Render Unto Caesar

I

Punitive Expedition

The sun had fallen hours before we approached the village of Tov Kepha. Flavius Gaius, the first Centurion of our cohort had accompanied our expedition. I did not resent this intrusion upon my command, we were good friends and he allowed me free reign over my men. I suggested Flavius remain a mile to the west of the village with half the century while I led the remaining men south to circle around and take up our position on the eastern approach. We moved through the night with the quiet stealth of the best-trained century in the legion. I am Centurion Cassius Priscus, I lead the first century of the third cohort; The pride of the tenth legion. For the last two years we have been reduced to chasing thieves and fighting goat herders. Still it was better for the men than wasting their pay on cheap whores and cheaper wine: such was the curse of garrison duty.

The men settled in to catch a few hours' sleep. The morning would bring the slaughter that passed for battle these days. They were tired enough from ten days of trudging over this land forsaken by all of the gods. Now vengeance was at hand.

Three weeks ago five of their number had been volunteered to escort a local tax collector. It was a safe, simple, boring duty, inflicted on them for some minor and long forgotten transgression. They had been reported stopping at five villages without incident. Then they had simply disappeared. The tax collector, escort, and taxes vanished without a trace. We were sent to investigate.

Behind me a squirming sack fell to the ground with a thud. Marcus, my adjutant, had unloaded our prisoner from the back of his donkey. A fat little man who claimed to be the priest, or teacher, from the village we were now encircling. His nose was swollen and bent to the right from his brief interrogation. It was broken but the bleeding had stopped. We had captured him two days ago heading west. When we searched him we found over 300 shekels and 900 denarii, the coin used to collect taxes. After a brief but energetic questioning he told us at least part of the tale.

The tax collector was dead. Stoned by the local villagers we were now encircling. The taxes were now recovered from our prisoner, who swore he was trying to return them: Even as he was headed directly away from the provincial capital. The only thing the village priest steadfastly refused to disclose was the fate of the military escort. That we would learn soon enough; for now the priest remained gagged. He would warn no one of our presence.

The guard was posted and the rest of the men slept. With the first sign of false dawn the legionaries were roused and silently prepared for battle. At my signal our horn was sounded; far to the west another answered our call. The men moved out in formation and quickly entered the wakening village. The villagers were herded to the communal well near the center of Tov Kepha. There were some 80 to 100 people in the village but less than 40 adult males. No resistance was offered.

"Who speaks for this village?" Flavius Galarius bellowed at the cowering throng. None of them seemed to understand Latin so I repeated this in the native tongue. The crowed muttered and parted exposing an older man with a graying beard, his wife, son, and daughter stood by his side. "I am the village elder." He said with a twinge of fear in his quavering voice. I moved to stand in front of the man, two soldiers accompanied me. The priest was still held at the edge of the village, so that none knew he was our prisoner. "Where is the tax collector?" I asked calmly. The man's eyes darted left and right. "He never arrived in our village sir." He said with barely a tremble in his voice.

I nodded to the two soldiers who had accompanied me. One reached forward grabbing the son by his hair yanking him forward. The boy stumbled to his knees and the second soldier brought his sword down on the exposed neck nearly severing it. The man's wife screamed. Rushing forward she gathered up her fallen son helplessly trying to hold the flopping head in place as she rocked back and forth on her knees. Fresh blood soaked her robe as she wailed in disbelief. "Where is the tax collector?" I repeated slightly louder to be heard over the weeping woman. The man pulled his eyes away from his dead son and looked at me. "The tax collector is dead. He was found with another man's wife. He was stoned to death under our laws." He spoke rapidly in a monotone, condemning his entire village with his words. " You live under Roman law now; " I informed him. " and where are the taxes he had collected?" The old man barely hesitated," The village priest has taken the money to the Governor where he will explain the situation and plead for mercy."

"What happened to the soldiers who escorted him?" I asked. Now true terror showed in the old mans eyes; he hesitated, thinking before he spoke. "They ran off, … fled, when they failed to protect…" I never let him finish his lie. With a nod from me the bloody sword swung downward cleaving into the wife's skull like a ripe melon. Her laments ended as her lifeless body flopped down next to her son. "Where are they?" I asked angrily as his daughter was dragged forward. He stared at his dead wife in disbelief but said nothing. I nodded and the bloody sword was drawn back once more. " No! Stop! I'll show you, spare her, please." I held up my hand staying her execution, for now. The old one was true to his word. He led us to a cairn in a dry riverbed. Under the stones were the bodies of the missing soldiers and the tax collector. The soldiers were not nearly as decomposed as time would warrant and had a bluish tint to their skin. "Poison?" I asked, the old man nodded listlessly.

Now that all the questions were answered we moved quickly. Villagers were divided into two groups. Those fit enough to make a forced march to the Capitol, without slowing us down, where gathered and placed under guard. All others were immediately put to the sword. The only exceptions were the priest, the elder, and his daughter. In the end 18 men, 7 women, the priest and the elder remained alive. There was little of value to pillage but the men gathered a modest amount of silver and copper trinkets. A second donkey was procured for the village elder before all the livestock was slaughtered. The buildings were soaked with oil and set ablaze. A few heads were staked at the entrances of the village as a warning to any passerby. The century formed a phalanx around the prisoners and began the forced march to the Capitol.

I studied the elder as we marched toward the capitol. He was terrified of course but didn't allow it to show. He talked quietly with his daughter. He was unused to riding and his daughter stayed by his side steadying him as he swayed on the donkey's back. His daughter was old enough to have married years ago but she still seemed fresh and comely, perhaps the choicest of the female prisoners. I learned her name, Rebecca. The column halted at midday and the prisoners were quickly feed and watered. The soldiers grumbled at the delay, they normally ate their fistful of grain as they marched. The march resumed as soon as the prisoners were finished and continued without pause until we made our camp long after dusk.

The march continued, inevitably slowed by the pace of the prisoners who were footsore after the first day. It was well after sunset on the fourth day when we arrived at the gates of the Capital. The officer of the watch opened the gate for us and the prisoners were marched through the deserted streets to the citadel. The men were exhausted, but still they deserved some reward for completing their mission. The male prisoners were placed in the empty paddock and eight legionaries were assigned to guard them. The women were marched to the parade ground, at the center of the citadel. Dozens of flickering torches set in sconces along the eastern and northern walls cast an eerie illumination on the central square. The men formed up on the parade ground and watch fires were lit along the southern edge to add a bit more light to the proceedings.

The Parade ground was used for formal assemblies as well as military drills. Two whipping posts half the height of a man stood along the northern wall as well as a long bench used to hold a prisoner being questioned under torture. A chopping block used for military executions completed the assembly. The women were obviously frantic as they backed away from the advancing men and were forced forward toward these devices.

The century assembled facing the woman. Nine ranks of eight soldiers and 20 auxiliaries were all staring at the prisoners with a hunger that had wiped the exhaustion from their minds. I stepped between the men and the prisoners. "These woman will be brought before the Governor in the morning." I addressed them. " In the morning they will all be alive, not visibly injured, and properly dressed. Do I make myself clear?" A roar of approval went up from the men. I stepped to the right and let Marcus take charge of the preparations. The women screamed and shrieked in dismay as two ranks of soldiers moved forward and began to strip and bind them.

In short order Marcus reported all was in readiness. I surveyed his handiwork. All seven of the female prisoners were naked. Their clothing formed a loose pile against the wall. Four of the women now knelt along the length of the bench, they were bent over its width and their wrists had been pulled underneath and tied to their ankles. They were faced in alternate directions the first facing the wall and the next staring at the leering troops. Four naked bottoms trembled in the flickering light waiting to be used. Two other women were simply bent over the short whipping posts, with their wrists bound to the embedded iron rings. They where able to partially shield their nakedness, by twisting around to the far side of the posts One had even managed to cross her legs pressing them tightly together as if that would somehow save her from my lustful soldiers. The elder's daughter, the one called Rebecca, now knelt before the chopping block her neck resting in it's blood stained groove and her hands bound to the iron ring at its base She was the closest to the men but facing the wall and the other bound and naked women.

I was the senior Officer and was expected to take first choice in all plunder. In the interest of morale I stepped forward and inspected the naked offerings in the flickering light. As I walked among the bound prisoners my hand wandered across their bare flesh. Smooth round asses quivering with dread as nipples hardened in the cool night breeze. Some of the woman were sobbing, others pleading, a few were mumbling prayers but Rebecca remained silent, her eyes tightly closed as she knelt, terrified, desperate, waiting. It helped me choose. I shifted my Braccae aside. I tucked the front of my tunic up into my belt before pulling off my loincloth. She shivered with fright as I knelt down behind her. Leaning forward the bottom edge of my hardened leather coriaceus (breastplate) dug into the smooth curve of her naked ass. I reached down and cupped her dangling breasts. She gasped when I cruelly twisted her hardening nipples. I bent even lower pressing down against her back, my breath on her neck. " Feel free to scream, bitch." I hissed in her ear. I straightened, reluctantly releasing her breasts. She flinched as my manhood brushed down the crevice between her ass cheeks. I grabbed her hips and thrust into her. She gasped in shock and pain as I entered her. She was as tight and dry, as any virgin bride would be. I reared back and slammed into her again. I knew it must hurt. I wanted it to hurt, but it felt so good. I really wanted to hear this one proud bitch scream. The third thrust did bring a scream but from another girl, one of the ones bound to the whipping posts. She began to cry out hysterically as she watched what would soon be her own fate. The four women knelling at the bench were whimpering as they tugged helplessly against their bonds. The men cheered me on. After that first gasp Rebecca had become stoically silent as I drove into her. She was too tight and I was too eager, I could not last. All too quickly spurted out the fluid that would moisten her passage for her coming ordeal. I pulled out of her wiping my dripping manhood across her smooth bottom. There was no blood, so I knew she wasn't really a virgin. Tears were trickling down her cheeks as I walked away.

Marcus barked an order and the first rank of men stepped forward. The women began to plead and beg with renewed urgency. The four bound to the bench strained futilely against their ropes. The sight of their squirming struggles only served to further inflame the men's lust. The two bound to the whipping posts tried to twist and squirm away from their assailants but they were quickly grabbed, trapped and impaled upon Roman cocks. Eight men and seven women caused few problems. Marcus was the odd man out in the first rank and he simply knelt in front of the one of the woman bent across the bench. Grabbing a fistful of her hair he raised her head and thrust himself into her gaping mouth. She gagged and gasped. The man who knelt behind her drove into her pushing her forward while Marcus waited in her mouth. Her body was buffeted back and forth over the rough wooden surface as they took turns plunging into her. Tears poured down her cheeks as she choked and sputtered. Some of the women who did have free use of their mouths were still begging for mercy while others cried out in outrage or pain.

The first rank finished and relieved the men guarding the male prisoners while the second rank moved forward. The process went quickly and with typical Roman efficiency. A fellow in the third rank knelt behind Rebecca and plunged his hand into her ravaged sex. His fingers sloshed in the ejaculate left by his comrades, which he then smeared along the crack of her ass. Rebecca's eyes widened in shock and she spoke for the first time since her rapes began " No! Please not there. I've never.." the soldier paid no attention as his thumb plunged into her narrow opening. She lowered her head biting down on her lip. His hands grasped her cheeks brutally pulling them open. She uttered a startled gasp as he thrust himself into her virgin opening. Maybe it was shock or maybe a point of pride for her, she still didn't scream as her ass was brutally ravaged. I was sorely disappointed. By the time the fourth rank was finished the women were barely whimpering though some of the women still screeched when a soldier choose to use their back sides, by the tenth rank they were silent but for an occasional grunt or groan. I did not remained to watch the auxiliaries finish and those interested begin their second go around. I directed that the women should be untied, dressed, and returned to the paddock with the other prisoners when my men were finished. It took less than two hours for the seven women to service the entire century.

II

The Path to Roman Justice

The morning dawned with a bright blue sky and a cooling breeze from the west. Flavius sent word to the palace of our situation. The prisoners were already up, some nervously pacing the paddock while others tried to brush away the dirt, straw and dung in which they had slept. Soldiers watered them and then the prisoners' hands were bound behind them. They were taken to the parade ground and made to wait under guard until word was sent that the Governor was ready to hold court.

The prisoners were assembled, first the elder and the priest followed by the 7 women and finally the 18 men followed behind. Half of the century took up position to escort them to the Governor's courtyard near the center of the city. The city streets were busy but, of course, they cleared quickly for the Roman troops and their prisoners. A crowd gathered and followed after us toward the Governor's residence. The large number of prisoners was most unusual. Rumors swept through the market place and the throng grew larger still.

The prisoners were herded into the courtyard and the curious crowd milled behind them. Flavius went up onto the balcony to await the Governor and his Lictor. I brought the priest and the village Elder forward and we waited for the Governor to appear. The Lictor proceeded the Governor and a few members of his court followed him.

Flavius reported on the mission of our century and the death of the tax collector and his escort. The Governor's anger grew, visibly, as he listened to the report." What can be said in your defense?" I asked the elder.

He cleared his throat and addressed the Governor. " I would offer my life and that of our priest. Already our village has suffered 10 fold what you have lost and the money is now in your hands."

I began to translate but the Governor waved me to silence and responded in the elder's own tongue. " When you stoned my tax collector you forfeited your own life. When you slew my soldiers your village was lost."

The priest fell to his knees crying out that he was a man of god and not really from that village anyway. A soldier stepped forward and silenced him with a backhanded blow to the face. The priest sprawled on the ground. The elder continued, realizing he was a dead man and he was bargaining with an empty hand. This time he spoke in Latin "At least spare the women, they are worth far more as slaves and they are no threat to Rome's soldiers."

The Governor was a bit surprised by such audacious behavior from so humble a creature. He answered in Latin; " Your courage and concern are commendable. If I agreed to spare but one female among them whom would you choose to protect? " The elder nodded sagely trying to measure the Governors true intent. " My daughter Excellency" he said after a moment's reflection. " Fetch her forward," the Governor spoke in a voice that seemed almost compassionate.

The elder went back among the women, still unsure of the true intent of the Governor, but in the end he could not trust him. He bypassed his own daughter and drew forth another, a tall woman named Judith, from the group. " This is my daughter Excellency." He spoke in Latin and the girl was totally unaware of the deception that the old man was attempting. It was a foolish gesture as both Flavius and I were prepared to expose his lie but the Governor held up his hand in judgment.

"This man, his daughter, and that squirming snake of a priest will be marched through the eastern gate and onto the road leading to the arena. There they will be stripped, scourged, and crucified. The remainder of this rabble will be trained and prepared to entertain us in the Hippodrome in three days time. They will assist us in the celebration of the Feast of Janus"

"Centurion" he said addressing me." It would please me greatly, if that one " he pointed to the elder, " is alive to see his fellow villagers when they are marched past him on their way to the Hippodrome."

I snapped out a series of orders. The troops closed ranks around the prisoners for the return to the citadel. Flavius spoke quietly with the Governor no doubt informing him of the elders' deception concerning his daughter. The crowd that had gathered to hear the court's judgment began to break apart. The curious pushed forward to catch a glimpse of the condemned while most went off to spread the word of the impending executions. The Lictor retired to prepare the necessary orders for the Governor's signature and set a scribe to work creating a titulus for each of the condemned.

