Lionesses

Lionesses

Part 2

He’s my close descendant, the fourth generation from me. The others who gathered for the clan meeting? They are my own childer, fifteen of them now, although there have been many more, and they rule their own territories, covering a large part of the globe. They are all master vampires, and they are all very powerful beings. I haven’t made a childe in a long time. They are all old beyond your understanding.

These are my ruling elite. New mates, new childer, these will be introduced in due course. They await the completion of our other business. We gather like this once every ten years, just as they gather with their own childer who have left their sires. Those families left without a childe of my own? They usually come at different times – not too many vampires in one place at one time. Low profile, remember.

Except the line of Isabella – these have been absent for far too many years. Nest and Darla would come, as required, but after Angelus was introduced, he kept Darla away. Nest, of course, got himself trapped trying to open the Hellmouth. As I said – idiot.

Angelus, of course, is, was, Darla’s childe. But he is also my property, for reasons that will become clear if I decide to allow you this knowledge. We have withdrawn to a place of more secluded comforts for our discussions. We have many things to discuss. One of them is sure to be him. Whether he should live or die, and his whelps with him. If he lives, whether he should be exiled from the clan or admitted back into our ranks. The others will be for his death. I know them well. They were all fond of Darla.

But first, we will discuss other clan business. The past. The future. Realignment of territories. Power. Prophecies. We always have a full agenda. By the end of this night, though, the others will have made their views on him plain, even though the hearing has not yet taken place. It isn’t unlike your system of justice, then.

************

The three of us have been allowed as much comfort as chained prisoners generally get. We’ve been fed. It’s animal blood, but that will have to do. At a clan gathering they are careful not to draw attention to the fact that a large number of vampires are in town. It isn’t Aurelius’ usual fare.

