The following fiction is intended for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. Please do read only
if you are legally considered of adult age, are not offended by extreme content
and your community's standards permit such material.
Any reuse of the following is prohibited without the express permission of the
author.
Thank you.
Faibhar
Crucified!
The icy blast splashed shards of reawakening. Arneior's consciousness sparked.
Clanging sounded everywhere. Streams gurgled over the rise and fall of armor,
soaking between the iron plates to leather and beyond. Splattered bare forearms
contrasted with the coarse iron holding her wrists to the heavy chair. Wet dots
of varying hues splattered across sleek bare thighs laid open.
"There now. That ought to teach you a thing or two about biting."
Coarse black-haired male thighs thickly filled her lowered vision. The source of
the clanging, and horrific scenes returned to her memory. A stout fist belonging
to the owner of the male legs held pliers down beneath her nose. Gore dripped
from a whitish tooth held in the tool's mouth. Her vision faded once more to
black.
"The toothless bitch has fainted again." Chilo disgustedly flung the bloody
tooth away and wiped clean his implement. "Shall I permanently dispatch her?" He
drew a broad sword. As delectable as this captive might once have been, surely
his master preferred more lovelier slaves. The razor's edge of the blade snipped
both leather shoulder straps. A fist grabbed the sodden blond locks and placed
the sharp blade across the long neck, prepared to easily slice. "Or shall we see
what she's hiding under this so-called uniform?"
"For now, let her be and wipe her face." The primus pilus sat in partial
darkness in a plush and gilded chair. L. Oppius Auila calmly adjusted the
comfortable sleeveless tunic he had changed into from triumphal armor worn as he
returned from the battlefield. Defeating the Dacian or Viking leader of the
small band had been something of a challenge for the leader of legions, however
barbaric she and her gang proved to be in confronting his handful of soldiers.
Sitting in this chamber, however, made him reflect on how far he, as an
honorable Roman, had been influenced by the wretched excesses of Domitian. His
thin lips spread. Regardless of other influences, his enjoyment of her gruesome
torture came solely from him.
Much to his dismay, but hardly his surprise, the comely blonde had hardly
whimpered as his man extracted all of her pearly teeth. Perhaps, he pondered,
too much mandrosa had been administered. The crushed mandrake root was supposed
to be a sedative, but Auila did not wish a stupor to interfere. Sedated or not,
the fair cheek bones were now all the more pronounced. As Chilo wiped her
agonized face clear, full lips that had once spread across a wide mouth now were
distorted into a puckered oval.
Auila sipped fine wine from the chalice and idly toyed with the silver plates
forming his cingulum, or military belt, with its spread groin guard. Admittedly,
he too was curious about what other charms the fair beauty concealed. What man
would not be? He was also, however, quite aware of politics. Becoming a
victorious legatus meant more than courage and cunning on the battlefield. Aulia
sipped more from the cup.
He would make this Dacian woman a gift to Quintus Epidus Sorex, the banished son
of a Roman senator. No doubt word of his generosity would filter back to Rome
and he would get much deserved credit. That sadistic pervert had better return
his thanks...
"Chilo, revive her. Keep her clothes in tact and take her in chains to the port.
Our Viking needs to take another cruise." He knew that once the enemy was
stripped there would be little he could do to prevent her further injury, and
this gift-to-be should wear as few mars as possible.
Arneior struggled. The iron fetters kept tangling. She ignored the jeers of the
townspeople. Everywhere, there seemed to be Roman crests, sedans bearing
patricians, plebians, merchants and farmers. Most ignored her, though some did
pause in what they were doing and shout epithets amongst the terra cotta and
stone streets leading to the wharf. Her escort of a centurion and two
legionnaires pushed and shoved a path through the mob.
They went to a Roman freighter set to sail. It's route passed near the outpost
run by Q. Epidus Sorex. The centurion gave orders to the ship's captain that
Arneior be unloaded near the African Roman city of Lepcis Magna. He also
understood that she was to be the only female aboard, but gave directions that
she not be molested as this prisoner was a gift to a senator's son.
He turned to Arneior and said, "From now on, you are a slave."
