PLEASE NOTE: The following work of total fiction is for your personal enjoyment only if you are of legal age and your local community standards permit material dealing with extreme sex that includes torture and crucifixion. It is not meant in any way to encourage such aberrant behavior, but is offered as a work of fiction for those who enjoy such themes. If you are in any way offended by such fictional depictions and are neither of legal age or live in a community that does not permit such fictional depictions you are strongly encouraged not to read further. The author finally requests that you not in any way distribute this material without first receiving his express permission for further dissemination. Thank you. F.
In The Hands Of Romans "Your day is not finished here," sneered the Roman soldier as he and his partner lifted the Celt woman with the golden hair. Cinnia looked at A'ishah, the girl who had befriended her as the two worked as slaves with the others to build the Roman wall around the city. The girl's dark eyes only returned a look that said such was to be expected. The captured warrior turned to see the other faces in the women's barracks staring at her. Despite the sweat that still soaked the drab toga she wore and her own weariness from the day's work, it was obvious by those faces that she was considered new, and that they had witnessed similar scenes before. "Come with us," the gruff voice said and Cinnia planted the crude hobnail boots she was given and she was led away. The bath floated in luxuries the ugly barracks would never know. Cinnia soaked beneath the warm soapy waters. Female attendants lifted her from the tub and massaged oils into her body as she lay atop a counter. One of them rinsed her tresses. Once more the locks gleamed like polished gold. They dressed her in a full-length cobalt-tinted gown that covered everything except her arms. The long tunic was almost modest with its length and shallow scoop necklines in front and back save for fabric so sheer little of her body was actually hidden. The attire made her further miss the twisted gold torc she had worn around her neck only the day before but then, it and all of her other possessions had been taken just after her capture. One of the bath attendants commented that the blue gown complimented the sparkle of her eyes and with at least that much Cinnia had to agree. Where she later stood seemed even more opulent than the baths. A thick aroma of roasted meats and seafood growled reminders in her stomach. She was famished, and standing in the dining portion of the palace with all of its heady smells of delectable foods did little to quash her appetite. Frescos adorned the high walls. Candlelight flickered from ornate lanterns. Luxuriously patterned cushions spread over sumptuous sedans. Male and female slaves removed decorated ware from where the three couples ate. When Cinnia first appeared the women looked at her curiously with perhaps more than a bit pf envy over the arrival of this alluring new female, but now they and their hostess paid her no attention preferring instead to pamper themselves and their mates. The men were, however, a different story. She continued to feel the collective stare of lustful eyes boring into her and the gauzy gown that hid so little. One of them, sprawled across the center couch with his corpulent wife, must be the local client-king, she thought. The corrupt provincial governor of what the Romans called "Venta Icenorum", Lucius Superbus. "For our entertainment tonight," he said to his gathered guests, "we have the Celtic warrior woman to dance for us. Lovely, is she not?" Cinnia glared across the marble at the presumptuous fool with his boorish manners and spat, "Dance yourself, Roman." "I said for YOU to dance!" "No!" Lucius Superbus rolled his bulk from the couch and charged at the Celtic woman who remained still. "I said you would dance. You are my prisoner, and as such must obey slut!" To further vent his fury, he slapped her cheek, less an attack meant to cause physical injury and more a burning punctuation point to his umbrage and attempt to humiliate her. The Roman stood only as high as her throat. The slap stung, but could easily be dealt with. This close the enemy made an almost comical figure and Cinnia nearly laughed at the balding head and portly figure. Judging by the sweat covering his pate, the slap and the words hissed through his uneven teeth, he clearly was upset. Cinnia stood her ground and remained calmly silent. Lucius Superbus turned back to his dinner guests. Wiping his shining brow he slightly bowed to them and shame-faced asked their forgiveness. Waving at a nearby centurion he said in a voice that tried to regain some semblance of authority before the assembled and ordered, "Take this woman away. Have her spend the night thinking of her rash behavior in not obeying me and its consequences." Cinnia squatted in the darkness at the bottom of the cistern and shivered. She barely had room to move. The space was cramp and cold. Throughout the night a scraping sound far above would signal the opening of the shaft's cover. Another volley of offal would be dumped down and onto her to slowly drain through a smaller shaft near her feet. The stench overpowered, but as the night wore on cold and darkness became her worst enemies. At daybreak