The Young Templarian Prince
By J. de Molay

Copyright 2006 by J. de Molay, all rights reserved.

* * * * *
This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It contains depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.

Editor's note: English is not J. de Molay's native language. To retain the flavor of his style and avoid possibly changing any of his meaning, it is being presented here as originally submitted. I believe that despite the sometimes non-standard syntax, readers will encounter little, if any, difficulty in comprehension.
* * * * *


The young prince Bernard was accepted in the Templarian order, in part for his noble ascendance, but in first place by his outstanding merits. At the age of seven, he was tall for his years, swift and strong in his movements; he had defeated opponents twice his age, running and pole climbing, in archery and in sticks fending, even in wrestling he was difficult to defeat for bigger boys, his well muscled young body was hard, nimble, and difficult to grab, his mobility was like a young jaguar.

He added to his well proportioned body, a beautiful head, crowned by a bush of golden hair, a face with a sensual, always smiling mouth, and big blue eyes that were mirrors of his soul, so pure was his stare, so transparent was his absence of evil, so strong and visible was the love that he projected as an aura.

Every one agreed that he would be a magnificent Templarian...in time, he was much too young. But he was not available for waiting, he decided to prove once and for all, that he was apt to take the ultimate risk and succeed. One night he run away from his father's castle and went into the forest, clad only in fending garments, a short tunic that leaved arms and legs bare; in the way out he passed by the armory, where he took two javelins, one lance and a belt with a long sharp knife; his bare feet made no sound on the old castle stones when he sneaked through the forgotten corridors that - having grown in the castle - he knew so well.

Once outside, the wind of a coming storm masked every noise he could have done while fixing lance and one javelin to his back, before heading towards the neighbouring wood; the deep and ancient forest was a darker shadow into the pitch black night, the strong wind filled it with the oldest songs on earth. There young Bernard disappeared, with a javelin as blindman's cane and his tough bare soles telling him the nature of reality.

At down he was missed, the note over the bed said "Don't look for me, I'm well", and nobody could find him because of the storm that was pouring tons of rain, erasing any possible track and scent.

Two days after, he returned, covered in mud and blood, towing a makeshift sledge that carried his weapons - except the knife, secure in his belt - and a big wildboar.

After that feat, there was no more objections and the young prince was admited as novice in the nearest Templarian castle.

The new novice's life was hard and spartan, he was told to keep clothed only in the garments that had granted him admission and his day begun very early at dawn, with body washing, spiritual and physical exercises, and went on until dark, because, being the lowest in rank, almost everybody had some task for him to do. And he was very happy, he was being a Templarian! Under searing sun, with body's skin shining in sweat or leaving bare footprints on the snow, young Bernard practiced and practiced, he mastered all weapons, his own body became a weapon, he endured long fasting and strenous work that filled his young heart with joy.

When he was twelve, his merits were widely recognized into the order, he was renowned as courageous and trustworthy, as well as a very able fighter; and the young prince was a extremely goodlooking boy, with a deep, transparent and confident stare. He was promoted to the next step in the Templarian hierarchy, receiving his first habit and - foremost - his first sword.

To attend the ceremony, Bernard was summoned to Beaulieu, the main Templarian castle, six walking days to the south, near the coast. This time his flying feet were scented - when evening fell - by the multicolour wild flowers that springtime displayed to match his joy; while tirelessly marching, he was the happiest lad on earth.

The iniciation and oath taking was touching heavens; now he could take part in a second kind of rites and exercises, beyond mass and pray, now he could participate in the extatic contemplation of the Holy Sudarium, where every mark was a sign of what can be needed to endure the right path, in spite of all pains, to live by love and generosity in a world of greed and selfishness. He now could take part in the long spining dance, brought from the highlands of central Asia, spining and spining until your mind is there no more and you are one with the universe.

He was not allowed yet to the highest rites, where the Templarian ringed the Ark of Covenant and joined his minds in one wide concience that comunicated and included all of the fighting monks that were in meditation at that same moment. This practice was the secret of the order's rapid success.

He knew that he will made the grade, sooner or later; he had been made to remain in the big castle, heart of the network of almost two hundreds stablishments the Templarians managed. There he discovered the great library, full of ages old wisdom and penetrated the ways of templarian ethic and power's theorem. How sure of your own integrity you must be, to allow yourself to give death, because you cannot restore life?