Arneior's cobalt eyes blazed into cinders. Soldiers steadied their charge as an
iron slave ring was fitted around the blonde's neck. Chains holding her and her
own segmented armor rattled.
"She is a feisty one, the captain said as he watched two Roman soldiers attempt
to hold the single lean female. "Isn't she?"
The collar finally locked, they led her to below decks. The captain watched as
they departed. His shiny brown eyes appraised the back of the female legs
beneath the plaited leather skirt. "Wait!" The soldiers stopped and turned back.
The blonde looked powerful, albeit her face somewhat distorted. Bare arms looked
like they could pull their own, and he assumed her chest under that iron was
sound. But, it was the sight of her lower body that provoked his call. "Perhaps
this one is strong enough to help my other galley slaves row."
The port of Caesarea Maritima shrunk as the vessel headed for deeper water. She
sat on the starboard side between two on the hard bench. The one nearest the
water looked almost dead. Frail and emaciated, his whiskers were gray, chest
sunken under filthy rags. He said little. On her left sat a portly foreigner
whose shirt had been fastened into a form of turban on his head. Already he was
heavily sweating in the heat and swore in some strange tongue. Wrists were
chained to the oars and iron locked their bare feet to the deck. Riveted leather
straps fanned out from where she sat upon the hard wood.
The sedative wore off. Her head clanged more than ever, yet it felt good to
pull. Someone from the ship came from behind and piled her hair atop her head.
The move proved good to escape more heat, but also exposed the bare tops of her
shoulders to the glare of the sun. Shoulder blades bunched, then released. The
smack of a whip freely swung to urge the oarsmen, including her, faster.
Nonetheless, to Arneior the relative freedom of movement felt good.
By midday, exhaustion had taken its toll. The slaves were given a break. Arneior
rested her weary body, but there was to be no escaping the exertion or hardness
of the bench. The blare from the sun flared greater. The foreigner next to her
was red as a lobster and slumped over his part of the oar, muttering gibberish.
The one who looked ready to die appeared ghostly. Across the beam of the ship,
Arneior saw another set of three resting from pulling the oars. On either side
and in the front and back sweating slaves each rested in their own ways as the
boat drifted.
Being amongst so many men was nothing new to the warrior, yet she was now a
slave too. Just like them. Existing on this boat as a slave with all of these
strangers was a different experience for the only female.
Dusk settled later that day. The slave driver came about and unlocked chains.
All except hers. The others were led below decks for food. The brown cloak of a
Roman soldier stood at the end of her bench. Curly black curls covered his young
head as he bent and unlocked Arneior's chains.
"You. Follow me."
She had no choice as she was led below into what looked like the ship's hold. An
oar was brought from its storage place and placed on the rolling deck. She
started to protest the order to lie down when a heavy fist cuffed the side of
her head. She fell to the side before righting herself.
Men coming down the wooden stairs saw the Dacian hanging upside down. Bare legs
bent over an oar that had been lifted up and placed high. Blonde hair fell to
the deck. Blue cloth wrapped over her crotch showed as thick leather straps
previously hiding it now hung down over her dull armor.
"Here she is, boys. The toothless Viking is ready to suck all that is true and
dear to you."
Arneior's head pounded. She could hardly breathe as she lazily swung from under
the oar. Upside down, she saw the first sailor approach holding his erect cock
in his hand. The member plunged between her puckered lips before she could close
them. Hot semen quickly flooded her mouth. She spat out the gism as the Roman's
penis left. Warm gobs remaining slid from her mouth. Her upturned nostrils
plugged. Arneior's hair wrenched backward. Her torso followed.
Those in the hold below deck laughed as the female's spine bent backward and
then her head plunged into the water-filled barrel. Hair floated amidst bubbles.
The two roiled its surface. When she was finally lifted out she sputtered and
coughed. Water fell and pooled below. The mouth gasped as if in asking for more.
The next cock soon filled it.
Routine ensued. Each time a man came inside the female's mouth, her body was
bent back and head washed in the waiting barrel. Once drenched free of semen,
another sailor came.