they pulled her up and out by her wrists, the sheer gown no longer translucent, covered instead by grimy smears and splotches. One of the soldiers gagged at the smell. His partner threw another bucket of water over Cinnia. The two of them led her away. The stables were also dimly lit, but not nearly as pitch-black as the shaft. Other soldiers moved around the various stalls as Cinnia was hitched to the gilded chariot. Her wrists were tied to the yoke that rested on her shoulders. A rough bit parted her jaws. "I see that my Beast of Burden is prepared for our trip to the amphitheater." Cinnia recognized Lucius Superbus's voice and turned her head to see him arrive behind her but the traces restricted her movement. She lunged toward the opening stable doors as the switch cracked, pulling the chariot and its obese driver behind her. The red tiled roofs blurred as she passed by, as did. faces of the curious. Shouts melded. Cinnia responded to the switch and bit, running with all of her might through the stone streets of the city, past the forum with its merchants setting up for the day, past the temples and finally through the wooden gate with its armed tower looming above. The bit reined her to a stop at the amphitheater. She clearly was winded. A second chariot, this one pulled by a horse, stopped alongside. Cinnia heard another male voice greet Lucius Superbus. Peeking behind her she got a glimpse of the man who looked to be of some high military rank judging by his uniform. Lucius Superbus craftily eyed his general and said, "I accept your wager - but only on one condition. You take this one to race, and I'll take yours." The horse was much more powerful. Cinnia tried her best, but Lucius Superbus, riding his general's chariot, left them in the dust. Cinnia tripped. The thin sandals she had been given at the baths disintegrated, tangled and she fell. Furious, the other Roman jumped down from his stalled chariot and flogged the fallen Cinnia with the switch, but she only lay in the dust. "Problems?" Lucius Superbus pulled his ride to a halt and stepped down to gloat over his victory as he stood alongside his irate top officer. The two looked down at Cinnia's prone body. Lucius Superbus waved to a centurion and ordered that she be taken to a cell in the dungeon. The cries were almost inhuman. From where she lay on stale straw, Cinnia had trouble distinguishing male and female cries. She resolved not to sound so pitiful as those tormented voices. Gazing around her present surroundings in an attempt to ignore the screams, Cinnia noticed pairs of iron rings set into the rock walls of her small cell. Slightly lower on the walls and between each pair of rings stood what looked like animal horns, curved upward. None of the horns appeared fresh from their owners. Dark crust coated the odd additions. Stains blackened the gray stone and trailed down to the floor beneath each horn. Cinnia shuddered to think what uses they had meant in this cell. Amidst all of the sounds and sights, fatigue overtook her. Cinnia fitfully napped. She didn't know how long she slept, but the grating noise of the cell bars being opened awakened her. She rose on an elbow to see Lucius Superbus order two guards to get her. She wasn't taken far and remained inside of the gloomy dungeon. Only the flickering flames of wall sconces and braziers apparently lighted the underground caverns. Damp walls occasionally glinted. The screams appeared louder. Cinnia stood impassively as her wrists were manacled and arms stretched out to either side. She peered into the gloom and saw Lucius Superbus seated with others at a table opposite from where she stood. She fixed her stare on him as her shoulder straps were undone, allowing the diaphanous material to drape just above the swell of her hips. A light breeze chilled her bronze nipples. What had appeared as shadowy ovals before, barely covered as they were by the gown, now were clearly displayed and with the cool air growing more erect. "Welcome, Iceni. Or, should I merely refer to you as just as The Enemy?" Cinnia kept her stare and did not flinch. The Romans had invaded and then occupied her homeland. She was now in Roman hands, in more ways than one. "If you're wondering when you will be rescued, well," Lucius Superbus turned to either side of those around him and chuckled before he looked back at Cinnia. "It seems your bunch of rowdy noisemakers tore off after they learned of your capture. Except, they headed in the wrong direction, stupidly chasing our decoy." Cinnia tested the ropes pulling out her arms. They held. She did this all the while staring back at Lucius Superbus. Experience told her that Romans in battle were very apprehensive of warlike sounds from the native trumpeters. "When the loud party realized their error, they doubled back. But, of course, our disciplined Romans were prepared for their return. It seems that all were ambushed. Killed, or taken into custody... just like you." She displayed no emotion despite regretting what she heard the Lucius Superbus say about the fate of her troops. "So you see," he continued in his quasi merry voice, "you are here not to surrender - you've already done that much," The Roman and his party chortled amid the dungeon screams, cracking leather and fire and rattling of chains echoing throughout the