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It Happened In Namur

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shastar said:
As Barbaria was struggling to cover the last meters separating her from the top of the oppidum, she heard piercing shrieks rising from the courtyard she left half an hour ago. Eulalia was obviously being nailed to the tree on which she'd been tortured before. The Queen's heart sank and tears rolled down her cheeks. Poor Eulalia... Her friend, her confident... She had been faithful to the end, to the point of accepting being tortured and dying a slow, humiliating and agonizing death. The price of her loyalty.

'Will I scream like that, too? Or will I be able to suffer the nails with some semblance of royal dignity?' She then asked herself.

As she reached the esplanade, her feet and shoulders bleeding, covered in sweat and stumbling in exhaustion, she could see that several hundreds of spectators - townsfolk, legionaries and followers of the roman army - were gathering there.The Romans didn't just planned to kill her. No. They wanted to make a spectacle of her death. For a moment, the thought strengthened her resolve. But then she had a better look at the tall vertical post waiting for her.

Two short wooden stakes formed a “T” near its top and below that, a groove had been carved for the fitting of a crossbar. The very crossbar she was carrying right now. Long ropes were dangling from the stakes, down to the ground.
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Poor Eulalia! But nothing I can do for her now. We all must look to ourselves at this point. Damn, a crowd! Of course he wants to make a spectacle of my execution. And everything is ready too. They will hoist me up with those ropes and I will writhe, and wiggle and buck and jerk and twist about ... there will be jeers and cheers, lewd remarks, bets on how long and what ways I can humiliate myself hanging naked on that cross. The tears in my eyes cloud my vision. The posts waver in the harsh glare of the sun. It will be beastly hot up there on that cross too. This couldn't be worse! What am I to do? I stumble, a lash across my already bloody back. I struggle to my feet. The crossbar weighs so much! I lurch forward, bent over, breasts swaying. Another lash, this time across my breasts. I wince with pain, and plod ahead. Not too much farther now. The crowd is getting larger every minute. I hate this so much!
 
The Queen wavered next to the post she knew she was going to die on. Two guards positioned her. They lifted the
patibulum. She groaned as her bloodied shoulders and cramped thighs were sollicitated, once again. A lictor approached and gently pushed on her left shoulder. Exhausted and burdened as she was, she lost her balance and fell into the dust. She groaned.The lictors rapidly positioned her arms for the nailing.

'Water her', Tullius said.

A legionary came to her and forced a strange liquid down her throat. It was water, yes, but with a bizarre aftertaste. She looked at Tullius, a mix of surprise and anger in her eyes.

'Stimulants' he said.
 
shastar said:
The Queen wavered next to the post she knew she was going to die on. Two guards positioned her. They lifted the
patibulum. She groaned as her bloodied shoulders and cramped thighs were sollicitated, once again. A lictor approached and gently pushed on her left shoulder. Exhausted and burdened as she was, she lost her balance and fell into the dust. She groaned.The lictors rapidly positioned her arms for the nailing.

'Water her', Tullius said.

A legionary came to her and forced a strange liquid down her throat. It was water, yes, but with a bizarre aftertaste. She looked at Tullius, a mix of surprise and anger in her eyes.

'Stimulants' he said.
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Don't be so rough with me! Can't you see how weak I am? My ravaged shoulders scream at me as they are stretched out and brush against the hard wood of the crossbeam. I gag on the strange liquid poured down my throat, forced to gulp it down as even more is poured. My wrists are being pressed against the wood, and a cord wrapped around my hand and through my fingers to bind my wrists in place. I can feel the splintery surface against the back of my hand; can feel the holes left by nails that held other victims before me to this same cross. I look up. The tall post casts a shadow over my face. White clouds drift overhead against a blue sky. Too lovely a canopy under which to suffer and die, I think. I wince as the cords around my hands are drawn tight. They are ready now. I am about to be nailed.
 
