Torture of the Soul, Chapter 1, The Fallen City

A rich city falls, and its noble women enslaved. Chapter one is mostly into, so skip if you want to get straight to the perversion. All characters 18+

1: Vae Victis

Bashan had been a fabulously wealthy city. Sitting on a commodious deep-water harbor at the end of trade routes over the eastern deserts, with easy access by sea to the barbarian jungles to the south, it brought in never ending riches of trade goods to add to the pearl beds it controlled along the nearby coast. It was remote enough to feel safe from the Empire, which sprawled well to the North. Yet it was close enough to funnel all the incoming goods from barbarian lands through its port to feed the voracious appetites of the Empire’s markets.

Trade flowed both ways, and slaves were the perfect commodity to demonstrate this. Even in the Elysian Empire, the slave emporia could not boast the Bashan’s variety. Black slaves from the South, along with tawny and olive skinned slaves from the desert and lands beyond, flowed north to Elysia, while white slaves, with blonde slaves from the barbarian lands of the far north most prized of all, flowed south and east to serve barbarian chiefs and sheikhs. Meanwhile, the city’s merchants made a handsome profit off all transactions, human or otherwise.

The Sultan of Bashan had maintained a strong army, well paid and equipped from taxes on all this trade. He had a strong navy as well, to raid the coasts and to capture and enslave the crews of any merchants from the any direction foolish enough to bypass the city to improve profit margins. The city had high walls and could maintain great stores of food to withstand any siege. It felt impregnable.

Until now.

The city’s strength had emboldened the Sultan to refuse a request by the Elysian emperor for one of his many daughters to join his seraglio. The Sultan’s response had been insulting, and the Emperor had dispatched Gaius Aurelius Severus to teach the Sultan a lesson.

Now, the Sultan’s fleet lay at the bottom of the sea, save a few ships whose captains had had sense enough to flee the huge navy that sailed along the coast, supplying the Empire’s army as it marched for three weeks through barren lands devoid of water, the illusory protection the city’s citizens had counted on. The Sultan’s army lay slaughtered on two dusty battlefields along that march, their bones bleaching in the sun. Few had made it back to the city, but enough that the city, even with the Sultan not present to lead them, had felt confident in its ability to withstand the coming storm.

That confidence withered when the Empire’s fleet sailed into the bay. It could not batter the sea walls down, nor did it try. However, the city’s magazines of grain and other foodstuffs were near the docks, within range of the catapults barrels of oil and burning pitch high over the walls. The city survived, but in one night of raging hellfire along the oceanfront district, its food supplies were gone.

The army arrived two days later. For seven days Severus had refused offers of parley, instead focusing on surrounding the city by land as the fleet cut it off from the sea. When he was ready, he met the city leaders, who hoped to stall for time in the vain hope that the Sultan, a famed warrior, was rallying a relief force among the desert tribes. Severus met them outside bowshot, but within shouting distance, of the city walls, which were packed with civilians and troops. He cut off the diplomatic prattle of the city representatives, striding out and shouting his terms directly to the city’s inhabitants.

“My terms are these! If I must batter down the walls, every person left alive will die or be enslaved! Surrender, and I swear only some of you will die, and some of you be enslaved!. You have until noon tomorrow to choose! After that, death or slavery will be the fate of all who remain!”

He gave the city leaders five minutes to return to the city or be die. When they had scurried off, the Sultan himself, captured on the battlefield, was brought forth. Outside of reach from the city, which was helpless to do more than listen to his screams, he was crucified, then castrated. The latter was somewhat of a mercy, as he bled out and so was spared the long agonizing death normal to crucifixion.

At daybreak the next morning, the city sent out its emissaries to offer their abject surrender.
That had been nine days ago. The Sultan’s wife and not one but all of his daughters, as well as all underaged sons, were on a ship two days later, the Emperor’s personal prizes of victory. The handful of adult sons soon hung on crosses next to their father, and each day three new crosses were added, as city leaders who were known to have supported war paid the price of their insolence, three per day. The rest awaited their death in the dungeons of the city.

Bashan was now surrounded by large pens, filled with those whose fate would take them away from the city. Roughly a quarter of the city’s population was being deported, to remain free but scattered throughout the Empire. Another quarter, including the families of the noblemen being liquidated, were being sold as slaves, the proceeds going to the soldiers and sailors.

Severus, in the meantime, was stuck here to set the city in order as a new province. He looked out over all this activity from atop the tower of the Sultan’s palace, which he had commandeered as his headquarters. He had also commandeered the Sultan’s harem, sampling each of them and choosing to keep only two, the rest givens as gifts to his officers.

Those two, one black from the south and one blonde from some barbarian tribe of the north, stood nearby, ready to serve him food or drink, or serve him in other ways, as needed. Both were statuesque, with perfect features and swelling breasts. Nude, their only garment was a gold chain connecting gold loops piercing their nipples. A firm tug on the chain instantly ended any resistance to his whims.

“The executions are by the South Gate today?”, he asked one of his servants, named Posca.

“Yes, Lord. They should be starting soon, it is almost noon.”

“Good. Bring her in through the South gate then. Let her see what awaits her husband. Perhaps it will put her in the correct state of mind.”

Posca bowed and hurried off. Neither of them new exactly which three Bashani noblemen would hang from crosses today, but Malik al-Nasir was not one of them. Severus had given an order that he be reserved until he gave the order to proceed personally

The woman Severus referred to was al-Nasir’s wife, Yasmine. Reputed to be the most beautiful woman in the city, Severus had seen no reason to doubt the assessment when he saw her at the gathering before Bashan’s condemned notables had been seized. She also had three children, twin daughters of marriageable age, and a son a year younger. The daughters were said to be beautiful as their mother, and as yet unspoiled.

