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Alexander sits astride a black stallion and looks magnificent in his battle armour.
his golden breast plate and shin protectors gleam in the early morning sun.
His black stallion ‘Apollo’ shifts slightly and snorts stamping its feet.
The horse is of finest Arabian blood and wants to gaallop ifree on the beach trying to catch the wind.
The young conqueror pats the horses braided mane and speaks gently.
Steady boy
His blond hair falls in golden locks to the shoulders.
In the city square,the assembled crowd of captives eye off the assembly on the platform that has been built.
The former defendents ot the city of Tyre are all stripped of their battle armour
and a dozen or so men; city leaders, kneel on the platform.
Heads and hands poke through the wooden furca in which they are restrained.
The furca allows the captive to be marched to prison, slave market ,or execution site.
Behind them; in neat rows, crosses lie ready.
The captive citizens are been gathered by Alexanders victorious army to to witness the boy kings judgement on them.
Apollos hooves clatter up the purpose made ramp onto the wooden platform.
Some rebels still find it hard to believe that their adversary could be anything other than an arrogant upstart.
Alexander removes his battle helmet with its distinctive long red plume of feathers.
One of the rebels whispers to another.
Shit he’s no older than my bloody boy. Judging by the bum fluff on his chin, he’s not even old enough to shave properly.
I bet he pisses the bed at night. Another one murmurs.
Shut up Adad just take a look around you at the carnage of our defeat, he may look liked a boy but the devil has many a disguise.
Even an Asp is born with full venom load...
Alexander, steps his horse forward and points at those on their knees.
You !
The former leaders of Tyre showed no mercy to my men who attempted to negotiate peaceful terms of surrendour.
His powerful voice carries around the city square and the pungent smell of burnt wood from charred bulidings hangs heavy in the air.
You slit their throats and threw them from the city ramparts. Laughing about it as you did so
You tortured and raped my men, believing that you were safe from any retribution and you encouraged your city youth to engage in similar acts of barbarity.
His voice carries back to the window slit of the cities goal, were others listened intently.
The price for the terrible acts perpetrated on my soldiers is that you are not to be accorded the mercy of a swift death...
He pauses for effect and allows the town criers ( who have been granted clemency) to interpret the message and pass it along the lines of captive towns folk.
All males old enough to bare arms will be crucified!
The only sound comes from the victory pennants that flutter from the end of the Macedonian lances who line the platform and street out of the city.
A woman screams and sobs as the interpretation of the sentence sinks in.
Apollo snorts and stomps his front foot. He senses that the strange blood lust that surrounds the young king is once again about to be let free.
The men and boys of Tyre will be displayed in full public view in a spectacle of misery and shame that you have brought upon yourselves.
Some of the women and girls cry in each others arms.
Alexander turns his attention to them.
Women of Tyre.
My sentence on you ,is that before you are sold into slavery, you will witness the slow demise of your husbands and sons.
May you burn this day into your memory and tell others of the foolish consequence of the city elders actions.
Be it known, The price they pay is not for defying me.
It is for their display of unbound cruelty without honour, of which I will now repay in kind!...
A huge chorus of cheers go up as Alexander’s men yell, clap and beat their shields.
Behind him, on the platform, Goran the chief executioner strips down to a black leather posing pouch.
Some of the city girls sneak a peek at his abdominal muscles that ripple and drip with sweat.
He dons a simple leather apron that has a strap at the neck and his large thong wedged arse cheeks twitch, as he turns to a table and makes ready the tools of his trade.
Alexander raises his arms for silence and is instantly obeyed.
Four soldiers are assigned to each man to be executed and there are plenty of others ready to assist.
The first rebel is swiftly unlocked from the restraints, yanked to his feet and stripped totally naked.
Behind him, the first cross is laid on a trestle at a forty five degree angle.
His large brown cock dangles in between well muscled legs.
His balls swing free and start to dance and draw up in their sack and he is made to stand in front of the crowd.
He expects to receive the small winding cloth that is the usual concession to modesty for the crucifixion procession of the condemned.
But the Macedonians do things differently and stark bollock naked he is walked swiftly backwards and slammed down onto the cross.
The rebel tries to struggle and is slapped across the mouth for his trouble.
Two soldiers kneel on the angled cross bar and immobilize his arms by leaning in on them with a raised knee.
He starts to cry and beg for mercy.
Please I had no choice. I was only following orders
His cries are ignored..
Other soldiers wind a rope slip noose around his wrists near the thumb.
His rib cage heaves up and down and he breathes faster.
The result of terror rising.
Another couple of soldiers attend his legs by kicking them out wide with their hob nailed boots.