Barbaria1 said:
Don't be so rough with me! Can't you see how weak I am? My ravaged shoulders scream at me as they are stretched out and brush against the hard wood of the crossbeam. I gag on the strange liquid poured down my throat, forced to gulp it down as even more is poured. My wrists are being pressed against the wood, and a cord wrapped around my hand and through my fingers to bind my wrists in place. I can feel the splintery surface against the back of my hand; can feel the holes left by nails that held other victims before me to this same cross. I look up. The tall post casts a shadow over my face. White clouds drift overhead against a blue sky. Too lovely a canopy under which to suffer and die, I think. I wince as the cords around my hands are drawn tight. They are ready now. I am about to be nailed.
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flower1 flower1
 
Barbaria1 said:
Don't be so rough with me! Can't you see how weak I am? My ravaged shoulders scream at me as they are stretched out and brush against the hard wood of the crossbeam. I gag on the strange liquid poured down my throat, forced to gulp it down as even more is poured. My wrists are being pressed against the wood, and a cord wrapped around my hand and through my fingers to bind my wrists in place. I can feel the splintery surface against the back of my hand; can feel the holes left by nails that held other victims before me to this same cross. I look up. The tall post casts a shadow over my face. White clouds drift overhead against a blue sky. Too lovely a canopy under which to suffer and die, I think. I wince as the cords around my hands are drawn tight. They are ready now. I am about to be nailed.
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Jollyrei said:
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The sun overhead blazes down on me as he positions the first nail over my slender wrist. I break out in a cold sweat, roll my head from side to side and whisper desperately to him, "do it quickly please, just a single powerful blow, if you will!"

The lictor says nothing. He just looks at me, eyes roving slowly over my heaving bare breasts, and then back again to the nail held firmly in his grasp.

I shift my legs, raising my knees and digging my heels into the gravel. I draw in my breath and tense myself for the coming lightning bolt of pain.

Why does he draw this out? When will the nail be driven home? He is making me wait and wonder. It's like a game of psychological terror he plays. My mind is his playground, my naked body, lying prone and helpless on the ground, is his toy.

It's a situation that I as a queen am totally unaccustomed to. I am used to being the one in charge, in control of the situation, not a powerless victim with no course of action other than to steel myself for the inevitable.

Just do it! I can't stand this. Just do it!
 
Two guards grabbed the queen's legs, making sure she wouldn't be able to kick and trash around. On a quick gesture of Tullius, the hammer rose and crashed down upon the nail’s head, driving the 15 cm metal spike between the bones and into the carpal tunnel.

Barbaria took in a long, painful breath, her eyes staring at the skies above her. It was as though boiling lava was being poured into her wrist, her hand and her arm. She yelled in agony. Her chest and delicate breasts rose, legs trembling, heels digging into the gravel.

The lictor took his time, waiting for her scream to subside into sobs and groans. Then again and again the hammer fell, the clang of iron and her screams shattering the air. A last measured blow drove the nail home firmly into the wood beneath, the head tight and dug into the Queen's flesh, so that the wound would not widen too quickly, nor turn into a gap making her possibly bleed to death.

Once again, the lictor waited for her to regain some composure and then moved to the other arm, pinned down by the ropes. Again he placed the nail on the offered wrist. She could't help but briefly look at her outsretched arm, the nail and the monster who was about to make her scream again.

'Do not beg for mercy', she thought. 'DO NOT!'

This time she howled even before the hammer came down. Stroke after stroke, her wrist was nailed to the beam, as she was screaming and convulsing, the wild kicking of her legs barely controlled by the two guards holding them.

It took some time for her to calm down, and for a moment she just lay in the dust and gravel, panting frantically for air, her eyes bulging from their sockets, asking herself how it was possible to suffer so much and still remain conscious. 'The stimulants! Oh the bastards'. Then her eyes slowly turned to her right wrist, the black nail head, the blood already running down her arm and pooling into her palm. Her moans turned into tears of horror and sorrow.

Tullius knelt beside her, a moist cloth in his hand and slowly, almost gently, wiped the sweat and the tears from her face. Her wild, reddened eyes stared at him, her jaws shuddering, as she was apparently struggling to find enough strength and calmness to say something. Again he cleansed her face, her neck and her shaking and heaving shoulders.

'I can't believe you inflicted this on yourself, your Majesty', he said. 'Unfortunately, there's not much any of us can do to change this, now.' He looked at the post, then to the ropes dangling from it. 'And there is worse to come'.

