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THE LAST OF THE PHARAOHS
By Pueros Chapter I – Tortures (Alexandria, Egypt, August 30 BC) The young Egyptian slave, who had been very handsome when he had arrived at this evil place, appreciated that he was going to be mercilessly killed, and he also knew that he would have to endure great sufferings before he could face the gods. However, it was his duty and pleasure to do so. Ay was not particularly proud of his appellation. He was named after the Vizier who had succeeded Tutankhamon as Pharaoh over 1300 years earlier, possibly after murdering his young predecessor. However, the youth’s parents had been ignorant peasants who knew little history and cared so little for the youngest son in a large family that they had sold the boy into slavery when he was only 8 years old. His disappearance meant that his father could temporarily be everyone’s friend in the local tavern for a few nights and there was also one less mouth to feed in the sad familial group. Ay, however, had then been very lucky. He had been purchased by an agent of the royal household, perhaps because of his looks and the brave defiant spirit he had displayed when standing naked on the auction block before a large crowd of prospective purchasers and lecherous voyeurs attending the weekly boy market. Work in the kitchens of the huge palace complex in Alexandria had not been too taxing as long as he did not idle or make any mistakes, for either of which he would have felt the supervisor’s whip. In fact, it was the latter implement of chastisement that brought him to his destiny, which the brave youth had absolutely no complaints about, including his imminent horrible death. Ay, then 10, was being whipped for dropping some dishes when someone intervened and not only saved him from further punishment but also took him away to a new, far more pleasant existence. He had loved that person ever since, and would die for him, as he was about to prove. The torturer looked at the naked youth, spreadeagled face-up before him on the rack in the palace torture chamber, which had recently been very well used, as had the nearby execution courtyard. The chamber, deep in the bowels of the palace, was always chilly, even in the height of the hot Egyptian summer. Nevertheless, Ay’s smooth 17 year-old body, stretched tautly by strong ropes, sparkled in the torchlight of the dank room, as nervous sweat oozed from seemingly every sinew. The Roman centurion, leading the soldiers who had captured Ay, had initially tried to extract information from the youth through bribes then threats. The officer’s truncheon had subsequently been unsuccessfully used, despite giving the now 17 year-old a number of bruises on his formerly very pleasant head and body. In frustration, the centurion had sent Ay to the torture chamber of the huge Alexandrian palace complex, previously occupied by Queen Cleopatra VII of Egypt but now accommodating the country’s new ruler. Octavian, nephew and heir of Julius Caesar, was also now master of the whole Roman Empire. Octavian’s great rival, Mark Anthony, had fallen on his sword before the victor had entered the great city, which rivalled Rome in size, splendour and, perversely, also squalor. Cleopatra had additionally just thwarted the plans of Julius Caesar’s heir to take her triumphantly to his capital in chains. The Queen had taken an asp, the sacred but deadly snake of Egypt, to her buxom breast. As well as the bruises from the officer’s truncheon, Ay’s formerly lovely form had been cut by many whip marks across his bare back, created by the fat middle-aged Greek, for whom the torture chamber represented a happy place of work. “Tell me boy,” the palace torturer demanded once more in Greek, Ay’s second language, “where is he?” “I don’t know,” the tearful Ay answered fruitlessly again before another scream emerged from his sublime lips to resound round the torture chamber. The youth’s body and limbs were now agonisingly stretched almost to breaking point, whilst parts of his lacerated back rested painfully on the sanguine wood of the rack table. Surely, the 17 year-old thought, another turn of the wheel that pulled the ropes would at least dislocate his ankles or shoulders, or possibly both, or even tear an arm or leg from him. Nevertheless, he could not respond in any other way to the torturer’s question. “Tell me, boy,” the torturer demanded once more, “where is he?” “I don’t know,” Ay answered fruitlessly yet again before yet another scream emerged from his sublime lips to resound round the torture chamber. This time, the astonishing hurt in the youth’s shoulders was so intense that he knew that at least part of his earlier conjecture had been right. This time, his desperate anguished mind also just continued to mumble “I don’t know….I don’t know….I don’t know!” Ay had closed his eyes as he endured the latest agony to be inflicted on his formerly very attractive, slim body, smooth apart from a little hirsute tuft crowning his pleasantly proportioned genitalia. These organs were uncircumcised because his parents could not be bothered to follow certain aspects of ancient Egyptian culture. Ay, however, re-opened his heavily lashed eyelids when he now felt the heat. Ay’s horrified dark brown eyes now saw the iron held in the sadistic torturer’s hand, its tip glowing red hot, having just been extricated from a nearby brazier. It seemed that the Greek, who had originally been in Queen Cleopatra’s service but had now changed sides, had given up on the efficacy of the rack to achieve his aims for now. “Tell me, boy,” the torturer demanded once more, “where is he, or do you want your nipples to be burnt to ashes?”
