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Skeleton 431
- Thread starter Wragg
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View attachment 221297 Whatever do you mean, Siss?
“Welcome….. to Hell, mother!” Trina, Boudica’s daughter greeted her mother as she hung beside her. Her other daughter, Selicia, was dead, killed by a roman sword, her body spread out on a bush in front of Boudica’s cross as yet another reminder of the crushing victory that the Romans had inflicted on them.
“I….wanted…..to..spare you…..this….Trina!” every word hurt, the mere effort of breathing and speaking seemed to make her whole body scream with pain.
How could the Romans have defeated them? She had so many with her, the Iceni and Trinovantes had outnumbered the Romans by at least 5 to 1. And yet the Romans had taken up a perfect defensive position in a defile on Watling Street, and, as the Roman Javelins had torn into them, panic had set in and she had completely lost control of her army. Barely any Romans had died, but the whole area was littered with dead Britons.
A significant number of the Romans that had died had done so at Boudica’s own hand, as she’d fought savagely but hopelessly, and she had soon found herself surrounded. Quickly they had overwhelmed her and her surviving daughter, and now the two of them were crucified in that same defile. The few other survivors were forced to kneel before her cross. “Behold, your queen!” – the last words they heard before their throats were slit. Crucifixion was both labour intensive and timber intensive; the Romans were happy to reserve that ‘privilege’ for Boudica and Trina.
Boudica grunted as a ladder was leaned against her cross, and a legionary climbed up and hammered a notice to it: “BOUDICA: QUEEN OF THE BRITONS”.
And Barbara was somehow trapped inside the mind of this defeated, crucified, tortured queen. Her own memories were fading, replaced by those of Boudica: the rape of her daughters as she’d been flogged, her triumph at Camulodunum, Londinium, and Verulamium. She herself had crucified and impaled rich Romans, she was glad at least that they had experienced some of what she was now suffering!
But suffering she was. Only stillness helped, but stillness was impossible. Her shocked body gave involuntary movements, which increased the pain, increased the shock, and so increased the movement in a vicious circle of inhuman agony. She could not hang by her wrists for more than about a minute before having to try and take weight on her heels, but her right heel was useless and taking all the weight on her left heel was, again, only possible for very short periods. Terrifying cramps wracked her leg and arm muscles, which she could do nothing to relieve. Even screaming hurt like hell, but both she and her daughter could not help but scream with every movement.
And when would it end? She had hung for maybe ten minutes but it felt like ten hours. She wondered if she could knock herself out on the wood of the cross, but she quickly realized that the violent movements required were utterly, utterly impossible.
Barbara could not understand her link with Boudica. Why was she having to suffer with her? Would Boudica’s death cause her own death, or would that alone release her?
Had she somehow been infected as she’d handled the bones? But Wragg had handled them too, and he was not here.
For another few minutes she was engaged fully with her ongoing struggle with the cross, but when her thoughts returned to wondering why she was sharing Boudica’s agony, she remembered her study of Boudica’s skull. A perfect set of teeth, except for decay in one tooth? Barbara realized that she had only one filling, and that was in her lower right sixth tooth. And both her upper wisdom teeth had formed normally, but her lower ones had impacted, they occasionally gave trouble, and she’d been meaning to have them removed.
It was as if she’d been holding her own skull! She shuddered again, which hurt like buggery.
She thought of her own two daughters, one now living with their father, the other, just turned eighteen, at university.
There was a little mole on Barbara’s right breast, about an inch above the nipple. She hardly dared to look down at Boudica’s right breast, but she did, and there was the mole.
She had far too much in common with Boudica!
“I….wanted…..to..spare you…..this….Trina!” every word hurt, the mere effort of breathing and speaking seemed to make her whole body scream with pain.
How could the Romans have defeated them? She had so many with her, the Iceni and Trinovantes had outnumbered the Romans by at least 5 to 1. And yet the Romans had taken up a perfect defensive position in a defile on Watling Street, and, as the Roman Javelins had torn into them, panic had set in and she had completely lost control of her army. Barely any Romans had died, but the whole area was littered with dead Britons.
A significant number of the Romans that had died had done so at Boudica’s own hand, as she’d fought savagely but hopelessly, and she had soon found herself surrounded. Quickly they had overwhelmed her and her surviving daughter, and now the two of them were crucified in that same defile. The few other survivors were forced to kneel before her cross. “Behold, your queen!” – the last words they heard before their throats were slit. Crucifixion was both labour intensive and timber intensive; the Romans were happy to reserve that ‘privilege’ for Boudica and Trina.
Boudica grunted as a ladder was leaned against her cross, and a legionary climbed up and hammered a notice to it: “BOUDICA: QUEEN OF THE BRITONS”.
And Barbara was somehow trapped inside the mind of this defeated, crucified, tortured queen. Her own memories were fading, replaced by those of Boudica: the rape of her daughters as she’d been flogged, her triumph at Camulodunum, Londinium, and Verulamium. She herself had crucified and impaled rich Romans, she was glad at least that they had experienced some of what she was now suffering!