Eventually, they took her down. Placed on all fours and chained next to where
the captain sat, Arneior continued to orally service the crew. For her, being
held like a kept animal was preferable to hanging from the oar. She took more
male genitals.
"My advice is," the captain said. "For you to swallow. It is good protein, you
know, and on this trip you won't be sharing any rations with the other slaves."
He smiled as he stroked the lank hair. Parts of the dull armor under it already
showed the scratches and nicks from the slave driver's whip. As much as he would
like to see what soft flesh lay beneath it all, the centurion back at Caesarea
Maritima had been quite specific about keeping this slave intact as a gift-to-be
for the exiled senator's son.
"I would guess, about two or three more sailing days before we drop you off.
That Sorex, though, is a mean bastard. I hear he even has plans to crucify you
by the time he is done. Watch out for yourself."
The second night, Arneior starvation forced her to take the captain's advice
about sustenance, swallowing the hot cum into her hungered belly. The fuller
feeling chased away pangs of hunger. She readily gulped drinking water given
during the days and nights. Thirst and hunger were controlled.
From the lookout came a call on the morning of the third day that land could be
seen. The captain had been right in his estimate. Arneior strained with the
others. She watched the violet hills grow as the distance between them and the
port lessened. Morning breeze warmed the sail above and all seemed to row harder
as land approached.
The slavers were more than pleased to add Arneior to their string of slaves.
They were already headed for the outpost and an addition of the tall blonde
prize would contrast with the humble group already assembled from various
bazaars. Sure to earn plenty of sesterces, she was placed at the head of the
line winding its way through the port and along the provincial road leading to
Sorex.
They past scrub and slopes of blowing sand before more mud huts began to appear.
Early afternoon greeted their arrival at the fortress walls. Past the main gate,
through dirt streets filled with peoples of all nations and they stopped before
stone steps of a combination Roman house and senate forum where Arneior was
released from the rest and told to wait.
She looked around the square fronting the steps. Merchants and shoppers in
multi-colored tunics went about their tasks. Outside of them, she stood alone
with just the one Roman guard standing next to her.
"Welcome," Quintus Epidus Sorex said. "Be it ever so humble."
Arneior turned to face where the squeaky voice came from. She knew it was
speaking to her, but all she saw were shadows beyond the steps leading to the
atrium. She peered harder into the dark. Faintly, she could make out a small
tribunal with someone sitting in it beyond the top of the steps and set in the
recesses of the building.
Sorex eyed the blonde woman warrior standing before him in the sun. "Arneior
messenger from Auila said to expect you."
She didn't know how to reply. More of the shadowy figure became distinct as her
eyes adjusted. The owner of the voice looked short, wore a fancy toga praetexta
made of silk with blue border and gold embroidery, and a Nubian stood behind
holding a jeweled crown above his head.
"What gift of Rome would you be," he slyly said and fingered a gold ring. "That
comes here with such sex and no teeth?"
The shadows also produced a large crash. It sounded like glass shattering. The
figure in the shadows blurred.
"An insult! They shall pay...no wait. YOU shall pay."
Arneior was certain that the squeaky voice now screeching did not enjoy women.
"Guard! Remove the slave's leather!"
From the corner of her eye, Arneior saw the Roman next to her move as the order
was given. She decided that this was not the time to resist, and let him unhook
her armored skirt. Facing the top of the steps as it was removed, Arneior felt
sun reach her upper thighs.
"By the gods, man, no slave wears armor. And remove that loincloth as well.
Leave only the collar."
Arneior felt the same fingers unhook and remove her metal. Underneath, the gray
sleeveless jersey protected from bruising. Under that, the cloth band she used
to bind her breasts before every battle. All were removed.
Sorex actually found himself enjoying the sight as the blonde female was
stripped. His brown eyes cruelly narrowed as the ripe tits were released. Sun
had clearly played a part in her appearance, which was quite fine for a female
despite the hollowed cheeks and sunken lips.
"Feel better now that all that is off?" The female's tits were firm, yet their
fullness weighed them down. Atop each tit rode large pink circles and reddish
nipples. Tan and sunburned lines contrasted with the whiter skin.
