"Of Princes And Slaves"
Part 1
by Osiris Brackhaus & Beryll

 

- Ardeth Bey (Oded Fehr) -

It was a day to be remembered by the storytellers of our people. A day of great bravery and willingness to sacrifice. A day of heroes. Where men would earn the respect of their ancestors, granting them a resplendent reception in the afterlife. A day to die for the tribe.
It should have been the day of my death, too.
Alas, it was not...

*****

We had known for a while that it was a dangerous game to hunt so close to the territory of the godless city dwellers. The rulers of the Nile, who had claimed more land than any other nation before them. We feared them not, for we are of the free tribes who brave the desert, who live, where there is no life to be found, who have roamed this wild land longer than any others.

But we did respect them and their superior numbers and weapons. They may not be able to match even one of our warriors in a single combat situation, but for one of our warriors there were a hundred of their soldiers so we knew that when they came for us, we would have to run.

Had we had a little more warning of their coming we would just have disappeared into the blazing desert like we always did, but this time their leaders had been clever and we had only learned of their campaign against us, when their troops were just a days march away.

While the women packed up our camp and the warriors readied their weapons, our elders held council. There was much fear among the women, for it is said, that they sacrifice children to the evil spirits they worship. And there was unease among the young men as well. Those, who had not yet tested there blades against the soldiers of Egypt. None would call it fear, but we all knew that the danger was great. There was no way the whole tribe could escape them.

The decision of our elders, led by my father, was one I had anticipated. The tribe would flee but part of the warriors would stay behind to fight and die. For only the blood of our people would quench the thirst of the enemy. Only when we gave them a good fight would they let the rest of the tribe escape.

To fight was a great honor, coveted by many. The young warriors tried to claim the honor, but most were refused. The tribe would need the young blood to rebuild and gain strength again. In the end it was an even mixture of young an old who stayed. Only a leader had to be chosen. It was between me and my younger brother to chose and my father bestowed the great responsibility of guarding the retreat of our people on me.

My heart rejoiced at the thought of being allowed to die for a cause so great and already I thought I saw the spirits of my ancestors smiling at me from just beyond the veil, greeting me as a peer.

While the tribe fled we prepared the ambush for the coming Egyptians. There was no doubt that all of us would die in the fight but we would make them pay dearly and the souls of those we slew in battle would serve us in our afterlives.

I had fought them before and knew what to expect. Knew to duck from their archers and instead go for the wagon drivers who could match neither agility nor speed of my battle-trained horse.

It was a glorious fight. It took an arrow in my right shoulder early on, but I managed to break it off and fight on. The bleeding was strong but that could not stop my fury. When my right arm grew numb I just changed my blade to the left hand, still pressing on.

I heard the fearful screams of egyptian soldiers everywhere and the fierce battle cries of my tribe brothers. One by one they fell, each with the blood of several enemy soldiers on their hands to show to their ancestors.

When my horse died of a well placed spear-thrust, it was the only moment when I howled in pain. For the soul of a warrior's horse is bound tightly to the one who tames it and rides it into battle and there is now shame in crying for a fallen horse friend.

They surrounded me, maybe in foolish hope that I would surrender but I attacked them with the will to die and another two fell under my blade before they managed to wrest it from me. I waited for the killing blow, but it never came.

Instead four of them jumped me and wrestled me to the ground. I was fighting them with all the power that remained in my weakened body. I would not be cheated at my chance to die a honorable death. They would not take me alive!

But my body betrayed me, bloodloss making my attempts at finding death at the points of their spears feeble and useless. They held me down, laughing now, sure of their victory.

Already my face was burning in shame but that was only the beginning of my ordeal. Not only did they seem to be intend on capturing me, they were now also starting to tear at my armor and clothes and things – only whispered at campfires in disgust – came to my mind and my heart clenched in true fear.

This could not be! It was not possible that my ancestors would allow this. Would allow my body to be disgraced in this abominable way...

----

- Prince Nekhem (Orlando) -

Gracefully stepping over the bloody mass that not even an hour ago had been the body of a desert warrior, carefully avoiding his slippery entrails spilled all around him, I wondered once more what my father, the Pharaoh of upper and lower Egypt, the morning- and the evenstar, God among mortals, had intended to teach me with this excursion.

Warcraft? Surely not, for I had carefully been hidden by our generals during the fight, and only now was allowed to 'wade in the fields of battle', after all kind of battle had long subsided.