Bernard asked to receive the tonsure and to remain barefoot, as token of humility; he was refused the former, because he was not third grader yet, and was granted the later without objections.

The following two years were the happyest days in his entire existence, he explored the big castle, the surrounding countryside, his own soul...but dark shadows lurked in the horizon.

Along the years, the Order had become very powerful, much too strong for other power's comfort; with 160 sites operating in synchrony, the Templarian were very efficient, and this made them also wealthy. There was no way a growing, powerful and affluent organization motivated by generosity, could be tolerated by those keen on keeping power and treasuring richness, so in 1313, Pope and King decided that the Temple had to dissapear.

At the begining there were just confusing rumors, it was said that some brother had been put in jail, it was said that some people said the Templarians were idolatrics, but very soon they realized how actual was the menace. Proof came through several incidents with King's troops, so the Templarians ceased to go alone and started to ride in groups; in one of these groups rode Bernard when he first met the foe.

Old brother Gerard, carrier of important documents, was being scorted by mighty brother Gilles and young brother Bernard when, on arriving to a bridge, they saw a foursome of horsemen that readied their weapons when they appeared.

En garde! - shouted brother Gerard when three of their enemies spured their horses, the fourth waiting where to reinforce. The three Templarians drawed their swords, picked their adversary and charged.

Bernard run head on towards a big cavalryman armed with a heavy battleax, at the last moment he moved to his right, surprising his opponent, who tried clumsily to hit a bit too late; in the same movement, the young prince's sword cut his enemy's rein, making him to lose balance and hitting the ground. Relaying more in swiftness than in force, Bernard jumped down and faced him, fending menacingly; the big soldier tried time and again to deliver a full blow over the little figure that danced around, but to no avail; suddenly the lad stoped right in front of him, and the soldier believed it was his opportunity, so he lifted the heavy ax over his head, with both hands; this was what Bernard was waiting for, the moment the soldier raised his arms, he jumped and drove his sword, with full force, deep into the soldier's exposed left armpit; the sharp blade severed the big vessels coming out of heart. A gush of blood spurted through the astonished man's mouth, filling his helmet, and he was dead before reaching the ground.

The fourth soldier, whose attention was focused rather in what he saw as the main combat, where the bigger ones were fighting, was slow to comprehend what had happened, and when he finally charged towards Bernard, the lad had grabbed the fallen ax and was ready and waiting for him. He put himself right in front of the charging horse, and again, at the last moment, he jumped low to the right, out of reach for his enemy's sword and, at the same time, discharging a devastating blow in the unprotected backside of his opponent's left knee. A loud anguished scream was heard as the man lost force and support on that leg, falling aside, but his foot kept fixed in the stirup, and his head bumped heavily on the ground as the horse kept dragging him helplessly out of sight.

This double astounding defeat demoralized the other two enemies, that tried to flee, but were easy prey for the Templarians.

The elders congratulated Bernard very warmly for his deed, and pressed on their way, but arriving the next valley's entrance, they stopped in awe, there, in the far distance, their destination burned in flames, and much nearer, a pityful column marched towards them. There they raced, to learn that the few still ablebodied were fighting a desperate rearguard combat to allow the wounded and disabled be brought to safety. At full gallop they went down the valley, white cloaks flying in the wind, sun shining in their raised swords, cutting like a sharp wedge into enemie's flank, spreading havoc in their ranks and bringing new hope to their fellow Templarians, who redoubled their efforts and made their pursuers flee. Safe they were...by the moment.

The Templarians assesed the situation; it was hopeless. They had been declared war, a war they couldn't win, because it was unthinkable to defeat their own people; they were doomed.

Young Bernard, now fourteen, was finally promoted to the higher grade, as a full templarian fighter, and was increasingly in combat during the following months; but the noose tightened relentlessly around them.

Finally they were reduced to their only remaining fortress, and in a solemn gathering, brother Jacques, the Superior, called them to a gallant last stand and took measures trying to save the Order's most valued treasures.

• Brothers, the Holy Grial can be hidden efficiently in our walls, but this is not the case of the Saint Sudarium, so brother Gilles, you, in the company of brother Antoine and brother François, will take the Saint Sudarium to the hidden place in the Alps I told you in advance. You must not fight in the way, you must get there unnoticed.

