The Alexandrian Mysteries

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The Alexandrian Mysteries

by Harry Palmer

Chapter 4: The alter in the basement

(or exitus acta probat) Alexandria, Egypt

335 AD

I had barely slept and such sleep I had was sheer torment. When I suddenly jolted awake for the third or fourth time after dozing off around 4.00am, I found that I was covered in a light sheen of sweat and was shaking, haunted by the fleeting images of a nightmare; Cyrus bound in chains and pushed over the side of a rearing boat, a wave engulfing him and taking him away, my outstretched arm always tantalisingly close but unable to grasp him, the face of Pamphilos smiling at me, Adnah mouthing something I could not understand and as ever in my recurrent nightmare, Joseph watching from afar, scrutinizing me, evaluating me, judging me.

I had not stopped thinking about the implications of the scene I had witnessed in Malach's guest quarters nor of what Cyrus had reported of the goings-on there during the so-called medical examination of the four boys. I was, however, no nearer finding any comfort or explanation and my heart was heavy, my mind perplexed and now, exhausted after a night of strange, tormenting dreams, I knew that I could not pretend any longer that all was well. After rising even earlier than my customary time, I made an offering of incense at the shrine to the goddess Tyche that I had set up in my quarters. I prayed then for guidance and for strength in seeing to completion the course of action that I had slowly come to realise was my only possible option.

It was clear to me now that bringing these boys here had been a grave mistake. I could not comprehend the nature of the threat they faced or even guess at the extent of the involvement of Malach and his servants, the twins, or their motivation but I knew that the four boys needed to be protected from the sinister influence that now pervaded my mistress's villa. I was shocked that Cyrus himself seemed to have been drawn into it, whatever it was and this realisation only strengthened my resolve to act. At some point, Miriam herself would have to be told but before that happened, I was determined to take steps to right the wrong in which I had been unwittingly complicit when I brought the boys from the harbourside, hidden in a cart, a mere three weeks ago. My thinking was that since Joseph had rescued them once before, he could be relied on to help me in rescuing them again.

I drew back the curtain that separated my portion of the dormitory from that of my servants and looked over to the nearest bed. Cyrus too was awake, lying on his back, eyes screwed tight, a dreamy smile on his face. His right hand jerked rhythmically beneath the bed-clothes as he masturbated to whatever fantasy was running through his head - whether of Talia or Adnah, I didn't care to speculate. For a moment I envied him the horniness of youth. However, I didn't have to wait long before he let out a sweet gasp of relief as he shot his load of spunk and stained his sheets once more. I must admit that I enjoyed the horrified look on his face when he opened his eyes to see me standing at the end of his bed. He blushed deeply.

"Good morning, Cyrus," I said, keeping my tone as even and neutral as I could manage under the circumstances. The fact that I was deeply troubled by yesterday's events made this seeming coolness difficult to carry off and Cyrus, knowing me very well, must have detected an unusual gravity in my manner for his face dropped on seeing mine, his eyes downcast as if I had scolded him like a naughty child, although it might have been something to do with my catching him mid-wank.

"I have a task for you," I continued without a pause. "Be in the entrance hall in ten minutes. Ten, you understand? A quick wash and then get your outdoor tunic on."

He looked at me as if lost for words, considering what this sudden summons might portend. I turned to leave but he called me back with the piteousness of his plea.

"Master, please don't be angry with me," he said.

I looked into his crumpled face and felt that familiar surge of love for him, a love I knew would never die. I softened my tone, realising that he was probably as confused and upset about recent events as I was.

"I'm not angry, lad," I said. "I'm not in the least bit angry with you but I have a task of great urgency so...please...ten minutes!"

"Yes, master," he mumbled, waiting for me to leave before he threw back the bedclothes to examine the sticky mess he'd made.

When we met up again ten minutes later and I explained his mission to him, he looked aghast.

"Joseph?" he said stupidly, as if I would have got that particular name wrong. I had given him an address in the backstreets of the old market quarter and told him that he would find Joseph there, to bring him here to the villa, directly to me, no-one else.

"You know who I mean!" I said, sternly.

"Yes, master," he replied, almost defiantly. "That ex-slave trader who I don't trust. Who I'm...scared of!"

"The very same," I said. "But believe me, my little friend, he is the one person who we can trust. You needn't be afraid of him...I owe him...I..."

