VII
Zeema sat on the bench like a pugilist waiting to be untapped after losing a
match. Lank hair hung down over a humble robe loosely cinched at the waist.
Bruises, cuts and more shone between the humble material's lapels. Naked calves
stretched out supported by bare heels.
Julius the Sweet motioned Roxxo aside as he stepped forward to where she sat.
Looking down at the battered creature stirred his loins almost as well as the
versatile blonde. Using fingertips of his gloved right hand her lifted Zeema's
chin, seemingly empathized with her sorry plight as reddened eyes met his and
said, "Now Zeema...I trust you are ready to lick my boots? Yes?"
Zeema went to the well again to draw on her anger and summoned a voice barely
louder than a whisper to say, "Eat shit and die..."
"Ah! It seems as though our warrior princess wannabe here still refuses to
obey. Galluble, my dear," he said and reached over to put an arm around the
harpzicordian-legged scribe, "What is it that princesses tend to wear on their
cute little heads?"
Galluble looked bemused as Julius stroked his goatee and tentatively offered
her answer. "A royal crown, Sir?"
Julius frowned and pondered. "No...'Crowns' are worn by queens and here we have
a mere princess." He pondered more, and then, as if an idea had just come to
him, loudly clapped both hands. "Of course!"
"What is it your Highness?" The bishop rustled his scarlet robes with
enthusiasm meant to flatter his entertainingly secular boss.
"She needs to wear a ...tee-ARE-ahhh! Why, of course. A tiara for our warrior
princess here about to soon be crucified is just what is required." Julius the
Sweet animatedly surveyed the onlookers and suspiciously cocked and eyebrow.
"Who has one?"
Jocularity filled the chamber from the male ranks. Someone suggested that the
royal gardener ought to prune some rose bushes to create appropriate headgear
for the warrior princess. Julius the Sweet liked the idea. A long-stemmed bunch,
with thorns, was summoned. More derisive laughter accompanied the command.
An eager young recruit who sported a corsage for a badge took the trimmed
flowers in his mailed fists and formed a crude half crown. This he placed over
Zeema's matted bangs. A young colleague placed a mock scepter made of nothing
more than a thin cane in Zeema's right hand. The two stepped back proudly
expecting congratulations for their handiwork in setting the royal faux tableau.
Blows replaced the anticipated praise of the eager lads. Zeema was buffeted
from side to side as she sat. Most of the hits struck the bunched roses. Red
petals fell to the pewter colored stone. Others pasted over the coarse robe in a
macabre collage. Shards from various stems, thorns and flowers stuck to the bare
throat and exposed cleavage.
Tendrils of scarlet blood where thorns snagged scalp began to snake out from
under raven locks when Julius the Sweet ordered an end. "Save our crowned
princess for the cross! Get rope. The townspeople above await."