I need to get some rest, but as I lie here, sleep as far away from me as it has ever been, I remember the last time I was in this house. The area of floor in front of me is where it all happened. I was twenty-one. Not much else has changed.

~~~~~~

We had been kept kicking our heels for several days in what, in a human Ottoman house, would have been the women’s quarters. I had been impressed with the house when we arrived. It is located in the centre of Cairo, where you would expect the turbulent noise that has always been characteristic of this city, night and day, to be unbearable. But this place is a haven of peace. It is built around a series of courtyards, in the Ottoman style, with its thick and solid walls to the outside world, but its primary architecture is founded in the Mameluk style. It is beautiful. In the middle of the eighteenth century, there was a massive amount of building in the city, instigated by the city’s emir, and leader of the Egyptian Janissaries, Abd al-Rahman Katkhuda. He’d started building just before I was born, intent on beautifying the city, providing palaces for his followers and, I think, mosques to placate his god. Most of the great architecture of the world is to placate gods of one sort or another. Surely you’ve noticed that? Cathedrals, temples, investment house skyscrapers, so many different gods…

Cairo was a seething mass of construction, then. Who would notice one more new palace? And so Aurelius moved from his old and crumbling Fatimid palace to this new and beautiful one. He’d had it built in traditional style, with separate men’s and women’s quarters, so as not to alert the builders that he was something different. And we were locked in the women’s quarters, while the clan masters discussed their business. Nest was among the clan masters at that time, so it was Darla and I, togetheth ath a few others, who amused ourselves as best we could. Well, that part wasn’t so bad.

Then the clan business was finished, and we were let out. I saw Aurelius for the first time. I’ll never forget the aurapowepower that he radiated. Well, he is over 5,000 years old. And I’ll never forget the look on his face when he saw me. He was taken aback. Only for a moment, but he was. I didn’t know why then, and I still don’t. Sometimes I have a feeling that things would be better if I did understand. You know the feeling you have when you say that someone just walked over your grave? That chilly shudder down your spine; those icy spider feet? The feeling I have is a bit like that. Although perhaps it really is just people walking over my grave…Maybe I should go back to Galway and sort that out, once and for all.

We spent a week there, and I was constantly aware that he was watching me, weighing me up. It was there that I realised that, whilst Darla was held in high regard, Nest was not. He could still barely speak to me without baring his fangs – I had refused to bow to his authority, remember. I got some small, petty pleasure from watching how the others slighted him. Most of the time, he never realised.

The other newcomers had all been introduced to Aurelius, and only I was left. Some he had taken to his bed, some he had not. I wondered what it would be for me. Vampires pay no mind to gender when it comes to sex. Gender is about reproductive possibility, after all, and those arrangements are, as you well know, different for us. Sex for us is about pleasure and power. I have never cared to be on the submissive end, though, even if the dominant partner is one of the most powerful creatures on the face of the Earth.

My memories of that night are as fresh and clear as if it had been only yesterday. I stood in this very same hall where now I lie chained, awaiting my fate, as I did then. I remember that Darla and I were drinking a fine burgundy – nothing but the best for Aurelius, ever. Darla expected me to be Aurelius’ next bed partner – she could not imagine any other outcome than that he would show me this favour. I was less than enthusiastic. We were both in for a surprise that night, in the presence of the clan masters, and the newly introduced mates and childer.

It started well. He welcomed me to the clan, and made no mention of my rejection of the authority of Nest. I could have been executed for that. I wondered at the time whether he knew, but I’m sure that he did. The next part was different, though, and, although I was not paying attention to the others in the room, Darla told me afterwards that they appeared to be as taken aback as she was.

He ordered me to strip. All the other couplings, with male or female vampires, had been in the privacy of his own rooms. Why was this to be different? Vampires are not shy, in the way that humans can be, but we still know when we are being demeaned. That was how I felt. There had been a low murmur of conversation in the room, but now it fell absolutely silent. Still, refusal would have some very dire consequences indeed. Even a young hothead like me knew that. I stripped. Deliberately. Haughtily. Disdainfully, even. Nevertheless, I stripped.

“Kneel.”

There was never any doubt that I would, but his voice brooked no disobedience. I did.

“Darla. Nest. You may have him for as long as it suits me, but this one is mine. Bear that in mind.”

What on earth did he mean by that? Then there was no time to wonder. I felt his hand on my shoulder, as he knelt behind me. His fingers traced the path of my spine, the swell of my muscles, the silent pulse points in my throat, and then, without further preliminaries, he was in me, his arm a band of iron around my chest, holding me to him as he thrust into me. I knew a great deal of pain that night, but he made sure I knew pleasure, too. As he brought me to completion, himself as well, he sank his fangs deeply into my neck and drank me down. As he did so, he offered me his wrist, and I took it, in a circle of blood and sex and power. The orgasm he brought me to made me roar in pain and pleasure. And in power. That was my first true roar, a cub becoming a lion, and I was brought to it earlier than might otherwise have happened by the absolute power of his blood. I have never tasted anything like it, and never expect to do so again. It filled my veins with heat, and light and *life*, giving me a strength far beyond my years. And still he drank from me, and made me drink from him. I was remade a little, that night. I was not quite the Angelus who had arrived a fortnight before.

It was not this act that made me hate him at the time. It should have done but I couldn’t. The hate for that came later, warming with the years. If I was remade at all, it was in his image. I was his, despite the public nature of our coupling. Or perhaps that was part of it; perhaps the clan needed to see what he had done. I don’t know. What made me hate at at the time was what came next.

He got to his feet, casually refastening his clothes. I was dizzy with power, dizzy with blood loss, and it was a moment before I made to do the same. His tone was dismissive, one you might use to a stray cur.

“Stay.”

He gestured to the minions standing unobtrusively behind the gathering.

“Hold him down.”

What? What was to happen now? I soon found out.

I couldn’t see exactly what was happening, with minions holding down my arms and legs, and my head, but I sensed someone new enter the room. A woman. A magic user.

“You are clear on what is required?”

“Yes, Aurelius. I understand.”

The woman knelt by my right side and ran her hand over my shoulder blade. It felt like a young hand, firm and smooth. I heard the small sounds of tools being prepared, and felt a frisson of fear. What did he have planned for me? I was tempted to try to break away from the hold of those burly minions, but if I did so, I would be shamed in front of the whole clan. And in front of Darla and Nest. Me! It was bad enough that he saw fit to have me held. Had he asked, I believed I would have endured whatever was done to me, no matter what.

Then she began her work. It took a long time before she was satisfied, and while she worked, she chanted. She stitched spells with her needles into every prick of my skin, and into every cell of my body. I could feel her magic coursing through me, although I could not tell what sort of spells they were. There must be magic to make my flesh accept a permanent marking such as this, of course, but whether the spells had any other effect I do not know, even to this day. I just felt the heat of them, the itch in my veins, the silvery tang of them in my mouth, mingled with the coppery taste of blood as I bit through my lip in my efforts to remain still.

You thought that the ‘A’ in my tattoo stood for ‘Angelus’ or ‘Angel’? Think again.

It was put there by Aurelius, and it is his mark.

When it was done, the witch left the gathering, and the minions released me. He walked over to me, a glass of red wine in his hand, as I stood, still naked and now marked for eternity. He held the glass out to me. I let him stand like that, his arm outstretched, and I did nothing to hide the blazing hatred that was in my eyes.

“You will remember that you are mine. You will return when I summon you. You carry my mark to remind you.”

There was a long moment of silence, before I took the wine, drank it in one large swallow, then tossed the emptied glass against a wall, where it shattered with a satisfyingly loud noise. I stalked out of the room towards our quarters, followed by Darla with my clothes. We left that same night, no matter that it was close to sunrise, without his permission and without seeing him again. I have not seen him since. Until tonight.