“I don’t know,” Ay began bravely to answer fruitlessly yet again. However, yet another scream from his sublime lips was avoided when the instant application of the iron to his right nipple caused the courageous youth to faint, amidst the smell of his own burning flesh. Ay’s descent into fortuitous unconsciousness was, of course, not to be permitted for too long. The wicked but proficient torturer thoroughly enjoyed his work, especially when his victim was as beautiful a youth as this 17 year-old. He quickly restored the boy to the world of the living, although both knew that perhaps a better term would be living dead as far as the tortured was concerned. After the pair was done, the young slave would be killed, with just the method of execution to be determined, although the favourite, under the new Roman regime, had to be crucifixion. More merciful strangulation and beheading were generally for those members of the nobility not given the opportunity to commit suicide. Romans usually crucified miscreant slaves. When copious cold water, applied to his handsome face, which did not yet require the attention of a razor, awoke Ay, he immediately painfully bit his tongue, causing a trickle of blood to emerge from his quivering lips. This instinctive oral reaction had been caused by the excruciation in his chest, which the youth’s crying brown eyes now perceived was displaying a blackened stub where his rosy right nipple had once been situated. The torturer was, however, no longer immediately at Ay’s side, for he had gone to the brazier to restore the original iron in the coals and collect another to make the youth’s left nipple resemble the right. The 17 year-old, still tautly and agonisingly stretched by the ropes of the rack, turned his lovely anguished head to see what the Greek was doing. Then, observing the man begin to return with the fresh brand, he begged desperately “Please believe me, I don’t know the answer to your question!” As the torturer arrived once again at the side of the beautiful boy, upon whom he was inflicting so much pain, he noticed that his young victim was staring at him, with clear entreaty in his sensuous brown eyes. However, the Greek not only enjoyed grievously hurting and damaging such gorgeous creatures, as was currently evidenced by the throbbing of his enormous cock, hidden under his grimy blood-splattered leather apron, which represented his only cover, but also had to be sure of his facts. If the man reported falsely, he could find himself a victim of his own devices. Accordingly, the torturer once more asked “Where is he?” The usual reply induced the agonising ruination of another young nipple amidst the fresh smell of burning flesh. More water was needed to arouse Ay from another faint before the youth’s lachrymose eyes and distressed mind could focus on the latest distressing tool held by the torturer. It was a large pair of serrated pliers, made from black metal and possessing long wooden handles. The 17 year-old noticed that the edges were blunted by dried blood, hair and what looked like dead skin. “Well, boy,” the torturer declared, “it seems that you have no regard for the wellbeing of your limbs or your nipples. However, does your disinterest in such bodily attributes extend to your manhood?” The appalled Ay then felt the ominous open jaws of the pliers engulf his smooth genitals, vulnerably exposed between his spreadeagled legs. “Tell me, boy,” the torturer demanded once more, “where is he?” “I don’t know,” screamed Ay, “please believe me!” The torturer now did believe Ay, as no mere Egyptian slave would endure so much to protect a Greek master. However, the man also liked castrating boys. He therefore began to close the jaws of his pliers. As well as the bloodcurdling screams that now reverberated round the torture chamber, a crunching noise was discernible, as the base of youthful genitalia was slowly crushed by the jaws of the pliers. The torturer then had to shake his tool a little before the apparently resistant penis, which had suddenly become incongruously hard during the action, finally succumbed to the serrated metal edges and came loose. As the torturer lifted his tool away from Ay’s shuddering body, to further accompanying yelling, he smiled when he saw that the closed jaws of the pliers now acted as a receptacle for the youth’s severed sexual organs. He then deposited the bloody genitalia in the middle of the 17 year-old’s shivering chest, before throwing his instrument onto the floor and going to collect another red-hot iron from the nearby brazier. Ay was somehow still conscious when the