The Knight of Slaughtaverty

Uilliam Doyle

TW:- Strong gore and violence involving children; reader discretion is advised.

Slaughtaverty 1745

The small head rolling from the battered table in the centre of the cellar, landing on the floor with a fleshy thud, once belonged to Dáire, the boy six-year-old Uilliam Doyle often played with, in the fields behind the church.

His body shaking with violent fear, Uilliam watches the head roll over once, twice and stop with its milky eyes, no longer bright blue, staring sightlessly at him. The soft blond hair that always covered his friend's head like fluff is matted with blood, and Uilliam shivers in horror at the thin trickles of blood running from what used to be Dáire's nose, ears and lips.

The boy's mother always got so angry when he arrived home with his hair all dirty and his clothes a mess. Uilliam knows she would be very upset to see her son right now. Dáire's mother loved him, and Uilliam was always a little jealous of that love. Now his heart hurts thinking how much his friend's mother is going to cry if she knows that he is cut into pieces on a dirty table in a cellar that smells like shit.

He would scream, but his voice died days ago and is now only a hoarse whisper... besides, screaming might draw attention to him. He doesn't know how long he's been in the filthy room. There is no day or night, no windows, only cold stone floors with some dirty straw to sleep on and stone walls, slimy with dripping moss.

There are only three of them left now. Uilliam is not sure how many boys there were when he just got here because he can only count up to six, which is the number of years he's been alive, and he always gets confused around four.

He wants to cry for Dáire because they will never play together again and tell each other crazy stories about knights and dragons, but he is too scared to cry. His eyes are glued to the horror on the table near his cage, unwilling to believe that the pig farmer is chopping up his friend. Chop, chop, chop... not caring that pieces are falling to the ground.

The man never speaks. He comes in and pushes bowls of tasteless slop under the doors of their cages. When they've eaten, he unlocks one of the stone cages built into the walls, grabs the boy in it, cuts his arm and drains some blood into a bowl, which he gives to the scary girl chained in the corner. When he's done, he binds the boy's wound and forces him to drink a brew of strong herbs from a cup. Then he leaves.

Over and over.

Uilliam's arms have many cuts. They burn and ache and won't heal properly. After every cut, lifting his head or making sounds is harder for him to do. When he turns his head slightly, he can see Timmy Collins crouching in his cage, his arms wrapped around his shins, rocking back and forth and back and forth; his eyes don't seem to see anything anymore. In another cage, Sam O'Neill is sleeping... or dead. The man cut him the last time he was down here. He'll sleep for a while now, just like Uilliam has many times.

Timmy used to tease Uilliam's sister, Merry, about always being dirty and smelling like sheep, and because of that, Uilliam doesn't like Timmy much, but he still doesn't enjoy seeing him look like this. He might be older than Uilliam and stronger, but in here, they are all equally weak. He knows Timmy secretly likes Merry, even if she is much older.

Everybody likes Mairead Doyle.

She is kind and filled with love, and Uilliam knows she's looking for him. She would never just give up and let him go. Not just her; his brothers would be looking too. Merry always takes the swings of his father's belt in his place, shouting at Uilliam to run while he can. He doesn't want to run anymore, but unlike Séamus and Conor, he cannot fight back yet. Father never tries to beat them when Séamus is home; lately, he is a little afraid of Conor too.