Cyrus was looking at me with curiosity. He knew I only referred to him as "my little friend" in moments of great tenderness, of closeness and he was puzzled as much as anything at the use of this phrase now. I felt a sudden sense of resignation, of utter helplessness and vulnerability and was compelled, by what strange interior motivation I know not, to take Cyrus deeper into my confidence than ever before.

"I've told you before that Joseph rescued me from slavery; that he saved my life," I said. "But there is more to the story of what happened on that beach that night - something I've never told anyone."

Cyrus watched me open-mouthed, eager now to hear these new revelations.

"Fifteen years ago it was. Joseph was still a slaver then but was, I think, already sick of the life. Anyway, something inside of him rebelled that night and he decided to go against the gang he worked with; he freed six or seven of us, cut us all loose and helped us ashore whilst we were moored in shallow water off the coast near Nicopolis. I made it ashore but the other slavers had already been alerted and they re-captured me on the beach, would have taken me back as a slave except that they offered me my freedom if I gave up the person who had helped me escape."

I looked into the face of Cyrus, tried to fathom the entranced but worried look that darkened his lovely features. He was clearly hanging on my every word.

"And I gave them Joseph's name."

"You...you betrayed him?"

"Yes, I did," I said simply.

"After he had risked his..."

"Yes. I didn't want to be a slave. I...was so scared."

There was a moment of silence in which I could sense Cyrus judging me, hating me perhaps; in any case, he seemed to be engaged in a fundamental re-appraisal of myself as a man. Eventually, he looked up at me, frowning.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Oh, they let me go. They caught up with Joseph and very nearly killed him. They hurt him badly. Very badly. But he is a powerful man and he fought them off and in the end, he made his own escape. We met up again by chance in Alexandria about six months later. The thing is, he never knew it was me. Still doesn't to this day. Has no idea that it was I who betrayed him that night on the beach."

I fell silent, dried up and empty, a discarded shell. Cyrus was thoughtful and respectful of the moment.

"So you see," I continued. "We have a very deep and strong connection, Joseph and I, a shared history. It's why I know deep down that it must be Joseph that I turn to for help. Only him. Only he will do. Only he can help rescue the boys from...whatever is going on here. Which is why you must put aside your fears and find him for me. Do it for Pamphilos, if not for me. Go, now! And one last thing..."

At this point, I placed my hand gently against his hot cheek but he moved his head away and wouldn't let me touch him. I looked into his eyes, emphasising the seriousness of what I said next.

"Everything I just told you must be our secret, lad. You are to share it with no-one, you understand? No-one!"

He paused for a long minute, nodded briefly and was out of the door before I could truly say goodbye.

It was an hour later and Cyrus flinched slightly at the touch of the hand on his cheek, the roughness of the thick, dark fingers, stroking him. Joseph looked down at the lad gravely but with a kindness that Cyrus had not expected.

"Your concern for those little boys does you great credit," he said thoughtfully. "But you know...there really is no cause for concern. Those boys don't need rescuing, I promise you that."

He laughed shortly, weighing up in his mind how much to disclose, how much to hold back. Finally, he shrugged and smiled broadly at Cyrus.

"Well, young man!" he exclaimed. "You will get to hear of this one way or another, I suppose, so you might as well learn the truth from me."

He paused again, as if uncertain quite where to begin. Finally, he laid a giant hand on either of Cyrus' slim shoulders and squeezed them a bit more tightly than was truly comfortable.

"You're scared of me, aren't you, boy?"

Cyrus was seized with a sudden desire to run. He wriggled uselessly in Joseph's grip and looked up at him with a glint of defiance in his eye.

"No, I'm not!" he declared, the glint disappearing as quickly as it had shown itself. He struggled some more then stopped suddenly, bowed his head, overwhelmed and nodded sadly.

"Yes," he said, finally.

"That doesn't matter," said Joseph. "What matters is that you trust me. That you obey me. Like Theo...like your master said you should. Will you do that?"

Cyrus was silent for a moment, unsure of himself, of exactly how far he could ever trust and obey this man.

"But...my master said that we had to rescue the boys. And that you'd help...," said Cyrus, sounding desperate even to his own ears.