underground. "No, you are here for one reason only, and that is to be broken! So shall you be." He paused a minute before continuing and then said, "We begin with torture, and I do mean those." Cinnia saw his pudgy finger jab toward her naked chest. Her heart pounded, yet by all outward appearances she remained stoic. "Which one shall we start with first, they both look good... Hmmm?" He let his words hang in the dank air before continuing, "All right. I'll choose. Brhar? Do the left first." A bare-chested man approached from the shadows. He was just as short as Lucius Superbus but his head, along with his barrel chest and arms, were covered with unruly hair. "Brhar used to be one of our convicts, though since has shown a real zeal for torturing prisoners, especially pretty ones like you." Cinnia paid no attention to Lucius Superbus and eyed the bearded torturer. In one of his hands he carried a short length of rope ending in a noose. This he widened as he appraised the size of her breast. In his other, he held a set of iron pliers. She turned her head away just as the clamps caught the end of her breast. Reflexively, her head flew back and her arms pulled at the restraints. The ceiling darkened above. Cinnia winced and tried to control her breathing even as she felt her heart pump faster and sweat begin to form. Her nipple still hurt, but was no longer held within the grip of the clamps. She opened her eyes and looked down. Brhar had pulled out her breast and when it narrowed as it was pulled, slipped the tight noose over it all the way to her ribs. The top half now looked every bit as round as the bottom with both top and bottom enlarged by the noose. Cinnia tried not to turn her head toward the scraping noise, but did. Brhar pulled a stand with a small square surface on top near. He positioned her left breast on it, and then tied the other end of the noose to the stand. Cinnia opened her swollen eyes. Tendrils of her wet hair fell amongst the four thin rods protruding at various angles from where they punctured her breast. Sweat glistened where crimson did not flow. Racking her mind she could not remember uttering a sound as the needles went in. "Very well, Celtic warrior. Since you won't break so easily, our friend Brhar has more work to do." Her lashes blinked. The blurred view of the hairy little man came more into view. All other thoughts were forgotten. Cinnia saw the dagger's blade flash once as it was placed against the outside of her areola. Incredible fire began to sear as skin broke. This time, she did scream. Only when the glowing red poker was used to cauterize did she lose consciousness. Cinnia screamed as her senses returned. Brhar again swabbed the wounds where the rods had been and the fresh diagonal scar. He dropped the bloody rag back in a bucket of brine and finished his work by removing the rope and small pedestal to which it had been attached. "Glad you decided to join us again," Lucius Superbus smirked at the moaning Celt. "While you were taking another brief nap we decided that it would not be fair of us to enjoy you all for ourselves." Cinnia coughed and choked. Clearing her head, she slowly raised it in the direction of the Roman client-king, and her tormentor's, voice. Despite her earlier resolve she sounded every bit as pitiful and as loud and as animalistic as those others she had heard. Her subsequent screams came more freely than the first, and moans filled the gap between each. "You people have a word for it: dial, or revenge. It seems that many of our soldiers have had their brothers and fathers killed by your armies and they rightfully wish revenge." To an awaiting centurion he said, "Take the Celtic warrior back to her cell. Perhaps there she can make amends to those who seek dial." Cinnia tucked her legs closer to her body as she lay shivering on the straw. She tried to force from her mind the image of the conical piece of flesh pierced by a dagger on the table in front of Lucius Superbus. It had always been a part of her, and now it lay by itself. As soon as the image would fade, the pounding in her chest would make it return. She greeted each return with another scream. The sound of boots echoing grew louder until they stopped at her cell. The iron gate squeaked open as it was unlocked. The Cetic warrior's scramble to a far corner proved no match for their swiftness. Soldiers tore away the gown. Throughout the night the rapes and sodomies continued, interrupted only to swab the female's genitals before the next attack commenced. Sometime in the early morning hours the parade of Roman soldiers to the cell ended. Two of them picked up what was left of Cinnia. Hoisting her up, her wrist manacles were chained to rings in the wall. Her legs dangled free. As the point of the horn affixed to the wall entered, her legs bent, feet kicking and sliding wildly as they sought purchase on the rough wall texture. She screeched with every contortion until she hung quietly. A dark river of crimson seeped down behind her stilled legs, the thickness of the hooked horn sunk deep inside. Lucius Superbus waited for the gaoler to unlock the gate to the cell. The figure chained to the wall inside hardly stirred as he delicately stepped over the scattered straw so as not to soil his gilded sandals . He lifted Celtic warrior's chin from her chest and said, "Time