Ahhh You bastards . He yells.
Once satisfied that he is displayed in the most obscene of manner and will spread no wider, they stand on the toes of each of his feet, which are firmly on the wooden platform.
He screams again , making no attempt to take his punishment and suffer with a warriors stoicism
Shut up and try to die like a man, you haven’t even tasted the first nail yet..
The stern advice given by one of the assistant executioners.
Why don’t you try it yourself traitor ? The rebel calls to his former comrade in arms.
As one of Tyre's indentured slave executioners he’s been granted clemency. On condition he identifies the main culprits involved in the rape and murder of Alexander’s men and assists in their dispatch.
The rebel is rewarded for his insolence by a slap across the face.
The assistant grabs him by the hair and yanks his head forward to fit a leather ball mouth gag.
The whip is in the other hand now, Arse hole !
The rebel keeps his jaw clamped shut. But to no avail.
The assistant simply whips him with the leather bridle full on into his exposed groin .
The buckle catches under the malefactors ball bag and he opens his mouth and whelps like a dog on heat. His cries become substantially muffled as the buckle is pulled tight and the recalcitrant tongue immobilized.
You’re lucky I don’t cut out your tongue.
Alexander’s men are pleased. Their newly assimilated crucifixioner shows merit.
The crucifee dribbles spit and tastes harness leather.
He flops back down on the cross. Shame and embarrassment flood over him.
The result of being so willfully exposed in public.
He lifts his head again in a squirming act of defiance and pushes his chin down toward his chest to see the terrible site of Goran the chief executioner coming over...
Goran is totally bald except for a fierce ridge of dyed red hair that sticks up in a Mohawk style and is tied into braided shoulder length tail at back.
In one hand he carries a well balanced iron mallet.
In the other a large carpentry box which clinks to the sound of metal spikes knocking together.
He is Alexander’s favorite and chief executioner.
A man of many trades.
Blacksmith, carpenter and butcher.
But most of all he is a true sadist and master of crucifixion.
He enjoys inflicting pain on those that would oppose Alexander, whom he idolizes.
After being assimilated into the all conquering Macedonian army he has had a lot of practice at refining the art of crucifixion with great relish.
Goran knows many different methods of performing the act and is legendary along Alexander’s men for his complete and utter lack of mercy.
The rebel hears the thump of the wooden box on the deck.
His eyes grow wide and his face is white with shock as he watches Goran selecting the spikes.
He knows that slow death approaches as a large dark shadow falls over him.
His naked body sprouts goose bumps and curiously his arse cheeks start to twitch...
Goran carries his favorite mallet and a long black tapered spike in one hand.
He removes the other one that dangles from between thin cruel lips.
And speaks in a casual manner to the man about to be crucified.
Try hold still Ya?.
I get nails in quickly..
I not want break your fingers without good reason. Ya ?
Those watching see and hear the rebels head thud against the wood of the cross as he feints in sheer terror.
They wonder what terrible power this man wields, that his very words can make another feint.
Goran beckons the assistant.
Rouse him
A half bucket of water is thrown over the malefactor who sputters and opens his eyes to see Groan’s tattooed bicep bulge.
Hammer raise high as he takes aim.
Time slows.
The rebel stares at the cobalt blue sky and feels the coolness of the sea breeze. His penis wags and stiffens.
He lays passive in surrender.
All there is left to do is call on the gods
The multitude are silent except for the muffled cries of the trembling man on the cross who chokes back tears as he tries to pray..
The moment is pregnant with expectation as the mallet swings in a high arc.
May the gods grant me mer ..
The sentence is left unfinished.
A bright sound of metal striking metal , as of a hoese being shod is heard.
Followed by a distinct dull thud.
The crucifee erupts into a scream of pure, unablitterated agony.
The explosion of pain that enters him as his wrist bones part, is like none other on earth.
The leather ball gag prevents him shouting insult but piercing screams come directly from his voice box and can be heard throughout the city.
A large flock of seagulls take flight from the stone ramparts.
Goran praises the soldiers who pin the screaming man at the feet and hold the noose at wrists tight..
Ya. Is Good!
Hold him tight.
Two more swift blows spikes the wrist to the wood.
There is a brief pause to check that he has spiked in between the bones of the wrist and split the nerve that runs through that structure, to the hand.
The rebels thumb has disappeared inside his hand and he screams with every contraction of the fingers that open and close in bloody claws.
The crucifee drools wide eye and looks in disbelief at the large black diamond of iron that rivets wrist to wood
Even battle hardened soldiers wince as Goran takes his time to line up on the other wrist..