He would start with that small mass of golden curls crawling between her thighs.
"Get Mdagasha," he said to a servant. "She will know what to do."
Arneior stood still. Beads of sweat formed. Words she could not make out were
whispered in the shadows from where the voice had come. She waited as the sun
mercilessly beat down.
"Mdagasha, please show the slave."
Before her stood a black-skinned woman almost as tall as she. It was hard to
tell her age, but she also looked to be young. Arneior watched as black fingers
curled and raised the front of the floral tunic. She gasped.
"It's called female castration," the shadows squeaked. "Locals call it a custom.
You can look at it sort as When in Rome, do as the Romans do."
The whitish gray of the other woman's scarred genitals flashed for only a moment
before the tunic fell back down. Arneior's slave collar was yanked from behind
and she was bent backwards. Hands quickly manacled her wrists and ankles.
Sorex formed a steeple with his fingertips. The altar was brought with Mdagasha
and while she was distracted set behind the blonde. Now that his new slave was
secured, he relaxed to enjoy the show, signaling another slave to bring
refreshments.
Her neck was cradled between the two sweaty bags that now hung upside down.
Arneior cursed herself for letting them tie her to what she was on so easily.
She felt her pulse as one breast pressed into the side of her jaw. It was
racing.
Mdagasha started with the golden nest of curls. She chose a pumice stone from
her satchel. It sat atop a mound growing from a concave belly. Hip bones starkly
pointed skyward. Mdgasha began to shave.
"Leave the labia minora. Cut off the rest and bring the pieces to me."
Small lakes of sweat deepened. Looking out, Arneior saw an upside down view of
the square. More feet and legs were gathering around. The exposure made her
cringe, as did the shaving stone.
"The locals say that it decreases a female's ability to enjoy sexual pleasure.
One can surely understand why that is true." Sorex giggled from his relatively
cool cover.
Mdasha finished shaving the slave's pubis by plucking away remaining gold hairs
with her fingers. She then sought and found a small ceremonial knife. Holding
its blade up to glitter in the sun, white teeth spread and she lowered her arm.
Gripping one outer lip between her forefinger and thumb, she set the blade to
its base and pressed.
Arneior hands and ankles were released, and she was rolled off to fall
face-first in the sand. Arneior hand gripped her hair and raised her head up in
the direction of the steps.
"Meet your accommodations while here."
The hand holding her head up tuned her jaw. Close-by stood metal bands rising.
At intervals other horizontal bands crossed the vertical ones. Just away from
Arneior stood a cage. The hand holding her head up by the hair let go. Her face
fell back into the sand.
Sorex giggled more at the blonde sprawled just beyond the steps. "But don't
worry if it appears too small. You won't be staying there long." He waved to the
gathered townspeople who joined in his mirth.
She was picked you and steadied. Grit clogged Arneior's eyelashes. She was moved
and stood inside the bars. The cramp cage forced her to press her hands to the
sides of her thighs. The rusty gate closed, locking her in.
It was roughly shaped like a body, with sloping shoulders and a narrowing at the
top for the head. Locked inside, much of the blonde slave could still be seen.
The bars must have been heated by the sun as she desperately attempted to avoid
pressing into them, but the cage was so tight that she had no choice.
One of the Roman soldiers approached the cage carrying long and thin pliers. His
sports helmet made of bronze glinted. The pliers reached inside the cage and
fastened on the female's nipple.
She began to scream a throaty cry. The iron cage rocked. The soldier levered one
hand on the outside band and pulled harder. Blonde hair flew through openings
between the bars as she began to screech. The cage rocked more, but its base was
too heavy for it to move.
The Roman cursed, but kept tugging through the bars. Eventually, the end of the
pliers and the nipple appeared. The process was narrowing the breast so that it
could fit between the rods. Strenuous pulling produced more white outside of the
cage. Scarlet scratches where iron had scraped tender flesh appeared. The
soldier placed a boot on the cage and yanked.