Or did he want to show me the cruelty of war? Heaps of grisly mutilated bodies as means to build my character?
By Ptah, every other day I witnessed workers being squashed to pulp by monumental stones they had insufficiently secured! Did he really think this would be new to me?
Every five-minute visit at an embalmer showed you more human innards than this.

And I was only his second son, fighting and heroing were the duties of my elder brother. He was the golden falcon of the realm, and he fulfilled his earthly duties with splendor. At the thought of Hept-Seshet, I had to grin.
He truly was the living image of Horus on earth, brawling and womanizing to no end. Just as my father Sebek-hetep, the living God Osiris, was stern and wise, he was radiant and passionate.
I, well, I was different.

Forcing the smirk that grew on my face to look like a polite smile, I listened to the General next to me, nodding. How courageously those desert-barbarians had fought, he pointed out. And yes, how mindlessly you hacked them down to the last, I added silently.

Only by our superior planning and strategy this all had been possible, he said, and I had to avert my eyes not to show my mirth when I remembered him cursing about the hardly legible notes he had scratched down the day before. That's what we employ writers for, my dear.

What a great and honorable victory for our eternal realm this day had seen, the general droned on, just a shame that once again, they had been unable to eradicate the whole tribe.

Which, of course, wouldn't have done anything to solve the problem of nomadic tribes looting our outlying settlements, I thought acidly, but I didn't voice my doubts in his convictions.
I merely nodded and smiled politely, just as I had done days before in his tent when I noticed that his plan, as sound as it might have been, would leave the barbarians enough time to retreat with their tents and families, maybe even disappear completely into the desert. They were raiding our villages because we had taken all the fertile land they could have lived of peacefully, but surely this was not an argument in the general's ears.

"Isn't it glorious, your Highness?", the general finally exclaimed with a grand gesture encompassing all battleground.

No. It's a waste.
This whole campaign had been an excuse for men lusting after blood to go out and kill someone. Anyone. But honorably.

"I'm impressed, General.", I said, once again wondering what this all was supposed to be about.

I didn't spend all my days in the temples of Ptah and Bastet idly, no, I was learning. Where my brother was a fighter, I was a scholar, and many gods had favored me in their ways.
Bastet had granted me her curiosity, and new things stuck with me as if I had known them ever before. My aptness at numbers, my skill for writing and my understanding for the secrets of construction I had been given by Ptah.
Even Isis must have smiled at my birth, the priests said, for it was she who had made me grow into a handsome man, and maybe even given me a chance to grow wise, one day.

I was gifted in many ways, I was educated better than almost anyone I knew, and I was definitely not stupid.

But now I was stuck out here in the desert, listening to an old general's silly ideas about glory, and I didn't see the point of it.

Looking around on the battleground to see if I could find anything remotely of interest to me that would end the general's apparently endless elaborations, I noticed a group of soldiers standing together somewhere a bit off, laughing and joking about something in their midst I could not make out from my place.

So I turned my steps in their general direction, only to hear a suppressed groan from my company.

"Your Highness, err, I do not think your Highness would like to witness what is happening over there", the General made a weak attempt at distracting me.

"Is that so, General? It surprises me that there are things happening in your army that you try to keep away from my eyes. Or those of the Pharaoh, that is."

"Your Highness, please. Of course you may watch, if that is your wish, it might just be... unpleasant."

The general positively squirmed. But now my curiosity was running rampant again, and I walked closer to the group of soldiers that were too busy with whatever they were doing to notice me and my approaching entourage.

"Now look at him", one of the soldiers exclaimed merrily. "Are you too tired to fight, now, barbarian? Or has your courage fled you at the sight of our huge weapons?"

Crude laughter answered him, and judging by the lewd jokes that were running back and forth in the group, I could very well guess what kind of 'weapon' he was talking about. Submitting and humiliating the enemy was the prime thought on every soldiers mind, and I could somehow understand that, once the battle was over and tension demanded release, some soldiers would pick out an enemy to submit in this way.
A very ultimate and very crude way of stating one's superiority. But somewhat... exiting.

As I reached the soldiers, my guardians shoved away those who would have been standing in my way, and thus I could walk on unhindered until I could see the enemy soldier they had clustered around.