The return to the citadel was quick and uneventful. Once there, the three condemned prisoners were brought to the parade ground while the other prisoners were returned to the paddock.

The carpenter who served as our executioner came forward to view his newest victims. Hans was a Germanic mercenary. He had served eight years of his enlistment with courage and distinction. A little more than a year ago he lost the thumb and forefinger of his right hand during a minor skirmish. Most soldiers who were injured and unable to use a sword would have return home bitter and broken men. Instead Hans had learned a new trade and we were allowing him to serve out the last two years of his enlistment as our century's carpenter and engineer. The fact that he was in charge of crucifixions was one of the bright spots in his life. While he was always eager to conduct a crucifixion it had been almost a year since he had a chance to nail a naked female to the tree of shame. He trembled with anticipation.

He picked out three patibulii and then gathered up the necessary tools and equipment. He hurried ahead toward the eastern gate to locate an appropriate grouping of stipes along the road, a single short crux humilis for the priest and two taller stipes for the old man and the woman. An execution party of 20 soldiers was drawn up. A patibulum was placed across the back of each of the condemned and their wrists were bound to the wood. The Elder and woman were quietly praying while the priest began a long tirade about the wrath of his god and how much he could pay us if we would just let him slip away. By the time the gate opened to admit the Lictor a sizable crowed had already gathered outside. While crucifixions were fairly common, the old man was right; women were more profitably sold as slaves. It was most unusual for a woman, especially one that was worth a second glance, to be condemned to the cross. Today would prove to be quite entertaining for the crowd.

The Lictor read the charges to the prisoners each was condemned for insurrection. Each prisoner's titulus was hung from their neck for all to see during the parade to their place of execution. The gate swung open and the procession began. From horseback I could see over the gathered mass of people. The horse might be needed just to force an opening for the procession.

The Lictor led the way followed by four soldiers. Each of the staggering prisoners also had four soldiers assigned to them, first the woman, then the elder and lastly the priest. Four more soldiers brought up the rear.

The streets were crowed with an excited mob and it took all twenty of the soldiers to maintain some order and forward progress. The crowd was not openly hostile, certainly not to us, or even to these pathetic condemned prisoners. They just seemed eager to get a look at the condemned. They jeered and shouted obscenities but it seemed more from excitement than any hatred or anger. A few younger boys tried to throw stones at the prisoners but the soldiers used their shields to deflect them and when one of the men bringing up the rear made a half hearted lunge after them the boys faded back into the crowd. As a rule, a crucifixion brought out a crowd of a few hundred, many of them vagrants and petty criminals who might end up decorating a cross themselves in the near future. This crowd was different. Men, women, children, merchants and shopkeepers, a true cross section of the city was following us as we made our slow progress toward the eastern gate

When we reached the main market place I left the procession and rode over to the central well. I reached into my purse and tossed a handful of shekels onto the ground. I addressed the women as they scrambled after the coins. " Bring water for my soldiers and find the herbalist. We will need wine for the three that will be mounted on crosses today."

Several of the women gathered up jugs while one went off to find the old herbalist. Satisfied I turned back and rejoined the march to the gate. The prisoners were struggling forward with their awkward loads. The patibulum was only 20 or 30 pounds but they were being pulled forward by ropes tied about their necks and with their hands bound wide across the crosspiece they were unable to break their fall when they lost their balance. The crowd found it hilarious every time a prisoner fell face down into the dirt. The soldiers escorting the hapless prisoner would pull them back up each time and kept the pitiful unfortunate moving forward while the jeering crowed howled at the sight of fresh blood.

As we approached the eastern gate the Lictor brought the procession to a halt. A delegation of temple priests with an escort of 20 temple guards blocked the road. The Lictor stared in utter disbelief; He was new to this land. Never in his wildest imagination had he conceived that such an action was possible.

"Who would thwart the path to Roman justice? " he shouted

Those priest who understood the Latin words turned pale. The fat little priest bound to his patibulum began to beseech his fellow clerics to rescue him. His escort silenced him by forcing him face down onto the dusty road and placing a foot on the back of his neck. The temple guard backed away from the priests pushing back against the crowd each man keeping his shield lowered and his hand as far away from his sword as possible. My own soldiers were reforming toward the front. Two soldiers from each prisoner and two from the rear came forward to present two ranks of six . I never needed to issue a command. The priest had halted a staggering procession of the condemned, now they faced a shield wall with short swords drawn, eager, and ready to slash their way forward .

The crowd had become deathly silent expecting violence to erupt at any moment. I pushed forward on my mount to try to prevent a bad situation from turning to needless bloodshed. " Why are you delaying these executions?" I demanded. The Chief Priest answered "We cannot allow the condemned to remain on their crosses after sundown. It is our holy day and they would be a desecration."

. "You are a fool to interfere," I told him, "The Governor wants them alive and suffering on the cross for the next three days. We will do our best to make that happen. Now, be gone." I did not bother the Lictor with this; he was too apoplectic to respond. His authority had never been so openly challenged.

The Chief Priest tried a more reasonable tone that might maintain some figment of his authority. " Modesty requires the woman not be allowed to hang naked. The Governor has allowed female prisoners a girdle before." He argued. I relayed this to the Lictor but he curtly refused to consider the notion. The crowd was buzzing anxiously; those who were following the conversation had no interest in the priest spoiling their fun. I needed to get the priests out of our way and get the execution party moving again. The Old man and the woman were swaying under their burdens while they tried to stand in place; the priest remained face down in the dirt under the weight of his patibulum.

"We have been ordered to take these prisoners out through the eastern gate where they are to be stripped, scourged, and crucified. If you wish to see that sentence modified I suggest you seek an audience with the Governor. You had better hurry. We will crucify the female last but we won't wait for any final change of instructions. Now run!" The Priests turned and hurried off toward the Governor's Palace.

Once through the gate the road opened up a bit. The eastern road was the perfect site for an execution field. The predominant wind came from the west keeping the stench of rotting corpses out of the city. The road was well traveled and the crucified were prominently displayed. The remnants of old garbage dumps and an ancient siege ramp had left a series of raised outcrops some 3 to 5 meters in height along both sides of the road. Atop most of these hillocks rose clusters of two or three stipes. Our carpenter had found an appropriate collection of stipes a few hundred paces from the gate. The prisoners were prodded forward with renewed haste as the crowd spilled out of the city clogging the roadway behind us.

Once we reached the site of execution the patibulii were removed from each prisoner and laid before the stipes. The herbalist I had paid for came forward bearing a leather wine boot and a dirty clay cup. She offered her draught to each of the prisoners in turn and they all drank deeply, for what good it would do them. The priest was certainly the most annoying of the prisoners and for that reason alone I decided he would be the first to go up on the cross. He was quickly stripped to his loincloth and his wrists were bound around the shortest stipes.

Hans stood behind the prisoner shaking loose the braided strands of his flagellum. The tips were weighted and Hans whirled it through the air first to untangle the lashes. The crowed became silent when the whip slapped against the priests back. The lashes stayed in place for a moment as bits of iron and bone imbedded themselves into the priest's flesh. Hans yanked the whip back tearing the man's skin. He howled in shock and pain. The second blow from the flagellum landed with a wet thwack. Blood splattered from his torn flesh. His screams and howls seemed to quench some deep need in the crowd. Hans never paused and the flagellum tore into the flesh of the man while he screamed himself hoarse. His loincloth was drenched with blood and rivulets trickled down his legs. His legs buckled when he fainted long before the scourging ended. This would never do for the old man's scourging. I sent a soldier to retrieve the plain leather flagellum from my mount. If that were used for the flogging it would prevent excessive blood loss, otherwise the elder would never last through a single day on the cross.

A jug of water was poured over the priest to revive him. He was cut loose from the stipes and pulled up onto his feet. A soldier turned him to face the waiting mob. A murmur of excitement grew as the crucifixion proceeded. Four soldiers closed in upon the priest. One held his feet while two grabbed his shoulders and pushed him down on his torn and bloodied back. Quickly his arms were stretched out on the patibulum and the executioner approached. Hans had spent his time preparing for this. He had gathered a few weathered old titulus and snapped them into small wooden slates through which he had driven a dozen of his iron spikes. These would keep the prisoners from tearing free from the spikes as they struggled on the cross. The carpenter knelt by the priest's right wrist and positioned the tip of a spike in the hollow between the two bones at the top of the forearm. He held the spike in place with the three remaining fingers of his right hand and raised the hammer with his left. You could hear the crowd gulp in air as the hammer rose. The clang of iron on iron rang out for an endless moment only to be followed by a horrendous screech. The priest was flopping about as four soldiers struggled to hold him in place. The hammer clanged on and the howls of pain continued. The executioner jumped across the priest's chest and knelt by the left wrist.

The other two prisoners stared in horror. The elder had sunk to his knees mouthing silent prayers while the woman's eyes darted back and forth first taking in the dreadfulness before her, and then the excited mob gathered to witness it. Two solders were holding her up but she began to twist hopelessly in their grasp as if she might escape the fate that awaited her.

The priest was now firmly attached to his patibulum and his screams had been reduced to hoarse sobbing moans. Excited muttering swept over the crowd I nodded to the soldiers and four of them grasped the patibulum two to an end. They jerked the prisoner to his feet. With a renewed howl the priest was once again in the crowds view and they were nearly panting with anticipation.

The blood soaked loincloth was pulled away so the priest stood naked before the crowd. This culture had the peculiar custom of mutilating their male children at birth. Skin was stripped from the tip of the penis so the glans was always exposed. Romans and other civilized people always found the practice perverse and vaguely obscene, though the local populace thought nothing of it. They confined their comments to taunts about his puny size. The priest was beyond caring.

The soldiers dragged the prisoner backward to the shortest stipes and pushed the patibulum upward until his feet left the ground. The patibulum slipped into the mortise joint at the top of the stipes and the carpenter quickly pounded a spike into the joint to hold the two beams together. The priest had been wheezing, moaning, and kicking his feet but now a shudder passed through his entire body and he hung slack. The soldiers moved quickly two grabbing each of his feet and pulling them up about a foot off the ground. They pressed the heels against the side of the stipes. The priest didn't move or make a sound as the spikes were driven through his heel bone and into the wood. Finally the titulus was slipped over his head which had slumped forward resting on his chest. He hung sagging on his cross his legs bent forward as if kneeling a foot off the ground. His continued wheezing and the occasional dry rattle in his chest showed that he was still alive. He wouldn't last long if he didn't start to move soon. Throwing water on him failed to revive him.

The old man was next and he was quickly stripped and scourged. Using a plain leather flagellum meant there was very little actual bleeding. Still he twisted and screamed as well as a man half his age. The mob was pleased. His was to be a crux sublimus with a stipes standing over 3 meters tall (about 10 feet), for this the standing stipes was loosened and pulled out of its hole. It was joined to the patibulum on the ground. This wasn't an easy job and the soldiers worked quickly while the old man stood by numbly watching the preparations.

I informed the executioner that this was the one the Governor had specifically wanted to live for at least three days. He found a scrape of lumber to form a sediles and hammered it into place where the condemned would be able to rest his hips and help support his weight. A block of wood that would serve as a footrest was also set at the base of the stipes. It would allow the doomed man to push up with his legs more effectively and perhaps last another day.

Once the cross was prepared the old man was forced down onto it. Two soldiers pulled his forearms out, stretching them out along the patibulum. The executioner probed the right wrist searching for the hollow spot between the bones. With a nod to the soldiers he positioned the iron spike and raised his hammer. Once again the air filled with screams and the clang of the hammer striking the iron. The crowd was silent while the old man screamed out his agony. The executioner stepped across the body to repeat the procedure with the left wrist.

Once the arms were attached the executioner went to work on the feet. Two soldiers held each foot drawing them up so the knee was flexed When the executioner was satisfied with the position he nailed the block of wood into place for the footrest; once that was secure the feet were nailed onto the footrest. The old man was now affixed to his cross. Hans nailed the titulus to the top of the stipes.

It took a team of eight soldiers to raise the cross with its burden. Two soldiers at the base of the stipes guided it into the hole from which it had been removed. Two more raised the head of the stipes. Rope was looped around both the outer ends of the crossbeam and a soldier pulled forward on each rope while another stood behind keeping tension on the ropes so they didn't slip off. As the cross rose it began to slip down into its hole. The entire cross began to tilt forward and the two soldiers behind the cross threw their weight against the ropes and halted the forward tilt. The old man screamed as his body slid forward and the cross thumped against the bottom of the hole. The ropes remained taut until the stipes was wedged solidly into its hole and dirt and stones were packed around the base. The old man was quietly sobbing when one of the soldiers reached up and tore his loincloth away. The crowd roared it's approval and all eyes turned eagerly to the lone woman standing on the hill. A puddle spread between her muddy feet as she lost control of her bladder.

III

Judith's Demise

I glanced toward the city gate. There was no sign of the high priests or a messenger from the Governor. I sighed and looked at the one called Judith. Women in this culture were not permitted to gird their loins. She would be naked beneath her robe.

"Strip her to the waist and flog her." I told the executioner. He looked hurt and disappointed. He tied a rope around her waist the split her robe down the back. Her hands were untied so the robe could be slipped off her shoulders and pulled down to he waist. The crowed cheered appreciatively at the sight of her breasts. Though some were already yelling out, demanding she be stripped completely. She was led over to the last stipes and bound facing it. The executioner stood a pace behind her and to the right, he began her scourging. He took his time savoring every lash taking particular pleasure when the thin leather straps wrapped around her chest to mark the sides of her breast. With the twentieth lash he moved to her left side so he could mark her other breast. She wailed and cried out in agony as the blows landed. A restive quiet descended over the mob. This was what the crowd had really come for, a chance to watch a pretty young woman suffer and die in agony. I glanced again at the gate; there was still no sign of a message from the Governor.

In the past the Governor had sometimes made concessions to the local religious leaders and allowed loincloths on the men, and a girdle of cloth around the waist of the women, who were to be executed. It was not a hard and fast rule. I had no intention of trying to dress a prisoner who was hanging naked from the cross; the crowed had come out to see this woman naked, and nailed to a cross. On the other hand I could nail her up with a bit of cloth around her hips and strip it off later when word finally arrived, but the crowd was hardly in a patient mood. I tried to think of the best way I could delay.

The scourging ended and the woman was released from the stipes. She tried to collapse to the ground but a soldier held her up from behind and turned her toward the crowd so they could admire welts that now marked the sides of her breasts. The executioner and two soldiers began working loose the wooden wedges and rocks that held the stipes firmly in its hole. Once the stipes was free it was laid down on the ground and the patibulum was attached. I glanced again at the gate but there was still no sign of the temple priests. The crowd was becoming boisterous, shouting out their demands; "strip the bitch", "nail the whore", and " crucify her". None of this was happening fast enough for them. Soon they had picked a unifying chant "Cru-ci-fy Her! Cru-ci-fy Her! Cru-ci-fy Her!" They screamed the words with gathering fervor as they found the rhythm of their chant. The girl turned pale as she listened to the chanting crowd demanding her blood.