"As I say," replied Joseph silkily, "those boys are very far from needing rescue. Listen carefully and I will explain it all. But after that, you will obey me, yes? My every command?"

Cyrus looked up at Joseph, the confusion and dismay evident in his face. Finally, he reached a decision in his heart and spoke, his voice quiet but sure.

"Yes, sir," he said simply. "I will do as you bid me. May God protect me!"

At this Joseph threw his massive head back and laughed loud and long. He clapped Cyrus with some force on the poor lad's shoulder.

"Well said," he boomed. "Well said!"

After a few more minutes of deep concentration, listening spellbound to Joseph's words, Cyrus shook his head, almost in disbelief.

"But...but...I thought you were a Christian!" he complained, puzzled and vexed but strangely elated by the story he had just been told.

"I am" replied Joseph simply. "I don't care much for the disputatious ways of theologians, that is true but in my heart I follow Christ's example and his teaching. There is no conflict. The things I have just described to you are all true. The truth of Christ's teachings don't make them any the less relevant today. I follow both; I love my neighbour as myself, I believe in turning the other cheek. I believe in forgiveness..."

Cyrus was deep in thought, seemingly torn in two by what he had just heard. Finally, he gazed at Joseph with a new kind of understanding.

"There's something I have to tell you," he said. Joseph cocked his head, waiting for the boy to go on but Cyrus stopped, the conflict in his heart playing out all too clearly in his troubled countenance.

"Then why not just tell me?" prompted Joseph. Cyrus hesitated still, then said:

"It's something my master told me. It relates to you and him. He made me swear not to tell..."

At this point Cyrus actually punched himself on the palm of his hand in frustration. Joseph regarded him with some amusement.

"And you think you will get a good leathering if he finds out?"

Cyrus tutted loudly in disapproval at this remark.

"I don't care about that!" he said hotly. "He can leather me all he wants after! It's just that..."

For one more agonising moment, Cyrus resisted the urge within him to tell Joseph the awful, damning secret Theodoulos had related to him earlier. He bit his tongue, he clenched his fists, he made himself not tell. And then he told.

I paced the west cloister nervously, avoiding all. My duties neglected, my servants, I knew, troubled by my evident distraction. I spotted Lucius from time to time lurking behind a pillar as if in an attitude of casual indifference, except that he shot me quick, fearful glances which betrayed the anxiety that my agitated state had evidently communicated. I had dismissed him once already, ordering him to keep away. I fretted constantly about the boys, their present location, their welfare. I had waylaid Theron in his morning tasks and directed him to deliver a note to Miriam's private chamber requesting an audience in half and hour. That was half an hour ago and now I summoned up my steeliest resolve, murmured a quick prayer to Tyche and headed through a side-door which would take me to the east wing of the villa where my mistress would be waiting for me, no doubt curious to know what matter could require such urgency and secrecy.

She stood before me now, an expression of touching concern flickering over her strong-featured face. I knew her to be a kind, intelligent and indeed, a most interesting woman with a forceful, self-willed personality that drove her energetically to take an active part in every aspect of the running of her affairs, her household, her estate. Her lack of a husband was, for her, no obstacle or discouragement; she appeared to all to thrive on the freedom. She made a very characteristic gesture as I approached and took my hands in hers and held them whilst she studied me, taking in my worried visage, my desperation. I had put to good use the time I had spent pacing up and down outside and had composed a short speech; a clear, if not very detailed account - I was determined to spare her the sordid details - of what had transpired the day before. I was aware of how outlandish my claims might sound and of the fact that I was about to accuse Malach, her dear friend, of some unspecified treachery but I needed to make her aware of the basic fact that the boys appeared to be in some kind of danger, although the exact nature of that danger was unknown. I took a deep breath to clear my head and began my little prepared speech.

"My lady, I have something I need to tell you; some rather disturbing news that must be investigated immediately."

I paused, gauging her reaction to my initial statement. She didn't appear particularly shocked or even intrigued but dropped my hands and lowered her head rather shyly.

"My dear Theodoulos," she said. "Actually, it is I who have something to tell you. Please forgive me..."

Her voice trailed away as if she was truly at a loss and instead of speech, her right arm swept rather majestically towards the far end of her room. To my astonishment and consternation there stepped from behind a large curtain not only Malach himself but Joseph and Cyrus as well. The sudden appearance before me of the last three people on earth whom I expected to be facing at this pres ice moment had a curious effect on me. My head started swimming in a veritable fog of confusion, a sense of deep and dark foreboding overtook me and I actually swayed on my feet almost in a faint.