man returned with his fresh implement, whose glowing end was much bigger than the ones he had used to destroy the youth’s nipples. The 17 year-old also somehow managed to announce, amidst his now low groaning, that “I don’t know where he is.” The torturer smirked, as he looked into Ay’s damp eyes, before advising “I know!” He then caused the youth thankfully to faint again when he began to cauterise the 17 year-old’s awful genital wound, which was currently gushing much blood in a life-threatening way. The new nullified eunuch was not to be allowed to bleed to death, at least until he was being executed. The torturer now decided to let Ay sleep, whilst he masturbated over the youth’s unconscious nullified body. The 17 year-old was never subsequently to notice the dried cum on his young devastated form. When Ay woke up, he found himself in the back of an open cart. Despite the acute agony pervading his whole frame, his lachrymose eyes managed to gauge what was happening. Ay was no longer in the torture chamber or indeed in the palace complex. The ox-drawn cart he was in was been driven slowly along one of the wide avenues of the Alexandrian royal quarter, escorted by a small group of Roman infantry. The youth, well aware of the geography of the Egyptian capital, also appreciated where he was going, as this particular thoroughfare led to the square that was the traditional scene of execution for criminals and delinquent slaves. Ay was not bound. However, he had no thoughts of escape. Not only was he too badly injured to make a realistic attempt but also death now would mean that he would have accomplished his objective. The enemy had failed to extract from him the information buried deep within his mind. As a consequence, the youth’s anguish somehow began to be supplanted by exultation. This strange feeling continued, even when the soldiers dragged Ay’s conscious but limp and ravaged form from the back of the cart, having reached their destination, where a large crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle. Crucifixions had previously not been practised in Egypt and a substantial number of the metropolitan populace was present out of curiosity to see genuine scoundrels or patriots of lesser backgrounds executed by the new rulers. Evidence that the people had already watched several other capital punishments remained present on the other crosses in the square, to which dead or dying naked males were still attached. The still-nude Ay maintained his exultant attitude even after being laid on his own waiting cross, currently flat on the ground and onto which he was about to be nailed before being uplifted and left to die. An incongruous smile pervaded Ay’s face, displaying many drying tears, as the first mammoth nail was brutally hammered through that part of his now horizontally stretched left wrist that could bear his whole weight without tearing. The soldiers, who were working on attaching the tortured and nullified youth to the cross, noticed the 17 year-old’s unusual demeanour but guessed incorrectly that the immense distress the boy had already endured had simply taken his mind to a world where pain could no longer be felt. In fact, Ay could experience every bit of the continued agony, as his right wrist was now nailed to the other part of the cross’ horizontal beam, but his delight at not having been a traitor to his cause overwhelmed such excruciation. This amazing fortitude persisted when he compliantly allowed his ankles to be rested one on top of the other to enable an enormous spike to be driven through them and fix them immovably to the bottom part of the vertical timber, splintering much bone in the process. Ay’s lithe legs were now so damaged that he would never be able to walk properly again, even if he was somehow now to be saved. However, the youth no longer wanted such salvation. He realised that his steadfastness would guarantee him a welcome in the realms of the gods, although there was really only one deity with whom he would like to spend eternity. The god, whom he both served and loved, and in whose cause he was suffering horribly, was, however, still in his worldly form, living amongst mankind, thanks to the youth’s immeasurably brave sacrifice. Ay would therefore have to wait for the deity to arrive in the heavens. Nevertheless, the 17 year-old did not mind because, surely, for his bravery and loyalty, he would then be allowed to serve his master once more, this time for all eternity. Ay’s show of surreal contentment continued when the cross on which he was nailed and would die slowly was lifted up and slid