The Lady Isis had graced me more than usually expected for a man, for I was also able to see beauty in men and to derive pleasure from their touch. And the man I found in the center of attention of this group of soldiers truly was a beauty to behold. Small wonder he had sparked the soldiers' interest, for he was tall, well muscled and looked like having been one of the enemy's major officers. Bloodloss and exhaustion had taken their toll on him, but still his dark eyes sparkled with an inner fire that was hard to match. Two of our men were needed to hold him, and still I could see the muscles move underneath his tanned skin so clearly he reminded me of one of my brother's prized horses.

He was a strong and virile man, a warrior so proud and fierce I could definitely see what would be the point in having submitted in THAT way. It made the blood rush to my loins.

"Behold!", the general barked behind me before anyone really had a chance to notice me. "His royal Highness, Prince Nekhem, second son of our most revered Pharaoh!"

It was always fun to see how common people reacted to my immediate presence, but this time it was especially funny. Rarely I had seen so many nervous salutes, so many precautiously guilty looks on one spot. Some men even remembered that their manhood was already sticking out of their loincloths in needy anticipation and tried to hide it from my eyes. Only the barbarian soldier stared at me with undiminished bale.

"Your Highness", one of the soldiers holding down the prisoner began. "We were just, err, beginning to celebrate victory."

'Celebrating victory', what a nice way to put it.

I merely smiled and started walking around the desert warrior, watching his arms, the strange markings in his face, the tip of one of our arrows still sticking in his right shoulder. It would be a shame to have this honorable warrior taken by these grunts. Gently, I touched his back, surprised by the smoothness of his skin.

"Would you like to join us, your Highness?", the soldier who first had spoken said, immediately regretting his intolerable familiarity with a member of the royal family. After all, I was the son of a god.

I stopped my round at the rear side of the prisoner, admiring the firm muscle our soldiers had already exposed, his shapely legs.

"I will have him as mine.", I exclaimed before I really had thought about it.

"Yeah, sure, Your Highness", the soldier said in slight irritation. "You first?"

Snorting of amusement, I mustered the soldier with the haughtiest look I could come up with.

"I'm not going to share.", I stated, grinning inwardly. My father would have had this poor sod beheaded by now, my brother beaten the crap out of him. But I just stared him down until he cringed.

"Have him cleaned, his wounds tended to, and brought to my tent. Make sure he'll be tied securely to my bed."

Bowing deeply, the soldiers acknowledged my orders, still too irritated to question any of my demands. Feeling generous, I added:

"Go, have fun with the other prisoners."

"There are no other prisoners, your Highness", one soldier said almost apologetically.

Oops, should have thought of that earlier.

"Well", I suggested, already on the leave towards some other part of the battleground. "You still have each other, haven't you?"

----

- Ardeth Bey (Oded Fehr) -

For a short moment there was hope in my heart, when I saw the leader of the soldiers approach. Hope that he would know enough honor to grant me a clean death.

I should have known that the city dwellers know nothing of honor. The obvious hunger in his eyes made my heart freeze. I stared at him with all the defiance I could muster, tried to stare him down like one would try to force a wild predator to submit but he did not even meet my eyes, his attention focused on my body instead.

To be looked at like this was almost more shaming than the frenzied groping and tearing of the soldiers. To be examined like a prize horse, his eyes roaming the parts of my body exposed by the hands of his soldiers. I hated him for his calm interest. And I hated him more for the fear he made rise in my throat. I am a warrior of the free tribes, I have seen more battles than this pup probably ever will and still he made me fear him.

I knew what he was going to say even before he uttered his orders. In his mind he had taken possession of me the moment he saw me.

Pain and desperation tried to overwhelm me and I felt my body grow distant, like I was slowly drifting away from it. Again I hoped. Hoped that the bloodloss would prove to be too great, that I would yet die unshamed, that I would be granted release from this bitter defeat.

But it was just weakness that overcame me. The last shreds of the tension of battle flowing away leaving me helpless at the hands of my captors. When they dragged me away I was not able fight them anymore, was not even able to remain on my feet.

Some distant part of me noticed with cruel amusement how much care they now took to not harm me further, to keep me alive for their feared leader. He must be a mighty one, a prince of their people maybe. Bitterness crowded my mind. What a prized kill it would have been to slay him. To have his soul serve me in the afterlife. But I had been taken alive, shaming myself and my tribe and that would just be the beginning of my trials. My mind refused to go to the things he would do to me.

The soldiers deposited me in front of a tent smelling of herbs and blood, the tent of a healer. Dimly I recalled the prince ordering me cleaned and my wounds tended to. So he did not only plan on using me, he also planned on keeping me.