The screams continue as the terrible work contnues.
The delicate sound of metal striking metal is followed by the sight of a rich spurt of blood.
The dull thud of mallet on spike as it drives through flesh changes tone as wood is split.
Goran signals to the assistants and they untie the noose around the crucifee wrists.
He steps back to view his handiwork
and is pleased.
He feels the warm stir of his cock start to grow rigid and his heart beats faster at the site of the rebel writhing and choking on bile and spit.
So great is the pain that he would bite through his tongue if not for the gag.
Turning his head wildly from side to side, he screams and gasps for breath as
fire consumes him.
The pain ron split nerves shoot bolts of pure pain up into his shoulders and
the veins in his neck blacken and stand out.
His face grows purple with engorged blood...
The rebel does not feel the slip of the noose freeing his ankles as his legs are raised on either side of the upright.
Writhing in the most obscene and lewdest of manner, he is lost in an avalanche of pain.
Hips thrust up and down as though enjoying the delights of ramming another man, or woman and curiously, he sports a large erection.
The very papps of arse are open and his anal slit spasms.
His brown eye winks open and shut in screaming orgasm.
Born of pain.
A soldier smirks.
A young conscript looks on ashen faced.
Yea gods. He whispers.
It’s the effect of the blood and shock
Another replies..
If he older man he may get lucky and die from malfunction of the heart.
The young conscript is shocked but fascinated at watching his first crucifixion.
No I don’t think this one will be lucky.
He’s too strong..
Goran continues the work. He is instructs a couple of men less skilled who are training in the mystery.
Others chosen to be executioners are in attendance on the platform to watch, and learn.
No not like this.
Goran chides the men assigned to the rebels ankles, like scolded school children.
Feet too low.
Spread him high..
He steps in and pushes the rebels feet higher on either side of the cross then motions for the noose to be wound tight.
Like this good ya ?
The mans knees part and his legs splay wide open.
Goran reaches for the mallet, but the turncoat executioner bows low and whispers quietly in his ear.
Goran nods as the man goes to the table and returns with a stout looking rod, similar in width to a cucumber and as long an adult forarm.
His large meaty hands grope the mans testicles to one side and he places the end of the rod against the still winking anus.
When the rebel reaches the highest point of his agonised hip thrusts Goran rams him with the rod.
The rebel lets go a peculiar grunt and Goran steps out of the way of the jet if piss that spatter high then lands running down in between his legs,
The rod is in half way, Goran finishes the penetration with a couple of taps from the mallet.
He takes a long leather thong threads it through a hole in the protruding end and binds it a couple of times around the shaft. Then he yanks it tight following the conturs of the arse crack and ties a couple of times around the mans thrusting hips.
See like this. He not be able to spit it out.: He grins at his willing trainees.
He finalises the procedure by trapping the mans penis in a n upright position with an expert turn of the fine leather.
He thumps in the ankle spike with practiced efficiency, then follows up with a second one higher up in the side of the shin.
Totally oblivious to the mans thin screams which now border on delirium, he finishes the second ankle with the standard four whacks for the feet.
The young conscript feels queasy and fights back the urge to vomit.
He is reminded of his time as a slave apprentice cook, when he first learned to skewer pork.
The sound is in strange similarity to the rebels ankle spikes being smashed through into the wood.
The screams trail off slightly as the rebel swoons again. The mouth gag has deprived the crucifee of vital oxygen and it’s a cheap and efficient way of subjugating the condemned, without the use of expensive wine or drugs.
In addition it has the added benefit of causing auto erection of the phallus.
But even in a feint the body feels and moves in constant agony...
Goran steps in close for the last time. He has a large iron spike in hand. He casually fumbles the rebels ball bag aside and wedges it directly under the still arse slit.
Good he wink at me. Is good.
The hammer strikes again and the crotch spike gives the rebel the appearance of a second erect appendage.
Satisfied that the work is good and the rebel will sit on the iron cock, Goran raises both arms in a signal to the waiting helpers.
They lift with its living, screaming, writhing burden.
Two at the cross bar and two at the lower end which is sharpened into a thick stake.
Alexander takes Apollo down the ramp and leads the procession past the crying wailing women and girls to plant the first cross outside the city gates.
Up on the platform the next one is naked and receiving the same efficient treatment.
It’s not long before a line of living crucifees are being carried through the streets of Tyre toward the city gates.
The rebels scream and plead for mercy on the short journey through the streets. But the constant screaming rakes the voice box like broken glass and eventually they can only cough and groan and spit blood.
The crying of the women and girls are drowned out by the sound of the Macedonians thumping swords on shields, stirred up by bloodlust born of vengeance fulfilled.