Painful task it was, because all they wanted was to share the final combat with their brothers, but they bowed, received a last blessing and went in their way

• What about the Ark of Covenant, brother Superior? Asked brother Phillipe.
  
  
• That is our main problem, brothers; it's too difficult for the Ark to pass unnoticed through enemy territory.
  
  
• We could hide it into the castle's walls.
  
  
• Better in the underground.

Everyone tried to figure a solution; young Bernard, being the junior of them all, kept silence, until he stepped forward and asked permission to speak.

• Brother Superior - he said - I know a place, nearby, where we can hide something the size of the Ark.
  
  
• What place is that, brother Bernard?
  
  
• We all know the secret passage that goes from the castle's rear, under the brook, and opens in the far mountainside; there starts a path to the east, but there is also a narrow ravine that climbs to the north, and halfway up there is cave that is not vissible unless you know its existence.

The elders pondered the situation and debated the alternatives, finally brother Superior spoke.

• Brother Bernard, do you believe you are capable of bringing the Ark to security in that place you mentioned?
  
  
• Yes I do, brother Superior.
  
  
• Then knee, brother Bernard, I pronounce you the Ark of Covenant's Guardian - said the Superior - placing his hands over the blonde head deeply bowed in front of him.
  
  
• Well, what has to be done must be done at once, King's mens have reagrouped for another massive assault, the gatehouse is badly battered and may not last for long, so let's move!

Thus saying, he and some other elder brothers brought the new guardian to the Ark's keep. It was the first time the young prince had ever seen the Ark; in the dimly lit room, the golden winged figures on top faintly glowed and the air seemed to tremble all around the sacred trunk.

• The Ark is a very powerful psychic energy conveyor, you must strip of all metal you wear, other way if you touch the Ark, any part of your body in contact with metal will get burned. I must warn you that carrying the Ark you will feel like burning, but without damage to your young flesh, and I'm sure you'll withstand the ordeal.
  
  
• You can count on that, brother Superior - said Bernard - as he started to take off his white jupon, then the hauberk, and the haqueton, until he was clad only in shirt and short underpants; he discarded even the golden chain and medallion his mother had given him when he departed home; with very sweating hands and dry mouth, but trying to look confident, he declared himself ready.

The brothers used some wooden devices, half glove and half hook, to handle the Ark; they bundled it in a thick fabric and tied it with ropes to the lad's back, he was down on hands and knees for this manouver to be acomplished.

When the precious freight made contact with his body, he felt like a lightning running through him, and barely could supress a scream, while his cock became instantly hard.

• Stand up, young brother, and be on your way.

Bernard got on his feet, feeling rather dizzy and without a clear notion if the Ark was very heavy or very light, he was glad that the shirt hide his erection; the elder brothers scorted him to the underground, while they walked over stone floor there was no problem for the freighter, but on wooden floors, each time his bare soles stepped over a nail's head, he felt like treading on a burning coal; finally they got down to the vault where the secret passage started; there they stared into each other's eyes for a last time.

• Bless you, brother Bernard, we shall meet again in the Temple that no man can destroy, said brother Superior, handing the youngster a gleaming torch.
  
  
• Let it be so.
  
  
• Let it be so - said all in one voice.

A stone pillar moved noiseless aside, revealing a dark passageway; without hesitation the young warrior started into it, the stone pillar closed, and he was in his own.

He had made this way many times before, he could have made it in darkness, but now he felt very confused, painful burning waves run through his body, making every nerve feel raw, and he had to clinch his teeth to avoid moaning. Soon he lost any notion of time, had he marched for some minutes? or it was days? He tried desperately to focus on walking, just keep walking, while the searing pain engulfed his genteel body and numbed his mind but kept his cock erect.

Suddenly he found himself on his knees, without recalling to have fallen. How long had he been that way? "Not too much"- he said to himself - "the torch is still burning..." He shook his head and mustering all his strength got once again in his agonizing way, until he arrived the end.

He pulled the lever that opened the concealed exit and the fresh air somehow awakened him. Very carefuly he listened and looked around, birds were singing and a rabbit went by, so there was no one lying in ambush. Up the steep and narrow ravine he went, it was very arduous work carrying the Ark's bulk; up he went, breathing hard, drenched in sweat, arms and legs covered in bloody scratches, until he recognized the bush covered rock that hide the cave's entrance; he made his best effort to get by without breaking too much branches that could make the place conspicuous, and went into the darkness until he crossed a stream, there he put his precious burden carefully on the ground and drank the cold water as he had not drunk in a lifetime. He was so exhausted that fell asleep on the spot.