I looked over the area. I had a crucified priest who would die long before he had a chance to properly suffer, and old man who was doing as well as could be hoped for, and a half dressed woman who was agitating the crowd into a state of near anarchy.

I made an inspired decision. I walked over to the woman and garbed her by the hair. The startled soldiers released her. I marched her over to the crux humilis where the fat little priest hung lifelessly. I forced her down onto her knees facing the priest. I pulled her face up and pushed it into his crotch so she would have no question as to what was expected. The look of disgust on her face only added to my determination. " Suck some life into this worthless turd and you might live a little longer" I growled at her. She glared at me with pure hatred; her jaw was clenched tight in defiance. I released my grip on her hair and held my right hand out behind me, palm up. It took only a moment for one of my men to retrieve the flagellum from the dirt and slap the handle into my outstretched hand. The flagellum whistled as it slashed through the air.

" YOU! …WILL!… DO!… AS!…I!…COMAND!" I roared at the girl punctuating each word with a lash from the whip. Where our carpenter had used his skill and finesse with the flagellum to decorate her body with pretty stripes. I used anger and brute strength to emphasize my demands. By the sixth lash she was groveling face down in the dirt with blood oozing from dozens of fresh welts.

"Get up!" I commanded and she struggled back up onto her knees. She looked up at me and every trace of defiance had vanished. I pointed toward the priest and she winced but nodded. She drew a deep trembling breath. She looked like she might retch but she swallowed hard and then took his flaccid penis into her mouth. Slowly she began to move her head back and forth.

The crowed was quick to understand. Men jostled forward for a better view while women gathered up their children and pushed them toward the back of the crowd. The taunts and insults flew as she knelt before the priest her head starting to rock back and forth. The priest began to respond to her ministrations and as his penis grew he stirred on his cross. At first his hips seemed to twitch spasmodically then he began to slowly rise up on his pierced and bleeding feet. When he finally reached the top of his cross he had pulled himself free from her lips. He opened his eyes and took in what was being done to him. He gathered his strength through the haze of pain and then spat down onto the woman cursing her as a Roman whore. Still when his shaking legs forced him to sink back down his hips thrust forward pushing his stirring manhood toward her, searching for the warmth of her mouth.

She turned her head away. I snapped the flagellum and it struck the ground by her knee raising a cloud of dust. Her eyes were full of hatred again as she looked up into my hard gaze. She turned her head back toward the priest.

Reaching out with her right hand she cupped the man's scrotal sac she stretched upward on her knees her tongue darting out to lick at his manhood. The crowd roared out its approval. With her left hand she grasped the stipes to steady herself and managed to pull the tip of his rapidly hardening penis back into her mouth. The crowd hurled insults in three languages but their enthusiasm for the show was unmistakable. She captured him drawing his now turgid member into her mouth continuing her effort, head bobbing as she knelt before the crucified man. The crowed was enthralled and for the moment pacified.

I glanced once more toward the gate. There was some disturbance and the crowd by the gate was being pushed back clearing the road. Hopefully it was word from the Governor. I yanked the girl away from her task. The priest let out a groan of frustration. The woman rose from her knees and stood before the priest. She was a tall woman and when she stood she nearly reached the chin of the man on the cross. She had no trouble landing a glob of spittle directly into his blinking eyes. She had a lot of fight in her; her struggles would be quite entertaining while she lasted. I looked down at the man's bobbing erection and said to one of my soldiers " Tie it off." The soldier cut a leather strap from the man's discarded sandal and cinched it tightly around the base of the man's penis. He would keep his last erection for a while.

A contingent of the Governor's foot guard had forced their way through the gate Four Nubian slaves followed bearing an ornate palanquin. It was still too distant to see individuals but it could only be the Governor's First Consort.

The Governor's wife had remained in Rome to oversee their affairs. She had approved a number of local concubines one of whom had quickly become the Governor's favorite. Her name was Olivia. I had never met her but she was said to be as shrewd as she was beautiful. Her knowledge of the local politics was a boon to the Governor and he used her as an advisor as well as a lover. Olivia had forged alliances among the bickering factions of the local government and helped maintain Rome's peace in this troubled land. She was respected by her allies and feared by her enemies. She was recognized by some as the true power behind the local governance. Olivia used her influence and power to lighten the yoke of Roman rule on her people. To say that she was beloved by the public was a vast understatement. She was a truly heroic figure to the local populace. She preferred to be addressed as the "First Consort".

It would take them a short while before the First Consort's column could force it's way through the crowd. I decided it was time for the young woman to understand the true reason for her personal condemnation. I pulled the girl over to the old mans cross. " I will not make you dishonor your own father." I told the girl. Relief and confusion played across her face. " This man is not my father." She finally said. " Of course he is, He has already admitted this to the Governor. That's the reason you are here." I told her.

Her confusion quickly gave way to anger and then rage. " You bastard how could you do this to me?" she screamed at the crucified man. She lunged at him beating her fists against the poor mans pinioned legs as she screamed "Tell them the truth you dirty bastard!" Two soldiers quickly pulled her away from the elders cross. " Tell them it's not me, damn it! " she screamed "Tell them it's not supposed to be me!"

The royal palanquin had finally forced its way to the execution site. A second enclosed sedan chair carried by two slaves followed close behind. The slaves gently lowered their burden and the First Consort Olivia stepped down. I understood the wisdom of having the First Consort attend crucifixions. Her presence showed that the local government gave its tacit approval to these executions. This meant that everyone would recognize that we were crucifying criminals here, not creating martyrs, an important consideration in this land crawling with religious zealots and political fanatics.

" Hail Centurion!" Olivia addressed me; she was truly a stunning dark haired beauty. I tried hard not to stare at her. Her eyes passed over the struggling woman beneath the old man cross. She then looked over the two men hanging from their crosses her eyes finally resting on the erection jutting out bellow the priests' belly.

" Is this an execution or a circus?" she demanded. The girl blushed as she saw where the woman was looking. She began to struggle anew held beneath the cross, naked to the waist, while the panting crowd looked on.

"Hail, First Consort." I responded. " I felt a need to entertain the crowd while we awaited final instructions from the Governor. I trust you are not offended." She nodded toward me smiling. Her smile was huge and beatific. It made me wince. This was a very dangerous woman and not one to be trifled with.

" I bring word from our beloved Governor." She said her eyes sweeping over to the now trembling woman. " She will hang naked from the tree of shame, as befits a slut such as she."

" It's not supposed to be me!" Judith sobbed "He's not my father!" "I'm not supposed to be here! Crucify Rebecca not me!" She screamed as four soldiers closed in around her ripping away the last tattered remnants of her robe. The crowed cheered lustily as the execution began once again. Olivia was talking to our executioner. He was nodding enthusiastically as a wide grin spread across the lucky old bastards' face.

The woman was kicking franticly as the soldiers dragged her toward the remaining cross. Her plea was becoming shorter as she became more desperate. " It's not supposed to be me! It's not me! Not me! Not me! " She blubbered but no one was listening. Her thrashing legs were giving everyone close to the hilltop an excellent view of her now naked sex. The crowds' howls and jeers were drowning out her plaintive cries.

The four soldiers brought the struggling woman over to where her cross lay and were about to force her down onto it when Olivia raised her hand. The soldiers halted, holding the hysterical woman trembling in place. "Centurion, do you have any idea what she is talking about?" I sighed and began to describe the entire deception to the First Consort. " She was condemned when the village elder" I said, pointing to the old man on the cross, " told the Governor that she was his daughter. She claims she is not related to the old man and in fact we have every reason to believe she speaks the truth."

The young woman was oblivious to our conversation shivering, naked, before the eager crowd repeating the words " Not me. Not me. Not me. " She spoke almost to herself now, as if the repeating the words would protect her somehow.

The First Consort looked at the girl with all the compassion of a viper. " Is this true?" she asked. The woman's mind was too far-gone to hear or respond and she simply repeated her chant almost in a whisper now. Olivia looked at the village elder now struggling upward on his cross and repeated " Is this true?"

The old man struggled, pushing himself upward against his bleeding feet. When he finally managed to straighten himself completely he drew several quick breaths before he spoke. " Forgive Me." was all he said before his knees buckled and he sank back down onto his sedile. Whether he spoke to Olivia or the naked prisoner was unclear though it wasn't really that important. He had confirmed that he had lied to the Governor. Olivia whispered some instruction to one of her slaves who then scurried off toward the Royal Palanquin.

" Proceed." Olivia said to the soldiers who were holding the trembling woman. They brought her swiftly to the ground stretching her into place on her cross. Two soldiers grabbed her hands, yanking them apart, extending her arms out across the patibulum. Another soldier straddled her chest sitting on her belly pinning her body against the stipes. He grinned down at her, grabbing her by the shoulders, as he leaned forward pressing his body down. His chest squashing down on her crushing her breasts. There was little doubt as to what he would rather be doing with her.

It is said that to be buried deep inside a woman when the nails pierce her wrists is the wildest ride a man can ever experience. I have no first hand knowledge of this, as it would be undignified for a person of my rank and position to be rolling in the mud with a condemned woman as she's nailed in place. Still I've seen it done on a few occasions and none of my men has ever complained about being assigned the duty. If we were conducting the execution in the field I would have been inclined to indulge my men but here in the capital we needed to be a bit more formal.

The fourth soldier knelt by her left wrist ready to assist the executioner. Still the woman whispered "Not me. Not me. Not me." Though she was gasping a bit and having trouble breathing with the soldier's weight pressing down on her chest.

The executioner knelt by her left wrist. The forth soldier pressed the wrist flat against the wood. The executioner placed the tip of his iron spike in the grove between the two bones below her wrist. The crowd became silent as the hammer rose. You could now hear the girls whispered chant growing more urgent as the hammer swept downward. " not me! NOT ME!. NOT MEEEEEEEEEE!" She howled as the spike tore through her flesh and sank into the wood beneath. The three soldiers holding her arms in place struggled to restrain her as she bucked beneath the soldier straddling her torso. He was grinning like a fool as her feet stamped and kicked lifting her hips up off the cross. Her screams became unintelligible shrieks of pure agony.

The executioner pounded away at the spike and quickly had her left wrist secured. One of the soldiers went to grab her flailing feet while the other followed the executioner over to kneel down by her right wrist. The crowd remained eerily quiet drinking in the girls excruciating pain.

Olivia's face was flushed as she looked on with a bemused smile. She seemed to glow, almost trembling with excitement. The hammer rose and fell with the accompanying shrieks but Judith's resistance was quickly fading. She still screeched with each blow of the hammer but her hips squirmed helplessly as one soldier pinioned her feet against the cross and another still straddled her chest. Finally the executioner stood having fastened both her wrists to the crossbeam.

. Olivia's slave had returned from the palanquin and knelt before his Mistress presenting her a silken bag with an object concealed inside. She hastened over to the condemned girl stooping down to gaze into her tormented eyes. Tears ran down the girl's cheeks; she shook her head back and forth once again mumbling " Not supposed to be me."

Olivia spoke to her. " You have been done a grave injustice." she began. The girl just ignored her still mumbling to herself. Olivia knelt in the dirt next to her. She shook the poor girls shoulder but still Judith ignored her so Olivia slapped her across the face. Judith shook her head, startled by the fresh pain, and focussed on Olivia at last.

" A mistake was made. " Olivia stated. " You are condemned to the cross and I can do nothing about that." She continued with seeming sympathy. " It matters very little because everyone you grew up with will be executed in the next few days. You are simply dying a few days early." Judith looked up in puzzlement. Why was this wealthy Lady so concerned about her? "I cannot save you from the cross," Olivia said " but I can make your time upon it a little less painful." She reached into the silk bag and drew forth an object that she held before the startled girl's eyes.

The Ivory was old and ornately carved no doubt the toy of some wealthy lady before it became an instrument used to torment the dying. It was carved into a curved phallus over two hand widths long and as wide as four fingers held together at its base. A penis any man would be proud, one that would make most women squeal. It was a cornu of sorts, but unlike any horn I had ever seen used; most cornu ended in a sharp point that ripped into the guts of its victim while supporting their weight. This one ended with a bulbous head like a penis. It was mounted upon a smooth wooden board with plenty of room to nail it to an upright stipes. As it was presently mounted it could be used on a man or woman as the phallus curved upward so sharply there was only one orifice it would be slipping into. Judith understood what it was meant to represent but had yet to understand how it would be used. " You will thank me for this." Olivia stated flatly. Pain and confusion played across the girl's face and she remained silent. " Before you use this you will offer me your thanks slut." Olivia said. Rising she shook the dirt from her robe. She handed the cornu to the executioner. " What a stupid swine." She commented to no one in particular.

The executioner was determined to make proper use of such an exotic and expensive cornu. That much ivory would be worth half a year's wages even before it was carved. He had the soldier who still straddled his victim drag her torso up toward the top of the stipes until her shoulders were even with the patibulum. Two other soldiers pulled her legs out and straight up into the air. The crowd was murmuring excitedly as they were sure some new torment was being inflicted upon their favorite victim. The executioner used a spike to scratch a mark onto the stipes three finger widths below Judith's anus and positioned the cornu so it's fat rounded head would be level with his mark. He used three small iron spikes to secure the base plate to the stipes. He spit into his hand and rubbed the saliva over Judith's tight little opening and then applied another generous wad of spit to the cornu. He started to pull her hips downward lining the cornu head up with her anus.

" Not until she thanks me." Olivia said to the executioner.

" Shouldn't we make sure it fits?" he asked.

"In a little while she'll be happy to stuff anything up her tight little ass to catch a moments rest." Olivia stated flatly.

They pulled Judith's legs down lining up her hips with the base of the cornu and then forced her feet flat against the stipes. The executioner pushed her feet up a bit more so her knees were well flexed. Two soldiers held her calves while two others pressed her feet into position on the stipes. The executioner reached into his apron and pulled out two more spikes placing one between his teeth. He lined the other one up with the center of her left foot. The hammer struck and her body convulsed in pain. The crowd cheered as she screamed hoarsely. It took two blows to push the iron spike through the arch of her foot and embed it into the wood of the stipes. Another four blows seated the spike firmly into the wood and he began on her right foot. She continued to scream and squirm even as he finished with his hammer and raised both hands over his head.

This was the signal to raise the cross and again eight soldiers moved into position. Two secured the base of the cross while two others raised the top. Once the ends of the patibulum were off the ground rope was looped around them and we began the process of raising the condemned. She was about three feet off the ground when the executioner yelled, " Stop! Wait! We forgot her titulus." With a groan the soldiers lowered the cross once more and the executioner sheepishly nailed the titulus into position over the prisoners head. The cross rose once again this time with no interruption. The woman groaned piteously as her body weight shifted downward, and her wounded wrists and feet began to support her. Judith wailed in pain when the stipes slipped forward thudding into place in its hole. The cross and it's whimpering burden shuddered together as the wedges were pounded into place. I stood next to Olivia admiring the sight. The First Consort sighed contentedly as the soldiers finished with the wooden wedges and piled rocks around the base of the cross.

It was a magnificent sight. The naked bleeding woman trembling as she hung upon the cross knees bent forward and arms stretched taunt. Her breasts quivering as she began to pant for breath trying desperately to expel the stale air in her lungs.