Hail Alexander. King of the world .
The women try to rise and plead for mercy for their husbands but are forced back to their knees.
Up on the platform a wooden bucket of sand is sprinkled over the pools of piss and blood that drip to the ground.
In a short while the first cross is planted just outside the city gates.
n the soft sand of the beach and like his rebel in arms rocks his cross with constant movement of his agonized body.
But not before he has endured the shame and indignity of being displayed in such an obscene manner, to the captive citizens of Tyre, carried through the streets, nailed and screaming like a woman on his cross.
Down in one of the cities goal cells a group of selected youths wait their fate.
One of them sits on the shoulders of his friend to see the platform through a small barred slit.
The others hear the cheering of the invaders and have fallen silent.
Well what can you see? What’s happening?
They are the sons of the rebel leaders. Twenty of so boys and youths, aged from twelve to fourteen summers.
Brave as any of the grown men, they were captured fighting side by side in defense of the city.
They sit and look toward the boy who looks out of the window.
All is lost my friends.
For a moment his trembling voice is lost.
But he finds it again and almost whispers the words.
The devil king Alexander crucifies our fathers as I speak.’
Tears flow down his olive skinned face.
His beautiful eyes are of the deepest blue green colour.
He falls from his friends shoulders and is caught by the others, who huddle together and hold each other in a tight embrace.
A key turns in the lock and they hear the rattle of chains.
Ok you lot. Its time for you to join the spectacle.
The olive skinned boy named Baldo whispers to his younger brother
No matter what happens. This isn’t good bye. We will meet again when the curtain lifts and the sun shines down on fields of green and gold my brother.
The Macedonians separate the boys and order them to strip.
The youngest boys are marched out of first.
Darius Alexander’s In single file they were marched toward the city gates each carrying a cross bar tied in place across the back of their young shoulders.
One of the boys staggers with the weight of his cross bar. It is a piece of sturdy drift wood gathered off the beach and will serve to hang a small body on the cross perfectly well.
One of the rebel men on the platform calls to him.
Go to your fate bravely Adon my son !
He is silenced by a swift kick to the groin.
Adon looks’ up as he marches past the platform. He tries to be brave and set an example, but his pale face and large brown eyes stare in terror at the shore line that is in plain site through the open gates of the city. Rows of upright crucifixion posts line the shore, as far as the eye can see.
Another one of the rebel leaders pleads.
They are innocent young boys.
I beg of you, do what you will with me and the other men, but I beg of you please show the cities sons mercy!
You should have thought of that, when you buggered my fourteen year old brother before cutting his throat and throwing him from the city walls.
Now shut the fuck up!
The soldier slaps the rebel in the face.
Open your mouth again and I will cut out your tongue.
The row of youngest boys march past the platform .
The women and girls, wives and mothers of the condemned watch on in shocked silence.
Some of the smaller ones have to be supported on either side of the crossbar they carry by a soldier either side.
Chains clink ominously and leg shackles make the line of boys shuffle in a slow motion line of living human misery.
Among them march single soldiers who carry a boy thrown over the shoulder. This ones are too small to carry a cross bar efficiently.
Some of the burlier soldiers carry one boy across each shoulder.
A couple of red faced twins cry out as they look across the stone square and see their mother.
She holds her hand to her mouth to suppress the rising scream as she sees her two sons being paraded in such a dreadful spectacle.
The burly soldier pauses and smiles briefly at the city gates. Waiting for another soldier to do the honors.
The youngster strip cloths are yanked away and he rotates slowly to ensure that the captives who line the causeway to the beach get a good view of each bare backside.
Let us go you big ugly brute. Our father will have your head for this..
In the naivety of youth and blind faith of childhood, they don’t realise that the situation has changed and that their rebel father is no longer a person of power.
A rough calloused hand slaps down onto a bare bottom.
Oh you pig !
Mama! Help us!
He wails as he and his twin brother receive a full on bare bottom spanking. The first in their young, spoiled lives.
Tears fall like rain as the pair of them are spanked into submission and they lie still.
The light skin of the tan produced by the mere strip of cloth that covered their butt cheeks stand out red from the spanking in the morning sun.
The mother lets go a scream of anguish as she sees her two boys disappear out of the gates, carried away in the pitiful line of crying city captives.
Others scatter as best they can to avoid the brutal lash of the whip which is an attempt to silence her. She collapses to the cobblestone ground sobbing.
Almost oblivious to the rawhide that rains down on her.
That will do. An officer calls.
We don’t want damaged goods for the slave traders. They’re already sold.
The whip man nods and steps off her.