The young prince dreamed he was on a mountaintop by the sea and he saw a huge wave coming from the horizon and he knew that such gigantic mass of water would smash the shore where his brothers went inadvertently on their jobs. He shouted warnings, but he was much too far, and the wind blew his words away, he then raced down, knowing it was hopeless, but he ran nevertheless.

He woke up in alarm and stumbled to the cave's mouth, where he stopped blinded by noon's sun, of what day? Before he could see anything, he heard, far and distinct, the savaje chorus of war, castle under siege, castle under attack!

Erasing all external clues to the existance of human intervention, the lad went down back to the secret passage and there he ran, really ran in the darkness, eager to join his brothers in the final hour. Up the stairs he went, right to the donjon, the huge central tower where he could asses the situation, looking down from the notched battlement.

Not only the gatehouse had fallen, second wall too, enemy soldiers were pouring over it and there was fighting in the inner bailey.

In a moment he was back, with the longest bow he could find and a big bunch of heavy pointed arrows. He wasted no time while shooting, an arrow was still in its way when the next started flying; each arrow was a kill, shooting down the men already in the ground, and those in the wall. Arrow pierced corpses begun to pile fast and the enemy finally took notice, so they begun to try to supress the deadly shooter.

All kind of projectils rained on him to no avail , Bernard kept thining foe's ranks until he needed more arrows, and it was precisely then, when he headed to the side tower for a new provision, that a long and heavy balista's dart stroke the wall over him, broking in pieces, one flying fragment caugh him in the head knocking him out; he never knew that in the next instant a huge catapult's rock smashed the battlement where he had just been hiding, leaving him half buried in debris.

He woke up in a rather dark place, laying naked over a stone floor, he felt a kick on his side and a voice asked: "and this one, what about this one?"

• We believe he is a servant, Sire; he had no armor nor weapons, and he is just a boy.
  
  
• A boy servant, damn it! a boy servant, a handful of dying monks that won't talk, and plentyful of already deceased! Who the hell is gonna talk?
  
  
• Sire, boys are very perceptive and perhaps this one could harbour some information after all.
  
  
• Yes, we can always try, bring him over here.

Bernard felt strong hands hanging him from his arms, another hand grabbed his dust covered hair and pulled his face up. He opened his eyes, trying to focus; a slap on his face, another..."on your feet!"

He was dragged to where five jacent figures reclined on the wall.

• Tell me, is one of these the guardian of the Ark of Covenant, the Grial or the sudarium?

Bernard looked the bloody bodies of his brothers, a red pool visibly forming under them, made the cross signal and kept silence.

• Who is the guardian? Speak up, stupid boy!
  
  
• If he lived here, he must know where the most precious thing were kept.
  
  
• Speak up! Where is the Ark? Where is the sudarium? Where is the Grial?

Bernard saw three white cloaks waving good by, floating to the rising sun, and smiled. The man in command put his armoured boot over the boy's bare foot and pressed. "Talk, you idiot!" The blue eyes kept fixed in a horizon that no one else could see.

• I won't waste time with this scum; you, Pierre, take some men for the task and make him speak.
  
  
• Inmediatly Sire, I think it would not take long to break him, he's only a boy.

The man in command left the place and Pierre issued different orders to his men, who later brought a rod and a brazier of burning coals.

• Very well - said Pierre - the idea is he speaks, not he dies, so we shall proceed on his feet, no one has died because or roasted soles. And his men joined him in laughter.

Bernard saw his hands tied on his back and he was seated over a table, his hanging ankles were tied to the rod's middle section and a man took each end; they raised the rod, exposing his soles, which were smeared in fat, the brazier was placed underneath, and the men lowered his feet to a distance Pierre established.

The boy was cold, and the heat was pleasant for a moment, but rapidly became an unbearable burning; his legs flexed, but the men kept his feet firmly in place; he fell back in anguish, body contorting, but only a faint moan came out of his parted lips.

• Speak up! Come on, speak up!

Two other men took his tied arms and restrained him; the suffering was terrible, searing waves of pain rushed from his soles, engulfing his whole body. After a while one of the men said : "What the hell with this boy? How's that he's not singing already? And look at his cock, it's getting hard!"