The squeezed breast sprung forth in its entirety, then widened. Much draped over
one of the horizontal bars encircling the cage. Arneio's chin tilted up as it
was forced into the coarse iron. The rest of her body pressed hard against the
inside of the bars. Those gathered could see her panting struggle.
Glare from the sun was beginning to effect his comfort. Sorex looked one more
time at the caged slave with her two bulbous white tits now pointing to either
side as they hung over the iron. He decided to call it a day. "Leave her guarded
there overnight."
He waved away the slave holding a crown above his head, and rose to retreat to
cooler confines.
Locals grew more brazen with Sorex's departure. Dusty shapes of all sexes
shuffled around the occupied cage. Syrians, Spaniards, Berbers, Africans and the
occasional Roman stopped to view. Some prodded the naked breasts as they
protruded from the bars. Soldiers slid a pilum in behind the prisoner's back,
just below her shoulder blades. The staff through the cage would keep her from
any attempt to pull back.
With dusk, the onlookers dispersed to be replaced by dropping temperatures and
mosquitoes. Buzzing continued into the night as winged insects fed upon the ripe
meat. Though the owner clearly was a living human, the bugs lost all fear and
hungrily settled on the proffered feast.
Dark circles deepened under Arneior's eyes. Black of the night turned to blues
and grays. Where once was only the buzzing of the insects and crackle of the
nearby sentries' fire during the night turned into a steady energy at dawn. She
shivered. Much of her was numb. Between the bars of the cage, she saw a
gathering again of townsfolk. This time they sat on the steps leading into
Sorex's den. Young and aged alike seemed to be jockeying for the best vantage
point. Eyes darted around expectantly, but it was clear that she was the town's
main attraction.
"They have come to see you scourged."
Arneior adjusted to the growing light. Arneior faint figure reclining on a couch
past the columns fronting the top of the steps spoke. She recognized the voice.
"I say it's time these heathens," the squeaky voice said. "Experience an old
fashioned Roman crucifixion. Yours."
Her fingernails dug deeper into the sides of her thighs.
"Except in your case things shall be a little less than traditional."
Grit in her reddened eyes ground as they opened wider. Sorex was an early riser.
"You see...you, as a female, are gradually being broken down. There was the
thing with your mouth," he said and wrapped the purple woolen cape tighter
around his spindly body to ward off the chill. "Of course, I had nothing to do
with that. Then, with Mdgasha's able help, we altered your genitals. Now it
seems, those fabulous tits of yours are to be next."
They could easily see the woman behind the bars, but what caught all attention
was the undisturbed view of the naked breasts. The gathered seated on the steps
stirred. The large pinkish ovals atop creamy white attracted. Normally, their
insides would have met, but the Roman had purposefully pulled each breast
through spaces between the bars that spread the distance between the two. Small
dots from insect bites the night before showed, but their size was dwarfed by
the large mammaries.
Arneior twisted her head in the tight compartment. From the side she saw another
Nubian. This one was male and from his powerful hand dangled three leather
lashes. The man glared at her. Her nails dug more into her thighs. He took a
position between her and the steps, planting his shoes in the gray sand.
The voice from the couch said, "I say, let more of this show begin!"
She thrashed as much as she could, but she already knew space in the cage was
too scarce. Arneior's chin scarped harder as the first lashes hit. Her eyes
watered, breath exhaled. Chill from the night before and early morning was
forgotten as fire seemed to roar through her chest.
Cheers in different tongues shouted. The big Nubian cocked his arm for another
swing. The naked breasts jumped and fell as they were hit. The female behind the
bars fought, but there was no way she could protect her vulnerable bust. Six
angry welts already crossed over each other.
Leather sometimes loudly rang against the iron, but usually the Nubian's aim was
true. Distance to his target was short and what he swung at large, despite their
jiggling and bouncing after every hit. He wisely let them settle before swinging
again.
Before long, two globes of raw meat bled where there had been pale skin. Some
servant fetched a pail and threw its watery contents at the cage. Much of the
blood washed away. Pink-colored drops continued to drip. Ragged cuts showed
themselves.