Macedonian soldiers walked among them and whipped them into silence.
Separate the younger boys and youths and crucify them in a single line.
He spoke to one of his trusted commanders.
The site of their hanging will be a warning that no one can challenge the conqueror of the world and win.
His commander looked up at him as he sat astride a magnificent war stallion with his golden victory armour shining in the early morning sun. His biceps ripple as he reigns in the horse which is eager for battle.
Yes my Lord. His servant and comrade in arms tapped his fist to his shoulder in the required salute and turned away to complete the task.
Outside the broken city walls carpenters were hard at work. They had stripped the surrounding countryside of trees and looted the city itself to make the instruments of torture and execution that were currently being spaced out in a double line along the beach.
The captive men and boys had been separated and were held in the city prison.
The first group of youngsters came out at Dawn.
One by one their hands were untied from behind their backs and a short post was placed across the shoulders.
The first youngster stood proud, brave and insolent as the top part of his tunic was ripped and left dangling over the waist belt of his tunic.
He gasped slightly as the post was lashed into place at his wrists.
But said nothing as he tried to set the example to the others in line behind him. He had not been whipped as like the others he was to suffer the full humiliation of rope crucifixion.
The method was to appear passive at first until the slow growing agony took full effect.
Once the cross bar is in place the executioner pushes him forward and he staggers over to the waiting escort.
Next. He calls motioning to the next in line.
Come on don’t be shy.
He repeats the process with the next one.
This boy is small and looks longingly at his older brother. And takes courage from the example set by his older brother.
Alexander’s executioner is an expert. Drafted into the conquering army he was the chief executioner of a long fallen city and his talents have been made good use of.
A youngster is lashed into place on a bleached driftwood tree.
The executioner instructs a new trainee.
That’s it. Lash that leg up high on the side of the trunk. Follow the contours of the tree.
Good now lash the other leg high on the other side. Use that knot in the wood as a foot rest .
It will make his knees splay out wide
There’s a short silence as the rope bindings are wound around the boys ankles. His toes flex up and down as the trainee makes sure he winds tight.
The rebel boy gasps slightly as the final knots are tied and he feels the first burn of rough hemp that scrapes the delicate skin near his Achilles tendon.
He wriggles his feet and feels the burn of the rope.
He writhes and flexes his arms and his form young biceps bulge with the constriction of the wrist and arms bindings.
The boy feels his bare backside seated in seated on the smooth knob of a large wooden callous.
It gives him a strange and not unpleasant sensation. He shifts his way trying rest in a passive manner.
Very good.
You see the trick is to use the symmetry of the dead wood. He leans back slightly
They step back and watch the shift again in a slow motion struggle.
He looks like a junior weight lifter his six pack ripples with the force of his exertion.
But it is no training weight that strains him.
But the result of the first rigor of roped crucifixion.
Come lets do the next one.
They turn to move to the next vacant upright sticking out of the sand. In front of which stands the next boy who has been tethered in place.
With no prospect of escape.
He has been watching his friend and former comrade in arms being hanged.
Oh before I forget.
The executioner turns and walks back to the freshly hanged boy.
Quickly he gropes him then yanks away posing pouch.
That’s better. Its best that they hang bollock naked.
The boys small cock wags in the early morning sun.
Even the hairless ones will become aroused at times.
He said as he took one final look at the youngster who was trying to keep his legs close together out of modesty.
Give him an hour or so and he will spread wide indifferent to the obscenity of it all. He said in a matter of fact tone.
For him the boy was no more than another piece of fresh meat.
Alexander’s executioner is an expert. He was drafted from a captured city.
As the official town executioner he knew his craft well and crucifixion was no mystery to him.
One of the boys wears a leather cup over his well endowed cock. He is a young auxiliary mustered to defend the city and wore the cup under his tunic as protection.
The cup is held in place at the waist by tie strings. The executioner fumbles with the knots that hold it in place, becomes inpatient and slashes the strings with his knife.
The cup falls free and he holds it in his hand. Soft and moist from the groin sweat he smells the musky smell of its recent owner.
He saves it for sale at the markets. Some people pay well for such an item as it can be used as an aphrodisiac. Particularly with reference to the youth of its owner.
High up in a cobalt blue sky a single seagull wheels and dives calling for its mates.
The gentle lap of the surf crashes onto the sand and increases the burning desire for the cool drink to his parched throat.
He writhes and pushes up in his bonds trying to adjust himself.
Coarse ropes burn his wrists and ankles.
Torment grows by the minute.
Along the beach another screams. But its not a seagull.
He looks down the line of crosses and sees the nailing party approach.
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