• Raise his feet, said Pierre, and examined the brightly reddened soles, then put more grease over the tortured surface and made them to be put down again. Pain exploded again into Bernard's mind.
  
  
• Lower.

And lower his feet went, closer to the burning coals whose flames licked the helpless soles.

He fought the flames - first, before - but then he surrendered and let the flames pass through him, then his body relaxed and the time went on.

• Up with the feet - said Pierre - and take away the brazier; this is going nowhere; let him on the floor, we better figure something.

Bernard lay there, twisting in silent suffering, his cheek on the stones, hands tied back, ankles still tied to the rod, feet a white hot fountain of pain.

• I think his feet must be sensited enough by now - said a voice - let's try something more energetic.

They produced two wooden horses and tied the rod on top.

• Place his feet apart.

His right foot was untied and promptly retied away from the left one, both soles exposed, helpless , red and very very sore, aching without pause.

One man was at each side, each one holding a cane, the man on the left made a nod, the man on the right raised the cane and aimed a stinging blow over the extremely sensitive soles.

• Whack!

Agony!!

The cane struck on the ball of right foot, and an eternal moment later, a peak of pain hit Bernard's brain, then another.

• Whiiiisshhh....Swack!

Right in the middle of the left one.

• Swack! again on the right ball.
  
  
• Swack! on left heel.
  
  
• Swack! right instep.
  
  
• Aaagh! left ball (I shall not scream, I shall not scream)

Tears runned from his eyes as blows kept coming, like a pityless rain over his suffering flesh. And blows kept falling, hissing in the air...whiiisshhh, hitting loudly...whack! and painful, oh so painful! each whack! worse than the former, oh, ooohh, and I shall not scream, I shall not...oohh!

• Swiiisshh
  
  
• Whack!
  
  
• Swiiisshh
  
  
• Whack!
  
  
• Oohh! How agonizing! Each blow hits harder, and harder is also my erection. How embarrasing. What's happening with me? I made my chastity oath sincerely. Why I react this way?

The executioners changed places, now they are hitting along the soles; they keep moving around, so they beat soundly balls and heels, instep, toes and outer sides hundreds of times.

I feel like I'm about to burst all around because I cannot keep so much pain all for myself, I have burned to ashes and I have no more to give. But they keep hitting my soles; oh, how hard, oohh, oohh!

What the hell! - exploded a man - Why this dammned boy doesn't speak! And he took his strong leather belt and started to lash the boy across his chest. Another one imitated him and soon Bernard's chest was crisscrossed with red welts, then his belly and finally his legs, all his forward surface was red and painful, and his soles were swolen and extremely tender.

• Enough, let's think of something else.
  
  
• Master Pierre - said a man - while you figure out what else to do, I can take care of him, I think that's important deprieve him of rest, so the mounting fatigue will break him.
  
  
• Well, very well, do as you like.

The man who had so spoken, produced a long sharp needle, the kind of a "cloack pin", with some ornament at its end. He put it to heat in the brazier. Soon the needle was red, white red.

He grabbed the boy's right foot's toes, bended them back, and inserted the burning needle in the middle of that foot's ball, he pushed slow and hard, some acrid smoke rose and Bernard's body twisted in vain, the needle's point broke through he upper feet's skin. He replaced the needle on the fire. White red hot. I'm gonna insert it again in this boy's soles. I love his suffering soles, so helpless, so vulnerable, take this, right in the middle, take this, into the heel, and this one, another one, take these, under toenails, oh! how you twist! Why don't you scream? Damned you! Scream! Scream!

He punctured both feet, then legs, chest muscles were punctured too, and the burning needle crossed his shoulders and arms also.

• Well, it's obvious he's much more tougher than we thought, so we must resort to stronger measures, said Pierre. He asked for cavalry crops and ropes, then he made tie the boy's feet further apart and attached ropes to Bernard's wrists, hanging him from ceiling like a wavering, suffering X.
  
  
• On with the crops, he said.
  
  
• Let's see this nice back, uttered a man, and delivered the first blow. A long red welt appeared across the boy's shoulders.
  
  
• See this, said another, and a new welt crossed the former.
  
  
• And this.
  
  
• And this.

Lashes kept falling over his bare back, waist, buttocks, legs, calfs, until he was all red, then he was whiped on his ribs, arms, chest, belly, and between the legs. With embarrasment he noticed his erection, that did not subsided even under whip. And the skin, inside his thights, was soo tender, oohh! oohh!.

