him and switched his lotion for some caustic substance. He didn’t know who, but he did know that he needed tio wash the evil concoction off. WATER .. he must get to water.
Grabbing a towel, he rushed into his dressing room with the bath tub in the corner and hurriedly turned on the tap, but no water came. In desperation he hurried out of the room and ran down the hall, stark naked and clutching the towel to his groin.
The first person he came upon was a terrified young scullery maid, in her first week of employment at Dane Hall.
“WATER!” he screamed “I need water wench, get me some water!!”
“There’s no water Sir!!” she stammered “There be no water it’s broken Sir!”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE’S NO WATER??!!” bellowed Redman “This is England … there’s always water!”
“I am afraid, Gwenny is correct Sir” said a calm male voice from the doorway, as Able Griffith stepped into the room “The newfangled pipes, which his lordship had installed last year, have fractured between between here and the well” They have to have it fixed by Wednesday week, so we are having some delivered the good old fashioned way, on a cart by noon tomorrow!”
“TOMORROW!!” screamed Redman, now close to hysteria “I’m in agony! I can’t wait until tomorrow! I must have water.”
“T..There be water at the Hall farm Sir!” squeaked Gwenny “In the horse trough … there’s always water there!”
Redman paused for a moment, briefly torn between revulsion at the prospect of bathing in a horse trough, and the need to sooth his burning bottom”
Of course, his sore bottom won, he spun round, rushed out of the room, and hurtled down the stairs, still as naked as god made him, followed by Griffiths, Clara Middlemas, who had heard the noise and guessed at the cause, and other members of the household.
Young Gwenny remained rooted to the spot, still stunned that she had actually seen the young master’s bottom, a tale she would retell many times, with embellishment, on tavern spent evenings over the years.
Downstairs, Redman sprinted down the hallway and out the front door, watched by a number of his family’s delighted servants .
Running as fast as his legs had ever carried him, Redman tore through the garden towards the farm which was part of Dane Hall estate, accidentally dropping the towel as he went. However, when he reached the stables, he found to his horror that the horse trough was empty.
By that time farmer Wickett and some of the farm hands had arrived and were standing around, amazed at the sight of their employer’s son, naked and seemingly without a care for modesty.
Redman turned frantically to Farmer Wickettt “Where’s the water?” he shouted
“Ah Well Surr!” replied the Farmer “the horses were real thirsty this morn. Her grace, your stepmother …” he deferentially touched his forehead with his fingers when mentioning the lady “… was training the two stallions this morning, and them beasts do drink like fishes!”
“But I need water!” wailed Redman “I must wash this devil’s brew off me!!”
“Well Surr!” drawled Farmer Wicket in his infuriatingly slow and ponderous voice, “There might be some water in the other trough, up next to the hog wallow … yes that’s where you might find water …. or in the river, but that’s a good mile yon….”
Before the farmer had finished his endless, sentence the glowing bottomed Redman was running in the direction in which the older man had pointed.
“By all the saint’s!” muttered the Farmer to the nearest man “That be one red arse! Reminds me of them tomatoes the master imported from Spain in ’57… the ones the rats got at!”
In less than a minute Redman and his tomato coloured bottom had reached the field next to the hog wallow, he sprinted up to the horse trough and then let out a bellow of pain and fury, that trough was also empty.
Unfortunately for Redman his roar of raw emotions startled one of the highly strung stallions, which had been eating grass a few feet from him. Acting on instinct, the powerful creature lunged forward, whilst simultaneously kicking back with its hind legs. It’s rock-like hooves connected with Redman’s bare red buttocks with a mighty blow, sending him flying into the air.
The propulsion was sufficient to send him hurtling over the fence and a good thirty feet into the pig enclosure. At first he was so stunned he could not fully register what was happening, then as he came to his senses and looked down for a full second, which seemed frozen in time, he realised with horror he was about to land right ion the centre of the hog wallow, where the farm’s prized pigs cooled off from the summer heat.
Then that second was over, and the anticipation became fact as he vanished beneath the mucky brown surface with a great muddy splash.
Gasping and splashing he quickly returned to the surface , smelling worse than he cold ever imagine and covered with mud and all the horrors a hog wallow contains.
The farm workers struggled to suppress laughter, knowing how vengeful Redman could be, for this was the funniest sight they had ever seen in their lives, and one they would regularly recount to their grandchildren thirty years hence.
As Redman waded out of the wallow his red and mud spattered bottom presented the watchers with an irresistible target, and it was Farmer Wickett’s nephew, Young Sam’yul, who succumbed to that temptation, with the use of the slingshot he always carried in his overalls.
“OWCH!!” Redman swung round, an instant too slow to see Young Sam’yul concealing the slingshot behind his back. “Who did that?!!”
Anxious to protect his nephew from Redman’s vengeance, Farmer Wickett hurried forward to assist the foul smelling young blade’s escape from the wallow.
“It must have been a wasp, Sur… of maybe a hornet, there’s been a right plague of them this year. You better be careful with that cherry red arse of yourn! It will attract them little blighters, like a hot bitch attracts a randy cur!”
Redman had greater priorities than wasps “I need to wash this filth off me, I smell like a month dead donkey in midsummer!”
