They called it punishment. A necessary example. But what Julius endured in the bowels of Gambe's prison was not justice, it was cruelty, calculated and relentless. The first time it happened, it came without warning.
It was barely a week after Julius had begun to settle into the rhythm of prison life if one could ever call such a miserable existence a rhythm. He had grown familiar with the faces of the other inmates, their stories, the smells, and the flicker of hope that came with every visit from Adaora and Jordan. That hope was the only light in his endless darkness.
At dawn, Sergeant Udo arrived at their cell with two guards, both holding iron rods. He barked an order, and before anyone could react, Julius was seized and dragged outside like a bag of grain. He shouted, struggled, but their grip was brutal. The inmates protested, Tanko even stood to intervene, but a blow from a baton silenced him.
They dragged Julius through the stone corridors to a secluded courtyard behind the prison, a place known by the inmates only through whispers. They called it The Pit. Julius was tied to a post in the center of the yard, his arms stretched, his feet barely touching the ground. And then, the whip came down, not Once, but twice Again And again.
At first, Julius gritted his teeth. He clenched every muscle to contain the scream. But as the lash tore through his shirt and ripped into his flesh, the pain became unbearable. He screamed, not from weakness, but from the betrayal of a system that had condemned an innocent man and was now breaking him further. When the guards stopped the beatings, his back turned into a map of blood and bruises. He collapsed to the ground, trembling, shivering, barely breathing. And then came the words that burned worse than the whip
"His Majesty says this is only the beginning."
Sergeant Udo leaned down, his voice a whisper soaked in venom. "You will suffer, thief. Your pain will remind every man in Gambe what happens to those who steal from the crown."
And just like that, Julius understood this was not just punishment. This was an example. A symbol. The king wanted his broken body to become a warning to others. The real thief still walked free in the palace, and Julius would pay for his silence.
The torture continued and now became a routine Once a week, sometimes twice, Julius was taken from his cell and subjected to hours of brutal beatings, floggings, even starvation. They burned his skin with hot iron rods. They made him kneel on shards of glass. They dumped buckets of cold water on his open wounds and laughed as he cried out.
The other inmates watched helplessly. Some wept. Some prayed. But none could stop it.
"Why him?" Timi once asked Tanko, tears in his eyes after seeing Julius returned half-conscious to the cell. "Because he's the king's lie," Tanko replied. "And lies must bleed to look real."
Each time Julius returned from the torture yard, he looked worse. His body was a canvas of suffering wounds that refused to heal, ribs that jutted through torn skin, lips cracked and dry. He could barely walk. Tanko and Ezekiel took turns cleaning his wounds with water and herbs smuggled in by sympathetic guards. Sometimes the pain was so bad he couldn't speak. Other times, he wept quietly in the corner, trying to hide his tears from others, but no matter how broken he seemed, he never stopped waiting for Adaora and every week, without fail, she continued visiting.
Sometimes her eyes were red from crying. Other times, her voice shook as she spoke. But she never missed a visit. Jordan grew before Julius's eyes week by week, from a small baby with sleepy eyes to a toddler who tried to say "Papa" through the rusted bars.
Adaora brought food, soft yam porridge, fruits, sometimes just bread and water. But more than the food, she brought warmth. She brought hope.
One day, Julius leaned against the bars, his shirt soaked with blood under his tattered robe. Adaora saw the bruises. She gasped. "Julius... again?" she whispered, barely able to contain her tears.
He didn't answer. He simply nodded. "They won't stop, will they?" "No," he said, voice low. "Not until I die."Adaora sobbed, holding Jordan tightly against her chest. "Then I will come every day if I must. You won't face this alone." "I live because of you," Julius said, tears slipping from his swollen eyes. "And because of him."
He looked at Jordan, whose tiny hand gripped the bars, smiling innocently. "How do I explain this to him?" Adaora asked. "How do I tell him what they're doing to you?" "You don't need to," Julius replied. "Tell him his father was a good man. Tell him the truth, when he's old enough. But not now. Let him laugh. Let him live free."
But Adaora wasn't the only one who came.
Occasionally, Julius's old friends came to visit Chuka, his childhood companion; Ifeanyi, the trader who had once lent him farming tools; even his cousins from the next village. They brought what they could. Money,Soap,Food, and words of encouragement.
They all carried one common expression which was guilt "I should've done something," Chuka said once. "I knew you couldn't have stolen anything. We all knew." "Then why didn't anyone speak?" Julius asked, not out of anger, but in pain.
"Fear," Ifeanyi replied. "King Amos,he controls everything. Anyone who speaks against him disappears." Julius closed his eyes. "Then perhaps I am already a ghost."
His friends left and years passed and The torture continued, like clockwork. The guards became more creative, more cruel. Julius lost count of the scars. He lost two teeth. One of his ears was partially torn. His back was a mass of raised, uneven flesh. But still he lived.He read more. Tanko taught him philosophy, poetry, even the old codes of Gambe's justice system. The irony was bitter. He spoke less, but when he did, everyone listened. His words had weight now. Pain had carved wisdom into his soul.
"Why don't you give up?" Timi once asked him.
Julius looked up, eyes like burning coals. "Because then they will win,and I still have something to live for." He kept a tiny drawing Adaora had made of Jordan stick figures holding hands under a sun. It was faded, smudged, almost unreadable. But he kept it under his mat like treasure. "Every time they whip me," he told Tanko, "I hold that picture in my mind. I imagine Jordan smiling. That's how I survive."
As time went on Sergeant Udo began whispering rumors of finishing Julius for good. He saw it in the way the guards looked at him. The way his food sometimes smells strange. The sudden sickness that kept him bedridden for three days.
One day, Udo came to the cell door and said, "The king is tired of your face. Soon, he'll give the final order." Julius looked him straight in the eye. "Then may the gods judge us both."
That week, Adaora came with fresh bruises on her arm. "What happened?" Julius asked.
"They followed me. A man said I should stop coming here. That I should forget you."
Julius felt something inside him snap. He gripped the bars so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"If they ever hurt you or Jordan" "They won't," Adaora said firmly. "I'll never stop fighting for you. For the truth." They leaned forehead to forehead, the cold iron between them. Jordan clapped his hands, unaware of the storm surrounding his family.
Julius whispered, "If I die in here, promise me he'll know I was innocent." "You won't die," Adaora whispered back, her voice cracking. "Not like this. Not without justice." But justice, it seemed, was nowhere near. That night, Julius was taken again.
They tied him down. This time, they broke his leg. They poured salt into his wounds. They made him scream louder than ever before. But something changed, he didn't beg, he didn't cry.
He stared at the moon through the iron bars and whispered his son's name. "Jordan"
The next morning, when he was dragged back to the cell, barely conscious, the inmates gathered around him like mourning priests,Tanko held his hand. "Julius, they cannot break your soul."
But Julius didn't answer. He stared into the distance, his lips moving silently, it looked as if his end was drawing near. The suffering was just too much for an innocent man. The thought of leaving his wife and little Jordan in this wicked world gripped him seriously.
That night, in his dreams, he stood on a road surrounded by dogs. A wild dog howled in the distance. And somewhere beyond the mist, a voice called out, A whisper, a promise, "Justice will rise." keep calm and see how justice will take over Gambe, the calamity of justice is coming heavily on the people.