to rise and shine." The battered face showed him that his men had not taken all of their revenge on just one part of her body. "It's decision time for you. Fair one that I, Lucius Superbus, am, I offer you a choice of your destiny Celtic warrior; spend your remaining days as a common whore in some brothel, or be executed today." He waited for her answer, but the once sparkling blue eyes dully answered. "I admit," he continued, "that both will continue your miseries, but... such is fate. Just don't blame me - I do give you a choice." He let the chin drop. He already had spent too much time. Turning to the gaoler he said, "Get her down from there. Dress her in what remains of those rags," he said pointing to the pile of tunic she had earlier worn, "and bring her to the other room. This one," he said as he departed, "shall this day be executed." The tower guards saw things best. Their bird's-eye view of the procession saw it progress through the winding streets clogged with onlookers. Keeping a sharp watch out for burglars stealing from deserted stalls abandoned by curious merchants who had also joined the crowd, the guards could see that the destination of the procession would lead them out their gate and toward the relative tranquility of the broad bank of the river Tas. They watched the many banners amongst the townsfolk and the military holding the aguila with its golden eagle and the initials "S.P.Q.R". From their vantage point the guards were easily able to see the female. The fourth time she fell, she would not get up. Two male plebians were ordered to take up the crossbeam as she was lifted back up to her feet. A rope was wrapped around her wrists. The centurion held the other end and pulled her forward to continue the procession. So this is where it is to be, Cinnia thought as the riverbank appeared. The men carrying her crossbeam threw it down onto the sand. Her body ached and head pounded. She tried to focus on the river and the crowd but her eyesight blurred. Stinging streams of blood from the thorns crowning her head had slowed, but still ran. Mingled sweat on her face further burned her eyes and clouded her vision. "Behold what happens when one disobeys me..." Cinnia leaned on the portable podium. The voice above her must belong to Lucius Superbus. The rope holding her wrists was lifted, pulling her arms high above her head. Cinnia appealed to the gathered crowd. She knew that many of them were her own people, though unlike her, had adjusted themselves to be subjugated under Roman rule. But none of the faces she could see offered any hint of hope. From behind her she felt hands grab at her tunic. No niceties of untying the straps as before. The rope yanked her arms higher as what was left of the thin gown disintegrated. Cinnia faced the crowd nude. She could make out most of them avert their eyes as she was stripped, and then heard a voice yell out something about her missing nipple. More voices shouted about the various bruises and bite marks covering her body. "Yet I say that this one deserves more. I, Lucius Superbus , say that she should be crucified!" More voices in the crowd shouted, "Crucify her!" Lucius Superbus spoke only to Cinnia as he said, "It seems that your fate is now out of my hands." He tossed the rope to the centurion and watched as the Celtic warrior stumbled towards the awaiting crossbeam. Her bellows startled a flock of birds nestling in a nearby tree. The hammering continued to pound. At the first cry many in the crowd turned away, but could not completely ignore the scene before them. They saw her ribcage expand and body arch, then crash back down over and over as spikes pounded into both wrists until both spread arms were held fast the plank. "Don't go to sleep on me yet, bitch." The older Roman soldier grunted as he threw a bucket filled with river water onto Cinnia. He and another grabbed ends of the wood and lifted. She felt panic. It had never surprised her when talk of the crucified being driven mad as they suffered arose. Now, however, she could personally relate. Held steady by the men at either end of her crossbeam, Cinnia felt unsure of her footing and teetered as they moved her away from the throng and closer to the river. Her bare feet stumbled in the sand. The pain shot bolts through her arms. They held tighter to the ends of the wood as they entered the water. The female fell sideways as her feet slipped the smooth underwater rocks. The three clumsily walked into deeper water toward an old boat tied to shore. Cinnia tried to catch her breath. The side of the bow moved slightly as she leaned her back against it. The river lapped at the middle of her thighs. On shore she could make out the crowd, but saw little detail other than the military and civilian dress. The two who had brought her out into the river had leaned her against the hull and then climbed up into the boat. Water splashed as her legs kicked. Cinnia shrieked as the two Roman soldiers leaned over the side of the boat and hauled her up by her nailed wrists. The small fishing vessel rocked and strained its tether to the shore as the struggles continued once she was aboard. With a single and larger spike the two nailed Cinnia's feet to the mast. One foot over the other was pierced by the iron. She sat on another horn, this one thinner than the one back in the