"Joseph?" I said, unable to keep the incredulity out of my voice. "Cyrus?" I almost choked on his name such was my feeling of shock at seeing him now in this company. I couldn't bring myself to utter Malach's name, the name of a man whom I was beginning to think of as some kind of devil, a devious fiend who had entrapped my mistress with the thralling spell of his serpentine trickery. He was looking at me, they all were, I suppose, with a level of curious but unnervingly-detached concern that I would have thought odd had I my customary wits about me. It struck me suddenly that they all knew something that I didn't; that they were all party to whatever wicked plot was afoot. I knew at that moment that I was utterly lost.

It was Miriam who spoke first.

"My poor Theodoulos," she said. "Please, do not look so amazed. It seems I owe you an apology, an explanation at least."

At this point she moved forward to take my hands again but I instinctively backed away from her, unsure and untrusting, feeling myself finally unhinged.

"What is the meaning of this?" I demanded, recovering my poise somewhat. Miriam looked at me with great tenderness, pity even.

"You shall know all, my dear, dear man. But first allow me to introduce...my husband."

I looked at her as if she were insane and my body stiffened in revolt when Malach stepped forward, took Miriam's hand and bowed deeply to me, a sly smile playing about his face in acknowledgment of the drama of the moment.

"Your...husband?" I repeated stupidly. She smiled mischievously and bowed a little herself, pleased that her deception had been so complete.

"Yes, Malach and I are husband and wife," she said casually. "But we are more than that; much more. Malach has the honour of being High Priest, I the Priestess, of a most venerable and ancient Order. We represent one of the oldest and most sacred traditions; a tradition that has been secretly maintained over centuries, originally in Babylon and which now exists across many lands. It actually forms the basis of many a more-accepted religious practice, did the orthodox believers but know it!"

Her light tinkle of laughter struck me as almost obscene.

"I...I don't understand," I said. "What in the name of all the Gods is going on?"

"Actually, that's rather a good question!" said Malach, nodding heartily. "But to answer your main concern, let me assure you right away that those four boys are perfectly safe and well as you'll observe for yourself presently. They have all passed their examination with flying colours; in fact, we couldn't be more pleased with them or more thrilled for them and a lot of that is thanks to you and the diligent care you have shown them over these past..."

"For Heaven's sake!" I bellowed, interrupting Malach in full flow. "What is it you want with those boys? Where are they now?"

All eyes turned to Miriam; mine, Joseph's and those of Cyrus and Malach himself; all awaited the pronouncement of the Priestess.

"What we want from them is their energy," she said as if explaining the obvious to a dull-witted child, which is probably how she regarded me at that moment.

"Our Order will harness their youthful, vital, unstoppable sexual energy, an energy that over centuries we have learned to store for the purposes of spiritual advancement. Only the unbridled release of sexual energy will do and the energy of pubescent boys is, we have found, of unmatchable potency in this respect."

She smiled sweetly at me, concerned still at my befuddlement

"It...it doesn't sound very...Jewish!" I said.

She laughed again out loud.

"Oh no, I suppose not," she admitted. "But my Jewish heritage is nonetheless dear to me. We can be anything we want, you see; Jewish, Orphic, Christian - it doesn't conflict at all. All of the sexual cults are much, much older than any of those new-fangled innovations."

"All?" I gasped.

"Oh, yes," she said. "you'd be surprised how many of us there are. We all have our own little ways, of course; ours is flagellation; we find that raises the energy like nothing else, don't we, husband?" At this, she turned to Malach and blushed deeply, catching the reciprocal twinkle in his eye.

"And where are they now? The boys. Are they safe?" I demanded with some urgency.

"Safe? God, yes! I should think so," she replied lightly before adding in a darker tone:

"My dear Theodoulos, I do think you've got the wrong end of the stick somehow. The boys are close by with my children...our children!" She turned her loving gaze towards Malach once more.

"Your...children?" I gasped.

"Yes. The twins. Talia and Adnah. My babies!"