~~~~~~

And now it is time for the hearing. The minions have arranged ottomans down the sides of the hall. At the far end, deep in shadow, is a tunnelled archway that leads directly to the brightness of the Lion courtyard. The doors are open, and I can hear the fountain splashing, see the circle of carved lions around the basin, smell the jasmine, citrus and tuberose. At this end is a single carved chair on a dais. His seat. It doesn’t look very comfortable, with heavy carvings on the seat, back and arms. Perhaps it’s to remind him of the difficulties of kingship. Loser. Acathla *must* give me dominion over him. And over everybody else who witnesses what’s going to happen tonight. Even my own childer are here, still. How dare he make a public spectacle of me *again*!

There is a cushion, a large one, by the side of the chair. That isn’t for him, though. It’s for his constant companion. She wasn’t here last night, but it looks as if she will be here for this humiliation, as she was here for the last. His own lioness.

Sekhmet.

I know that she’s one of his instruments of execution. Well, torture as well, when it comes to vamps. It takes a long time to die the the lioness mauling you. You’ll stay alive – and conscious – until she gets round to taking your head off, or eating the heart out of your body. It can be days… weeks… months before that mercy is granted. Is that what he has in mind for me? Is that why the doors are open to the courtyard – so I won’t make a mess in the hall? If that were so, he surely would have waited until dark, wouldn’t he? I’m not ashamed to say that I am just a little afraid. But if I survive this, Aurelius goes right to the top of my list, along with the Rom and the Slayer.

*************

Dru and I have been fed, but otherwise we’ve been pretty much ignored, even by Angelus. He’s been lounging across the room from me, looking as if those chains are just so much decoration. I may hate him, I may despise him, even, and want to kill him for what he’s going to do to the world, but even I’ve got to admit that he’s got style. He can’t possibly be as relaxed as he looks, but you would never, ever know. He doesn’t even smell of fear. I’m damn sure I do.