"Remember she is not to use the cornu until she thanks me properly" Olivia said to me. " Have a few men with spears jab her if she tries to mount the horn." I sent two men, each armed with a pilum, to stand at the base of her cross and keep her off the cornu until Olivia allowed it. She struggled upward on her pierced feet when it became impossible to exhale and took great gulping breaths forcing the air from her lungs before she sank back down on trembling legs. The crowd was as enthralled as I was. Clapping and cheering her on as she struggled upward on her bleeding feet and taunting her when she was finally forced to sink back down. She had repeated the process perhaps six times before she tried to rest her hips on the head of the cornu. My men took great delight poking at her rump with their pilum. She squealed in shock from the sharp jabs and sank down once more until her arms were stretched taunt. When it happened again the next time that she raised herself she wasted some of her precious breath to cry out " What do you want from me!"

Olivia moved over to stand at the base of her cross. " I want to hear you thank me for providing you with the lovely horn you want to slide your ass onto." She informed the tormented woman.

" Thank you." She whispered with her last exhalation.

" Thank you Mistress!" Olivia corrected, as her victim once more began to struggle upward on her stipes. " Thank you Mistress for such a fine seat." Olivia repeated while waiting for the woman to finally stand upright on her cross.

" Thank you Mistress for the fine seat." The Judith groaned out in her parched voice and Olivia nodded, satisfied.

"There that wasn't so hard was it?" The First Consort chided the dying woman as though she were a reticent child.

The woman struggled atop the head of the cornu trying to line the bulbous tip up with the tight opening of her anus. Her hips writhed seductively as she tried to balance on the head of the cornu. She might have been trying to relax and open herself to it's penetration but her sweat soaked bottom slipped off and once again she sank down until her arms stretched taunt and her weight was taken up completely by her punctured wrists. She sobbed in frustration and slowly fought to control her breath as her lungs filled once more.

When she had completely lost the fight to exhale and the stale air built up in her lungs, she once again strained upward on trembling legs. The crowd urged her on as her head rose above the patibulum once again hiding her titulus for the moment. The mob cheered loudly at her success, admiring the way her firm breasts shuddered with each gasping breath. Her face grimaced as she held herself over the cornu. She pressed back against the spikes that pinioned her as she rocked her hips back against the stipes. Once she was in position she let her full weight fall. With an explosive grunt she managed to sink down onto the cornu. Once the head had penetrated her she slowly sank down and the horn slipped into her bowels. The screaming horde was delighted with the show jeering loudly and clapping with delight. The girl simply hung in place as fresh tears of shame streamed down her face.

Now that she had five points of attachment some of the weight and the accompanying pain was relieved from her throbbing wounds. Still as she hung impaled upon her horn her arms were drawn upward and backward making it difficult to exhale. It might have taken a bit longer but eventually she was forced to push upward and relieve her constricted chest. She soon learned that she needed to take care not to rise too far on her shaking legs or she would lose her grasp on the cornu. The crowd was delighted when her trembling legs pushed her free of the ivory and she slipped off the cornu; that resulted in a second struggle to impale herself on the shameful horn. After that her movements became slower and more deliberate.

The crowd pushed forward to get a better view of the crucified prisoners. Each of the condemned was engaged in an individual struggle against the pain and exhaustion that would eventually take their life. This early in the process it was already plain to see that the priest would be the first to lose that fight. While all three of them pushed their way upward on their crosses to breath and then sank down to rest their legs the priest was doing it almost twice as often as the other two. They were all three soon bathed in a sheen of sweat. Already the sun was beginning to turn the paler, less often exposed skin a bright pink.

It was only natural that the crowd would show the greatest interest in the female prisoner. Olivia remained next to her cross holding a one sided conversation with the poor girl who was by this time half mad with pain.

Now that all the condemned were secured upon their crosses, most of my soldiers had moved down the hillock forming a circle around the base holding the crowd back. Olivia's escort had taken up a position behind the small hillock near the place where I had hobbled my mount. They guarded the palanquin and sedan chair. I had some suspicion as to what lay within the enclosed sedan chair but I was in no position to investigate the First Consorts property. I had no choice but to wait until she was ready to inform us

IV

Rebecca Revealed

Olivia remained on the hilltop. She eventually pulled her eyes away from the woman struggling on her cross and moved to stand below the village elder's cross. She shielded her eyes from the bright sun as she looked out over the throng that had gathered to enjoy the executions. Eventually she moved across the hilltop and it took me a moment to realize she was headed directly toward me.

"Centurion, you must secure the site directly across the road." She informed me pointing to the hillock some thirty paces away and just a bit further along the roadway. The hilltop was smaller than the one we stood on and had two short stipes upon it. Several hundred people crowded the area between us and the new site and a dozen people were actually standing on the hilltop to get a better view of the recently crucified prisoners writhing in agony.

" I don't have enough men to guard these crosses and that site as well." I told her in my most reasonable tone. Her eyes flashed with anger, she wasn't used to being contradicted or denied. " I would need at least ten more soldiers to hold the crowd off that hill and more than that to clear a pathway over there." She considered my appraisal for a moment and then continued in a hushed conspiratorial tone. "I have brought the old man's true daughter with me." She whispered. That was what I had suspected when I first saw the second sedan chair. " I want to have her hanging on that cross" she said pointing to the other hill " she will die in shame and anguish while the old man watches helplessly." We both smiled. I grinned at the memory of Rebecca's smooth round bottom squirming under me while I thrust into her. Then I remembered her silence, her proud refusal to acknowledge the pain I was inflicting. My smile widened. That was all about to change, her screams would be sweet music for this crowd. My mind returned to the present problem." Have you brought a cross beam for her?" I asked hesitantly. Olivia threw up her hands in disgust. " Use my escort! Gather what is needed! Just make it happen, soldier! It's what I want!"

I called Hans over to me and we discussed what needed to be done. There where plenty of patibulii at the barracks but it would take too long to retrieve one. Olivia didn't have the patience to deal with a lengthy delay. Hans pointed to a cross nearly 200 paces further down the eastern road. The decaying remnants of some hapless criminal still clung to the erected cross. Wild dogs or some other scavengers had carried off the lower limbs. I nodded in understanding. "Take one of her slaves, get it down and bring it over to that stipes." I told him pointing to the hilltop across the road. It would be an unpleasant task but Hans did not complain as he headed down the hill to commandeer one of Olivia's slaves. I then instructed my own men to remain and guard this execution site while I moved to take command of Olivia's escort

In the mean time Olivia had retreated down the hill to the sedan chair. The curtains had been dropped and Rebecca was now visible from where I stood. She was wearing a short sleeveless yellow tunic tied above her right shoulder. Even from this distance the material was so shear that her body was completely visible. Her hands were bound behind her back and her neck was encircled with a thick iron collar. A fine thin silver chain hung from the collar loosely dangling between her breasts.

The Elder hadn't seen her yet as she was behind the old mans cross. Olivia gave her entourage some orders and began to climb back up the hill. Two slaves pulled Rebecca to her feet and pushed her forward so she was forced to follow Olivia up the hill. She was limping with a stiff left leg as if unable to bend at her hip. The other four slaves lifted the Royal Palanquin and began to move around the eastern end of the hill heading back toward the road.

Judith's cross was at a slight angle to the elders so she was the first to see Rebecca limping up the hill. With a burst of energy she pushed herself up and began to scream. "That's her! That's his daughter! It's not me. Crucify her! It's not me!" she shrieked. I suspect she was beginning to go mad. I don't know if she thought we might tear the nails from her flesh and lower her down from her cross, and then replace her with the rightful daughter. Even had we been so inclined her outburst had ruined Olivia's surprise. Olivia gave Judith a sour look as she crested the hill with Rebecca close behind her. Judith had pulled herself free of the cornu again in her excitement and once again she sank down unsupported until her arms and wrists were pulled taunt. She began to sob her mouth opening and closing as some inaudible plea issued forth.

Olivia stood beside the old mans cross while the slaves brought Rebecca forward to stand before her father. Rebecca gasped in shock at the sight of her fathers' tortured body. Tears weld up in her large brown eyes and she turned her head away only to find Judith struggling upward on the next cross.

" Our beloved Governor has listened to your wise words." Olivia told the dying man. " He has allowed me to keep one of the woman as my personal possession. " A flicker of hope crossed the elder's face as he looked down on his daughter. Olivia savoring the old man's hope letting the moment last as long as she could bear. "Turn around dear, " Olivia said and Rebecca dutifully turned and faced the crowd. Olivia lifted the back of the girl's tunic exposing a puffy red wound in the center of Rebecca's left ass cheek. A weeping circle of freshly burned flesh hadn't yet begun to heal. " As you can see she has been branded and collared." Olivia paused smiling sweetly at the Elder. " She will be my valued servant for the rest of her life." The crowd was restive. A new woman had been brought before them. She was barely dressed and standing at an execution site. Still it was unclear as to the reason for her presence. The wonderfully naked woman already struggling on the cross had screamed something about crucifying this new girl but at the moment that was only a vague wishful yearning of the crowd. One they dared not give voice to, yet. Those close enough to follow the conversation were disappointed at the direction the discussion seemed to be taking.

If ever a man on a cross might looked relieved it was this old man. Olivia could bear her little joke no longer " Of course, slaves that participate in an insurrection must be dealt with quite harshly." She added coyly. The old man clenched his eyes closed and emitted a wailing sob. "I fear the Governor wishes to have my dear little slave crucified." The crowd hollered its approval of Olivia's words. "He is my Governor, I live only to serve him." Olivia said modestly to the cheering crowd. The old man wailed in despair but Rebecca remained silent. Olivia spoke and the tall Nubian slave who stood behind Rebecca seized the bottom of her tunic and jerked it downward. The knot at her shoulder parted and the flimsy cloth floated to the ground. Rebecca was now completely naked before the cheering throng. Olivia spoke to the slave and then headed down the hill toward the Royal Palanquin. The slave took up the silver leash and followed behind his Mistress leading the now sobbing Rebecca toward the excited crowd

Hans and his helper had reached the cross off to the east. The slave had begun the grim task of removing the remains of the corpse while Hans used his mallet to free the spikes from the dead mans wrists. Iron spikes were of value so Hans did his best to loosen the spikes from the wood by knocking them back and forth until he was able to pull them free. These spikes would be bent and too dull to use for today's crucifixion but the smithy could rework them for another time. Once the carcass was cleaned off the patibulum and it was knocked free from the stipes the slave heaved the burden up onto his shoulder and started off toward the new execution site.

The slaves bearing the Royal Palanquin were not having nearly as much success. The crowd was tightly packed around our hilltop and few were willing to move aside. I moved back down the hill to take charge of Olivia's guards. I ordered the entire contingent of twenty men to help clear a path for Olivia to the new execution site. I continued on to retrieve my horse assuming the mount would be helpful in clearing the path. As I rounded the eastern edge of the hilltop I saw the most amazing sight. Olivia had reached the Royal Palanquin and Rebecca now knelt on the platform. Her hands were no longer bound behind her but the rope hung from her right wrist. She steadied herself on the frame as it rose from the ground. Four slaves had shouldered their burden and were following their Mistress through the crowd. Rebecca eyes were dry now. She knelt as demurely as was possible for a naked woman borne shoulder high on a litter above a shrieking crowd. Rebecca was to be sacrificed to torment her father and it would be a slow painful ordeal, but never had a slave been conveyed to her execution in such style.

The crowd melted away before Olivia's advance only to reform behind the litter. A dozen paces behind the procession twenty Roman soldiers struggled to force their way through the same boisterous mob.

When the Royal Palanquin reached the second hill the slaves lowered it and, one of the slaves offered Rebecca a hand helping her to stand and step down to the ground. He handed the end of her silver leash to his Mistress and Olivia lead her charge up the hill toward the two waiting stipes. Rebecca kept up a brave front marching toward her cross. Gods, I couldn't wait to hear her when the nails tore through her flesh. For now she remained erect and proud moving up the hill without a struggle or a moments hesitation. Those who had gathered on the hill to view the crosses across the road faded back into the crowd. The mere presence of Olivia was enough to clear the hilltop for this next crucifixion.

Because I was mounted I managed to reach the site before Olivia's own guards. Hans and his slave were coming from the east and had less of a crowd to contend with. Three of the Nubian slaves had climbed the hill with Olivia and Rebecca. A slave remained with the Palanquin. Olivia and her charge waited patiently by the two short stipes at the top of the hill while the rest of us converged on the site. I dismounted and strode up the hill. Rebecca was leaning forward pressing her head and hands against the closest stipes. Her hands were raised waiting to be bound. If I hadn't been so close I would never have seen her hands tremble as she pressed them against the stipes. One of Olivia's slaves stopped behind Rebecca, He lowered her arms and then turned her, pressing her back to the upright. Her eyes widened with sudden understanding as he pulled her wrists back and bound them together behind the upright. Olivia stepped forward and unlocked the hinged collar removing it from Rebecca's neck. The silver chain leash trailed across Rebecca's breast as Olivia pulled the collar away. Olivia's military guard reached the base of the hill and spread out forming a parameter around the execution site.

Rebecca was now naked bound to the stipes and facing the exuberant crowd. Olivia moved forward, brushed Rebecca's hair back and wiped away a forming tear. " Be strong my dear." She said in her sweetest voice. When Olivia stepped away Rebecca saw one of the slaves was standing two paces in front of her and to her right, waiting. He slowly uncoiled a braided single strand whip and let it snake out across the ground. With a practiced flip of his wrist he made it crack in the still air drawing murmurs of approval from the crowd. Rebecca's eyes widened with horror as the evil leather braid jumped through the air flying toward her. Any hope of enduring her torment with courageous silence ended when the leather slapped across her thighs cutting into her just above the knees. She howled in agony as her body twisted against its bonds and her legs churned in place. The braided leather smacked flesh a second time. It was such a firm sweet sound. The crowd had quieted to listen to her shriek and beg. Welts began to form just above her knees blood oozing from the center of the raised flesh. The slave knew how to use his whip and new welts quickly blossomed across her thighs and belly. When she wasn't screaming in anguish she was begging and pleading for him to stop. Then a lash caught her high on her belly wrapping around her just under the ribs. She made a gurgling sound as the air whooshed out of her lungs. She lurched forward bending as far as her bound hands would allow and gasped as she tried to regain her breath.

Her tormenter waited patiently as she blubbered and gasped. Slowly her breath returned and she straightened. He then swiftly landed five lashes across her breasts, the whip cracked sharply in rapid succession. Her shrieks rose in volume with each strike until they echoed off the very walls of the city. The crowd looked on in silent awe.

Olivia held up her hand and the slave stopped. He seemed a bit disappointed as he coiled his whip and tucked it back into his belt. Olivia walked over to the scourged girl to inspect his work. Rebecca was hanging listlessly from the stipes gasping and sobbing. Olivia nodded to her slave and he hurried to his Mistresses side. He loosened the rope that bound Rebecca's wrists together and she slumped forward against him. He cradled her for a moment the blood oozing from her wounded breasts mixing with the sweat of his bare chest. He seemed almost gentle as he pulled her up turning her body to stand her against the stipes once more. She groaned as her freshly scourged flesh was pressed against the rough wood. He circled behind the cross pulling her arms forward binding them once again.

