Ancient Arena Shock, Part One
"The seer is awaiting your questioning, your excellency..."
Verginius Flatulus Rufus Caesar recognized the baritone of his proconsul calling
for him on the other side of the curtain to his bedroom but paid more attention
to another sip of the Opimian Falernia. According to that boring parvenu
Trimalchio who sold him the wine it was supposed to be over a century old. He
was too wise to trust that odious freedman's word. No doubt the conniving
bastard sold rugs on the side.
Still, the vintage was better than that Rhine swill the locals downed he had to
admit. There were some perks to being the great Julius's nephew...the virtual
autonomy he exercised over this outpost, however remote from Rome...the cases of
wine...and of course, other amenities.
Breaking wind, though he so detested the trait that had saddled him with his
nickname and the attendant derisive comments, Flatulus stirred under the fur
blanket. He considered again the closed curtain to his bedroom. In the
foreground the warm cover bobbed up and down. Unseen, he knew where the two
slaves servicing his now flaccid cock.
"Have someone else interrogate her." That should dismiss the proconsul smiled
Flatulus.
"As you wish, your highness, but..."
Flatulus used the wine to wash down another bite of the tasty dulcia domestica,
savoring each stubby finger licked. The dessert was indeed scrumptious. He fit
in another bite. "Speak Sophrus," he said to the curtain. The gangly aide was
ugly to the extreme, though Flatulus did trust his judgment on certain matters.
" 'But' what?"
"You won't be disappointed."
Flatulus passed more gas. Shrugging in consternation he said, "This had better
be good Sophrus..." He brushed aside the two heads under the covers with their
soft warm tits and swung his bare legs out onto the floor. As one, the slaves
compliantly helped their master don warm clothes.
The wine might not be one-hundred years old as Trimalchio claimed, but it was
heady. Flatulus swayed into a small stand, the only other piece of furniture in
the room. An Etruscan vase on the small table teetered and fell to the mosaic
floor. Black shards of ceramic scattered as it hit and broke.
Flatulus paid scarcely any attention: the mess would give housekeeping something
to do. With another butt burp Flatulus waddled from the room.
"She is much younger than I expected," Flatulus whispered to Sophrus as the two
stood side-by-side looking into the steam bath, or caldarium, where Veleda was
held. "Lovelier, too. A bit on the thin side, perhaps, but well proportioned."
The two stood behind a column before approaching closer and savored the sight.
Hands manacled behind her head, long legs split to each side, the local's bottom
rested over a steam hole. Two stakes kept the nude from falling forward or
backward; one angled toward her sternum, the other pointed at the middle of her
back. Billowing towers of steam rose, clouding gray shadows over the glistening
torso and its owner's head.
"How long has she been here?"
"Several hours, your excellency."
"Very well," Flatulus said as he stepped from behind the column and walked
across the steaming tile until his sandaled feet stopped in front of her upper
thighs. "They tell me that your name is Veleda."
She did not bother to raise her head and look up, but did murmur. "That is what
I am called."
"And Veleda, they also tell me that you are a seer...one who can foretell the
future and one of status amongst your people. Is that correct?"
Veleda remained silent and stared down at the coral tile. Her body ached and she
felt hot all over, but certainly would say no more to the one before her.
Instinctively, she knew it must be the local ruler of the Roman town called
Xantan.
Flatulus waited patiently. When hearing no reply to his question, an involuntary
reflex caused more intestinal gas to escape.
"They also say that you are a Batavii." Flatulus looked to Sophrus for help, but
the tall crane-like man did nothing but stare down at the female. "Some of the
Batavii are good fighters. They've done mercenary work for us."
Veleda shifted her arms slightly. Steam billowed into her face. It felt like it
was burning her insides.
"Despite that track record, however," Flatulus stroked his chin as he slowly
walked around. Thin or not, her body looked very desirable. Long strands of
blond hair darkened by the hours of time spent in the steam hung limply down her
naked back. "I suspect that the Batavii are planning an uprising, starting with
the Fortress Vetera."
She said little at the mention of the Roman garrison along the Rhine river, but
knew all too well that her people soon would lay siege to it and with it the
city of Xantan.
"Regardless of how much we Romans give your people, you still seem bent on
restoring your own silly royalty, religion, freedom and escaping taxes...,"
Flatulus said as he squatted down to look directly into the Batavii's face.