• What the hell is this boy made of?!

The boy was a hanging, red and painful cross of suffering flesh and tears. The boy sobbed, but not surrendered.

• OK, let him down, I don' wanna him to die, not so soon, at least. Untie him, give him some water.
  
  
• Sire
  
  
• Have your say, man.
  
  
• I think I can "prepare"his soles, so they'll be MUCH more sensitive.
  
  
• All right, go ahead, do it.

The man went to the kitchen and brought a short sharp pointed knife and a bowl with salt. The boy was untied, but still lying on the floor. He took the boy's left ankle and tied it again over the rod, then he tied the right one. He grabbed the left toes and flexed them hard back, stretching the sole, then he inserted the knife's point under the fifth toe and ran it along the sole, making a long wound all along the swollen and aching sole; blood poured out immediately, then he made another cut, long, parallel to the former, from the ball to the heel, and another, and another, from ball to heel, and then only in the ball and the heel, sparing the instep, until all the walking surface was sliced and blooding.

Then the man grabbed right foot, flexed up the toes and started cutting, the sole was opening, opening like the earth under the plow. He cut the toes in the same direction, blood was running down along boy's legs. Boy's hands, now free, clutched helplessly over his mouth. The man made a pause,

Then he took salt from the bow and rubed it on the wounded soles. A new fire exploded into young Bernard's body.

More time elapsed. The hand grabbed his toes again. The knife started to cut again, this time across, across the sole, across the previous wounds; and he made very, very much cuts, from ball to heel, in both feet, making sure to cut deeper into the heels, because the skin is tougher. Then the toes, and later, the salt.

• I see your point, said some other man, I'll prepare some device to be used afterwards.

Then they come the diagonal cuts, first from one angle, then from the other, many, many cuts. Blood ran along his legs.

• Let him ripe for awhile.
  
  
• OK, It'll take some time to prepare my instrument.

Bernard lay on his back, over the stone floor watered by his perspiration, all his body aching, his feet on pure fire, trying to get out of his body, hoping to flee from his mind, and suffering, suffering, and keeping silent.

A kick on his side brought him back.

• I wonder how you will like this - said this other man, and put before his eyes a club. There were sharp knife points protruding on it!
  
  
• I think I'm gonna make pulp of your soles with this pretty one.

And he started to pound with that terrible tool all over Bernard's soles; he didn't spare the insteps, the blows smashed the soles again and again, blood spilled all over, and he pounded and pounded several hundred times. Breathless, he stopped, while recovering he rubed salt over the bloody mess, and then pounded again.

• Speak, you fool. Who is the guardian?

The violent blows made splashing sounds over the bleeding soles.

Plack!....Plack!....Plack!...Plack!...

• Where is the Ark?

Plack!...Plack!...Plack!...Plack!...Plack!...

• Where is the Grial?

Plack!...Plack!...Plack!...Plack!...Plack!...Plack!...

• Where is the Sudarium??

Tormentor and victim were both covered in blood when the soldier finally gave up in frustration.

• It's no use by now, but just wait some hours, his feet will be so tender that just touching his soles will make him sing like a cannary.

They untied the boy's feet from the rod and let them fall, hitting hard on the ground. Now they finally gave him water, and he was left in peace for some time; he tried hard to relax, to spare strength, but pain was overwhelming, pain came in blazing waves that engulfed him and made him twist and contort in anguish. Hours went by.

• This is disgusting, this boy is too dirty,he must be washed thoroughly. On your feet, boy!

On my feet; how I could stand on my feet, they are a swollen, purple mass of fire.

• On your feet, you scum! The crop slashed across the bare boy's back. Aahh! another one on his waist. Oohh!

I'll stand up...I'll stand up...Ooohh, another one on my back, how it hurts, I'll stand up, I'll do it, now, first on my knees, now, right foot,OK, left foot, now, get up! Oohh! It hurts! It hurts so much!

When Bernard put his weight over his soles, all wounds opened at once. The boy fell on his knees again, and the crop found its target on his back, his buttocks, legs and arms.

I'll do it! I'll do it! On my feet, now!

• Well, let's have a walk.