It’s not even mid-afternoon, but vampires are starting to file in. It looks as if all the clan members present at this gathering will be here, even the younger ones. I wonder why they are making such an early start? There are perhaps thirty of them. Plus the minions – they’re here, too. I know a bit about clan gatherings, althoI’veI’ve never been to one. Darla told us, once, when she was in a maudlin mood just after his disappearance in Romania. These are the most powerful vampires in the clan, those made by Aurelius himself, and their mates and latest childer. Whatever happens here, they will tell to those in their own territories – at least, whatever they feel their families should know. I think they’ll want them to know about this. Angelus likes to be the centre of attention. He’s certainly got that now. spadspades.

The heavies are coming for him, lining up either side of him. He’s just ignoring them, looking as if he’s ready to be royally entertained, leaning back into the pile of cushions, his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, his hands locked behind his head. He’s mad. Stark, staring mad. We’re going to die here, I’m sure, although Dru still doesn’t seem worried. She’s sitting humming quietly to herself.

And yet, I have to admire the sheer balls of him. He’s acted above and beyond what a sire would normally do. Most would have left us to rot, especially since we are in this mess because we disobeyed his explicit instructions. Twice, if you count me getting us on the wrong ship. But he’s come in here, as cool as a cucumber, with nothing to gain other than rescuing us, and a hell of a lot to lose. We are the only reason for him being here, chained, facing the clan and waiting for some unknown doom to be pronounced. I’m not sure even the old Angelus would have done as much.

Here comes Aurelius, now that everyone is settled. W*is**is* that thing with him? It looks a bit like a lion, but like no lion I’ve ever seen. It’s got fangs that must be almost a foot long and it’s huge. I’ll be surprised if it doesn’t weigh 400 pounds. And that’s all bone and muscle and sinew. It must be seven feet from nose to tail tip – and it’s only got a tiny tail at that – and its back is waist high to a tall man. Tall like Aurelius. It looks like one of those sabre tooth cats you read about. But they’ve been dead for thousands of years. Haven’t they? What in hell has he got planned for us?

He’s sat down in the chair now, and at a gesture from him, the heavies have taken Angelus’ chains down and are bringing him to the centre of the hall. My Sire looks as if this is a prize giving, or something. How does he do it? Even with the heavies hanging on to the chains, he looks as if he’s in charge. That will really get up Aurelius’ nose.

“There is no escape from here. If you will give me your word, I will have the chains removed. If you break your word, Sekhmet will deal with you. Do you give it?”

Angelus looks at us. It’s the first time he’s really looked at us since he got here. He gives us a small smile. Then he looks back to Aurelius.

“You have it.”

Aurelius’ expression doesn’t alter at all, but somehow he seems pleased don don’t know how I know that. The heavies remove the chains. Angelus isn’t invited to sit. The cat saunters down from the dais and walks over to him. I get the feeling that if the audience needed to breathe, there would be a sudden intake of breath. The cat sniffs his hand and, in one of those moments of comedy that seem to enliven every life and death situation, presses her nose against his genitals for a really good sniff. Then she goes back to his hand and butts against it. In a gesture that is pure Angelus, he crouches down until he is eyeball to eyeball with the monster and, taking its head between his hands, he scratches behind both ears, murmuring a few words to the brute. Then he straightens up, and the cat saunters back to the dais and sits on its cushion, all attention. Aurelius gets back to business.

“You have had an… interesting… century, Angelus. You have gained a soul, lost your status within the clan, killed your sire, assisted in the killing of your grandsire, dusted a great many of our kind and had a… love affair … with the Slayer. That is merely a summary of the high points, of course, but have I omitted anything important?

“No. To the best of my recollection, that more or less covers it.”

“The killing of your sire is a capital crime, as is aiding in the killing of your grandsire, and generally declaring war on vampire kind, with the intention of killing every one of us. I don’t, of course, care about vampires from other clans, but I don’t believe that you have differentiated, have you? And forming a relationship of love with the Slayer with the intention of helping her to kill us all? I’m not sure there *is* a laid down penalty for that, but it must be death at the very least. How many times do you think I should kill you?”

I think we are in trouble. Angelus sighs.

