3. Cause to celebrate
He was ambitious, he was proud to confess it. That ambition had got him where he was. He had clawed his way up the greasy pole .. struggled up every fucking inch of it .. tooth and nail. Not like those stuck-up arseholes back at court. He fought his way upwards .. all the way. Come from nothing .. now look at him. General in the emperor’s army. Every inch getting here by his own sweat and tears.
Few friends back at court. Not “one of them”. Not born with a silver spoon in his gob. He was uncouth, they said. Ill-bred. Foul-tempered, foul-mouthed. He didn’t know how things were done.
He fucking-well-knew how things were done. And that wasn’t sitting around at court with your finger stuck up your arse. Tiradates got things done.
And he done it this time. Well-and-fucking-truly. Returning in triumph. With this prick-of-a-prince in tow. Tiradates had ended the war. With a single stroke. He was handing over this last of their goat-shagging royal line. For the emperor to eradicate their royal house. Wipe out the last of these goat-shagger kings.
He was made! The emperor would shower him with favours. Let those stuck-up arseholes look down their snooty noses at him now. He give them the finger right up their noble arse. This muscled prick was going to make him. His name sung with praise. Earn him a fortune in emperor’s gifts. And he’d taken the arsehole without a fight!
Tiradates had got where he was by getting the job done. And by understanding what tickled his emperor’s whims. It would flatter Vologases to let the court think HE had broken in this ox-of-a-man. This prince looked unbreakable. Powerful physique, stamina of an ox, a ferocious will.
But when Tiradates offered up this prize already at breaking point. Buckling under the weight of this murderous regime .. pitiless hard work .. every chance of escape denied. Breaking him physically. Wearing him down mentally. So Vologases just had to give him the “final shove”. Looking like this human ox of supreme manly strength had broken under the weight of an emperor’s might. He’d caved-in under the Parthian heel. And the whole court would wonder at the strength of Vologases. This impressive muscled warrior prince decisively crushed .. wondrously broken .. by the mighty emperor himself.
Trouble was, there was still fight in the brute. The ox was tough. Stubborn. Tiradates would have expected the arsehole to crumble by now. But at the pace of this cart, it would still take four-to-five days to get back to court. For all his glares and muscled defiance, the strain of punishing hard work was getting to him. More days like this ….. Tiradates would have him at breaking point.
Tiradates believed in looking after his men for doing a good job. This troop of soldiers he’d assigned to keeping on at the ox .. they’d come up to scratch. He would reward them for their efforts so far. Tonight a celebration before crossing the wetlands back to their homeland. A night to remember. And a chance to reinforce their general’s orders .. before getting back, he wanted this fucker crushed into the dirt.
He imagined the emperor sending out an escort to accompany their arrival. Escorted in by the imperial guard, in triumph. He’d leave this captive in his filth. That muscled chest streaked with dirt and old sweat from exhausting hard work. Hardly looking like royalty arriving in style.
He’d have the arsehole chained to an iron bar across his shoulders.. To emphasise the might in those shoulders. To show off the rock-hard biceps bulging. The lift hauling his belly in flat .. walked through the cheering crowd, that muscular power shown off to effect. The power that Tiradates had crushed. Impotent. Useless piece of goat-shagger shit!
All of this daunting muscle-power HE had captured. THIS was what he was hauling back in his filth and his shame to face the emperor. Impotently brought back in chains. Tiradates’ supreme offering to his emperor. Dragged stinking and dishevelled to face Parthian justice. And the ferocity of his emperor’s wrath.
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