Around the room they walked, the burly Pierre holding his arm and the trembling naked boy laboriously stepping ahead. The soldier made him relieve his bladder and bowels, then took him to the fountain and made him wash; water took off dirt and dried blood, displaying all his bruised beauty.

• You are very pretty, don't you? I guess I can do some good use of you; but that can wait, you must untie your stubborn tongue beforehand, and believe me, you will talk.

Pierre took the boy down again, to the vault now turned into torture chamber. He made him lie on his back and secured once more his ankles to the horizontal rod, a feet or so apart. He touched the boy's chest with a cane.

• I bet your soles are killing you already, aren't they? Guess what is gonna happen when this cane will hit your soles? Can you imagine the pain you'll suffer?

Bernard's mind was rushing..."This is not real...this is not
happening". Pierre delivered the first blow
over right foot's ball.

• UUOOAAGGHH!!

The scream came out his mouth before he could check it. Pierre nodded to a man in front of him; the soldier delivered a terrible blow over left foot's ball. Bernard's hands pressed over his lips, the scream was deafening into his brain. The canes hitted hard, three, four, five, OOUUWW! his heels brutally pounded, but now the screams were only inside himself, twenty nine, thirty, thirty one, thirty two, the insteps, AAAGGGHH! but only his sobbing was heard, eighty four, eighty five, eighty six, the sides, NOOO! one hundred and fourty nine, one hundred and fifty, one hundred and fifty one, balls and toes, I, I CAN'T! two hundreds, three hundreds, OOOHHH!! blood spattered at each blow; the executioners had learned from the day before, when they ended bloodied all over, now they were almost naked, and they kept hitting hard, hard. Hard as his cock was, and as his soles were tortured he felt that pressure mounting again inside him, growing, growing, overwhelming him...then a white jet surged skywards and he almost fainted.

• Won't you speak, damned fool? Won't you?

They paused for breath.

• Bring the salt.

They rubed salt on the bloody pulp that the boy's soles had become.

Ooohh, how it hurts! It's killing me, I don't know if I can stand it any longer, oooww.

• I don't understand this, no boy could endure this suffering, he must have broken long ago. Who the hell are you, son of the devil?

So I'm winning after all. I'm winning...

• Let's whip him with something stronger than crops.
  
  
• Guess you are right, let's use bullwhip.

Once again he was suspended by his wrists, his ankles tied wide apart, spreadeagled he hanged, ready to receive the new torment.

SWACK! over his chest, breath fled from his lungs; SWACK! across his back, Oough! SWACK! on his chest again, over his shoulders, his stretched arms, his spreaded legs, hard over his calves; blood dripped from his dangling feet, blood begun to run from his chest and back too, he hung limp as terrible welts crisscrossed his whole body.

• Enough, I don't want him dead. Take him down. Bring the brazier and some branding irons, I'm gonna wake him up.

It took some time for the brazier to be ready; Bernard lay exhausted on the floor, Pierre kneeled by his side, he put a finger on a torn and swollen sole and pressed, the boy winced.

• How about a red hot iron on these sensitized soles, my darling young one? I'm gonna burn your tender feet, my pretty boy, and you are gonna scream and ask for mercy, but first you must talk and answer my questions.

The soldier grabbed the boy's golden hair and pulled up to speak right to his face, now very pale under the suntan.

• Have you heard, boy? You are not gonna flee across the dark shadows, I'll keep you alive to keep you suffering, until you answer all my questions.

He tied once more the boy's ankles to the rod; on the upturned, extremely swollen soles, wounds opened like bloody mouths, gallant young prince's feet were purple flowers of pain.

Pain, searing pain when the first iron was pressed upon his left foot's ball, hissing sound, smoke and acrid smell of burned flesh.

NOOO! I shall not scream aloud, only ME can hear me crying...OOOOHH!

Pierre was placing the burning irons on the heels, then along the foot, now under the toes; tears flowed from Bernard's eyes, and he noticed, with deep embarrasment, that he was having an erection again, more and more intense as his torturer went on searing his vulnerable soles, an iron was placed over his right foot's ball, the suffering made infinite, an inner explosion, a terrible orgasm, a thunderbolt, he lost conscience.

The boy woke up lying on the floor, back pressed against the bloody stones, the entire vault was splashed red with his blood; when they delivered those terrible cane blows over his freshly wounded soles, blood spilled real high and far. The moment he recovered concience, pain engulfed him, pain was all around, pain was all that existed; his feet were in fire, invisible flames consumed them nonetheless; then he realized that his genitals were on fire too, he had been cropped entusiastically on cock and balls in an effort to wake him up, and when this resort failed, they untied him and let him just rest on the spot.