Hans and the slave accompanying him had arrived on the hilltop and waited behind the second stipes the patibulum resting easily on the patient slave's shoulder. The other two slaves also stood behind the stipes so they would not obstruct the view of Rebecca's scourging. Across the road the village elder cried out in despair as he tugged and strained hopelessly against the iron spikes that held him in place.

Olivia's slave stepped away from his victim and uncoiled the whip once more. He started from the top of her back working his way down her body. Judith still rose and sank upon her horn but the crowd had turned their back on her for now. Rebecca's screams were growing weaker and the crowd was becoming louder. She was soon reduced to dry rasping sobs as she twisted and squirmed under the lashes. A crisscross pattern of stripes decorated her back and ass. The slave managed to land a particularly vicious slash across the oozing flesh of her new brand and that brought a renewed shriek of agony. The whip moved further down decorating the backs of her legs as she twisted and turned gasping out her misery in guttural howls. The sight of fresh blood roused the crowd but they were now ready for the execution to move on. Olivia seemed to sense this and raised her hand to stop the scourging.

The slave reluctantly put away his whip and untied Rebecca's wrists. Olivia was deep into a conversation with Hans. His expression changed from perplexity to enthusiasm as Olivia explained her plan. The herbalist I had hired for the other criminals had managed to make her way onto the hilltop and approached me demanding additional payment for the fourth draught she would dispense. While I could understand her standpoint I felt that five shekels was excessive and we haggled for a short while. Rebecca now knelt in the dirt clinging to the stipes for support as she wept in despair.

The First Consort had finished instructing Hans and came up behind the old woman as she stubbornly haggled with me. She lay her hand on the old hag's shoulder and the woman jumped with a start. Olivia smiled her sweetest smile. " You would not deny my poor slave the comfort of your potion, would you?" she inquired. The grumbling old woman turned and handed Olivia her battered clay cup. The herbalist filled it with shaking hands until potion slopped over its brim. Olivia thanked her and I handed the hag two shekels. Olivia approached the stipes where the weeping Rebecca huddled. She squatted down next to the sobbing naked girl and pressed the cup to Rebecca's lips. She tilted the cup and Rebecca gulped down the mixture without protest licking the droplets from her lips when the cup was withdrawn. Olivia handed the clay cup to one of her slaves who returned it to the herbalist. The hag moved off the hill grumbling as she faded back into the crowd.

Olivia helped Rebecca to her feet. They stood close together Olivia half supporting the trembling woman as they examining the two stipes together. Blood seeping from her wounds soaked into Olivia's white robe were Rebecca leaned against her for support. " I had brought you such a pretty little seat. " Olivia told the terrified woman. Olivia moved over to the second stipes and Rebecca followed numbly. Olivia's right hand reached out caressing a small protrusion on the stipes where a branch had once forked from the main trunk. It only jutted out a hand width from the stipes but it was located at the ideal height for the condemned to rest her hips on while she hung from the cross. " I had to give it to your friend Judith." Olivia continued. " She must be a true friend. Did you know she was crucified in you place?" Rebecca stared dully across the road at the woman laboring high above the crowd on her cross. " It seemed only right to give her some form of support to cling to."

Olivia began to giggle at her little joke though it was totally lost on Rebecca. " This one will do." Olivia said to Hans patting the hard lump on the front of the stipes. Hans motioned to the slave and he dropped the patibulum on the ground in front of the designated stipes. Olivia stepped away and nodded. Four of her slaves moved forward to surround Rebecca. They pulled the struggling woman over to where the second stipes waited and began to force her down onto the patibulum. Hans stopped them with his shouts and tried to instruct them as to what he wanted. They knew little Latin and absolutely no German so in the end he instructed them with hand gestures until he made them understand what he intended.

The four slaves forced Rebecca face down onto the crossbeam. The stench of decayed flesh from the crossbeam filled her nostrils as the seeping wounds on her scourged breasts and belly were pressed into the dirt. One slave held her shoulders and another pinioned her legs while the other two stretched her arms wide on the patibulum.

Hans seemed almost giddy as he knelt along the left side of the struggling woman. He patted her well-stripped ass with his damaged right hand poking curiously at the oozing flesh of her new brand. He reluctantly drew his hand away and retrieved a spike from his apron. This was new territory for Hans for though he had crucified a lot of criminals he was not very imaginative fellow and had never nailed one up facing the cross. Still he followed his instructions pressing the spike into the back of her wrist perhaps two finger widths below the hand. Rebecca felt the sharp iron press into her flesh and renewed her struggle against the four slaves who restrained her. The hammer rose and the crowd fell silent.

Hans paused for a dramatic moment then brought the full weight of the iron maul down on the spike head. It easily pierced through Rebecca's thin wrist and sank into the soft wood beneath. Rebecca's howl's were somewhat muffled by the fact that she was facing the ground and that her voice was already quite strained from her whipping. Still the crowd remained quiet as Hans pounded the spike deep into the patibulum and Rebecca screamed in impotent rage. The lucky few who were near enough to see were treated to the view of her squirming bottom writhing in the dirt while Hans moved over to her other wrist. Again the hammer rose and fell and again the crowd listened to her strained anguish. Hans finished with her wrists and tucked his hammer back into his belt. His good left hand slipped down the crevice between his victim's ass cheeks poking at her anus. He pushed up off her stripped bottom and rose to his feet. Hans seemed to be panting and looked somewhat flushed.

The four slaves began to lift the patibulum and Rebecca screeched in agony. Olivia rushed forward and addressed her slaves in their native tongue. They continued then with greater care lifting the crossbeam and the woman together as much as possible. Rebecca gasped and shrieked as the iron piercing her wrists pulled against flesh and bone though her own struggles caused as much pain as any clumsiness on the part of the slaves.

At last she was standing in front of her stipes. This was a crux humulis or slaves cross, less than two meters tall. Much of the crowd saw for the first time that she was to be crucified facing the wood. The reaction of the multitude was at best mixed. While Rebecca did have a shapely ass most wanted to see her straining breasts and naked sex while she struggled on her cross. Then a slave stepped directly behind her further blocking the crowd's view. The crowd muttered it's discontent. The other slaves continued to raise the patibulum and the slave behind Rebecca grabbed her around the waist. He raised her hips, pulling her feet off the ground. I could see a bulge growing in his loincloth as he pressed forward rubbing against her buttocks. The mortise joint line up and Hans hammered a spike into place to hold it. Rebecca was babbling incoherently as her feet thrashed wildly but the slave holding her hips was supporting her weight. Hans knelt at the base of the stipes and grabbed her flailing left foot. another slave knelt and grabbed her right foot Olivia squatted down behind the stipes to direct Hans in the next phase of the crucifixion. The two of them tried several different positions while the slaves held the struggling victim in place. They first tried pulling her feet around the stipes to position them flat against the backside. Next they tried pushing the top of her feet flat against the front of the stipes causing her knees to splay out on either side of the upright. Neither position seemed to give Rebecca the leverage she would need to support her weight while she lingered on the cross. They finale decided to pull her feet half way around the trunk and push them upward until the knees were well flexed. The slave held both feet against the side of the stipes. Hans selected a single long spike. With a mighty swing he drove it through the side of her left heel. The heel bone is thick and it took three blows before the spike was seated into the wood. Screaming and thrashing wildly she managed to kick her right foot free. The slave ignored that and held the left foot in place while Hans knocked the spike deeper into the wood. The slave easily captured her right foot as Hans moved to that side of the stipes. Another spike was then driven through that heel while Rebecca howled and wailed like a creature that was truly dammed. The other slave holding her hips in place grinned as she struggled wildly against him. Once she was properly affixed the two slaves and Hans stepped back to admire their handiwork.

V

Rebecca's Nightmare

Olivia surveyed her sobbing handiwork. She ran her hand lightly across the bleeding stripes that crossed the girl's bottom. Rebecca shuddered as Olivia's hand glided over the crevice of her ass, fingers probed down the crease and lightly over her puckered opening. It was not lost on me that her squirming rump had been set at a perfect height for the slave so perhaps some lucky soldier might enjoy himself when darkness came and the crowds had returned to their homes.

It was not unusual for a woman nailed to the shorter crux humulis to be raped. They were lower to the ground and therefor accessible. Actually it was probably unusual for them not to be raped before they died. Usually they were slaves or worse and no one cared what happened to them as they were dying. It tended to happen at night so the public's sensibilities wouldn't be offended. It was actually a small mercy for the buffeting and jerking about from such an assault often opened the nail wounds in the wrist and ankles and the woman tended to bleed out and die that much sooner.

As if reading my thoughts Olivia said, " Don't let the men be too rough with her." I must have looked startled, Could this witch read minds? "I know soldiers can be so rough." Olivia said to me. " But I'll be back to talk to her in the morning so you cannot let her die on me." "I will personally look after her this evening First Consort." I assured her. "She will be well taken care of." Olivia nodded gravely then broke into a broad grin. I threw my head back and laughed as I realized how my words might have been taken. Once the sun went down and the crowd headed home the men could stand in line behind me. Rebecca would be well taken care of indeed. Olivia and I moved away from the cross heading down the hill.

Now that it was completed and Rebecca was alone on the hilltop the crowd became more appreciative of the display Olivia had created for them. Rebecca was pressed against the rough wood of the stipes with her knees widely parted. Her thighs clutched at the upright like a whore climbing up onto her patron. She remained motionless for as long as possible but finally pushed herself upward stretching against the cross until her head was above the crossbeam. She rested her chin over the top of the cross panting until her legs began to tremble. Her head tilted backward and she slid slowly back down the cross. Her only respites coming when she pressed her crotch onto the wood protruding from the stipes. Her every movement was a pain filled parody of the sex act. The crowd warmed to the sight shouting insults at the helpless girl as she struggled to rise once again on her cross. Olivia and I reached the palanquin at the bottom of the hill.

Half of Olivia's military escort remained at the base of the hill guarding Rebecca's cross. Olivia arranged herself on her palanquin reclining on her left side so she faced me. She still managed to look quite regal in her blood stained white robe. Four of her slaves lifted the litter while the other two fell into line behind and the rest of her guard took up positions around her. We crossed the road easily the crowd parting to let us pass. When we reached the original execution site the two slaves went to retrieve the sedan chair and Olivia spoke to me a final time.

" I will be back to check on my little slave." She told me, her tone quiet and somber. "I hope you realize I am serious about you protecting her through the night." I looked up at the reclining woman the worry clearly showing on my face. She broke into a benevolent smile that was almost as intimidating as her frown. "Oh don't worry your men can have their fun. Just keep her alive that's all I require. She is my slave and she will not die without my permission."

I have faced the Gaul's in battle and survived the campaign against the Teutonic tribes. None would dared call me a coward to my face. Still this sweet smiling woman, reclining in her blood stained robe, sent a shiver down my spine. I certainly would do whatever I could to keep the Elder's daughter alive and suffering until Olivia decided to release her.

Olivia and her retinue departed, heading back into the city. We settled in for a long day of guarding those who were condemned to a slow death. A jug of water was sent over to Rebecca's hilltop. A thorough inspection of the prisoners clothing revealed a single gold coin and several small gems sewn into the hem of the priest robe. There was nothing else of value. We kept the loincloths and the yellow slip of cloth that Rebecca had worn. The rest of the clothes were tossed into the crowd where they were torn apart for souvenirs.

As the sun approached its zenith we watered the parched criminals. The crux humulis, which held the priest, was low enough to give him water directly from a leather campaign cup. The other two prisoners sucked water from a scrap of soaked loincloth stuck on the tip of a pilum. The condemned had each fallen into their own rhythm rising and sinking as the strength of their legs allowed. The sun had begun to burn the paler parts of the their flesh and flies were exploring the nail wounds. The prisoners would twitch in discomfort but they were helpless to fend off the obnoxious bugs. They remained mostly quiet conserving their strength while the crowd taunted and insulted them.

I personally journeyed across the road to make sure Rebecca received her water. The sun had begun to work on her pale flesh as well. She had lost any semblance of the dignified woman who had walked at the side of her aging father as they were marched toward the capital. I stood next to her cross studying her sweating body as it slithered up along the stipes. The valley between her breasts was scraped raw where she rubbed against the rough wood in her upward struggle. Her thighs were beginning to chafe where they clutched and gripped at the stipes. She groaned and slipped back down the stipes too engrossed in her present suffering to acknowledge my presence. Once again she sank down to rest on her precarious perch. I offered her watered wine from my own cup. She gulped the liquid eagerly and the excess ran down her chin. I pulled my eyes away from her bruised breasts and striped torso and looked out over the multitude.

It was amusing to watch the crowd as I stood beside Rebecca's cross. They would stare intently at Judith's naked torso rising up then sliding down on the cornu while she wept piteously. Her breasts would tremble as she panted standing erect but would be drawn upward as she sank back down on her horn. Then Rebecca would let out a gasp or groan and the crowd would turn as one their backs now to Judith so they might gaze upon the lovely Rebecca as she slithered down from the height of her cross to grind her hips against the wood.

Mid day approached and some of the more enterprising merchants moved among the crowd. They had left their stalls at the deserted central market and were now selling their wares to the hungry spectators. Skewers of roasted goat, flatbread, water, wine and honey cakes; all could be had though the prices were exorbitant. Marcus waded into the crowd with the treasure we had found in the priest clothing. Marcus was an excellent haggler and he soon returned with meat and wine to supplement the men's rations of grain and water. We graciously shared our bounty with the men from the Governor's foot guard. Several of the men went over to the priests cross thanking him personally for his generous contribution as the waved the wine flasks and meat under the man's nose. He sputtered curses at them but soon decided to save his breath.

The sun moved past its zenith and began it's descent. The four criminals struggled up and down on their crosses each at their own pace as pain and exhaustion dictated. Judith urinated into the dirt while the crowed jeered and teased her. We watered all the prisoners a second time. The priest had stopped sweating; his bright red skin was hot and dry to the touch. I directed that the leather cinch be removed from his penis and he immediately emptied his bladder. He was given more water but his struggles lacked strength and it didn't seem likely that he would last through the night. The elder remained mostly silent intently watching his daughter as she struggled on her cross across the road. Tears no longer flowed from his eyes. His mouth moved in soundless prayer but it seemed his gods had deserted him.

The crowd had thinned somewhat. The road was still packed but now there was some movement as people that had seen their fill headed back toward the city and new spectators pushed forward for a better view. The women were the main attraction of course. While it was amusing to jeer and tease the struggling victims they were all becoming sluggish now and remained silent in response to the audience's witty barbs. Eventually the spectators tired and moved on. The road was soon open enough for traffic to enter and leave the city though the crowds slowed to view the four crosses before continuing on their way.

Our relief column arrived at mid afternoon. Twenty soldiers relived the men at both sites. Ten men from the relief column replaced the men of the Governor's foot guard and the remainder took up position around the original execution site. Ordinarily I would have returned to the barracks with the first watch but the words of Olivia's charge still rang in my ears. The thought of Rebecca's choice little bottom squirming in the darkness was also at the back of my mind.