“Well, my vote would be for none. I’m sure you realise that *I* did none of those things. The soul was given to me very much against my will, and when Darla cast me off…”

Did she, indeeShe She never said that.

“…to fend for myself, I was helpless. *I* was captive to that soul. I was caged and powerless.”

I imagine it cost him a lot to make that particular admission. Angelus always needs to be in control. Aurelius has a look almost of sympathy. He’s lived longer than the rest of us, of course, and seen so much more. Perhaps he’s seen anouleouled vampire before. Not that much sympathy, though.

“And yet souls are corrupted. You failed to do that.”

“That’s as maybe. Yet, as I understand it, that is not a capital offence, nor yet a cause for expulsion from the clan once the soul is gone.”

“And the other charges?”

“All of them were committed by the Soul, not by me.”

“And yet it is your flesh that stands here, your memory that can tell us what happened.”

“That means nothing, as well you know.”

“Tell me about the death of Darla.”

Angelus must have known that this was coming, but he seems at a loss for an answer. The question hangs in the air like the stench of a seven-day corpse. He gazes at the floor for a few moments. Aurelius waits patiently, looking as if he will wait all night, if necessary, to get an answer. Eventually, Angelus straightens his shoulders. He looks as if he’s going to say something distasteful. He does.

“Darla was about to kill the Soul’s intended mate. His eternal m Th The Soul chose to protect the one he wanted as his own.”

He looks defiant. Intended mate, indeed? I knew the Soul was besotted, but mate? ETERNAL mate? Aurelius glosses over that – probably nauseated at the unnatural thought of a vampire choosing a human as his eternal mate.

“Yet Darla was *your* mate and *your* sire. Could you dohinghing to save her? Or did you want her dead?”

“NO! Of course I didn’t want her dead. We’d been together for 150 years.”

He looks as if he’s chewing a wasp.

“I could do nothing. NOTHING! Not for her, not for Nest. The Soul was in complete control. You have no idea how hard I have tried to break free, to take back control. How often I thought I had done so, only to find that the soul still held me in its grip. None of you can have the least idea of what I have been through. To *watch* the death of your mate and sire, and be able to do nothing! To *watch* as the body that was yours declares war on your own kind, and be able to do nothing to protect your family! To *watch* and to *feel* as your body kisses and caresses the Slayer, to know that the body is yearning for her! The last years have been a torment to me, but now I am free. I will have my vengeance on the Rom, and I will have my vengeance on the Slayer. I can do nothing about those who have met their final deaths, but I *will* exact vengeance for them.”

That’s quite an admission from him, and he stops there, wisely I think from his point of view. What is the penalty, I wonder, for ending the world? That mad bastard Nest merely wanted to open the Hellmouth and let the demons out to play in the mistaken belief that he would be top demon. Angelus wants us all in Hell. I wonder whether to say something, but decide not to. If Aurelius doesn’t kill him now, perhaps I will still find the opportunity. And perhaps he will come to his senses, and I won’t have to.

Aurelius looks around the assembly.

“Does anyone have further personal grievance in this matter?”

There is a great deal of whispered consultation. One of the vamps is going around the various groups. After what seems to be an age, he comes over to stand in front of Aurelius, next to Angelus.

“What is the clan’s response, Japheth?”

“Sire. No one here has personal grievance against Angelus or his family, outside the charges that you have enumerated. Therefore, there will be no contest to whatever decision you deem appropriate.”

Japheth returns to his place.

Cagey. Aurelius can ignore the matter of the soul and kill Angelus. That will probably please them best. If he considers the soul to be extenuating circumstances, and lets Angelus go free he’ll look weak. Weak heads of clans can soon find they don’t have any heads at all.

He falls silent, lost in thought about the decision before him. Well, at least it’s not clear-cut, then.

Suddenly, he’s on his feet, all brisk decision.