into the precisely dug small rectangular trench that would hold the sturdy wooden crucifix resolutely in place. The youth did not hear the horrified squeals from many in the surrounding crowd when they now appreciated that the latest crucifixion victim had already been appallingly beaten, tortured and mutilated. He also did not appreciate that subsequent sounds, muted for fear of annoying the attendant Romans, were of disgust and sympathy for someone who was clearly not a criminal but surely a lowly martyr in the cause of the Queen. In fact, the public perception about Ay’s cause was wrong, as the youth had actually disliked Cleopatra, and not just because of the devastation her misjudgements had wrought on Egypt. The 17 year-old served and worshipped a different deity. Agony pervaded Ay’s body, whilst he very slowly suffocated to death on the cross. Fluid was gradually invading his lungs because of his excruciating posture so that, in effect, he was drowning. Nevertheless, the youth remained somehow blissfully immune to his torment, as his mind thought of his god, who represented his cause and his secret. Meanwhile, that god, cause and secret was located not far away, oblivious to the torment being perpetrated on his brave, loyal servant. The beautiful fair-haired blue-eyed boy was alone in an awful tenement, which was the kind of place he never knew existed, let alone had ever frequented previously. However, the 16 year-old was on a mission, planned and ordered by his mother, much to his own personal disgust. Nevertheless, the boy was an obedient son who had reluctantly agreed to follow the commands of his mother, especially as he was currently mourning her recent death. The 16 year-old appreciated that the success of his mission would depend on him courageously enduring experiences that he had never thought one such as him would need to suffer, such as the dreadful accommodation in which he was currently housed. The boy’s only companion, his servant Ay, had left him the previous evening to meet someone on Alexandria’s vast harbourside, which was the largest in the ancient world. Ay had suggested to his younger master that, if he did not return within a day, he should not remain in the tenement apartment. The boy should go instead to the sacred park that housed the tombs of the deceased royalty of the most recent Egyptian dynasty, which happened to be of Macedonian extraction. The 16 year-old was to proceed, dressed carefully in a certain manner, to the mausoleum of Queen Cleopatra’s father, where an older friend would also arrive at dusk every evening. The man concerned represented the boy’s reserve support, in case anything untoward should happen to Ay. With still no sign of the latter, the worried 16 year-old therefore obeyed his servant’s instructions and left the tenement just before dusk. As the boy carefully made his way along the rapidly deserting streets, in which no one wanted to be present whilst Roman soldiers watched over the nightly curfew, he wore the suggested garb. This included a flowing cape and broad-rimmed hat, which effectively disguised the wearer’s true appearance. The 16 year-old was simply too well known in the great metropolis to walk about without some attempt at concealment. The boy eventually entered a large square, where several crosses had been positioned. The 16 year-old had heard of crucifixion but had never seen the cruelty practised. Before proceeding on his way towards his secret rendezvous, he therefore decided to try to see in the fading light who were the latest victims of Roman barbarity, intending also to say some prayers for the departed or departing souls. When the boy approached one poor victim, however, prayers were initially far from his mind. The 16 year-old instead vomited the contents of his stomach onto the ground. The boy had just been in time to observe his brave beautiful Ay breathe his last. As the suddenly distraught and tearful 16 year-old later ran from the appalling scene, mind in great torture, he swore an oath. Ptolemy Caesar, son of the divinities, Cleopatra and Julius Caesar, and now Pharaoh of Egypt and god in his own right, swore to fulfil his mission, as well as to secure vengeance for what had been perpetrated on his beloved Ay. Ptolemy Caesar, also called Caesarion, meaning in Greek ‘Little Caesar’, additionally remembered his duty and began to pray to his brethren, the gods, for the welfare of the soul of Ay. (To be continued in chapter II – ‘Betrayals’) ********************************************************************
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