Arneior shamelessly licked water drops from the iron bar near her chin. Her
throat was parched, and the drops helped somewhat to ease the dryness. When she
did cast her eyes lower, tops of her bleeding breasts appeared as they jutted
out. She no longer cared about them. All she wanted was the water. She licked
more of the coarse metal, savoring each drop of moisture she found.
They had come shortly after the sun had risen. Blues and grays colors were
turned into simmering daytime shades. The black filth flies did not seem to care
about colors as they crawled between reddish welts and what unmarked skin
remained on the tasty flesh. Some groups even flew inside of the iron bars and
landed along other parts of Arneior's body. As they explored the various
crevices, they sampled the salty sweat. Only when their human host stirred did
they fly away, to inevitably return.
Arneior parted her encrusted eyelashes as the cage door creaked open. Her body
swung out with her imprisoned breasts stuck between the bars. She gasped as they
were prodded free. Her legs folded and she fell face-down in the sand.
Sorex wanted more. He grew bored with the slowness of it all, and the female
wasn't helping by just quietly standing in her cage. Crucifixion was his goal
and he was going to see it accomplished, but first a gesture to the townspeople
would not be too much to ask. He peered out at the fallen figure and the sad
gathering of poor merchants, beggars, the lame and said, "Very well. But take
her around the building into the alley. Guard? Watch that they bring the slave
back."
Hearing Sorex declare what they wanted, hands pulled up Arneior's arms. Her
side-ways turned feet left two wakes in the sand as they dragged her into the
alley.
Sorex brushed a hand over what hair covered his mostly bald pate and sucked on a
grape. He rose to take a bath. From around the side, he heard a female's
plaintive wail and imagined what part of the slave's body was now being raped.
Smiling, he took another bunch of grapes. The marble beneath his shoes felt cool
as more cries sounded behind him. He was going to enjoy this day...
Nightmares haunted Arneior as she curled on the stale straw. Following the
rapes, they had brought her to her own cell. It was luxury compared to the cage
and exhaustion immediate caused her to fall into a deep, if troubled sleep.
Emboldened vermin freely roamed and sniffed parts of the sleeping human. Only
when they bit, and she stirred from the sharpness of the teeth, did they scurry
off to usual hiding places. Through the night they kept the curled up female
company, and when light from a new dawn streaked through a small high window,
the furry creatures disappeared.
"Come on, you. You need to get cleaned up."
Arneior parted her eyes. What she imagined was the first of sound sleep was
about to arrive when the loud noise and voice woke her up. Standing in the cell
door way she saw a tall roman soldier. She achingly crawled to her feet. Hunched
over, she swayed against the cell wall. The soldier helped steady her. Arneior's
hands weakly reached up to her breasts and she winced as the fingers touched.
She looked down. Bruises and scabs covered her chest. She started to faint.
The soldier slapped the slave back awake and helped her through the cell door.
Down the corridor was a large cistern. She could wash there. The gods know she
needed to, he thought, as he helped her stumble along. His Roman nose crinkled
in disgust at the rancid smell.
Sorex sat upon his tribunal as the Dacian was brought in. Two soldiers escorted
her and he was pleased to see that she walked on her own. Following her washing,
someone had given her a floor-length garb. The tattered cloth rustled around her
curves as she stepped closer.
"As you well know, Romans reserve crucifixion for slaves. Is that what you are?"
She had seen his type before, and wasn't scared. Arneior had suffered much, and
presently hurt a great deal, but the little bully on his throne was hardly one
to fear. She wrested her shoulders away from the two Romans holding them. "Dream
on, pretty boy." She was learning to talk again, this time without teeth.
Sorex's smile tightened at her answer. He nodded to the soldiers. Using their
staffs, they hit her behind her knees. The tall blonde fell to her knees. "You
say that you are not; but what is that around your neck?"
Arneior flushed in anger. The bastard was referring to the slave collar.
He nodded again. One of the soldiers kicked the middle of Arneior's back. She
turned her head in time for the side of her face to absorb the impact with the
floor. "Kiss it...SLAVE!"
Arneior gasped as her hair was pulled from behind. In front of her face, she saw
Sorex lift his sandal. The big toe, she saw, had a fancy pedicure. A shiny
finish glinted off the nail.