The tower roof was a small garden, a retreat for the Sultan and now Severus’s favorite workplace during the day. The cool breeze off the ocean was best enjoyed from here, and it was quiet. The long climb also discouraged anyone from bothering him unless it was important, and those who knew his temper realized that he was not averse to throwing someone wasting his time from the roof.

A kitchen servant brought up his noontime meal, and the former harem girls served him his meal and wine as he shuffled through reports and signed documents. A man of action, Severus would have traded this administrative tedium for the chaos of battle in an instant. Unfortunately, this was his duty at the moment, and he was also a man of duty.

The meal was far larger than he could eat, so when Posca led two soldiers and Yasmine al-Nasir to the roof, there was plenty left. Severus looked up briefly, his eyes enjoying the sight of his captive before looking back down to his work.

She was a lovely prize. Of average height, her breasts were firm and full, he waist slender, and her hips nicely curved yet narrow for a woman in her thirties with three grown children. Her bronze skin was supple and unblemished. Her eyes were a deep green, her face perfectly formed, and her raven black hair wavy and long. Or, rather, it would have been wavy if it were not so unkempt.

Without looking up, he pointed to the chair across from him. “Sit. Eat. Even cold I assume it is preferable to whatever they fed you in the slave pens."

For five days Yasmine and her children had languished in the slave pens, awaiting transport to the markets in the north with the other families of condemned noblemen. To further their misery, they had been left with the clothing they were taken in, even their jewelry. Yasmine wore a green silk gown that matched her eyes, but it was rumpled, filthy and frayed at the hem. The low neckline showed just enough breast to tantalize without seeming cheap, but the skin showing was covered with dirt and grime.

The woman was famished, and with little hesitation she used her fingers to pull meat off the remains of the chicken. She glanced at the nude slaves, and sniffed dismissively, although she recognized one as being among the Sultan’s concubines. Severus looked up again, amused, and Yasmine, noticing his glance, restrained herself and began eating more daintily.

“Why am I here?” she demanded between bites. Her voice was husky from her deprivations, yet the haughty tone of one of the leading noblewomen of a powerful city was unmistakeable.

Severus chuckled. “I would think you know what happens to women in a conquered city.”

Fear, soon replaced with defiance, flashed in her eyes. “So, you had me brought all the way up here just to rape me? Why? Do you wish the city to hear my screams?”

This caused Severus to laugh. “No, I’ll not be raping you. Not today, anyway. Tomorrow perhaps.”

The captive swallowed another bite of chicken. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and, seemingly safe for the moment, changed the subject. “What has become of my husband?”

Severus took a bite of the bread and chewed, as if the question was of no import. At the same time, Posca made a show of scanning a document. After a moment, Posca informed them both, “He is due to be crucified the day after tomorrow, Lord.”

Yasmine’s bronzed skin paled. After a long silence, she asked, softly, her voice strained. “And my children? What will be done with them?”

To Severus it seemed an odd question. Clearly they were destined for the auction block, along with Yasmine herself. “Once I have had my fun with you, with all of you, you will be sold.” Rubbing salt in the wound, he added, “No doubt to a brothel. Men will pay well to hump a noblewoman, and a noble catamite will certainly be a novelty.”

Yasmine’s defiance crumbled. Tears began to leak down her cheeks. Her worst nightmares had been nothing like this, for any of them. Her hands trembled. In a voice barely above a whisper, she pleaded,

“Mercy, my Lord. Mercy for my children. My husband”

Severus smiled inwardly. He held out his empty wine glass, and the blonde slaved hastened to refill it. He sipped, then spoke, his voice softer now, but still firm. “Your husband must die. The Emperor has commanded it.” Then he paused, and added, “He need not be crucified, however. I could give him a less ignoble death. The ax, or the noose, as your people use.”

Yasmine looked at him, gratitude and tears both filling her eyes. “As for you and your children…”, he trailed off for a moment. “I might be willing to spare you the block. I will be leaving Bashan in six, perhaps twelve months. When I depart, I could, perhaps, return your home to you, along with enough of your household wealth to support you and your children, provide a dowry for the girls.”

It was clear from his tone and how he parsed his words that there would be a price for his mercy. She stared at him for a minute, trying to gauge his intent. “What is your price?”

Severus managed to keep a look of triumph from his face and voice. In return, you will swear an oath to obey me utterly, to submit to any desire, no matter how depraved. You will swear to not only obey, but anticipate my desires, to dedicate your existence to pleasing me.” He paused, then added, “Further, when I decided to enjoy your children, you will, on your oath, convince them to submit to me and obey just as you do. You will be punished for their failures, and they will suffer for yours. Fail to serve me well, and you will all be sold to the meanest brothel in Bashan before I leave.”

It is possible, Yasmine would later reflect, that had she understood the depths of this man’s depravity, she would have refused. As it was, she struggled to reply, staring at Severus with a mixture of loathing and hope.

“I will give you the night to consider your decision. Tomorrow, you will be brought to me in my bedchamber. If you accept my offer, you will disrobe, get on your hands and knees, crawl to me, and swear your oath.” Then he shrugged, adding, “If you refuse, leave your robe on and stand there. I will remove it myself.”

Severus made a gesture of dismissal, and Posca put his hand on Yasmine’s shoulder. She stood and let herself be led away. Before she had made it to the stairs down, she turned, and asked, “May I see my children?”

Her captor, her owner, tilted his head to consider. “Posca will have them moved to quarters in the palace, under guard. If you accept my offer, they will be returned to you the next morning. If not”, his voice turned to steel, “You and they will witness the crucifixion of their father together.”

Yasmine stumbled, and Posca caught her, helping her to her cell as she sobbed.