This time, there was no animosity or scorn in his voice. Rather a unexpected mix of resignation and - possibly, yes - respect.
 
shastar said:
Two guards grabbed the queen's legs, making sure she wouldn't be able to kick and trash around. On a quick gesture of Tullius, the hammer rose and crashed down upon the nail’s head, driving the 15 cm metal spike between the bones and into the carpal tunnel.

Barbaria took in a long, painful breath, her eyes staring at the skies above her. It was as though boiling lava was being poured into her wrist, her hand and her arm. She yelled in agony. Her chest and delicate breasts rose, legs trembling, heels digging into the gravel.

The lictor took his time, waiting for her scream to subside into sobs and groans. Then again and again the hammer fell, the clang of iron and her screams shattering the air. A last measured blow drove the nail home firmly into the wood beneath, the head tight and dug into the Queen's flesh, so that the wound would not widen too quickly, nor turn into a gap making her possibly bleed to death.

Once again, the lictor waited for her to regain some composure and then moved to the other arm, pinned down by the ropes. Again he placed the nail on the offered wrist. She could't help but briefly look at her outsretched arm, the nail and the monster who was about to make her scream again.

'Do not beg for mercy', she thought. 'DO NOT!'

This time she howled even before the hammer came down. Stroke after stroke, her wrist was nailed to the beam, as she was screaming and convulsing, the wild kicking of her legs barely controlled by the two guards holding them.

It took some time for her to calm down, and for a moment she just lay in the dust and gravel, panting frantically for air, her eyes bulging from their sockets, asking herself how it was possible to suffer so much and still remain conscious. 'The stimulants! Oh the bastards'. Then her eyes slowly turned to her right wrist, the black nail head, the blood already running down her arm and pooling into her palm. Her moans turned into tears of horror and sorrow.

Tullius knelt beside her, a moist cloth in his hand and slowly, almost gently, wiped the sweat and the tears from her face. Her wild, reddened eyes stared at him, her jaws shuddering, as she was apparently struggling to find enough strength and calmness to say something. Again he cleansed her face, her neck and her shaking and heaving shoulders.

'I can't believe you inflicted this on yourself, your Majesty', he said. 'Unfortunately, there's not much any of us can do to change this, now.' He looked at the post, then to the ropes dangling from it. 'And there is worse to come'.

This time, there was no animosity or scorn in his voice. Rather a unexpected mix of resignation and - possibly, yes - respect.
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WOW!!!!! Whew! How to respond to this? I need to think. :very_hot:
 
I look at the dangling ropes, and at my nailed wrists and my own blood seeping into the stained wood of my crossbeam, then down at my knees, drawn up high. I know they will bind my feet next. My last chance to resist is with my feet. I make ready. I will kick and kick as viciously as I can when the lictor comes within range. It won't save me, I know. But it will give me a small measure of satisfaction to catch him in the face with my foot. Then, of course, they will overpower me, but I will struggle nonetheless. I have strong feet, and I will not allow them to bind my ankles without a fight. So, I quietly steel my nerves, ignore the throbbing pain in my pinioned wrists, and wait. He is taking his time. Why doesn't he come within range? Again, he is playing mind games with me. He enjoys my pain and frustration. He enjoys my helplessness and humiliation. He pokes at my breast with his foot, mounding it, shaking it with the toe of his boot, and then releasing it to slope off to one side. He does this repeatedly, until he tires of it. With a sigh he signals his henchmen. It's time. I know they will bind my ankles and raise my crossbeam. I am ready for them.
 
Barbaria was waiting, laying on the ground, her head four meters away from the menacing vertical post behind her. She could hear the townsfolk - her people - crying and lamenting at her plight.

Two lictors quickly wrapped up the ropes dangling from the post around the patibulum and removed those immobilizing her arms and hands. Four guards went to the other end of the ropes with the obvious intention to use the short stakes near the top of the post as makeshift pulleys. She gasped at the realization of what was going to happen.

'Heave', said the lictor who seemed to be in command of the execution squad.

Her arms were pulled straight, the patibulum was lifted off the ground and her whole weight fell on the nails in her wrists. She yelped, as new, horrendous pain invaded her slender arms. Then she struggled desperately to get her legs up under her, howling.