The practice of taking beaten enemies as slaves is not uncommon among my people, but never would we shame another warrior this way. Only women and non-fighting men are treated this way. A warrior will always be given a clean death. Honor demands it. But how would the godless city dwellers know anything of honor.

When the healer came to tend to the arrow still stuck deeply in my shoulder I managed to regain enough strength to try to fight, to get at anything I could use to end my life. But the soldiers remained on guard and quickly subdued me, holding me to the ground, while the healer got a drought smelling sweet and spicy at the same time. Again I tried to resist, when they forced my jaw open, tried not to swallow when the healer poured the stuff down my throat, but the closed my mouth swiftly, and I was to confused and weakened to fight them any longer.

The drought ran down my throat like liquid fire and as soon as it reached my stomach a pleasant warmth began to spread through my body, numbing the pain and slightly clouding my vision. All the desperation I had felt only moments ago seemed to drift away with the pain and fear and a heavy sleepiness overcame me. Whatever drug they had given me, it did not only numb my body but also my mind.

With a sad detachedness I watched them tend to my wound and then clean the grime and blood of battle from my body. I watched them touch the sacred tattoos on my face curiously, watched them finger my beard and caress the old scar on my left thigh were a desert-lion had tried to take a bite out of me. My body was so numb I almost couldn't feel it and I couldn't bring my mind to care but deep down I was weeping at my inability to do anything at all.

Finally they brought me to another tent. I was not able to discern my surroundings anymore, my mind drifting in and out of consciousness, but when they put me down on a wide bed, taking off what little clothes they had left me with so far I tried to fight them one last time. All I earned was their laughter at my feeble attempts to move.

They tied me to that bed, face down, wrists bound together and above my head to the bedframe, ankles spread apart and tied to the frame as well. The pain of my wound at this position was so great it even penetrated the haze of the drug and I heard myself groan with pain. Then I was left alone, numb desperation settling over me again like a heavy blanket.

----

- Prince Nekhem (Orlando) -

When I came back to my tent, I noticed with a certain satisfaction that they had cleaned and bandaged the barbarian as I had ordered. It was not that I liked to make a point out of having the power to command people, but I preferred if things ran smoothly.

Just as smoothly as the barbarian's skin had felt underneath my hands.

I could see his manly shape lying on my bed, his details shrouded by the gauzy curtains that separated the inner part of my tent from the rest. A light breeze rippled through the delicate fabric as two servants came to me, bowing, each one with a brazen bowl of water. They had come to wash away dust and grime from my limbs, as well as bringing a very welcome refreshment on an oppressively hot day.
First, one of them silently opened the large, pompous collar I wore, carefully placing it aside, while the other one lifted the wig off my head, something I repeatedly found to be the best part of a day. Using soft sponges collected from the depth of the Great Sea, not wet, only moist, they began to clean my neck, my shoulders, my back. So used to the procedure I stretched out my arms without thinking, reveling in my servant's soft touches.
Next they washed my arms, my hands, returning to my back, while I watched the motionless figure on my bed with desire.

They had tied him to the bedposts, spread-eagled, as if waiting for me, the sensuous hills of his buttocks whispering an almost irresistible invitation to me.
And the gentle touches of my servants did nothing to prevent my blood from stirring. Usually, these regular washings held no more excitement for me than cutting my fingernails, yet today I felt as if my skin were on fire whereever it was touched.

This barbarian warrior truly did inspire me, I thought to myself. I'm not even in the same room with him, and already I'm beginning to shiver. My growing excitement did not stay unnoticed by my servants, yet they dutifully did not comment in any way. And, just as dutifully myself, I waited till they were finished with their labor, though I have to admit it was only by effort of will I stayed away from this most deliciously fierce barbarian.
Even as the servants insisted on removing the kohl from around my eyes, I did not complain. I waited patiently while they wiped my face with tiny sponges, all the time my manhood throbbing in nervous anticipation underneath my linen skirt, the only piece of cloth I wore by now.

Finally, my servants released me, and I dismissed them with a nervous gesture of my hand. The soft rustle of cloth was the only thing I noticed of their immediate retreat, and finally, I was alone with my share of the battle.
I would honor him by allowing him to serve a prince of the realm, I would make him an honored member of my household. This man had deserved better than to die on a battlefield, and I could offer him a life in the royal palace in Theben, a life as luxurious as few humans ever would see.