Oohh, it hurts! it hurts SO much! where comes the pain from? From everywhere. Pain is all reality. Oohh! Am I alone? Am I in my own? No, not quite, there is a soldier guarding me, but he is sitting sleepy, perhaps could be surprised. By who? Me? I don't know if I can move, let alone surprise anybody. But I must do it, this is the only chance I have, if I can get out here, I could reach the secret passage, but, shall I be able to walk? my soles are tumefacted, burned and raw. But I must do it! Now I muster all the strength I could save along this travel through hell, I summon and concentrate my energy, I make it a glowing sun and contemplate it, now I put the sun in my head, I can think more clearly now, my mind was so numb; now I put the sun in my chest and my wild running heart regains peace, now I put it in my belly and my tensed body relaxes, I make the glowing run by my limbs and I feel them come back to life; I concentrate my power in my will, I must be in absolute control of myself to succeed, I shall not have a second opportunity. I'll see if I can flex my legs unnoticed, I'll need to jump towards him. Good, his eyes are closing, but I can't wait until he is asleep, their companions can be back any moment.

The boy rolled and kneeled without a sound, then stood up. His soles' cuts, wounds, lacerations opened all at once and a violent thrash of pain paralyzed him and almost made him cry.

I must move! I must move! Now!

He leaped forward, the edge of his right hand went like an ax on the soldier's throat, smashing the larynx and killing it inmediatly.

His sword, fast!

He forced himself to speed towards the secret passage's entrance, but the pain was so intense at each step that he could not run; furthermore, his step was slippery, because his soles bleed a lot, and he was leaving a trace of red footprints on the floor's stones.

The entrance, at last; I'll leave a circle of footprints around the hall, that can confuse them for a while; now, inside! Safe, by the moment, just by the moment, keep moving, keep moving!

Using the sword as a walking stick, he hobbled painfuly in the darkness, each step bringing back the cane's blows, the sharp knife slicing his soles, the burning kiss of the iron. His feet ached when he stepped and ached again when he raised the foot, he felt like his soles were ripping and leaving skin and flesh glued to the stones. And he went on, his mind focused, his will intact; his legs kept moving, on and on, until he reached the exit.

Once outside it took him a moment to regain vision, the bright morning sun revealed all his misery, only his head had been spared torture, his naked body was covered by welts and wounds, there were raw surfaces on his back and chest, his arms and legs displayed countless whip and crop marks, his feet were terribly swollen and covered in blood.

Without pause, forcing himself to the limit, he started climbing up the ravine, to the Ark's keep. The rough terrain was even more painful on his destroyed soles, and the loss of blood drained his strength, but his willpower kept him advancing, slowly, in agony. He made it up to the entrance and he felt all his energy deserting him, but then he heard, over his own panting respiration, exited voices coming from below. The chasers were after him, and his traces were all too easy to follow.

Into the cave he went, into the darkness he stumbled, probing the ground with the sword. He crossed the stream he remembered and he could discern the faint glow of the fabric covered Ark.

Using the sword he cut the ropes and took away the envelope; threw away the sword and kneeled in front of the Ark, bloody and naked like when he was born, he stretched his arms and embraced the golden angels that crowned the most powerful psychic engine humanity has ever known, capable of twisting the very fabric of space and time; bowed his head, almost touching the gleaming wingtips, and he felt the energy flowing through his battered body, his energy and the Ark's was one and the same.

There I go, my brothers; my mission well acomplished, they'll never get the Ark of Covenant...

The energy filled his soul, his mind, a delicious warmness growing, his body glowed like the Ark itself and he got an instant erection, all pain turned into delight, he felt the unbearable tension mounting inside, and suddenly, all that was him exploded in the most joyful orgasm that threw him across the golden gate that opened for a moment and closed again with a flash and thunder.

The slower soldiers were still climbing towards the cave when they saw in awe the blinding lightning that came from the earth's entrails. Then there was silence. With uttermost caution they peered inside, the cave's walls glistened like crystal, and they fled in horror when they met Pierre and their faster companions turned into something that could only be depicted as salt statues. Of the Ark of Covenant and the boy, there was no trace at all.