“Angelus. For murdering your sire and assisting in the murder of your grandsire, the penalty is absolute. It is death. However, there are, as you have explained, extenuating circumstances. Nevertheless, these crimes cannot be overlooked. I will therefore give you a choice.

“You can walk away from this gathering, with no place in this clan, leaving your childer here to be disposed of as the unwanted progeny of a renegade. You will be declared outlaw and every member of the clan will be your enemy. They will kill you on sight. Your existence will be as one hunted through the four corners of the earth. That is the only mercy I will offer – that you may still exist so long as your wits and fighting ability will keep you alive.

“Or you may pick up that stake there,” he nods towards a small side table on which is a long, very pointed stake, “and you may expunge the crimes of you and yours by meeting your own final death out in that courtyard tonight. You may spend the time until moonrise with your childer. They will stay here to prove themselves until I am satisfied that they are acceptable to the clan.

“Or you can accept my judgement here and now and pay for your offences by punishment and submission to my will. If you survive, you will regain your status in the clan and control of your childer. When I permit, you will be allowed to return to the territory that you have claimed.

“Which is it to be?”

What? Disposed of? What the bloody hell have *we* done wrong? But there is no time for me to continue my silent rant. Angelus turns to us again, with that same smile. Bloody hell. He’s going to abandon us after all!

But he doesn’t.

“I will accept your judgement.”

Aurelius nods to a minion who hurries from the room. There’s a lot of whispering. I really don’t like the sound of this. ‘If you survive…’ What does Aurelius have in store? We soon find out.

The minion hurries back, carrying a thick, black whip. It might once have been another colour, but it’s black from use, now, and from regular oiling to keep it supple. Angelus is good with whips – he always had quite a collection – but this looks like something special. It’s not quite a bullwhip – designed to hurt a hide much thicker and tougher than the skin on a human body - but it’s not far off. Pale objects gleam within the black braid. I can’t quite make out what they are from here, but they have the sheen of old bone or ivory. And it stinks of magic. Aurelius takes it from the minion, shakes it out and holds the lash across his open palms, the handle tucked under his arm. He strolls over to Angelus, and holds it up for him to inspect.

“These pieces of bone braided into the whip? Those are shards of bone from the earliest saints, relics blessed by their Holy Mother Church. Real bones, real saints, real blessings. No fakes here.”

He looks down at the whip, musingly.

“The whip itself will be bad, you can judge that for yourself. After all it’s one of your favoured instruments of pain, isn’t it? But I wonder what effect you think those slivers of bone will have? They’ve been sharpened, you know. They are like blades. And all wrapped in magic which will considerably… enhance… the pain.”

He drops the lash, which falls into venomous coils on the white marble floor – I bet that’s a sod to clean the blood off – and allows Angelus to see his hands. In the few moments that he was holding it, the pieces of bone have seared into the flesh. He hasn’t even winced. But strong though my Sire is, Aurelius is much older and much stronger. This is going to be very bad indeed.

He looks into Angelus’ face, searching for some sign of weakness, I think. Angelus looks right back, but his face closes down. He says nothing.

“Three thousand lashes should settle all offences, I think.”

Dear God. I find myself falling back into the rhythms of childhood, thinking words that are no longer appropriate. With that whip, three hundred lashes would be a death sentence for even the strongest human. After a thousand lashes, any one of us in this room would pray for death. Angelus pales a little, even for a vampire, and clenches his jaw. He makes no other movement. But there is more.

“You have submitted yourself to my will. Any sound from you during the punishment – if you cry out or whimper – will be taken as defiance. I will kill you myself, after you have watched your childer die. Do you understand?

Angelus simply gives a short, sharp nod. I wonder if he can trust himself to speak. We are all dead. It is simply not possible to submit to that kind of punishment without giving voice to the pain. Not possible, even for a vampire. I look at Dru, but she is curled up in her cushions, still humming softly to herself. Can she really see an outcome where we all survive? Or have her visions deserted her? Is it just the madness that moves her now?