Grinning in anticipation, I parted the curtains that still separated me from my bed, the man thereon and the pleasure his exposed body promised.
And he was beautiful, even more than he had seemed to be when first I had seen him out on the fields today. His skin was of the tone of ancient bronze, flawless except for some pale scars that only increased the exotic appeal of his body. Long, curly hair flowed around his shoulders, and now that it had been cleaned and oiled, it shone with a luster even our most expensive wigs could not match. He smelled of roses, and spices, but underneath the perfume that had been used on him, I could smell himself – a dark, manly scent, like stones and leather, like the desert's midnight wind.

Suppressing a low groan, I shivered. He was not the first man I had, but surely he was the first MAN I ever would seize this way. And the mere thought of this made my mouth go dry, my palms sweat and turned me terribly aware of how much I desired to take him. To take him now, to make him mine.

Ripping that flimsy piece of cloth off my hips, I threw the skirt somewhere into a corner of my inner tent, climbing onto my bed right between my delightful barbarian's legs. Admiringly, I let my hands glide up his well-formed limbs, long and graceful, muscled yet not heavy, cupping his butt with my hands. Firm muscle underneath almost silken skin, shaped as lovely as I had ever seen – and all mine to take.

A low groan escaped my precious prisoner, and I smiled. So he was enjoying this as well, my dark handsome warrior, wasn't he. Grabbing his flesh firmer with both hands, running my nails across his back, I listened to his soft sounds, shivering in delight myself. I leaned forward, covering his body with mine, and was rewarded with yet another groan. Rubbing myself against him, pressing my direly throbbing manhood between the perfect hills of his ass, I reveled in the feel of his body, tall and masculine, beautiful and mine.

On a low table next to my bed, I found a small glassen bottle of scented oil, just as I had expected, and reached for it without leaving my most comfortable position on top of my barbarian. When I had the bottle, I rolled off him, back between his legs, and had to smile as I noticed the fine, hardly visible sheen of hair that grew of the small of his back and disappeared in the dark valley above his legs.

What a sweet peculiarity, I though as I opened the bottle and the soft scent of phoenecian roses welled up. Carefully pouring a bit of the precious oil onto my palm, thoughtfully placing the bottle somewhere safe off the bed, I began to rub the fragrant substance between the barbarian warrior's buttocks, only to bring out just another low groan from him.

Yes, I could feel how much he desired me to come to him, to fill him, relaxed and welcoming as my fingers found him, and I surely would not deny him this wish. Most definitely not.

So I wiped off the last of the oil on my needy manhood, and bent over the warrior body, my hot shaft throbbing with desire as it touched the now-slick ass of the barbarian. Oh yes, by Isis, this was just as I had anticipated and even better. Using one hand to guide me, I found his entrance, and gently used my weight to push my way into him.

This time, we both groaned in delight, for his body was as hot and firm inside as it was outside, and my own body shook with passion as I felt me entering him in a slow, steadily gliding motion.
In and out I moved, slowly, trying to savor each single moment of this extraordinary event, but my body soon got the better of me. Thrusting heavily now, I lay on top of him, groaning louder than he did, feeling strong, virile, passionate in a way I had never thought possible before. This was a gift, and whatever reason had made my father send me here, I was glad he had.

Soon, I felt my passion rise more and more, closing up to its peak, but I didn't want to finish this in one straight run, not today. So I slowed down, as much as my need allowed, and bent further forward to see my barbarian's face, to see the passion in his eyes.

But in the name of Seth, what was this?

Hissing in anger, I saw my sweet desert warrior's face slack and stupefied, only now and then twitching as if remembering some remote pain.

Who had dared to drug my slave? I had NOT given order to do so!

Feeling tears of rage behind my eyes, I saw him look around unfocussed, unthinking, and with a wail of anger, I pulled myself away from him. Sitting once more between the legs of my slave, I tried to decide what to do now.

"May Sobekh eat the hearts of whoever was responsible for spoiling my fun", I thought grimly, leaning back to lie on the bed, my head resting on one of the barbarian's legs. "I'll make them pay, don't know yet how, but they'll pay for forcing me to finish on my own what should have been at least partially my slave's job."

Closing my eyes, I began to stroke myself, all the while thinking of how perfect it all would have been had not someone drugged my barbarian slave senseless.

 

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Osiris Brackhaus & Beryll

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