"And, I strongly suspect the leader of that uprising is Civilis - your lover."
Point made, Flatulus farted as he rose back up. Looking down he mockingly said,
"He is your lover, is he not? And chief instigator of a revolt." He reached down
and gripped the female's hot moist chin. Lifting up her head he said, "What say
you seer," he sneeringly said, "about that future?"
Flatulus let the abruptly head drop as he released his grip. Turning away he
said to Sophrus, "Bring her to my quarters, but clean her up first."
Flatulus mashed pancakes and milk with more boiled veal and shoved the
concoction into his corpulent mouth. To ease digestion, he swallowed another cup
of wine. He looked up as the curtains to his bedroom parted. In the doorway
Sophrus towered over the Batavii.
"Enter. Both of you." Flatulus felt no embarrassment for being naked in front of
his proconsul. He rolled his fat frame over the top of the fur spread and lay on
his back. At the sight of the Batavii, he immediately felt stirrings in his
groin. He grabbed the cup and took another swallow.
"Undress her and lay her alongside of me."
Sophrus did his best to balance holding up the girl as he undid the shoulder
clasp to her short tunica. He propped her up as the see-through fell to the
floor. Her freshly-washed hair fell forward with her head and knees buckled as
he struggled with the dead weight to lay her on the bed alongside his wale of a
leader.
"By the gods, Sophrus. What did you do to her?"
"She is merely drugged, your excellency."
Flatulus nodded his approval and let another blast from his rear fly into the
bedspread as the lightly oiled and perfumed maiden was laid alongside. He
languidly rolled toward her, a hand lifted to caress one full tit. Between his
fingers he could feel her pulse. Slowly he lowered his mouth to cover the large
pink nipple. Her heat entered between his lips. He sucked. and chewed.
Aware that Sophrus had not left the room, Flatulus stopped sucking the engorged
nipple and turned toward him to say, "Man, do I have a dream."
"That I can well imagine, your excellency..."
Flatulus protested. He grabbed for a handful of honey melons and said, "Of
course, she is mine tonight. But....tomorrow!"
Lines of consternation deepened across Sophrus's forehead as he anticipated his
master. "But, sir. Tomorrow is the gladiatorial show. Its been planned for
weeks. The populace will be outraged if it is cancelled."
Flatulus laughed and chugged another cup of Trimalchio's not so bad vintage and
said, "Oh no. No, the show will go on. Except that, with all this rumor of an
uprising, it will do the locals some good to watch before the gladiators arrive
what Romans do to insurgents. Sort of a lasting lesson during the prelim, held
right in the middle of the arena so that all can see."
Sophrus troubled another glance down at the bulbous shape snuggling against the
sleek and slumbering Batavaii seer and said, "But your excellence...that means a
crucifixion and all that goes with it."
Flatulus waved an arm enveloped in rolls of fat, filled the room with another
gust of his own gasses and said, "Yes, yes and with a lovely female! Now go on,
get out of here. We both have work to do."
The last thing he saw as he parted the curtains to leave was that of his master
reaching for more pastries while rolling atop the pale body of the Batavii. Her
listless legs easily parted.
Sophrus saw enough for the time being. He better be about his new project.
Seer-iously, Veleda had trouble recalling the recent past, much less foretelling
future events. Desperately she wished for Civilis to come and rid her of this
horror. Shards of nightmares kept returning. Her head fiercely pounded as she
tried to remember. There was the spa, and then the putrid figure of Flatulus on
top of her. Again her fingers parted the robe she now wore to feel where only
soft warm skin remained. The familiar moss of soft curls was gone. One of her
breasts felt too tender to examine, bruised and scratched as it now was. And all
because of Flatulus. She felt like retching once more. Hope for her lover's
arrival kept whatever was left inside her stomach down. Until he came, Veleda
would need to fend for herself.
Foretelling the immediate future was another story. On the other side of the
arched door she faced were sounds of a crowd. An announcer was telling them that
exotic animals would soon come to the arena along with gladiators, but first
there was to be a demonstration warning all that might consider a revolt.
Veleda's teeth chattered as she listened to the announcements on the other side
of the door. Light entering bottom of the huge wood hardly stole away the cold.
She hugged her arms tighter. The lightweight wool robe provided scant
protection. Bare toes and feet were bluish. Both the elements and her current
fate, what was and what was to be, caused shivers.
