The Trinity of Defeat

Three waves of attackers pushed the General and his troops to the edge of the Nedorack Escarpment and rather than be taken prisoner, some of his men thought it would be better to leap to their deaths. When the General realized what was happening he gave up all hope of a rout and was captured soon after. His treatment at the hands of his life-long enemies was fair if not luxurious. He was given his own tent and a servant but surrounded twenty four hours of every day by the leathery faces of Rossiter's guerrillas and forced to endure the humiliation of carrying his own belongings on the four day hike to the capital, now under Rossiter's control.
On his arrival in the city, his city, he was unceremoniously dumped into a cell at the base of the Mercy Tower and forgotten. During the first week he waited for the arrival of Rossiter, sure he would be mocked and humiliated, but the usurper never came. The General was awake at dawn every morning, so as to have time to carefully dress and clean his appearance, as well as he was able, to receive his nemesis, carefully combing his moustaches and arranging the medals on his chest to make the best of his situation, knowing that his very life might depend on how he presented to his captors. It was customary, in those days, so long gone, to ransom prisoners to fund the movement, and so the General was confused when, after three months had gone by, he was still locked in his cell.
The General began a morning routine of strenuous exercise when the waistcoat of his uniform began to get a little snug. This was due to the regular appearance of heaping mounds of food which, at first, had been welcomed by the nearly starved General, but now was the cause, along with the narrow confines of his cell, of his steadily deteriorating physical condition. At sixty-three the General had been amongst the fittest of his men, but now, as his stomach grew to accept the sumptuous meals that arrived in the morning, mid-afternoon and evening he began to take on a more rotund profile.
His captors began to leave the un-eaten portions of food at the door and would not replace them unless he had finished every thing on the plate. On the first occasion, as the half eaten food was left for three days without being replaced, the General realized too late that he would have to eat the rotted meat, the stale and infested bread and drink in order to receive fresh sustenance and considered for the first time that his enemy's plan for him was more diabolical than he had imagined.
He was sick for three days, and when the fever had left him dry, and his stomach and bowels had been purged of the organisms of disease, a heaping plate of beef appeared, with freshly steamed potatoes and a half litre of creamed corn which he ate to the last morsel. Six hours later another meal was served and the General declared a new war, rising ever earlier to combat his enemy, his ever expanding stomach.
Three long years passed for the General, and despite the steady consumption of what could easily have fed a small family on a daily basis, he was able to maintain the rough approximation of a fit man, even at sixty-six years of age. His exercise routine was now so rigorous that it was not uncommon for him to do 3,000 sit ups in one day, to jog in place for hours at a time or to spend an entire evening doing push-ups instead of sleeping. He would not let his captors find him bloated and obese, and so gave over all of his time to maintaining his physical condition.
Time was not on the mighty General's side, however, and despite his efforts he soon began to lose the war all over again. At first, it was simply the dampness of the cell that made his knees ache and unable to bend them and the cold of the mornings which made the muscles in his body contract and then shriek loudly in his head as he rose to stretch them out but soon it was the fatigue that came over him after a meal and the sedative effect of the high levels of proteins he consumed. Bite by bite the General began to lose ground and in the end he was longer able to stave off the attack on his constitution and it occurred to him that he was losing the battle.
On the morning they came for him he was reclining on his bed, breathless from the three dozen eggs he had just consumed, swollen with the three litres of goat's milk he had washed them down with, and formulating a plan of attack to relieve him of the three pounds of bacon lying in wait somewhere below.
The door to his cell opened and two large-chested soldiers rushed at him, while a third held a bayonet to his chest, and they forced his rotund form into a uniform that no longer fit and then jostled him out of the cell and into the courtyard at the base of the Mercy Tower. The courtyard was full of the people he had ruled so mightily for years and he wondered what this could mean. Had his forces taken back the city? Were they come to liberate their captive General and restore him to his rightful place as their leader? Why do they hiss at me? What is it they are saying? "Death to the tyrant"?
The bewildered General stood in the middle of courtyard turning to look into the faces of his beleaguered people. They were cursing at him and some began to pelt him with clods of dirt and to spit at him. He turned from them, towards the great balcony of the palace, which flanked the courtyard on its northern edge and saw that his questions would remain unanswered for now. Seated on the tall throne, surrounded by officials, some of whom the General recognized as his own administration, was Rossiter, his enemy.
Rossiter stood and the crowd quickly quieted down. The General looked around again and saw that this upstart, this usurper had the loyalty of his people and he wondered how it was that, in the time he was imprisoned, as long as it had been, that they had turned from him so completely.
A voice boomed out across the square and the General turned again to the balcony to see Rossiter gesture across the courtyard at him.
"My people, look at your cowardly General. While you have suffered mightily because of his unwillingness to lay down his claims to this throne, he has been hiding deep in the jungle, hoarding your crops, stolen by his imperialist dogs, and has gorged himself on the fruits of your labours. A surprise attack on his hiding place this morning found your General in a stupor from the massive amounts of your food that he consumes on a daily basis. Look at his swollen belly, at the flesh that hangs from his arms, at the layers of fat that wrap him in comfort while you wither under his constant raids and attacks on your properties. Is this what you call out for? Is this the rule you desire? Tonight there will be a feast like none of you have seen in years, made from the plundered stocks we have found hidden in his jungle fortress. All of you shall dine tonight, like your General has dined, for free and until you are full. But don't anyone think that this offering has come to you without a price. For three years you have starved while he has eaten his fill. For three years you have watched your families fade before your eyes while he has outgrown his frame. For three years you have endured his tortuous appetite while you ate dirt and drank sand. Tonight, we take back what we have lost and as for this General, I leave his punishment up to you."
Rossiter turned and left the balcony, and at a prearranged signal, the guards who had stood between the General and his people filed out of the square, and for a moment the General stood staring at the receding backs of his enemies until he realized that he had been utterly beaten and out maneuvered by Rossiter and his rebels. Bewildered and confused, he looked to his people and saw only hatred and vengeance in their faces, and as they closed on him he knew, for the third time in his life, the humiliation of defeat.