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For The Pleasure Of Prince Uday

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Eulalia said:
I'm not sure, hanging 40' above the pavement, I think I'd prefer the security of ropes! :p

As to the non-standard crucifixion, under the present extraordinary circumstances,
it's not that easy to order Premium French Crucifixion Wood on the internet and get it delivered overnight,
nor even to send a squad of hefty slaves down to the builders' yard to commandeer some stock.
No, Prince Uday's household carpenters have had to carve up some very hard and solid old oak benches
that student bums perched on at mealtimes in the days when it was a seat of learning,
but have been stacked in the cellars since it was upgraded to a palace!

69

A brief burst of a fanfare is played through the speakers, then I hear the voice of Prince Uday. He hasn’t come out on the balcony, must be inside behind the window, bullet-proof I don’t doubt...

‘Salaam aleikum, fellow Muslims, and greetings to all friends and citizens of Masrurabad and of Inglistan. I have serious matters to share with you.

First, Sheikh Masrur, on whom be blessings, is in declining health, doctors at the Al Dakhm Palace say he may be called away by Allah at any time now. It is necessary the reins of power be taken up without delay, and as the sole heir to the al-Masruri Sheikhdom, that duty falls upon me.

I have already received solemn oaths of allegiance from leading members of the Supreme Council of Clerics, from the Commander of the Religious Police, and from Commanding Officers of the Palace Guard and other military units stationed in and around Masrurabad. I expect – and hereby command as a fatwa – that I shall receive similar assurances of loyalty from all officers of the armed forces of Inglistan of the rank of Colonel or its equivalent or above.

It is imperative that our country, all its people, and especially its armed forces, unite to maintain the peaceful, prosperous and blessed conditions we have enjoyed under Sheikh Masrur, and which it is my firm intention, inshallah, to preserve.

I do not need to tell you why this is so grave a need. Our land is threatened by dark and dangerous forces, determined to disrupt the rightful succession, hell-bent – yes, I mean that literally friends, marching towards Jahannam – to divert our nation from the True Path.

You know that my dear brother, Prince Masrur, on whom be peace, was cruelly killed a week ago by agents of a wicked conspiracy. The foul bodies you see shaking in their fear of death on the wall of my Palace...’ he pauses, the crowd’s eyes turn towards Yasmin and me, I’m not shaking in fear of death, but I’m beginning to long for it... ‘they were the spawn of Shaitan who carried out the hideous crime, but of course they were mere tools of a much more powerful and dangerous cabal of traitors. Our intelligence services are in relentless pursuit, they will find no hiding-place, they will suffer as these two slaves of their malice are suffering now – and worse!

I know, my friends, the vast majority of you wish me well, I am grateful for your loyalty. But I take this opportunity to warn any who have any doubts, any thoughts of rebellion or foolish disobedience, not only you, but all your families will suffer – you will see your women, your mothers, wives, daughters, concubines and slavegirls tortured to death just as these pigs’ turds are dying now.’

He pauses, before growling, ‘Be warned. Allahu akbar!’

The National Anthem drones through the speakers. Everyone is standing to attention, everyone is silent. A big, black car catches my eye, as it speeds past the far side of the mosque, heading in the direction of the Al Dakhm Palace.
Click to expand...
Good chapter and as the last sentence notes at least you have a good view...:doh:
 
Eulalia said:
just as these pigs’ turds are dying now.’
Click to expand...
Woman-Picture-4_300 (3).jpg Not even pigs, but pigs'turds !!! Damn !!!

Eulalia said:
A big, black car catches my eye, as it speeds past the far side of the mosque, heading in the direction of the Al Dakhm Palace.
Click to expand...

At least, they can see the street'show ...:D

:eek::devil: How all that could be ending ?
 
I suspect old Masrur knew his son wanted the throne, and that he was a bit conniving, power mad, and unstable, and that's why he fingered the other son. Now it looks like Uday has managed to make his dad conveniently ill, or dead. Merciful are the ways of Allah. :rolleyes::devil:
 
Thanks to Jollyrei for pointing out another unintentional layer of mystery,
Uday's brother, on whom be peace, was Qusay (bin Masrur,
but not to be confused with his, at the time of writing, not quite deceased father... :rolleyes:)
 
70

Everything falls eerily silent, except for the constant droning and buzzing of aircraft above me. The Religious Police herd the crowd out of the wide place, most are driven down the narrow street leading off opposite the gate, with unnecessary use of their batons. It’s obvious the audience for our crucifixion didn’t come of their own free will, nor are they departing freely, there’s some sort of a curfew and they’ve just been brought out to fill the place for the benefit of the media.

I’m wanting to call out to Yasmin, she must be twenty or thirty yards from me beyond the gate-tower. But I’m already breathless, we both need to conserve our strength. ‘Maybe they will even seek to rescue them – if they dare! ‘ said the judge, mocking us...

