They were going to rape her. Good. Susannah gave a silent prayer of thanks, for in order to rape her they had to untie her legs. And now the bearded man knelt at her feet and began to saw at the rope around her ankles, as the man behind her tightened his grip on her arms. The third man joined them, unbuckling his belt and leering in anticipation. The fourth was farther in the shadows to her right. They were all in place. They were all perfectly in place, as if God had aligned them, and she whispered her thanks, and she looked left, across the fire, to signal David with her eyes that she was going to be the victor, not the victim. But – guessing what the men intended – he had turned his head away and, sickened, closed his eyes. He couldn’t take this. He couldn’t bear hearing anyone in pain – but he was going to. He was going to hear her screaming in agony. In just a moment it would come, screams, screams, excruciating screams, over and over and over, till her voice was gone, till her mind was gone. He tried to brace himself, but he knew it was no use, and the first one hadn’t even started on her yet. Any second – any second now.
But it was not a scream.
Susannah looked down at the man on one knee before her as he sawed at the rope around her ankles, his head bent over his task. Silently she counted down the seconds, and the instant the last rope frayed and broke she kicked him under the chin as hard as she could, snapping his head back so far the neck cracked and he dropped like a stone. Simultaneously she banged her head backwards, straight into the throat of the man who held her, and his grip loosened as he gasped in pain.