'Help her', shouted Tullius.

The lictors seemed surprised, but two of them grabbed the ends of the beam, half dragging, half guiding their victim towards the post. Her bloodied back slammed into the wood and she let out another shriek of agony. The patibulum was lifted again, until she stood straight, her arms well above her head, but her feet still on the ground.

She was given a moment of respite, as the executioners were waiting for the Queen to regain enough strenght to endure the next step of the procedure. She slowly calmed down, moaning, shivering, panting.

When she saw the chief lictor approaching, revolt and anger submerged her.

Gathering her resolve, trying to ignore the pain it was causing her, she suddenly shifted her balance on her left leg.
Her right leg flew in the air, hitting the lictor right into the chest with all the might she could muster in her precarious position.

He fell back sitting in the dust. Laughters erupted all among the legionaries ranks.

'You fucking bitch! Vicious barbarian wildcat! You'll pay for this! I won't make it easy for you, I swear. I...'

'Enough, Marcus', said Tullius. 'You will do as I command. Nothing more, nothing less. Now stop making a spectacle of yourself and proceed with the execution.'

There was more sniggering from the crowd, as Marcus, humiliated and infuriated by the irony of his general's remark, stood back to his feet. 'Yes, sir', he grumbled.
 
Well, small victories! I will take what I can get. The lictor won't forget that little humiliation, I know. But hopefully Tullius will keep him in line.

Meanwhile I have bigger things to worry about. The pain in my arms and wrists is already nearly enough to make me faint. I can't imagine what it will be like when my full weight hangs from those nails. And that rough post is sure to tear at my ravaged back as they hoist me up!

I want to refrain from crying out. I don't want to give them the satisfaction of hearing me scream. But I fear it will happen despite my best efforts to be stoic and brave.
 
The lictor looked straight into the Queen's eyes, this time remaining at a safe distance from her legs. He was grinning cruelly.

'Up you go, slut. Lift!' he said.

Once again, her nailed arms were pulled straight, making her stand on tiptoes. When her feet lost contact with the ground, the sudden, tearing pain was appalling, unendurable … The worst she'd been subjected to so far. She let out a bloodcurdling scream.

'Gods ! Noooooooo !', she shouted at the skies, before howling like a mortally wounded animal.

Her feet flailed in the air, frantically kicking in search of of some support to take the weight off her wrists. She had burst into sweat, wet as if she had stepped out of a bath. She was breathing in short, rapid, desperate pants, her breasts flat on her chest and her nipples obscenely erected. Some of the legionaries yelled gleefully, as the townsfolks were crying and shouting pleas for mercy.

The beautiful woman wailed and shrieked in horrendous agony as the beam was slowly raised higher, step after step, her delicate feet desperately searching to find some support on the rough wood of the post, but repeatedly failing to do so. She lost control of her bladder, soiling her loincloth, the screams turning to a hoarse howl of humiliation.

The patibulum was finally shifted into the bed carved for it near the post's top.

A ladder was placed against the back of the cross, and a lictor climbed up, four large nails and a hammer in his hands. He began driving the nails home, until the beam was solidly fixed into place. Barbaria shrieked at each blow, as they made the whole cross quivering and the motion was reverberating into the damaged nerves of her wrists.

It was just more than she could bear. The Queen`s head fell forward onto her chest and her body suddenly went limp.

Marcus lost no time. He went to a bucket of water and threw it violently at his victim's hanging body.

'Wake up, bitch ! I'm not done with you !'

To her utter misery, Barbaria came back to reality. Once again, a terrible, heart-wrenching howl of agony rose up from the Circus.

'Nail her feet, now, Marcus. And make it quick. I'm watching you!' said Tullius in a trembling voice.
 
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Ohhhhhhhhh Gods! The pain! The pain! Let me faint! Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Splutter! Gasp! Bucket of water! No! Gods! Roman beasts!

How am I ever going to endure this? Never have I felt such pain and terror. I have watched men die on the cross. I have myself ordered captured Roman legionaries nailed to trees with their eyes gouged out or their balls cut off. I know of its cruelty. I know of this agonizingly slow means of execution. But I never in my wildest dreams imagined it happening to me, a queen!