Now that the crowd had thinned, the guard was mostly posted to keep scavengers and carrion feeders away. No one seriously considered that anyone would try to rescue this pathetic group. By this point the crowd could be held back with just five or six soldiers at the base of each hill. The remaining soldiers rested beneath the crosses and amused themselves as soldiers often do. They spent their time gambling, drinking, complaining, and harassing the condemned. The men resting below Rebecca's cross spent a good deal of time loudly discussing their plans for the evening's entertainment. She had been sensibly ignoring them, as nothing she might say would effect her fate in the slightest.

I was across the road watching the criminals slowly dying. My first indication of a problem was when the old man rose up and began to shout out "help her!" in a hoarse cracking voice. It took only a moment to realize his daughter was the problem. Quite suddenly Rebecca had risen up on her legs and begun to scream hysterically as she violent shook her head from side to side. If she kept that up she might tear herself loose from the cross.

Two soldiers playing knucklebones beneath her cross jumped up to restrain her while calling out for more help. I could see from across the road that her nose was bleeding. I hurried across the road to determine the cause of the trouble. I had visions of explaining a dead slave to the First Consort. The curious onlookers traveling the road stopped to speculate about what might cause such a sudden outburst. When I reached the cross the problem became obvious. A great swarm of flies had descended upon Rebecca's patibulum. Whether this was due to the stench of rotting flesh on the used crossbeam or some other attractant didn't really matter. She had managed to smash her nose against the stipes as she violently tried to shake off the flies. While the flies themselves were harmless the swarm was so thick Rebecca was spitting and choking on them. She was screaming frantically while inhaling the tiny creatures with each breath. I lifted the water jug and emptied it over her face. That seemed to disperse the swarm from around her head. I sent for the remaining water from the other hilltop and the patibulum was washed down with the remaining water. Her nose didn't seem to be broken and eventually the bleeding stopped.

I sent two of my men back into the city to refill our water jugs at the central well. We kept watch over the elder's daughter but the problem seemed to be resolved and she was once again embracing her struggle against death, rising and falling upon her cross to an internal rhythm dictated by her strength and her pain. The skin on her shoulders and back had blistered in the afternoon sun. It was really a shame that her beauty should fall so quickly into ruin on the cross.

The sun dropped toward the horizon and with it the temperature plunged. Watch fires were lit on both hilltops before full darkness fell. The naked prisoners shivered in the cool evening breeze. The road cleared of travelers well before the city gates were closed for the night. The Soldiers talked a bit too loudly in the gathering darkness.

We ate our repast of grain and shared the last of the watered wine. The prisoner's thirst was attended to. The men were waiting pensively. I had the men gather up the extra rope and the yellow cloth Rebecca had worn. I ordered two of the men to remain with the first three crosses and the rest of us traversed the road to Rebecca's execution site. Her father's pleaded that we spare her any further degradation and just let her die. The men laughed.

Rebecca's nose was swollen, her breasts were raw, her thighs chafed and torn from her struggles on her cross. Her skin was burnt and she shivered in the cool of the dessert night. She was a mess. I ordered the men to bind her wrists and ankles to the cross with rope so she wouldn't further injure herself as we amused ourselves with her. I raised her hips until she was lifted off her wooden seat then had the men bind her waist with rope. True to my word I was the first in line to use her. She began to plead when I spit onto my hand and started moistening her tight little anus. Her dry husky voice begging me to have mercy stirred my lust and I was into her long before her hole was ready. The ropes kept her from aggravating the nail wounds in her wrists and feet. Still she screeched in pain while I cheerfully ravaged the narrow passage to her bowels. As I emptied my balls into her I grunted out my pleasure. "One down and twenty more to go." I gleefully told her. She kept on screaming until her strained voice was hardly a croak.

The men were in no rush Some teased her sex until she was squirming seductively on her cross and then raped her ass. Others simply wanted to use her quickly and return to the warmth of the watch fires. The old man was still begging us to leave her alone even after we had all had our turn with her. At some point while we were having our fun the priest died on his cross. He did manage to foul himself either before or while he was dying and it stank. Most of the men wanted to remain on Rebecca's side of the road simply because of the stench. I ordered some of the men to rotate across the road so all could have their turn with Rebecca.

One of the men who were stuck across the road with the dead priest, the elder, and Judith decide that it was unfair that Rebecca should have all the fun. He reversed his grip on his pilum and used the butt end of the wooden shaft to tease open Judith's sex. He worked the wooden shaft deep into her nearly lifting her off the horn. She cried out in protest and cursed the man's parentage but there was little else she could do. In the end she wisely conserved her strength while he worked the wooden shaft in and out of her slowly moistening slit. Judith skewered by both her cornu and the spear shaft now danced upon her cross to the tune of the soldier raping her with his pilum. With this new game to entertain them it became less of a chore assigning men across the road, some even volunteered for the chance. This is how we passed the night. When the sight of Judith's dance overly excited one of the men there was always Rebecca's bottom available to slack his lusts.

With the coming of dawn we cleaned up the site. Rebecca's arms ankles and waist was untied. Semen dripped from her well-raped bottom. Her gapping anus was distended and her upper thighs were coated with drying semen. A muddy puddle had formed at the base of her cross . No one would have any doubt as to how she had been despoiled through the night. Still she was alive and relatively unharmed. Olivia should be satisfied. The priest was dead and had loosened his bowels before he left this earth. No one was going to volunteer to clean up that mess so I ordered two of the men to wash down the cross and body using the discarded loincloths. It helped make the site a bit more tolerable though the stench of the dead body would only get worse with time. As the sun rose the three remaining criminals were given water.

Olivia arrived shortly after sunrise with the morning relief column. She complained about the smell and ordered the priest's body be removed. We pulled the corpse down and dragged it behind the hill, downwind. Olivia fussed over her slave, Rebecca giving her some wine and having one of her slaves apply an unguent to her sunburned skin. She inquired about the injured nose and I explained how it had occurred. Olivia seemed satisfied.

The woman seemed overly concerned about a condemned slave though I wasn't about to inquire about her unusual interest. Olivia eventually answered my question without my asking. " If she lives past noon I will have won our bet. The Govoner was sure she was too delicate to last a full day on the cross." I assured her there was no reason Rebecca wouldn't survive the next few hours. I was tired and not thinking very clearly. " I'm sure the men will see that she lives through the day. They much prefer using a warm squirming body, to the touch a cold corpse." Olivia wasn't shocked by my crudity; she seemed totally unconcerned. "Just so long as she lasts past midday, I have 1000 denarii depending on her living that long." My clenched right fist snapped to my chest in a sharp military salute "It shall be done." I assured the First Consort

When the sun passed over it's zenith we sent word to the First Consort that Rebecca still lived. I remained at the execution site until the afternoon relief column appeared then retired to the barracks with my men.

VI

A Circus for the gods

The Citadel bustled with activity as we entered the gates. The remaining prisoners were being prepared for the arena. The male prisoners had been given wooden swords and shields and some of my men were attempting to train them in the basics of swordplay. The prisoners grunted and sweated as they stumbled through their exercises in the paddock while legionaries looked on, jeering or cheering depending on the novice's skill.

The women would need no special training to entertain the crowds at the stadium. Four of them were engaged in the pleasuring of bored soldiers, but I quickly ordered that all five remaining women be assembled. After a cursory inspection I selected the second tallest, a slim dark skinned beauty with dark curly hair and an ample bosom, whose name was Leona. She accompanied me to my room. In truth she reminded me a bit of the elder's daughter, though her breasts were larger and her hips were narrower. I forced her face down over my chair and took her from behind, grasping her hips and briskly using her.

I had been awake for over 36 hours, and before that I had less than 5 hours sleep after the long forced march. I crawled up onto my pallet and fell into a deep, well-earned sleep.

I awoke long before dawn. The captive woman I had brought to my sleeping pallet had curled up against me. I pushed her away and she rolled onto the floor whimpering from the fall. After all she had endured the last two days she barely reacted to this rude awakening. I stretched on my sleeping pallet, staring at the ceiling, unable to return to sleep and unwilling to wander the compound waiting for the dawn.

" How may I serve you, Sir?" the girl asked, no doubt trying to curry some favor in my eyes. " You will be going to the arena today." I growled at her. " What will happen to me?" she asked in her fear filled timid voice. " You will die." I answered with simple frankness. She knew this would be her fate, she had known it for days. Still, she drew a shuddering breadth and began to sob. " Please can't you do anything?" her sobbing plea and her trembling form cowering on the floor were enough to stir any man's lust. I decided I could do something about it, though I'm sure it wasn't what she had in mind. I took her in the manner of the Greeks and she squealed in pain as I entered her narrow passage. When I was finished I offered her a little harmless information, though I owed her nothing.

"You will be dressed in a short white slave's tunic for the parade to the stadium." I told her. " When they make you wash, before they dress you, leave the scent of my seed between your legs." She gave me a puzzled look and opened her mouth to speak. I held my finger to her lip to silence her. " Be a good girl, do as you're told, maybe you won't suffer the fate of the others. Tell no one what I've said." She nodded and knelt silently by my pallet awaiting my command.

Today we would celebrate the feast of Janus. The two faced god of beginnings and endings. As a soldier I was better versed at endings, and the seditious village of Tov Kepha would certainly be ending today, in its entirety. Any beginnings that we might wish to celebrate, I left for others to discover.

This land was a barren outpost of the Empire, so we could never hope to approach the splendor of the Circus Maximus of Rome. Still, the Governor was a Roman Knight of the Equestrian Order, with all the wealth and privilege that title implied. Our stadium only seated 16,000, but the oval track was large enough for chariot racing. The field could hold over 100 Gladiators at a time, though that number had yet to be achieved. The Governor had accumulated a menagerie of exotic animals and wild beasts in his years here. It might not have Rome's pomp and splendor, but we were perfectly capable of putting on a circus that would entertain the troops and the local dignitaries.

The first faint signs of dawn appeared in the eastern sky. I escorted the girl back to the paddock where most of the other prisoners had slept, and then went to the gates as the morning watch prepared to march out and relieve the guards at the execution site. I questioned the returning guards as to the health of the old man and was relieved to hear he and Judith still lived. I had wondered how Rebecca might have faired in my absence. She had lasted long into her second night, almost long enough to see her second sunrise from the cross.

The men had drawn lots to determine the order in which they would have her. Each man had been eager to be the last one inside her when she drew her final breath. With no binding on her wrist and ankles the nail wounds opened up quite quickly. As the night had worn on, each had their chance with her several times over. Some even managed to use her in the more conventional way by pulling her hips away from the stripes and bending her waist as far forward as possible. It was one of the youngest soldiers in my command who felt her death rattle while buried deep inside her bowels. His compatriots immediately hailed him as the newest "whore slayer," an honorific that he may have been proud of at the time but as the jokes and teasing continued he became a bit embarrassed by the whole "honor". It was really just dumb luck more than any feat of skill that had led to her dying on his "spear". Judith and the old man were both alive, though barely aware of their surroundings, lost in their private pain-filled haze. They would bear witness as the last of their fellow villagers marched by on the way to the arena to meet their fates.

The sun had been up for over an hour before the prisoners were prepared for the march to the arena. The women were allowed to wash and groom each other before they were dressed in short white tunics. The men were stripped to loincloths. A guard of 40 men would be escorting the prisoners. They were led through the gates of the Citadel and marched to the central market place where the parade was to assemble. Because of the holiday, the market was closed and people came out to stare at the strange and exotic gathering. The prisoners would lead the procession, followed by the horse drawn carts that contained the Governor's collection of wild beasts. Four caged lions, a caged tiger and a hobbled elephant all made their noisy displeasure known. The animals would be followed by a contingent of 20 professional gladiators, and 12 racing chariots brought up the rear. When all was ready we began the march toward the eastern gate and the stadium beyond.

When we passed by the execution site the village elder hung listlessly, resting on his sedile, but he still lived. Judith still struggled in her slow dance upon the ivory horn. Carrion birds were perched upon each of Rebecca's shoulders, squabbling loudly as they plucked choice bits of flesh from the fresh corpse. The procession marched on.

The arena was on the southern side of the road nearly two miles from the city gates. A sizable crowd had followed us, and many soldiers had already arrived to claim the better seats. We entered the stadium through the three giant arches that made up the northern gate. Unlike the Circus Maximus in Rome, our stadium did not have the labyrinth of rooms underground. There was a Gladiator's pit beneath the bleachers near the eastern entrance, and pens for the animals lay behind the southern doorway. The northern entrance was large enough to admit chariots, two at a time, each with their team of four horses. The procession waited, under the stadium benches, for the arrival of the Governor's entourage. A minor adjustment was made in the order of march. The women still headed the procession with their escort of ten soldiers. The male prisoners and the remaining guards fell back one place and followed behind the beasts.

The stadium filled quickly, and the crowds were impatiently stamping their feet. The animals grew restless in their cages. Finally the Governor arrived and led the parade out onto the stadium track, to the enthusiastic cheering of the crowds. When the procession reached the midpoint of the Western Wall we halted by the archway. The Governor and his guests proceeded to the Governor's box and took their seats beneath the shade of the Imperial awning.

Below we awaited his signal. He looked down at the five women who would lead the parade. "Strip them." He shouted down cheerfully. The ten soldiers who accompanied them quickly pulled away the flimsy white tunics. The crowd bellowed its delight, and the noise rose with thousands of clapping hands and stomping feet. The size of the crowd, the level of the noise, and the fear of what awaited them overwhelmed some of the women. The guards had to steady their stumbling charges as they started off to lead the procession again. Jeering insults, heckling and taunts were all lost in the general bedlam as the naked women headed the parade on its slow circuit of the stadium track. When they reached the southern entrance, the animals were sent into the waiting pens. At the eastern doorway, the male prisoners and the professional gladiators disappeared into the waiting pits. At the northern entrance, the chariots left two by two to wait patiently for their chance at glory. When the women had finished the complete circuit, the parade had shrunk to just the five nude women and the soldiers who guarded them. The soldiers turned the five of them so they faced the Governor. The noise from the crowd began to lessen in anticipation of the next amusement.

There were five branding stools set in a row before the Governor's viewing box. Two soldiers escorted each naked woman to a stool. The tops of the stools consisted of a wooden frame in the shape of an " I " - two short wooden slates connected by a longer beam down the center. The legs of the stool were attached to the two cross pieces. Each woman was forced to knell before a stool facing the Governor. Their hips were pressed over the back of the stool. The rear legs of stool were a full hands breadth taller than the front and they splayed apart at a wide angle. The women's thighs and knees were quickly strapped to the rear stool legs. Each woman was then bent forward, her torso sloping downward, and her shoulders forced down onto the lower crosspiece. Their arms were pulled forward. Their breasts now dangled on either side of the central beam. Their arms were pulled under the forward crosspiece and then were drawn backward so the wrists could be bound to the rear legs. Their heads now hung lower than their rumps. They could only watch the Governor by straining their necks awkwardly to hold up their heads.

There were over forty of these stools stored at the arena. It was convenient whenever a large number of female prisoners were to be processed. The women could be brought to the stadium. The worthless ones could be quickly culled and all the others could be branded, displayed, and auctioned conveniently and efficiently in a single afternoon.