The daylight blinded as the door creaked open. The sun over Germania might be
presently weak, but the contrast between it and the gloomy tunnel was great.
Veleda shielded her eyes, slowly spinning as she stepped out into the arena. On
the highest ring she made out standing legionnaires. Below them spun a sea of
waving arms and shouting faces. Banners flapped in the cool breeze. Aromatic
smoke from small grills swirled about. Veleda's eyes slowly adjusted to the
bright spectacle around her.
The capacity crowd cheered as the arena door slid open and the Batavii appeared.
Any skepticism over delays in the scheduled program of gladiators vanished.
Locals and Romans, males and females of every caste, tradesmen, slaves and
citizens all lustfully applauded. And then a hush fell. A pause froze all.
Across from where the Batavii entered, from a lower tier, erupted an extended
noise like some kind of ancient whoopee cushion.
Flatulus stood. Waving to both sides of the crowd, he faced toward the center of
the arena where Veleda stood. The thumb of one plump hand turned down as he
returned to his seat.
Veleda started as all around her deafening noise roared. Thousands of boots and
sandals stomped in unison. The arena shook. Thousands of voices chanted, "We
will cru-ci-fy you. We will cru-ci-..."
She ran back toward the door. It was now closed. Her fists pounded on it.
Frantically searching the arena, Veleda saw arches and doors ringing the
perimeter but all of them were closed. Something hit her head. She looked up.
Wild faces shouted down at her and through more things. Their ring was the
lowest but it was too high to reach by jumping. Veleda ran back toward the
center. Despite the cold she panted breath that could be seen in the frigid air.
The crowd sang their chants even louder as two doors on the opposite side of the
arena opened. From each door they saw emerge legionaries. Out of one came three
rugged members of the 5th legion Alaudae. Three from the 15th legion Primegenia
stepped from the second door. Both doors closed behind the soldiers.
Veleda saw them approach. All of them frightened. Inside the arena ring they
formed a smaller ring, with her in the center. Their ring got tighter. Veleda
ran in fright, but just as she got closer to one group of legionaries she turned
and ran back almost to another.
The chanting settled as the tightening ring of military surrounded the loosely
clad female, watching as first one and then the other soldier grabbed their
distressed prey.
The hard ground winded. Veleda felt the heated breath of the men on her. They
grunted and cursed. Cold air flooded over her legs as she felt her robe lifted.
She twisted. Pounded her fists up. The attack increased in fury.
The brown cloaks swarmed. Crested bronze helmets bobbed. Two bare feminine legs
kicked out until meaty masculine hands held them down by the ankles. The crowd
rose to its feet as the first soldier adjusted himself between the held legs and
with a great grunt thrust. The Batavii's shriek thrilled all. The cry brought
ecstasy to the arena.
Veleda unsteadily wavered on her feet. Arms at her sides, she did not protest as
one of them tied a rope around her waist to cinch tighter the robe and led her
to the center of the arena. Through half-closed eyes she saw a short stone
pillar had been planted in the dirt. She bent over the stone and manacles on her
wrists were chained to rings on the pillar's sides, holding her tight.
Flatulus eased to one hip as he sat on the cushion and was careful not to make
too much noise as he felt more gas escape. Smiling at the crowd as he lived up
to his namesake, Flatulus kept one eye on the center of the arena where the
Batavii seer now bent over the post. He approvingly gazed as one the heaviest of
the legionaries swung the thick looking scourge through the air. The man quickly
spun and hit the middle of the female's back.
Her chest slammed on top of the pillar. Knives of fire sliced through her back.
Veleda choked and coughed as the tips of her hair scattered the ground below.
Her knees buckled. She felt hands pulling her off of the stone until bent in her
original position.
Dry heaves returned with the second hit. Veleda sobbed atop the pillar. This
time her knees strengthened and she raised herself back up. Looking down at the
hardened earth Veleda saw tiny mud puddles formed by her own flying sweat. Now
drops of blood pooled in some of the puddles.
The arena crowd sang no more chants. Most sat fascinated by the half-bent
Batavii. They listened for every swish of the scourge strands, the sounds of
thudding and tearing as its barbed lashes hit. Bloody shreds of robe hung.
Lacerations showed across naked flesh. The female held to her feet, but then
began to sway and finally collapsed.
Soldiers on the arena floor loitered around the collapsed Batavii. The whipping
ceased as water was brought to douse the one to be crucified.
To Be Continued...