“There’s only the river Sir!” said Aaron the shepard, who had come down from the high meadow, and who had been enchanted by Redman’s beauty, depite what he was currently covered in.
“I can show you the way if you want Sir!”
“I know the way!” shouted Redman, dismissing the besotted Shepard’s offer of help, he turned on his heel and ran off in the direction of the nearest river.
Despite his bare feet, being fit and in good shape, it took Redman lass than nine minutes to reach the river and plunged right in, delighted be able to wash off the ghastly smelling hog wallow mud. He also noticed with considerable relief that the fire in his bottom had begun to fade. Some property, either in the muddy pond, or the running water in the river which originated high in the moors clearly had soothing, and therapeutic qualities.
However, although his pain was easing, his mood was not improvin. With his mind less focussed on the pain in his backside, he was able to contemplate the events of the last few hours, in particular the humiliating spectacle he had made of himself running naked and screaming through the house, in full view of the servants. He cringed imagining what they had seen, and worse. What they would tell others they had seen. The story would spread like wildfire through the four counties, so wherever he went in future, he could be sure there was someone there who had heard of it.
As he floated there in the cool running water, he thought of the events at the farm and his mortifying fall into the pig wallow, no matter what threats he might make to the farm workers, that story was sure to spread round every village and stately home in the county. He knew how much he would laugh upon hearing such a story about a contemporary, however, now his contemporaries would laugh at him, and, worse still, so would the young ladies.
It was all so unjust, and so unfair, and, as usual his reaction was furious anger. And, of course, he acted in anger. Once out of the river he picked up a large rock, and through it with the full force of his, rage into a nearby copse of trees.
Sadly for Redman his aim was particularly unfortunate, as the missile he had thrown hit a large wasps nest hanging from a branch, smashing it to bits and sending a cloud of angry wasps buzzing into the air, furious at the destruction of their home and in search of something to sting in retaliation.
Seeing what he had done and anxious to put as much distance as he could between himself and the furious swarm, Redman spun round and started running away across the fields. It was then that Farmer Wickett’s warning came back to haunt him. His still cherry red bottom clashed incongruously against the greens, yellow and browns of the sun dried grass , and immediately caught the attention of the now-homeless wasps.
The tiny but venom packed creatures immediately set off in pursuit of the juggling red target their buzzing raising to a screaming pitch of savage ferocity.
Redman was a fit young man, and a fast runner, but the length and thickness of the grass, and the increasing soreness of of his tender and pampered feet, slowed his pace. Within moments the first of the wasps landed on his fleeing bottom and sunk its fire filled stinger into his already well tenderized flesh. Redman screamed in pain, straining every muscle and sinew in an attempt to run faster, but to no avail, within seconds a second wasp had stung him, and then a third.
Meanwhile some farm labourers, working in a nearby paddock had spotted his plight, at first their instinct was to help, however, upon recognizing the wasps’ intended target as the widely detested arrogant blow-hard son of their employer, instead of hurrying to his aid, they began applauding and cheering on the wasps.
Redman kept running desperately seeking some means o escape from his small but vicious pursuers, as an increasing number of them caught up with him and stung him, at least 90% of the stings were on his buttocks, which were now two burning globes of pain.
Finally he reached open pasture, where the grass was less tall, and there was less undergrowth to impede his speed enabling him to pick up pace, putting more distance between himself and most of the wasps. However, it was then that Nemisis, the most capricious and vindictive of the Gods, stepped in to thwart his escape. At the edge of the field was a style, which he needed to climb over toi reach the next meadow.
He jumped nimbly onto the style with all the grace and agility of a fit young steer, however, then, due to his speed, a slight misjudgement made him fall forward between the slats of the style, where he became wedged tightly and trapped, his uplifted bottom an exposed and vulnerable target for the on-comming wasps.
The wasps descended upon him with the fury typical of their aggressive species. All murderously intent on stinging Redman’s much punished rump, and as, unlike bees, wasps can sting more than once, many of the pugnacious little insects came back for a second go.
Medical records confirm that a fit young adult can survive a significant number of wasp stings, However, trapped and unable to escape, our young hero’s very life was now in peril. He screamed out in agony and terror.
It was at that moment that a figure appeared running fast across the field towards the style. Aaron the shepherd had been returning to the high meadows when he heard Redman’s cries, by pure chance had brought with him a lambing blanket, as a number of the ewes were close to term.
He had wondered if he might see the naked young gentleman again, and has passed by the river in the hope of catching a glimpse of him. However, he had not expected to find him in such mortal danger.
He threw the blanket over Redman, shielding him from the swarm, and then, whilst suffering numerous stings himself, he applied the massive strength he had gained from his years of farm work, literally snapped the style slats with his bare hands, and pulled the naked youth free.
Aaron then wrapped Redman, who was starting to lose consciousness, in the blanket, lifted him up in his arms and carrying him, ran the mile and a half to his humble cottage on the edge of the woods. He hastily placed Redman on the bed, before slamming the door and shutters against any of the angry swarm which might have followed them.
The first real hero to appear in our story, had saved the life of the main villain, but what would the future hold for both of them?
To Be continued.