All Characters 18+
Even the Sun seems to mock me, laughing his light on my nakedness as I am traipsed through these foreign streets! Only this morning I was Ithaca's Champion, with all the praise and adoration befitting a Prince. See how I am brought low by the Brute of Carthage! Unable to shield my eyes in this pitiless noon, my wrists shackled tightly under my chin, I can only shuffle forwards, driven like a donkey as my Victor - the idiot Machaeus - lavishes my cheeks with strokes of the flogger.
Blinded by the sunshine, all I can see is the memory of my Father's face, his expression dark with disgust.
"How could you let this happen?" his eyes condemn me silently from his seat of honour across the arena, "You are no longer a son of mine!"
I ask myself the same question. I was supposed to win. The crowds would cheer for me as I brought Machaeus home a slave! How did this imbecile? this lummox?...best the Golden Boy of the Ionian Islands? Sure, he has brawn, being stockier and heavier than I, but he's a halfwit! Only listen to him hoot and guffaw as these people clap. I've overcome wrestlers bigger than he, with my speed, flexibility, and (above all) my intelligence. I was taught that brains should always win out against common force. Well, today this presupposed truth is shown to be quite false. The Barbarian triumphs, and every lash he gives my buttocks earns him more applause.
This shameful display, in which I am forced to participate, is typical of his boorish race! We Greeks and proud Helens would never indulge such vulgarity! I was warned that crass humiliations would await me should I fail. I am forsaken! Hear my prayer you mighty Gods! Show mercy to he who has fallen in your honour! Spare me the rumoured practices and indignities of these plebs!
Reaching the end of the road, this newly made Hero of Carthage is greeted by his illustrious Father, King Hanno. Dressed in Gold he embraces his son, raising the Lad's hand to heaven in public celebration of their triumph. Machaeus is too simple to temper or contain his glee, as Greek decorum would dictate. On this - the only great day in his life - his stupid grin gleams with glory.
Had he more sense, he'd understand just how false his Father's affections really are. The King expected him to lose, just like everyone else. This was his chance to wash his hands of this cretinous Son. He would never have let his elder Sons compete on Tanit's feast day, and risk losing them to such an ignoble fate. In the event, and against all odds, Machaeus won, and Hanno can share in the acclaim.
I'm actually touched with some pity for the Dolt. All his days he has borne the ridicule and despite of his clever and accomplished Brothers. They married beautiful princesses and won in epic wars. Machaeus, for his ineptitude and his gormless face, has only ever been an embarrassment - doubtless never having so much as kissed a girl, nor been introduced to any diplomat or Great Man of any nation. But my own Father's graces have proved to be no more sincere than his. My achievements, my beauty, count nothing to credit now. I will likely never see my Father again. But today Machaeus looks handsome in the glow of his unexpected victory, and I'm glad he can finally experience this fleeting honour.
I understand barely three words in their ugly Punic language, and the speech delivered is lost on me. I wait, naked as the day I was born, my smacked bottom on display, as lengthy homilies are shared. Eventually, the King closes his address, handing his Boy a bizarre trophy. I've never seen anything like it - a strange knot of silver. Machaeus descends the stage with it, and as he approaches me I'm thrown on my knees by his friends. I can fathom nothing of his thoughts reading his dumb smile, but he swiftly bungs the trophy into my mouth, and now I understand it's purpose.