I gasped in astonishment, my gasp only outdone by that of Cyrus, whose own astonishment suddenly appeared to know no bounds. I had many more questions to ask but at that very moment the side-door opened slowly and the four boys themselves filed in as if on cue, shepherded by Miriam's "babies". They stood bashfully lined-up as if for inspection and for a moment no-one seemed quite sure what to do until the mood was properly set by little Pamphilos who, spotting his mentor across the room, could stand on ceremony no longer and forgetting any protocol or formality, rushed headlong towards him.

"Cy! Cy'us!" he shouted in a spontaneous release of joy, flinging himself into the older boy's arms. Cyrus cradled him and didn't refrain from expressing his own happiness with a shower of little kisses that were eagerly returned by Pamphilos. I looked with relief at the smiling faces of the boys, observed the tender expressions of Miriam and Malach and felt myself relax for the first time that morning.

And then I caught the look in Joseph's eyes, the darkened, wary puzzlement they held and suddenly I realised he knew.

The ceremony had ended. I still felt dazed by the astounding turn of events and now a sequence of images played over again and again in my brain; mouths and arseholes, cocks and tongues and hands and faces mounting, melting, merging; a fantastical montage, the vividness of which was like an opium-induced dream. I had spent some time before the ceremony in deep conversation with Malach, being instructed in the finer points of their beliefs and practices, having their whole theory of sexual energy explained to me, the transforming power that could be brought to bear on our everyday lives by means of ritual sex-magick. Malach explained that tonight I would be allowed to participate, along with other members of the household, in what was essentially an initiation ceremony for the four boys, formally inducting them into the secret Order.

We had all been led blindfold - a touch of sheer theatrical nonsense according to Malach himself - into a basement chamber which I had always thought was used to store old furniture. When the blindfolds were removed, I saw that the room had been made magical and strange by the cunning use of props, with burning torches, billowing draperies and the numbing waft of some deeply narcotic incense all adding to the air of unreality. A large alter stood in the centre, bedecked with cloths of gold and silver, themselves enwrought with astrological symbols, some of which I recognised from Miriam's designs for the new mosaic pathway she was having constructed.

At the four corners of the alter were the four carved desks I'd seen before in Malach's quarters and one of the four boys was bent over each, naked and trussed in a strange, leather thong that contained their displayed genitals. Their mentors already stood behind them, each gripping a cane firmly and each bringing it down in synchronised rhythm, quite lightly at first but with increasing force until I could see red stripes begin to form on each boy's arse.

Once each boy had been thoroughly thrashed and tears were coursing freely down their cheeks, the mentors, as they had apparently been instructed, removed their tunics and stood naked behind the naked, beaten bottoms of the boys in front and canes still in hand, proceeded to masturbate themselves until their pricks were thick and pulsing, rigid and beginning to slime at the tips. At this point Pamphilos, Kallistos, Sayid and Sulong all rose from the desks and kneeling before their respective mentor, proceeded to take the older boy's throbbing penis in their little mouths. Pamphilos, I noticed, his face wet with weeping, could barely manage to fit in even the head of Cyrus' engorged knob but battled manfully, his tongue doing sterling work around the glue-ey slit. As they sucked and gobbled greedily, they all four played furiously on their own trussed-up cocks and after a minute, all were erect, although, as it turned out, only Sayid and Sulong were able to produce semen. Whilst this entrancing vision went on, I noticed Miriam and Malach, decked out in golden robes, leading Talia and Adnah by the hand towards the alter. The twins were naked, their bodies still alike in some childish respects since Talia's breasts were still very small and although the lad's penis was of impressive size and swayed with each step, it was Talia who was the hairier of the two, both around her genitals and underneath her arms.

Their parents helped them up onto the alter where they arranged themselves above the throng of mouth-fucking boys, Talia on all fours and Adnah already behind her, working on getting hard, something he didn't find too difficult given the encouraging example of his fellows all around. I watched in a kind of drugged fascination as he began fucking his sister in the arse, penetrating her, pushing into her; briefly the image of a donkey and a lovelorn donkey-boy came to my mind but was chased out by the now frantic urgings erupting from around the room as each boy reached a howling, dizzying climax. Cyrus spunked and Theron spunked as did the others, nearly simultaneous. Sulong managed to shoot a hot, sticky load even as Theron released his own sperm into the young lad's throat and with a final spasm of the hips, young Adnah began cumming noisily and with much contortion of his sweating face, the cumulative act on this most strange and unexpected stage.