There were no branding irons heating here today. These women had participated in an insurrection. They would not be allowed the life of a slave.

Gladiators called these same stools rape racks. It was not uncommon for a naked slave girl to be bound to one before the final bout of the afternoon. She would listen to the cheers and applause of the crowd, not for the exposure of her lovely nude body, but rather for the bloody struggle of the two fighting men. When the battle was over the victorious gladiator would take his place behind the terrified slave girl. While the crowd cheered him on he would claim his prize. At the culmination of his pleasure he would grab her hair and pull her head back so her gaze fell upon the cheering crowd, then he would draw his blade across her throat. His seed would spurt into her belly as her life's blood pumped out onto the sand. The crowd always went wild at such a spectacle, a fitting finale to the day's contests.

This morning there were no brave young gladiators standing behind the women, willing to deal a mercifully swift death to the prisoners. A different fate awaited them.

Before each of the stools a numbered pendant flew. I walked behind the row of prisoner's examining the preparations. Leona's thatch of pubic hair was still matted with my drying seed. She might soon regret that she had followed my instructions. I almost reached forward to give her bottom a last affectionate pat. I moved on.

It was my century that had procured these prisoners, and therefore I was accorded the honor of a place in the Governor's viewing box. I passed through the doorway on the Western Wall and closed it behind me. I ran up the stairway and quickly entered the Governor's booth. There were already almost 30 people in the entourage and I scanned for a place to view the proceedings. The Governor looked at me inquiringly as I entered. I held my right hand flat against my chest, displaying four fingers. His nod was almost imperceptible. I worked my way to the front of the booth and stood on the left-hand side.

The stadium was filled to capacity. Nearly half the benches were filled with men from the tenth legion. Many of these men had seen this game, or some close variant, played before. Even before the Governor rose to speak they had already begun to wager on which of the women would "win" this contest.

The Governor rose and stepped forward raising his hands. Silence slowly descended over the stadium and he addressed the crowd.

" These criminals have been convicted of insurrection against the Emperor and Roman law." The crowd screamed out it's fury and the Governor waited patiently for the noise to fade away. " They are condemned to die in this public forum." Cheers erupted and the Governor waited again for the slow return to quiet. "They should all be torn limb from limb by wild beasts." He continued. " However the Feast of Janus moves us to be merciful." The crowd remained quiet now, not feeling particularly merciful themselves. " I think we shall allow one of their number to rest on the seat of honor while her friends face the lions." The Stadium erupted in cheers as the crowd realized it would not be denied the bloody spectacle they so desperately wanted to see.

" The question is how do we decide who shall be spared?" The Governor continued when the audience had quieted. The crowd buzzed with many wild and varied suggestions, but then from among the seasoned troops came the chant " Caesar! Caesar! Caesar! " The entire multitude began to pick up the cry though most did not understand its meaning yet. The Governor raised his right hand and the chant slowly faded. " As you wish," the Governor exclaimed, " we shall let Caesar decide."

>From the southern gate a handler strode forth with a giant, gray furred Northern Wolfhound eagerly tugging forward against his leash. The dog fairly pulled its handler along toward the center of the stadium. Its shoulders stood as high as the man's hips and the beast weighed nearly as much as the man who tried to restrain it. The dog had been sent from Rome. It was captured along the northern frontier, too old to train as a war dog. The beast became a gift for the Governor and his given name was "Caesar".

The developing situation was now becoming clear even to the dullest in the throng, and there was a roar of approval. The women bound facing the Governor's box had no idea what was happening behind them, though they struggled in vain to raise their heads and peer back over their shoulders. The dog anxiously led the way to the five bound naked rumps raised up in the air for his examination. The first woman in line let out a fearsome squeal as the cold snout pressed into her most private parts. The handler did not let the beast linger over any particular woman, walking him briskly down the line. One by one the woman screeched in shock as the dogs cold nose assessed their proffered bottoms. The beast and his handler moved to stand in front of the women, and the man faced the Governor. The audience was in bedlam; most were on their feet seeking to place a wager as to which of the woman "Caesar" would chose.

The women were now able to see for the first time the animal that the cold nose was attached to. The beast was large, long furred and sat with his back to the Governor. He was facing the women who had now roused his interest. The women stared in sickening fascination as he displayed for them his growing desire. As they stared in fear and dread, his pink member grew beyond its sheath, slapping against his belly as he sat there panting at them. Four women wailed and pleaded, faces flushed with shame. Leona now realized what I had done to her. The dreadful reality of what was to come became so inescapably clear in her mind that she simply hung her head in resignation. Tears of shame ran down her face to drip from the end of her nose onto the sand. The Governor waited for the noisy crowd to regain their seats so the game could proceed.

At last the Governor charged the handler to proceed, and with a jerk of the leash the beast was led behind the women to a spot some twenty paces away. The dog sat patiently while the handler removed its leash. Then both man and beast looked up expectantly to the Governor's box. The crowd had mostly regained their seats and was now chanting the dog's name softly at first, but with a growing urgency. " Caesar! Caesar! Caesar!" The Governor let the tension build until the noise was almost a roar. He nodded to the dog's handler and the man uttered a single word at the beast. " Mount" he shouted flinging his outstretched hand toward the line of bound women. The dog did not dash forward, but seemed to swagger as it strutted toward the trembling women. The mob howled in unrestrained glee, and the horrified women shrieked in terror. The dog did not simply leap onto the first exposed bottom that he came to. He actually slowed and began to walk the line, sniffing and licking at each of the women's privates, growling when they flinched from the touch of his tongue.

When he reached Leona he stopped, his nose pressed into the narrow opening I had used. His hungry tongue borrowed deep into her lower opening, and she shuddered knowing what was about to happen. His front paws bounced up over her bottom and then scrabbled against her skin as they slipped along the downward slope of her back. The crowd had actually fallen silent to witness this extraordinary display. Caesar's forepaws clutched at her chest, the dewclaws leaving bloody gouges as they dug into the flesh between her ribs. Leona wasn't wailing so much as issuing a long unending high pitched keening noise. Caesar's rear haunches pressed hard against her bottom then backed away a bit as he positioned himself to lunge. He made a few tentative thrusts and then Leona let out a piercing shriek. The dog was inside her, pressing deeper and thrusting with sudden speed and vigor.

Caesar had chosen. About a fifth of the crowd was ecstatic. While the beast pumped away inside her, the pathetic woman wailed miserably, and a number of small fortunes exchanged hands throughout the arena. I looked up at the Governor. He was smiling broadly, while Olivia shook her head in dismay. It appeared the Governor had recouped his loses from yesterday. Even those who had lost money couldn't help but appreciate the bizarre spectacle that was being played out in the sands for their amusement.

The four women that Caesar had bypassed were given a brief reprieve, while in the center of the arena workers were busily preparing for the next stage of the entertainment.

VII

Janus's Feast

The stadium track had two permanent stone posts, one at the northern, and the other at the southern end. A full chariot race consisted of ten circuits around these turn posts. (The Circus Maximus track was only seven circuits, but our stadium was a bit smaller) The centerline between the turn posts had a number of rock-lined postholes that allowed a wooden barrier to be erected down the center of the stadium during races. At the very center of the Stadium was a deeper posthole for the heavy signpost that held the lap counter. There were also four postholes forming a square around the central lap counter so that a number of officials could safely stand within a fenced in area during the races. These four corner posts were now being erected. The posts were about three-fourths the height of a tall man. The tops were planed and carved and could accept the mortise notch of a patibulum. Four crossbeams were secured to the tops of these posts. They were much shorter forms of a patibulum, only about twice the width of a woman's shoulders. The four corner posts were firmly sunk and the top beams secured. The men now turned toward the naked women waiting on the branding stools.

Caesar had spent his lust inside Leona and attempted to dismount. The woman screeched in agony as the beast tugged against her. The knot at the base of his penis had swollen inside her, and he was firmly lodged in place. For the time being they were truly mated. Caesar released his grip on her chest. Standing over the trussed woman he was resigned now to wait until his swollen member shrank. She cringed beneath him, his panting tongue drooling on her bare back.

The men began to release the other women one by one, but only to bring them to the center of the stadium. The raised posts with the short patibuli fastened atop made up four very short Tau crosses. The women's arms were hoisted up over the crossbeams and then were pulled down behind the crosses. As they hung by their shoulders their wrists were bound together just below a wooden peg at the back of the cross. Their stretched arms were held against the peg by their own weight. The position caused their breasts to jut out lewdly, and their feet could barely touch the ground. The shortest of their number was in fact hanging free; her feet kicking feebly, searching for support, while the tallest was able to stand without any difficulty. They were bound like four tethered lambs, wiggling on their poles as the crowd awaited the slaughter to come.

While these four were being secured, another group of attendants was bringing the "Seat of Honor" into the stadium. Few would have recognized it, as it had not been used for over two years.

Nearly three years past a Syrian "Prince" had taken up arms against Rome. He began his campaign with an army of nearly three thousand men, but within six months he and his remaining followers were little more than a roving band of bandits preying on the caravans and travelers on the Damascus road. My century had been among the first to drive them to ground, trapping them in a series of caves fifteen miles southwest of Damascus. After a number of skirmishes, and a few weeks without food or water, his own followers delivered him to us. He and the other survivors had been marched to the Capital where the Governor decreed that the "Prince" should die on a cross befitting his noble birth.

The crux sublimus that was constructed for the occasion had stood almost eighteen feet tall. It was made of well-planed cedar and painted pure white. The Prince had squealed like a child as he hung nailed to his cross. His own men had been forced to fight in the arena, slaughtering each other for their captor's amusement, under the gaze of their dying "Prince". After a few painful hours hanging from the nails, the Prince took his seat. The cornu that the Prince eventually impaled himself upon was carved from the fire hardened wood of an olive tree. The horn was trimmed in brass and gold leaf. Now the "Seat of Honor" had been restored to its original glory, and a shepherd girl would be honored for having had the bad fortune of being selected by our own "Caesar".

"Caesar" had managed to disentangle himself by now, and the dog handler was leading him quickly away before he developed a renewed lust for his newfound lover. Leona was released from her branding stool and led sobbing and befouled to the center of the stadium. The Crux Sublimus waited next to the central posthole. Eight men gathered around her and she was quickly laid down and stretched out on the cross. Another dozen workers poured out from the northern entrance to help erect the cross. Her hands were stretched out across the pure white patibulum and held firmly down. Two men with hammers worked in unison to drive in the spikes that secured her wrists. Her screams were even louder than those that had accompanied her bestial rape. Her hips were drawn up above the tip of the cornu. Her knees were bent and her feet were pressed flat against the wood of the stipes. Again two carpenters worked together to quickly affix both her feet to the wood.

Iron rings had already been imbedded in the ends of the patibulum and these were used to attach ropes. Four men guided the base of the stipes into the posthole while four others started lifting the top of the stipes. The crowd was clapping in unison as the rest of the workers took their places on the ropes. The cross rose smoothly and slid into its hole. The poor, shrieking victim atop the cross was jarred about, and fresh rivulets of bright red blood flowed across the white painted wood. The crowed cheered as the men finished erecting the cross. The white of the cross contrasted well with her sun darkened skin, and the downward trickle of blood from her wounds was visible throughout the arena. Leona was now almost fifteen feet above the sands, and her nakedness was gloriously displayed for the thousands who had gathered for the games. She hung low on the cross, her hips thrown to one side. Her knees protruded the other way, forming a shapely crescent around the glittering cornu that she would eventually need to sit on.

Even before the crowd could fully appreciate Leona's lovely features, the southern gates opened and the Governor's pride of lions entered. The male stood three feet tall at the shoulders and was nearly ten feet long. He weighed more than three grown men, and he had been kept hungry for this very event. He strode into the arena and the crowd roared noisily. He looked up at the spectators in disdain and roared back at them. He strutted out toward the center of the stadium followed by his harem of three lionesses. The largest of the females was about two-thirds the size of the male, the smallest of the three a little over half his size. The females seemed to slink behind their lord and master, waiting for him to select the first victim. The stadium had fallen completely silent, almost from the moment that the lion had roared back at the raucous mob. Now the crowd strained to hear every little noise that came from the women and the lions.

The four women bound to the low posts at the center of the stadium had seen the animals approaching, and were screaming hysterically as they struggled to free their pinioned arms. Leona, high above them and presumably safe from the beasts' attacks, screamed along with the others as she desperately pulled against the iron spikes that held her. Her struggles sent fresh streams of blood trickling down the painted wood

.

The lion strode through the screaming women, heading directly toward Leona's cross. His tongue, nearly as wide as the stipes itself, licked delicately, smearing the fresh blood that dripped down toward the sand. The three lionesses were milling and circling some twenty feet away from the screaming women. The lion looked up at Leona, measuring, calculating. His head tilted back, and he bellowed a mighty roar. She shrieked, jerking straight upward, standing fully erect on her pierced feet, trembling in terror.

The lion turned and pattered away, almost in disgust, and joined the females prowling in a circle around the other four women. After making a complete circuit around the four shorter posts, the lion dropped down onto his belly. He was about twenty feet away, facing the cross that held the shortest of the four women.

He stared into her eyes. The woman's feet scrabbled against the post that held her, as if she were trying to climb it. The lion inched his way forward, crawling on his belly. Then his haunches tensed, muscles bunching. The woman opened her mouth to scream, as the lion pounced. His paws struck her shoulders, and a sharp crack reverberated through the stadium as the post snapped. The roar of the crowd was deafening. The woman, the post and the lion all tumbled into the sand. The woman landed on her back, she was free of the post but her hands were still bound behind her back. She slid across the sand, desperately pushing backward, the heels of her feet churning the sand as the lion regained his footing. He shook his huge mane and then focused on his intended meal. With a short bound the lion was on top of her. He lifted her by her neck shaking her as she made a last gurgling attempt at a scream. The woman's body went limp, and blood spurted over the beasts mouth. The lion dragged his fresh kill into the shade of the eastern wall. He plopped down with the carcass between his paws and prepared to gorge himself.

While this was happening, the tallest of the women had managed to free her wrists from the restraining peg. She slipped off the crosspiece with her hands still bound behind her. She ran toward the northern gate. Two lionesses took off in immediate pursuit. The closest one brought the woman down before she had run a dozen feet. The second lioness plowed into the two of them and sank her teeth into the woman's right shoulder, lifting her upper body as if to drag the prize away. The first one, who was the oldest and largest of the lionesses, gave a warning growl before clamping onto the woman's left thigh.

The woman was still alive and screaming as the two great cats swatted at each other and tugged on her, each trying to get the better grip. The entire crowd was on their feet; yelling, clapping and cheering the two lionesses on. You could hear bones snapping as the cats tugged upon the prize. The Cats were swatting at each other over the body and one of the swatting paw slashed open the woman's belly. Somehow she was still screaming. Entrails spilled out onto the sand and flesh tore. It seemed to last forever but her backbone eventually snapped and the two startled lionesses tumbled backward, each with half a mangled corpse. I would have sworn you could still hear the echo of the woman's screams. The surprised lionesses regained their footing, each clutching half a bloody body in her jaws.

