Hatshepsut sat on a concrete bench gazing up at the moon. It was just coming up over the tree tops surrounding the large clearing. The stone table in the center of the clearing was plainly visible in the clear night. She was sitting as if she herself were made of concrete, never moving a muscle, while the High Supreme Judge read the sentence, his English accent heavy.
"After a traitor has had his just trial, and is convicted ... he shall have his judgment: to be drawn to the place of execution from his prison, as being not worthy anymore to tread upon the face of earth whereof he was made.”
"And whereas God has made the head of man the highest and most supreme part, as being his chief grace and ornament, he must be drawn with his head declining downward and lying so near the ground as may be, being thought unfit to take benefit of the common air.”
"For which cause also, he shall be strangled, being hung up by the neck between heaven and earth as deemed unworthy of both or either as likewise, that the eyes of our kind may behold and their hearts condemn him.”
"Then he is to be cut down alive, and to have his privy parts cut off and burnt before his face as being unworthily begotten and unfit to lead any generation after him, if this were possible. His bowels ... taken out and burnt, who inwardly had conceived and harbored such horrible treason.”
"After, to have his head cut off, which had imagined the mischief.”
"And lastly, his body to be quartered and the quarters set up in some high and eminent place, to the view and detestation of all, and to become prey for the sun.”
"And this is a reward due to traitors whose heart be hardened. For it is a psychic of state and government to let out our corrupt blood from the heart."
The Judge rolled the scroll from which he had been reading, and then handed it to Hatshepsut, who reviewed it, before returning it to him.
“It is true, and so it shall be,” she said nodding to the Judge.
He handed the scroll to an assistant.
“Let the condemned be brought forth.”
A horse was led into the clearing. Ariston was being dragged behind, bound, his mouth taped. He was then untied from the horse and made to bow on his knees before Hatshepsut, as a noose was placed around his neck.
“Remove the tape from his mouth, so that he may speak his last words,” the Queen ordered.
“I should have killed you centuries ago when I had the opportunity, you dirty sand slut!”
“As we can see, he has nothing of importance to say,” the Judge spoke quickly.
Hatshepsut nodded to the judge to proceed.
Slowly, Ariston was lifted up by the rope around his neck until he hung twenty feet in the air. He squirmed and bucked, his airway cut off.
“Fuck, how long is this going to last?” Bronson was squirming almost as much as the vampire that was hanging from the tree limb.
Several minutes later, Ariston stopped all movement. He was then lowered to the ground, and the noose removed from his neck. The seemingly dead vampire was then placed on a concrete table. His limbs were untied from his body, only to be retied to shackles where chains were hooked to four horses, one for each of his limbs.
“His clothing,” the Judge said to the black-hooded man, who seemed to just appear from behind the trees.
“This is like taking a step back in time,” Bronson whispered to Sarge, who was standing next to him. The big Marine seemed to be looking anywhere but at what was going on in front of him, as Ariston’s clothing was torn away.
“I really could do without all this,” Sarge whispered back, clearly uncomfortable.
Bronson watched in fascinated horror as the Judge nodded to the executioner, who was wielding a long knife. The hooded man then stepped between Ariston’s naked spread legs and removed his genitals.
Ariston’s head came off the concrete table as he screamed in pain.
His cock and balls were then thrown onto a bonfire several yards away, where they hissed and sizzled before disappearing into the hot embers.
Again, the executioner waited until the Judge gave him the nod to proceed. He then sliced open Ariston’s belly, removing his intestines, which were also tossed into the flames.
“Holy fuck.” Bile rose in Bronson’s throat.
Sarge groaned, wiping his face with both hands.
Ariston lay on the table gasping, his head rolling back and forth.
“Is all this really necessary?” Bronson felt as if he was going to throw up at any minute.
The huge redhead, Mathghamhain, put his hand on Bronson’s shoulder. Sarge frowned slightly, the gentle touch not going unnoticed.
“Acht, it is tradition, and it is about the only way to kill an ancient. He was my friend for many a year, and it saddens me, but it can’t be helped.”
“It…just seems so cruel,” Bronson grimaced. “I mean drawn and quartered seems so medieval.”
“It is medieval,” Mathghamhain said.
Once again the Judge nodded to the henchman, who in turn nodded to the horsemen. The four horsemen kicked their massive, sweating steeds into action. Ariston screamed again as his limbs were torn from his body. Each arm and leg followed the horses through the woods, being drug through the dirt and debris.
Ariston quieted, his eyes looking wildly around the small group of witnesses.
A final nod from the Supreme Judge to the executioner concluded with a broadsword being brought down, severing Ariston’s head from his body, where it rolled close to Hatshepsut’s feet. The mighty ancient Queen did not even look down at it.
The hulking executioner retrieved the head of Ariston, the mouth still opening and closing. The mouth finally went slack as a sharpened wooden pole was thrust into the open neck cavity.
That was all it took. Bronson rushed behind a tree and threw up.
When he returned, wiping his mouth, he nodded to Sarge to let him know he was okay.
“Now for the others,” Mathghamhain said quietly.
Burrows was escorted out, his arms and legs shackled with steel cables. Quickly, he was positioned between two trees, the cables tied off, leaving him naked, spread-eagled, his genitals dangling as he moved.
He saw Bronson and hissed, his fangs extended, not even taking note that Sarge was also there.
A few seconds later Léonide was also escorted out in the same fashion and was also stretched between two trees close by. He, unlike Burrows never looked up, his eyes averted.
“What happened to his accomplice?” Sarge whispered to the Scotsman.
“Acht, Fidencia was sentenced to a one-hundred year entombment. She got off easy because my daughter begged for mercy on her behalf.”
“Your daughter?” Bronson turned to the big man.
“Yes, my vampire daughter.” Mathghamhain smiled. “Moria. You may meet her at the ball next week.”
“I feel like I need to say something to him,” Sarge said, looking at the pine needle covered ground.
“He is too far gone into the madness, Sarge,” the large Scottish man said sadly.
Mathghamhain, Bronson and Sarge had become fast friends over the last few weeks as he’d stayed in the States to help clean up the mess that Ariston and Léonide had made. The biggest job had been to resettle the San Francisco vampires that Léonide had made not long ago.
Burrows was still hissing in Bronson’s direction. Léonide, however, was now weeping openly, his eyes still averted. Vincent, who was also there, was also crying as he watched.
“This is the heartbreaker,” Mathghamhain choked out. “They were so much in love.”
“What happens now?” Bronson asked.
“Nothing, my lad. We leave.” With that, the kilted Scot walked away.
Bronson looked at Sarge, perplexed.
“The sun will be up soon and it will take care of the rest,” Sarge said quietly, looking at the ground.
“They will just leave them here to burn up?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much it,” Sarge replied.
“Fuck, it all seems so barbaric.” Bronson shook his head in disbelief.
They watched as Vincent walked over to Léonide, kissed him, and whispered something in his ear. Both men were weeping, and then Vincent walked away, his shoulders slumped.
Sarge gently pushed Bronson up the path toward the prison. Just before the big prison doors were shut, they heard the screams of the two vampires as the sun ravished their bodies. Soon there would be nothing left but ash that would seep into the earth.