"I said, KISS!"
The hand behind her head pushed her face toward the raised toe and it slipped
between her lips. Her hair was freed. She fell away from the foot in revulsion
and knelt with her forehead on the cool marble.
Sorex gazed down at the kneeling figure with wrists tied behind her back. The
shabby gray cloth she wore befitted a slave. Plus, had she not just proved
herself one? From his tribunal he pointed a scrawny finger and said, "I sentence
this slave to die on the cross! The order shall be followed immediately."
The soldiers grabbed at the long sleeves. The cheap material tore and one sleeve
nearly slipped off. Together they hustled Arneior from the room.
Scruffy plebians jeered and howled as the condemned exited the military
barracks. Those fascinated patricians would follow later, but for now the rowdy
crowd was definitely low class. Their entertainment was as promised, a unique
event that excited men and women both. Staggering under the weight of the
patibulum she bore across her back came the Dacian. Long strands of golden hair
swayed from side to side as it dangled to almost touch the ground. The gray robe
she wore was torn at one sleeve. Stains already deepened its color.
Behind came Romans. One rode a horse, and he was resplendent in bright red crest
atop his bronze helmet and hardened leather armor. The polished gold eagle with
the initials SPQR rode high as the standard passed and all were impressed.
Lastly walked the same Nubian who had been so accurate with the scourge. He
flexed his great muscles with pride and saluted bystanders.
Sorex peered out at the scene below from a second story window. Making final
adjustments to his gold embroidered silk purple toga and jeweled accessories, he
summoned slaves to bring his sella. The populi's governor would properly greet
his people from the plush comfort of his velvet and ivory sedan chair, borne by
dutiful servants from his own household.
Arneior did not want to fall before this crowd. They lined the narrow streets
and besides, they might learn from her example what courage was truly like. Dust
swirls confused her orientation. Once, she stumbled and an end of the heavy beam
on her back crashed into a mud wall. The soldiers promptly shoved her back on
course. Two of them behind used whips. She jerked forward each time a lash
landed. Despite her determination to display some dignity, Arneior was being
urged along as a beast of burden. She was glad the hair at her sides of her face
offered a modicum of retreat from the vicious stares of those watching.
More onlookers joined as the party left the fortress gates. Shouts welcomed the
arrival of Sorex in his shaded sedan chair. The provincial road they took
filled. Any other traffic was barred. He waved to other select lecticarii as
they were carried in their gilded litters.
Sweat stung her eyes. Sharp stones were mischievously tossed in her path. The
heavy beam shifted as Arneior's foot slipped on one and her precarious balance
was nearly upset. The erratic swaying provoked another volley of lashings. Their
drumming against ribs sounded hollow. She felt the sun beating down. Chancing
glances to either side, Arneior saw only rust colored tunics and togas along the
barren stretch.
They left the main road. Sand deepened at the turnoff. Pace slowed as the
terrain gradually climbed. The patibulum swung in lazy arcs, then one end dipped
dramatically. Arms wrapped around the wood beam quavered. Flying black hissed
like snakes through the hot air. One of the Roman soldiers ripped apart the back
of the stained robe. Smacking sounds sounded more distinct as bare skin rippled.
Those making the climb behind anxiously peered through the uniforms. They saw
the workings of shoulder blades, veterbrae and ribs of the female. Their
persistence was rewarded as they glimpsed purple welts turn to scarlet streams.
The beam achingly rose. Bare feet plowed through drifted sand. Once more, the
condemned staggered up the rise as natives danced alongside and others tagged
along.
The terrain leveled. Sandy dunes turned to rocky soil. Towering high into the
sky stood the upright. Already nailed near the top of the stipes read a sign
simply proclaiming, "Slave". Hot winds stirred dust already kicked up by the
large gathering.
Arneior ignored the pole with its sign, as she tried to ignore everything else.
Her concentration was focused on reaching level ground. Her throat was parched.
She desperately wanted water. The pole and dancers and aches and pains could all
wait until she drank.