I have been to many a circus since my father first took me as a boy in Rome, but I have rarely seen such an amazing kill. The audience loved it. They were still on their feet cheering; they would be talking about this one for weeks. The two lionesses picked up their respective meals and dragged them into the shade to feast. They sat on either side of the male lion, still growling at each other. He roared out a warning for them to stay away from his kill.

The last lioness (who was the youngest of the pride) had a choice of two trembling morsels trapped within her reach. She paced back and forth as if unable to decide, but finally approached the plumper of the two women and gave her belly a tentative lick. The woman screamed, and the cat swatted the woman across her protruding breasts. A huge bloody gash opened and the woman shrieked in agony. The woman kicked out desperately with her feet, as the lioness approached again. The beast seemed unsure how to proceed, and so it came up behind the cross and clawed its way up the post with its front paws. The shrieking woman couldn't see what was happening, but she could feel the hot breath on her back.

The lioness sank her teeth into the back of the woman's neck, killing her almost instantly. The beast shook her victim's body, and you could hear an audible pop as the shoulders dislocated. With a few more tugs she managed to pull the corpse off the post, and dragged it over into the shade where the rest of the pride was feeding.

The crowd had quieted somewhat, and most had retaken their seats. They watched in stunned awe as the pride fed. The lions were contentedly stripping warm flesh and muscle from the bones, and their muzzles were painted crimson.

It had been a breathtaking show. No one would call that this was a waste of women flesh. It had been more entertaining, by far, than the rape and crucifixion that had proceeded it. There was a pause in the entertainment as the lions fed. One doesn't rush a pride of lions through their meal. Vendors began circulating through the stands, offering food and drink to the crowd. The business was brisk and a few saw the irony of people slacking there hunger and thirst while the lions fed on fresh corpses. The pride had failed to kill all four of their intended victims, and that was a slight concern, but the circus would go on and some other method of execution would be improvised.

Perhaps for those few brief moments, Leona was grateful for the relative safety of her cross, but the others were dead, and while their death may have been gruesome, it was relatively quick. She, on the other hand, would continue to suffer through the long day. She still hung by the nails, struggling upward to breath and slumping down to rest. The cornu waited patiently for her, digging furrows across her back when she slipped down, and pressing tantalizingly between her legs when she stood. She knew that once she took her final seat the horn would tear into her guts, spilling more blood down the cross and bringing her that much closer to the inescapable death that awaited her. She just wasn't ready for that yet.

A group of eight men entered from the eastern gateway. Some where armed with spears, while the rest carried whips and nets, They worked as a close knit team, driving the lions back toward the southern gate and their pens. The lion pride moved with reluctance, dragging the mauled corpses with them. It was nearly time for the gladiator contests to begin.

Once the lions had been driven into their pens, a very nervous elephant was used to drag the long narrow cage containing the tiger to the center of the arena. The inconvenient presence of the fourth female had to be dealt with. She was pulled down from her post with her arms were still bound behind her back. The woman's ankles were then crossed and bound. She knelt in the sand at the northern end of the tiger cage. The Governor had ruled that the women would face wild beasts, and if the lions wouldn't finish the job, the tiger was available and willing.

This striped cat was barely smaller than the male lion, but much more agile. The tiger was never released to roam free in the arena, there was a good chance that it could make its way up into the stands and cause some havoc before it escaped. Even in the palace grounds it was tethered at all times. The creature wore a thick leather collar that was used to chain it. The animal paced in its cage. The cage was about fifteen feet long and five feet wide, but only four feet high. The spear carrying men tried to force the cat back against the southern wall of the cage, even as the cat snarled and swatted at the poking spears. An attendant armed with a slave catcher (an eight foot long pole that ended in a metal shaped U) finally was able to push the cat's neck up against the iron bars, and a stout rope was secured to the animals collar. With the beast tethered so she could only reach half way down the length of the cage, the northern wall was unlatched, and the fourth woman was unceremoniously tossed inside. The opening was secured again. She landed on her side, but tried to right herself and was soon kneeling again facing the snarling beast. The cage made viewing a little bit more difficult from the stands; but the tiger was known to play with its meals before killing them. The tethered tiger and the shaking woman stared at each other waiting. Her death would come when the first round of the gladiator contests ended.

The male prisoners would be allowed to fight first. The winner would not be given a chance to use her, but he would be allowed to win the crowds favor by releasing the cat within the cage. If he fought well, and her death was sufficiently entertaining, he might survive the day to become a true gladiator.

The men were armed with short swords and bucklers. The short gladius is a weapon designed for thrusting and stabbing. The buckler's are barely twice the size of a man's fist, made of wood sheathed with copper. Hard as a whore's heart and half the size, as the saying goes. When fighting the opponents faced each other left foot forward. When one of them lunged forward with the sword the other would try to knock the thrusting blade aside, He would then twist his body in the opposite direction and follow through with a sword thrust to his opponents back or belly depending on which direction he had twisted in. There were variations of course, A double feint with the thrust and you might be able to slash the leather strap off your foes buckler leaving him unguarded for the rest of the fight. An artful extension of the blade might convince your opponent to push forward only to find your buckler rising up from below to knock his blade high as you drove into his belly. There were hundreds of variations to this deadly duel. Professionals could make these fights an eloquent dance of peril and death. Amateurs tended to make a hapless and pathetic show of it, running about slashing wildly.

The eighteen prisoners were brought before the Governor, and mumbled their way through the traditional Gladiators salute. They were then paired off and the battles began. Most were dismal displays of hacking and flaying about. Three of the men had some innate skill, and quickly disposed of their opponents. The others used both buckler and sword as blunt instruments to batter at each other with. Even buffoons can be entertaining at times. That was the case when one of the hacking blows severed a man's forearm. His adversary, having lost his sword, picked up the severed arm, still clutching a buckler, and used it to smash his adversary's head in.

After an inordinately long time, nine men lay slain and the nine survivors stood with various injuries. Rather than continue the paired fighting, the officials decided to stage a brawl with no rules. The nine survivors were quickly whittled down. One of the three men with some fighting potential fell stabbed in the back. The six men who showed little skill died one by one, and we were left to watch two fighters facing each other among the scattered bodies of their fellow villagers. The larger of the two had sustained a wound on his right thigh, and was being slowly forced backward by the smaller and younger of the two fighters. The older one appeared to falter, his leg giving way as he stumbled down onto his left knee. The short fellow rushed in, overextending as he thrust his blade. The bigger man simply twisted to the left and popped up behind his opponent, slamming him face down into the sand. He pressed his gladius between the man's exposed shoulder blades and looked up to the Governor's box. The Governor's thumb pointed down. The sword plunged through the chest of the hapless loser.

The victor limped forward to stand before the Governor. There would be no garlands for this man. He was a condemned criminal. This was however, his one chance to seek the clemency of a life as a fighting slave. The Governor rose and spoke to the winner. " You have fought with courage and skill," The Governor stated. "You have earned the honor of feeding my pet." He held out his hand, palm up, toward the caged tiger and the trembling woman who knelt bound just beyond its tethered reach.

The victor nodded to the Governor and turned, limping out toward the cage in the center of the arena. He approached the southern end of the cage, his sword reached out tapping on the knot that held the tiger in check. The woman pleaded, choking back her terror. He circled to his left now, to the northern end of the cage where the woman knelt pressed up against the bars. Most thought he was going to torment her a bit before he released the beast. He said not a word. His sword slide between the bars and into the woman's belly. The crowd gasped in horror as blood welled from the wound and formed a puddle in the sand beneath her. She seemed to smile, but as she opened her mouth to speak to her killer/savior, blood welled up in the woman's throat and she slumped forward dead. Curses and screams of outrage poured out of the stands.

It had been a noble gesture. One I would hope I was capable of if I ever found myself in such a circumstance. It was also a very foolish gesture, which had endeared him to no one in the stands. A pair of gladiators jumped forward, trying to salvage something from this disastrous turn of events. One hurried to the cage to slash the rope restraining the tiger, while the other warily approached the last armed villager. The tiger growled as it pounced, picking up the already dead woman by the neck and shaking her broken body. The startled villager looked toward the cage, and was almost skewered by the first attacking gladiator. He managed to block the blow and respond with a thrust of his own. He had forgotten the second gladiator, who had continued around the cage and was now behind him. The first gladiator smiled at him and thrust again. He stepped backward and was neatly impaled by the second gladiator. It seemed the two gladiators were a bit quick in dispatching the villager. Perhaps they felt a twinge of admiration for his last noble deed. The crowd cheered the death of the upstart. He had denied them the delight of watching the tiger toy with her prey before her bloody feast.

The tiger shook the woman's dead body about, tossing it against the bars before she gutted it with her claws. She sank her muzzle into the still warm entrails, and began to greedily stuff herself. Blood splattered her finely marked fur, but it just wasn't the show the people had anticipated. While the tiger feasted, the bodies of the dead villagers were dragged from the arena floor.

The real gladiators now marched into the arena. They stood in a loose formation, raised their swords, and loudly hailed the Governor. The cage containing the tiger and her prize was slowly pulled from center of the stadium and the first pair of gladiators took to the field.

The first fight ended with a badly wounded gladiator on his back, the victor poised to strike at the Governor's command. Both had fought well and the Governor was inclined toward mercy, despite the crowd's blood lust. The wounded man was carried off to be treated and perhaps fight another day.

In the second pairing, the victor slew his opponent outright and the crowd was thrilled. The victor retired to the pit, and his opponent's body was dragged away. The third match was well fought, and lasted quite a while. Eventually one of the gladiators managed to ensnare his foe from behind, blade pressed to his throat. Again the crowd roared for death, but the Governor was disinclined. Decent fighters were expensive to train and care for, so if they fought well they were often allowed to survive a close match. The next two matches were not close and the Governor acquiesced to the crowd's blood lust, allowing the vanquished to be slaughtered.

High above these battles, Leona had continued her struggle mostly ignored by the excited throng. Her legs now trembled constantly, barely able to support her weight when she was forced to rise. It was during the break between rounds of the gladiator's contests that she surrendered to the inevitable and lowered herself onto the cornu. She screeched in acute pain as the metal tipped horn sliced into the soft flesh of her bowels. Fresh blood ran down inner thighs and dripped from her feet onto the painted cross. She might have hoped this would end her suffering quickly, but in fact she had a few more hours to endure before death's sweet release. The crowd was momentarily amused by her renewed struggles, but then the next round of fighting began.

Pia Fidelis, who was the local favorite, was allowed to wait while the remaining four were paired and fought. One fight ended in a death, and the other in a display of official clemency. The two victors then fought for the right to challenge Pia Fidelis. That battle was hard fought, and lasted longer than any thus far. In the end the victorious gladiator managed to gut his opponent when his gladius slipped from his sweating grip.

The winner was exhausted, Pia Fidelis was fresh and well rested. The fight for the laurel should have been very one sided, but the underdog had grim determination on his side, and Pia Fidelis was perhaps a bit overconfident. Not only did the fight last beyond anyone's expectation, it soon became apparent that Pia Fidelis was fighting for his life. In the end, the upstart, a native named Yoseph, not only defeated the great Victrix Pia Fidelis, he did so with a fatal thrust to the neck, eliminating any chance for the popular fighter to be spared.

While gambling on the fights was never officially sanctioned, like the game of "Caesar's choice," a lot of small fortunes exchanged hands. Few had seen the possibility of such an upset. Those that did profited handsomely.

The body of Pia Fidelis was carried out, and Yoseph was presented the laurel by an unenthusiastic Governor. Then there was a pause as the stadium was prepared for the chariot races.

The center axis of the oval track was dotted with evenly spaced postholes. A wooden barrier half the height of a man was erected. In the very center of the stadium directly across from the Governor's viewing stand, the post that the lion had snapped was replaced. Now the four posts would be put to their intended use, and form a corral for the race officials in the center of the track. The lap counter for the race usually went into the posthole that held Leona's cross. The lap counter normally flew a different colored pendent for each lap of the race. Ropes still hung from the imbedded iron rings on the crossbeam of Leona's cross. This allowed her cross to function as a convenient replacement for the official lap counter.

There were five stables in the city that raced chariots. They were named for the colored livery of their teams. The Blue, Green, Yellow, White and Red stables all fielded very competitive teams, as did the Tenth Legion itself. Two and four horse chariots were raced. The racing chariots were nothing like a military chariot. They were little more than a frame, two wheels, and an axle. The charioteer literally balanced on the frame above the spinning axle. The charioteer had to be light to be competitive, but also had to have enough weight to balance the chariot as it tilted on the tracks corners. The Legion had yet to lose an official race, but the competing stables were determined that the day would soon come.

The two horse chariots began the competition. The six teams competed by pairs in races to eliminate the losers. The three winning teams then drew lots to see who would be ceded a berth in the final race, and the other two would race for the honor of challenging them. The Red and Blue stables, as well as the Legion, won the first elimination round, and then the Legion defeated the Red team to challenge the Blue. Dust rose in a fine mist throughout the center of the stadium as the races proceeded. Leona high on her cross became a bit paler as the fine film of dust coated her sweating body. She was coughing and hacking as she struggled to breathe on her cross. The dust turned the trails of blood that trickled down the wood a dark muddy brown.

The honor of the legion was not besmirched in the two horse chariot races, and very little money changed hands as few would bet against the Legions record. The sun was just reaching the lip of the western wall of the colosseum when the four horse chariot races began. At some point in the second elimination race, Leona stopped choking on the dust, though few noticed her death. This time the Blue and Yellow stables raced for the right to challenge the Legions champion. The Blue team won the honor, but of course lost the final race.

A flourish of horns announced the pageantry of the final parade of champions. The ceremonial bestowing of garlands proceeded with pomp and splendor, and the Governor was roundly applauded for the excellent entertainment. Much of the crowd had begun to file out of the stadium and head back toward the city. I remained with the Governor's party. They continued to drink and feast until the stadium was almost empty. It was about two hours before darkness when they finally decided to return to the city.

As we passed the execution site, it became obvious that Judith and the old man both were alive, and would still require a guard through the night. For some reason this disturbed the Governor. " Finish this." He ordered, gesturing to me.

I was happy to be done with the whole sordid affair. In an act of compassion, I had the men break both their legs. The old man expired in less than an hour. Because of Olivia's gift of the Ivory horn, Judith was able to linger on into the evening even with her legs broken.

I took one of the men's pilum, hefted it, and sent it flying into her chest. The iron shaft lifted her off her cornu, pinning her body to the cross. The wooden handle snapped away as her body slid down. Blood oozed down the iron shaft, and she opened her mouth as if to thank me, but only blood and bubbles issued forth. With a shudder she was gone, the last of her village, and so we were able to retire. I had my men retrieve the ivory cornu and clean it.

I returned that bit of ivory to the first Consort the next day. Olivia offered me a small purse of silver to reward my honesty, but I politely declined. She was surprised and looked me over with renewed interest. " And you are?" she inquired. " Centurion Cassius Priscus of the First Century, Third Cohort." I replied. She nodded and I saluted. I turned to leave our business finished. When next we met, she would remember that she was in the presence of an honest and loyal ally, and I would know the same.