There were other images as well that would stay in my memory but these were, as I say, all merged into the one irresistible tide of exotic sexuality that swirled and swelled like an ocean around me. By the time the ceremony was complete, I was exhausted, even though my participation had been limited to helping Cyrus dress Pamphilos in the dazzling silver robe the boys now wore to mark their new status. Despite the enduring pain of their beaten arses, the boys were buzzing with energy and happiness.

Finally, I searched out Joseph, whose gaze I had managed to avoid during the ceremony itself. I knew that for me there must be one final act to this performance and I felt compelled to see it through now, to force the issue, to find some kind of peace and resolution of my own, if that were possible. He stood across from me, relaxed and unobtrusive, despite his huge size. I approached and looked directly into the face of my erstwhile friend, the dark eyes, eyes I had felt on me in dreams, in nightmares, following me as I ran through sand, fleeing a wave, drowning.

"That night," I said simply. "That night you saved me. The night they almost killed you..."

There had been a subtle shift in the mood of the room, a change of tide. All eyes were now on me and Joseph.

"What of it?" he asked, staring right into me, through me.

"It was me," I said simply. "It was I who betrayed you.

There was a collective intake of breath from those around, an uncomfortable shuffling of feet, uncertain glances exchanged. Joseph sighed a long sigh, a sigh he had perhaps been holding in for years.

"I know, my friend," he said.

"Yes, I guessed as much. I suppose Cyrus told you."

I glanced briefly at the lad, who looked about to burst into tears.

"He did," said Joseph. "Once he had decided to trust me. But it didn't matter. You see, I have always known. Always!"

I looked at him with an awful, sudden reckoning, the weight of all my words and deeds these past fifteen years bearing down on me accusingly. Always known? All these years? I tried to fathom the meaning of this news, tried to reach intuitively an answer to the one burning question I couldn't bring myself to ask out loud. Joseph looked down on me and slowly a smile spread across his wide, dark face as he seemed to read my mind.

"I forgave you many years ago," he said gently. "I'm a Christian remember, not some pagan devil-worshipper like you!"

He stood back a little and laughed that big, surprising laugh of his but before he was even half-finished, Cyrus brushed past him urgently, red-faced, his head bowed.

"I'm sorry master. I didn't know what to do. I only wanted to help...you can whip me if you like. But...please...don't send me away from here!"

I looked blankly at the boy in front of me, feeling that all my energy had been drained by the events of the evening and that I simply had no more to say; no more words, no more thoughts, no more feelings. I almost turned away from him, was so close to turning away but when I looked at him (perhaps it would be for the last time), I suddenly knew my heart and knew my heart would never be whole if I did not myself make it so. I reached out to him and touched his head lightly - those light-brown curls - and I found myself speaking from my heart directly, I hoped, into his.

"Cyrus," I said. "I have loved you since the day I first set eyes on you. You are the dearest thing to my heart and my sole desire is to love and cherish you, my lad. Not only will I never send you away, I want you by my side today, tonight, tomorrow and for all time."

I gazed at him uncertainly. "If you'll have me...," I added.

He looked up at me, taken aback by my sudden passion, my directness. There was a terrible pause during which I truly did not know how he'd react and then he threw himself into my arms, crushing me with the force of his embrace. I hugged him tight, holding him, feeling him rising to meet me, his sobs gradually subsiding as he rubbed his head into my chest.

"Of course, a good whipping is still on the cards, you know that don't you, lad?"

"Yes, master," he murmured into my ear.

I looked around the assembled company, all the while hugging Cyrus close to me. They all looked on with smiles and not a few happy tears. Miriam, Malach and the twins stood to one side, their arms around each other lovingly. On the other side stood Lucius applauding us in his Roman way whilst Joseph nodded sagely, a broad grin now, it seemed, a permanent fixture. And all around, the boys, Sulong, Sayid, Kallistos and Pamphilos hugging each other and jumping up and down with seemingly inexhaustible exuberance; skipping, laughing, dancing round the room, their new initiated lives as acolytes beginning now (as they would surely carry on) in joy and light and love and peace and certain that we'd, all of us, experience, in days and nights to come, the Mysteries enacted once again.

THE END