There is still more. Aurelius speaks softly to two of the minions who hurry out again.

“Strip.” This to Angelus, who does. Whilst he does so, other minions move the ottomans from one of the walls. Making sure everyone has a good view, I suppose. There is a rustle as the relocated clan members seat themselves, but otherwise the hall is silent. It’s a silence pregnant with all sorts of things, but the chief thing that I can sense, the emotion roiling off every vampire in that room, is fascinated horror, the same thing you can smell from a rabbit watching the dance of a weasel. Only Aurelius, Angelus and that damned cat seem serene and untouched.

My Sire looks towards us again.

“May I?”

Aurelius nods.

Angelus walks over to us, naked and glorious. From his demeanour, he might be alone with us in his chambers. He comes to me first and crouches before me, taking my head between his hands, just as he did the lioness. He doesn’t scratch behind my ears, though. And some part of me wishes he would.

“It will be well, Will. My word on it.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, which is good, because I have none to give. I don’t want to call him a liar. He moves over to Dru, and does the same. She answers him, though.

“Miss Edith told me it would be, Daddy. Miss Edith never lies.” Then she goes back to humming softly.

Angelus walks back to Aurelius.

“I am ready.”

The minions have returned. One is carrying a large, thick, padded cylindrical cushion. The other has some objects in one hand that I cannot see – they are hidden from me by his body. The minion with the cushion walks over to the wall close to where Angelus was chained. The wall there is marble and tile mosaic, like the rest of this hall, a wonder of the mosaicist’s art, I’m sure, if you appreciate such things. But let into the wall is a huge beam of wood, old and hardened, lying flush with the surface. It’s about two feet thick and runs for most of the length of the hall, starting at a little over shoulder height. The minion hangs the cushion from hooks set into the bottom of the beam and Aurelius directs my Sire to stand in front of it, facing the wall. The cushion is not for his comfort, you understand. It is to arch his back to better meet the lash.

Two of the minions take his arms and hold the wrists up to the centre of the beam. I think at first that they will manacle him to the beam, but that is not their intention. There are, after all, no chains or manacles just there. I see then what the objects are that were brought in with the cushion. A hammer and two nails. If you can call them that. They are two spikes, around fifteen inches long, perhaps an inch across at the broadest part of the shank, with broad, flat heads. They crucify him to that beam, nailed through the wrists until the heads are only an inch or so away from his skin. They have drawn first blood, and the lioness stalks over and laps at the spilled drops on the floor. Angelus has thrown back his head in pain, but made no sound.

Aurelius makes his last pronouncement.

“When this is finished, if you survive, you will have three days to free yourself from the beam. If you do not do so, that will be taken as defiance of my will. I forbid anyone here to feed you until you are freed.”

Oh, this is monstrous. Even Angelus at his most spiteful was surely never as cruel as this? Was he?

And then the flogging starts. The strongest of the minions is carrying out the punishment, with another standing by. He is laying on with a will. There is to be absolutely no mercy, then. The first lash cuts through skin into flesh, and tiny drops of blood swell from the cut. The minion is unhurried – he allows the pain from the first touch of the lash to swell and explode and diminish before administering the second. Land the blows too quickly, and you don’t get the maximum pain effect. As I said, no mercy.

After twenty-five blows, the minion hands the whip over. The other is left-handed. Better coverage, you see. They will keep trading it that way until the end. Before he starts, the second minion takes a moment to clean the whip on a white towel, which he then drops on the floor. That makes sure that clotted gore and tiny pieces of flesh don’t cover the braids and the sharpened edges of bone; don’t smooth the whip over and make it less damaging. The towel isn’t so white now. Even so, as the lash lands, small drops of blood and flecks of flesh fly up. By the time they are finished, these two will be covered in Angelflesh and Angelblood. That, after all, is whom they are really punishing. My feelings about that are starting to get really complicated.

And still it goes on. No wonder they started early. This will take hours. Do the math.

***********

Continued in Chapter 3