cell. Her face tilted upward as she cried out, and then exhausted, fell forward. Lucius Superbus gazed across the crowded river bank to the small boat. He approved of what he saw. From its middle rose a true Roman cross, and on it hung the Celtic warrior. Scarlet trails ran down her long white arms extended like the wings of some great pinned bird. Thorns colored most of her flaxen hair. Much of her body remained white and slick with sweat. Shadows sculpted the rest, and when she was forced to raise herself up to breathe, musculature flexed and strained. Her screams entranced all. He nodded to a young boy slave. The lad ran to the rope holding the boat to shore and with one swift slash cut the line. Lucius Superbus watched as the tide from the Tas slowly turned the boat and pointed it out to sea. Cinnia gasped air and then let her body fall back down and out, supported only by her wrists. Her starved lungs protested. Through the tangled veil of hair she saw that her angle to the shore had changed. The boat was actually moving, now parallel to the riverbank. She glimpsed dark shapes running amongst the multi-colored hues of the crowd. Here and there she saw small fires set. The military archers ignited their arrows and took aim. The first to let loose his flaming missile hit wood high on the boat's bow. Through the swollen grime she saw the small plume of gray smoke ahead of her. Clearing her vision, Cinnia saw an arrow shaft near the center of the plume. Fascinated, she watched as small yellow flames emerged from the smoke. The next arrow struck with a twang. Somewhere behind, where she could not see but soon smelled its smoke. Fire would not be long in coming. Cinnia summoned her strength and again flexed her legs, standing on the nail and pulling her body up so that she could inhale and exhale. The breathing had to be quick, as she could not support herself longer before falling back down. Now acrid smoke filled her lungs. Wincing and opening her eyes more, she saw the flames in the bow had spread. The arrow puncturing the meat in the side of her breast shocked. Its flame singed Cinnia's matted hair. She shrieked and shook her head so violently that the boat rocked. The swinging of her tendrils did put out what was not singed, but was too late to prevent the flames from touching the thorns. The dried wood ignited. Cinnia now wore a fiery crown. The crowd on shore ran with the archers and the slaves with the braziers. They applauded as the fourth flaming arrow sunk into the frantic crucified female's hip. He is not content to merely crucify me, she thought. He wants me to be burned alive or drown or both! It could not happen. Cinnia cried out as she raised herself up again as more flaming arrows hit the boat. Gritting her teeth, she blanked the pain from her mind and used the momentum of her body on the mast. It could not be all that strong... A combination of the forces jerking it forward and backward and a small fire at its base caused the mast to begin to crack. The timber, with its de facto crucifix began to teeter and fall toward the stern. Cinnia saw the horizon waver, and then she felt movement and saw only sky. The force of the crash when she landed on the back of the boat made her nearly pass out. The vessel yawed and bobbed in the water, but she remained on the cross on her back. Stunned, Cinnia lay turned upwards. Flames began to lick the wood she was on and then reached up toward her sides. She screamed long and hard, realizing that she had just left one bad situation only to fall onto another. Shouts and cheers sprang forth from the shoreline. Lucius Superbus encouraged their excitement. They watched as the yellow and orange flames jumped higher around the fallen Celtic warrior. Surely, they were witnessing her execution by burning. Cinnia looked out at the spike head in her left wrist, and then rolled her head to the right. Looking down her chest, she saw the flames growing higher. She had no choice. She resolved not to be burned alive. Gritting her teeth, she shifted to one side and screamed out as the spike held. Panting more, she yanked again in the same direction. This time, she felt the cross slightly move. Encouraged, she yelled out and jerked again. Roaring pain shot through her extended arm and watered her eyes. Those on shore silenced and stood watching as flames and sparks scattered on the rocking boat. Above it all, they could hear her yells and cries. The cross shook more, and then they saw part of the crossbeam with arm attached dip over the side and into the muddy river. More screams from the female followed. The arrows in her chest and thigh appeared, their shafts blackened. The female's head and torso showed. Her face looked contorted in pain. Steam billowed from the ignited crown as it touched the river. Seemingly in one continuous movement the other arm of the cross raised and two-thirds of it and its victim slipped over the side. The base of the mast remained connected. Before her head disappeared underwater the tormented yells turned to almost ones of victory. From out of the muddy waters raised a white bent leg on top of a flat one, both nailed to the wood. The two twitched, and then were still. The burning small boat with its unusual mast casually floated closer toward the sea.
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