I was naive. Somehow I thought, perhaps during my ordeal of being scourged at the post, that dying on the cross would bring an end to my suffering and humiliation ...

Especially when he granted my pitiful request for a loincloth! That was symbolic. A scrap of dignity I could cling to. But even that has added now to my humiliation and shame for I have pissed it, and the thing has stretched and hangs so loosely now from my hips, drawing attention to that which it was intended to hide

As I look down on my struggling naked body, ... sweat sheened, breasts wobbling, erect nipples dancing, ribs extended, legs flailing, I am driven to despair.

Standing below me is that dreadful Marcus, hammer and nails in hand. I know what comes next. My feet will be nailed to the stipe, in some yet to be determined fashion. He has choices. And one thing is sure. He will choose to nail my poor feet against that timber in a way that will cause me more pain and shame than I already know!

I resolve to try to kick at him when he comes near. But I know it's useless. I am quite helpless now. Completely at the mercy of that smug-faced Roman swine.

The crowd has hushed. Everyone is watching to see what he will do, and anticipating the wildy sensuous dance I will inevitably perform for their entertainment once the grisly task of completing my nailing is done!
 
As Marcus approached her, she tried to kick him with her right leg, only to realise that even that simple movement was causing her too much pain to endure. As he prudently stayed away from her reach, another lictor and a guard grabbeb her left leg. With her attention diverted, two other men quickly and firmly took control of her right leg.

Her left leg was pulled up, slightly sideways, and a lictor positioned the sole of her foot flat on the side of the stipe, approximately 40cm from her buttocks. Marcus put a huge, 18cm-long, large-headed nail on her instep. She looked in horror as the first blow was delivered.

Her head tilted up and her whole body spasmed, as she howled her agony to the sky. Marcus was deliberatery making it slow, pounding the hammer with measured strenght, stopping to check his victim's reactions, grinning at her horrendous screams. The guards holding her right leg were struggling to keep it in place.

He wiped out the blood that had spattered in his face. Then, ignoring Barbaria’s pityful moans and writhing, he casually went to the other leg. As her right foot was positioned in the same way as the left one, she wailed in pain and humiliation. Her legs were painfully forced apart, arching her back, roughly forcing her lacerated flesh onto the wooden post behind her.

It seemed to her that the nailing of her delicate, slender foot would never end, as if she was prisoner of an eternity of hellish torment. She shrieked at each blow, calling for her Gods to help her or shouting 'I can't... I can't!' between each of them. With an ominous sound of broken bones and a spray of blood, the head of the nail finally sunk into her instep. She screamed, trashed, retched, spat... then, as the Romans released her legs from their grip, her full weight fell on the nails and she let out a new wail of utter misery.

Marcus then picked up a plaque, along with a nail and climbed the ladder again. He nailed the small piece of wood in place, a few inches above the head of the crucified woman. 'Barbaria, rebel Queen'. This was too much honour for her, he thought. He would have chosen another titulus for the bitch. But these were Tullius' orders. Not something to dispute, especially as the general seemed to be in a very bad mood.

Barbaria wailed as the titulus was hammered into the post, wave after wave of terrible pain invading her wounded wrists and feet again. Then, for a moment, she just hung from the cross, arms wide and up, the muscles of her shoulders and chest stretched to the limit, drawing her ribcage out. Her head was dangling and she was struggling to take heaving, sobbing breaths.

But Marcus still had one last task to do to complete his gruesome job. He brutally tore the loincloth from her and threw it away, an expression of disgust on his face. The legionaries cheered as the beautiful Queen was left completely naked.

Her mind raced as her mouth opened wide in disbelief. Yesterday she had been a Queen, powerful and respected. Now, she was naked, nailed to a cross, her intimate parts shamefully displayed for all to see. 'Like the lowliest criminal slave', she thought. New tears rolled down her pretty face. She raised her head and looked in desperation at Tullius.

He tried to keep his composure, but those closest to him coud see his jaws trembling and his hand nervously squeezing the pommel of his gladius.

'Roman law requires that you be crucified naked, Your Majesty. And I don't think it would be appropriate to let you die in a filthy piece of rag. Anyway', he added after detailing her quivering, gleaming body, 'there is nothing you should be ashamed of.'
 
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