I look down at my legs, alternately flexing, my aching thighs striving to press my feet down on the narrow stone ridge. They’re gleaming white, clammy with sweat, in the bright floodlights. The pain’s already beginning to tell, they’re shaking, yet I have to ease the other agonies in my aching shoulders.

My stretched-out arms, though supported, roped on the beam, are feeling the strain, sharp spasms tear along them, between seizures of cramping numbness. As I work to draw breath, my breasts heave wearily, whip-wounds red in the brightness. Flies are swarming now, attracted by the light and by my warm, pungent sweat, crawling over my still-oozing whip-wounds. My breasts toss and hurl, I shake my hair, but of course it’s wasted energy.

I press my head back, feel the stone wall, flex my right leg to try to get some relief for it and stop it from stiffening, then my left one. Lips wide, teeth clenched, then aaah! A jolt as my foot slips, I’m swaying, knocking against the wall, feet flailing to try to find the support. I grip at the knots with my fingers, struggling to steady the swinging beam and get some stability, but my will to fight is fading fast, before long I’ll just have to hang, resigned, hoping my body will cope as I accept the rhythmic pangs of agony that surge through with every lunge of my long, slow death-dance.

My parched lips are panting, thirst's already driving me frantic, I twist my head, try to suck sweat off my shoulder. Yet this is only the beginning... yes, I’ve seen crucifixions, we were taken out to watch them from The Academy, especially when the victims were girls like us – and they were still twitching, gasping, whimpering in pain, on the third day!

I’m becoming dozy, delirious, consciousness fades in and out. A sound above me brings me awake, I glance up, can’t see who it is, but they’re dangling something on a cord, a gruff voice growls ‘Drink!’ Is it a trick, some cruel joke to torment me? I press my head forward, lips pursed and ready, the pouch like water-bag has a teat on it, I manage to catch it between my lips and suck furiously – memories of the last time I had to suck hard flash back, but I’m just filled with relief that some wetness, not very cool, not very clean, but it’s water, flows down my dry throat. I empty the whole small supply, it’s tugged away. I croak ‘Thankyou,’, the window closes, I sigh – so that’s how they’re going to keep me alive!

The city streets are pretty quiet, but vehicles are moving around, military ones, sometimes they cruise along in front of the Palace, pausing to look up at us girls no doubt, others I see or hear on the streets away to my right and left. The clocks of some of the old buildings chime, I’ve not been in a mental state to count them since Prince Uday’s speech, but the water has cleared my brain a bit, in the distance I hear the deep tone of the enormous bell half a mile away at the Al Dakhm Palace, I count ... nine, ten, eleven, twelve...

I’m shaken, flung violently forward...
 
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old slave said:
Such descriptive, emotional writing, Eulalia.

An image that will make it very difficult to get to sleep tonight...............
Click to expand...
Perhaps you could doze off working out where Al Dakhm Palace is ;)
 
71

A huge explosion, behind me, in the Palace, a big chunk of masonry tumbles from the gate-tower, inches from my arm. Once again I’m hanging, legs kicking in mid-air, my back’s bruised with banging against the shaking wall.

There’s a silent pause, as if the whole world’s stunned, then all Jahannam breaks loose, sounds of gunfire inside the Palace, men at the windows and on the rooftops across the street firing guns and rockets seemingly at random, bullets are cracking against the Palace walls, shrapnel, fragments of stone, broken glass, I’m shaking in terror as I struggle to find my footrest.

And all this noise is drowned by the roar of one low-flying plane after another howling across the top of the gate-tower, firing off rockets, pounding the palace and the buildings opposite.

They’re followed by a fleet of helicopters, gunships, taking out the gun emplacements, the drones, the smaller helicopters that have been patrolling, and strafing the snipers and emplacements on the rooftops.

After a few minutes, two of these large helicopters land in the market-place, firing into the buildings across the street as they come down. In a few moments, squads of armed troops pour out and crash their ways into those buildings. There’s still some shooting from the windows, but clearly the snipers are doomed.

And now three tanks roar around the corner below the mosque and speed below me, another group appear the far end of the wide street. The leading tank swings round in front of the Palace Gate and, without even slowing down, crashes right through the mighty oak.

The shaking is so violent, I’m sure my bound arms are going to break. As the gate’s smashed open, suddenly the cable holding the right end of my cross-beam breaks, I’m dangling now, held only by the left-hand end of the plank, twisting in mid-air, forty feet from the stone paving, no way can my feet find any support.

My left shoulder’s agonised, surely it’s tugged out of joint, and my whole body’s stinging with the fragments of metal, stone and glass that have wounded me, blood’s trickling over my eyes from a cut on my head, other rips to my skin are oozing, I’m becoming delirious with pain and terror.

Sounds of gunfire, explosions, roaring of aircraft and ground vehicles, goes on and on, but it’s seeming gradually more distant, is it really so, or am I deafened, am I losing consciousness...

Suddenly I hear a voice below me, a man’s voice, a voice of command, one I know well,

‘Get the girls down!’
 
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