Put-out, but aware of his policing duties to the local citizenry, the soldier dismounted with poor grace and went straightaway to the door and knocked. Recieved no reply, he shouted. Then, with a shrug, he tried the door. It was unlocked.
Inside he found the young woman, laying spread-eagled on her bed, naked, her eyes fixed on nothing. She had been raped, then tortured, impaled with a sharpened broom handle, which had been forced between her legs.
The simpleton was sitting in a chair, staring at the young woman, transfixed with uncomprehending horror. He told the soldier that he had seen men in the home, that they had taken the young woman into the room. For a long time, he said, he heard muffled sound, like someone in pain. Then, nothing but silence. He went in, he said, but the men were gone.
The soldier knew that the simpleton was telling the truth. He had witnessed the result of many barbaric atrocities over the years, and knew that more than one person was responsible for the woman’s death. As well, it was clearly beyond the simpleton to concieve either of lying, or of having sexual relations with the woman.
What followed, however, was as unspeakably ugly as the grisly manner of the young woman’s death. The local citizenry, upon hearing what had happened, began to gather. A few shocked and outraged people became a crowd. Somehow the crowd became an ugly mob, spurred on by a few people no one had ever seen before, and who disappeared after the sorry affair was over. At some point, the mob became drunk on revenge, and their rage spilled over like wine gushing forth from a shattered hogshead.