Near the stipes they lifted the crossbeam from her back. Catching her as the
blonde nearly fell forward, they bound her wrists behind her back. Rope also
looped around elbows. Cinching the line pulled them closer together and thrust
her front forward. Muscles bunched differently than before as the rope
tightened, and arms hid some of the damage done to the naked back.
Sorex rode in his chair lifted by two Nubians. They set it down near Arneior and
somewhat away from the upright. He placed a perfumed handkerchief under his nose
as he watched the Dacian standing before him. He also took note of the centurion
to her immediate right. The thick bodied soldier swung his torso around and led
with his fist.
The blow to her stomach caught Arneior by surprise. She fell to her knees and
coughed for air. The Roman kicked the middle of her back, and Arneior hit the
hard ground with the side of her face. She was still gasping for wind when her
head was wrenched back by her hair. Dirt particles looked like boulders. She
could not see. Her eyes blinked. The gritty grains parted. She saw Sorex seating
before her and Mdagasha standing next to him, handing him some kind of small
box.
Arneior did not clearly understand what the tall Nubian had presented. Sorex.
Her mind gathered only by the sight of the thin band he lifted up, that it was
some sort of pendant. Sorex placed the band over his head and let the pendant
rest atop his other necklaces. It sat upon strands of gold. Sorex arranged it so
that it rested apart, and more in contrast with the purple silk he wore.
She looked closer, and then understood the meaning of Mdagasha's gift. Hanging
from the smiling Sorex's neck was a shriveled small circle. Tiny gold curls
decorated its perimeter. Arneior felt sick as she saw her own labia, clitoris
and pubic hairs.
Arneior did not know where to look. Dark faces and shining eyes surrounded her.
Many danced and chanted. The upright loomed nearby. Sorex sat with her own
genitals hanging from his neck. The ground at her knees spun. She closed her
eyes and lowered her head, but even then she felt dizzy. Stormy clouds formed to
smother everything...
The splash in her face helped. Arneior eagerly licked the wet. She recognized it
as the cheap wine used by Romans on the battlefield, but at least it was
something to help her thirst. She felt fat drops fall from her bloody nose onto
the coarse cloth rising from her bust but ignored them and licked all of the
wine she could.
Sorex faked his smile. He was surrounded by savages in this foreign land, and
this latest gift from Mgdasha was just another example. Still, the pendant did
have some meaning. He nodded to the centurion and watched the man lift the
female back to her feet.
Arneior almost cried out as the rest of the garb was torn away. Blood had
coagulated. The black scabs adhered to the wool. With the cloth torn free old
wounds reopened. Once fresh pink, her nipples and the large circles around them
swayed in angry discolor. Toes crunched into the ground. Feet staggered back.
The shock of her wounds reopened created more of a start than a thousand
splashes in her face.
Hands untied her wrists. Bruised and swollen breasts wobbled as she was dragged
backward. Spectators cheered as she was thrown down, arms outstretched upon the
crossbeam. The centurion held down one wrist and placed the iron spike into the
flesh where it would penetrate between bones, arteries and veins.
Sorex watched the female's rib cage raise and fall as she hyperventilated. He
surveyed the assembled and was pleased with what he saw. All present seemed to
be entertained. The condemned's bloodied back arched as the mallet slammed down.
Guttural noises seemed to issue from her mouth, and then the distorted lips
closed.
Arneior attempted to restrain a heart that felt ready to leap from her chest at
any moment. Her free legs kicked out, then knees raised again and her feet
stomped the ground. One nail hammered in, and then the next wrist was nailed. As
they raised her once more to her feet, now pinned to the wood, she at least knew
that she kept her dignity by not crying out. Nailing her feet would be the next
challenge, one she wasn't sure that she could meet.
By now Sorex must have had his way with his gift. He skipped another pebble into
the elaborate fountain centered in his home's peristylium. Bronze lamps softly
lit the Roman garden. L.Oppius Auila fingered his signet ring. The graying
leader of legions surmised that increased grateful tribute from his latest
gesture should be coming his way any day now. He contentedly tossed another
stone into the water. Who could divine the future? Perhaps someday, he might run
for a senate seat.
The End