But suffering she was. Only stillness helped, but stillness was impossible. Her shocked body gave involuntary movements, which increased the pain, increased the shock, and so increased the movement in a vicious circle of inhuman agony. She could not hang by her wrists for more than about a minute before having to try and take weight on her heels, but her right heel was useless and taking all the weight on her left heel was, again, only possible for very short periods. Terrifying cramps wracked her leg and arm muscles, which she could do nothing to relieve. Even screaming hurt like hell, but both she and her daughter could not help but scream with every movement.
And when would it end? She had hung for maybe ten minutes but it felt like ten hours. She wondered if she could knock herself out on the wood of the cross, but she quickly realized that the violent movements required were utterly, utterly impossible.
Barbara could not understand her link with Boudica. Why was she having to suffer with her? Would Boudica’s death cause her own death, or would that alone release her?
Had she somehow been infected as she’d handled the bones? But Wragg had handled them too, and he was not here.
For another few minutes she was engaged fully with her ongoing struggle with the cross, but when her thoughts returned to wondering why she was sharing Boudica’s agony, she remembered her study of Boudica’s skull. A perfect set of teeth, except for decay in one tooth? Barbara realized that she had only one filling, and that was in her lower right sixth tooth. And both her upper wisdom teeth had formed normally, but her lower ones had impacted, they occasionally gave trouble, and she’d been meaning to have them removed.
It was as if she’d been holding her own skull! She shuddered again, which hurt like buggery.
She thought of her own two daughters, one now living with their father, the other, just turned eighteen, at university.
There was a little mole on Barbara’s right breast, about an inch above the nipple. She hardly dared to look down at Boudica’s right breast, but she did, and there was the mole.
She had far too much in common with Boudica!
And so the struggle with the cross went on, hour after hour of sheer hellish agony. Eventually the Romans had stripped everything of value from the British corpses, and had buried the lot in a mass grave. Barbara watched as they dug an extra pair of graves, one for Trina and one for Boudica, and then she and Trina were just left with a handful of guards for company.
For a while the guards watched appreciatively as the two women struggled for life on their crosses of death, but after a while they just ignored them, ignoring also their pleas for water, as the fluids in their bodies gradually leaked out of them to stain the earth at the base of their crosses.
Night fell, a cold, dark, endless night, lit only by the light of the guards fire, though even that went out when a heavy shower came through several hours after sunset. Now Boudica added coldness to her many problems. Shivering with cold is not what you need when you are nailed to a cross.
When the sun rose, Trina was blue and quite obviously dead. Boudica hadn’t even been aware of the moment she’d gone. Eventually the Romans noticed that she had died, and pulled the nails out one by one until she dropped to the ground beneath the cross like a sack of potatoes. Boudica wept as they carried her daughter’s body over to one of the graves, dumped her in it, and buried her. She wept as much from loneliness as from bereavement, and she just longed to be in her grave beside that of her daughter.
But death would not come. The sun climbed up into the sky, reached its zenith, and still Boudica’s struggle against her four spikes of agony continued. And still Barbara remained locked inside that crucified body. But as the afternoon wore on, she had less and less strength, her kidneys had failed from dehydration, and the life was literally draining out of her. The only thing left was pain, and gradually even that faded as her consciousness was lost….
She became aware of a loud hammering sound. Oh, God, no, surely it wasn’t happening again? Surely she wasn’t doomed to experience those last terrible hours of life repeatedly? Her eyes flew open, but this time, God be praised, there was no pain. But there was a lot of hammering! Her head was enclosed in a bulky frame, and she realized that she was in some kind of a tube.
She had no idea where she was, and she started struggling and screaming. The hammering noise stopped abruptly, and a disembodied voice called “Keep still, Barbara! We’re coming to get you!”
“Coming to get me?” Then she felt a hand on her right calf, and she just knew that they were going to drive a nail through her heel, so she really freaked out then. She bellowed in terror, the frame smashed to one side, and she fought her way out of the tube, away from the clutching hands.
She fell out onto a hard floor, staring in terror at a woman in a white uniform, with burgundy piping around her collar. “Dr Moore? Are you all right? You’re safe, it’s OK, you’re in hospital! My name is Rebecca, I’m a radiographer, and we were just doing an MRI scan for you!”
She backed away from her into a corner, shaking with fear. She looked anxiously at her wrists, and moved her hands around experimentally, there was something in the back of her wrist! Was it a nail? She tore it out, and then there was blood all over her hand. She sat there and screamed in total terror.
Suddenly there were lots of people, lots of shouting, they carried her out of the room, away from the dangerous magnetic field, and put her on a trolley. But in her tortured mind she thought they had carried her and put her on a cross! Despite the best efforts of the staff to keep her decent the gown was slipping in all this mayhem, to her this was evidence that she was being stripped for her cross. Someone was trying to stick a nail into her, was it a Roman soldier? She screamed and kicked and struggled, lots of people were holding her still, just as she’d been held down for her crucifixion! She felt a sharp prick in her other wrist, and she howled in absolute and utter dread, but instead of the expected blow she just felt cold fluid in her vein, and unconsciousness returned.
For a while the guards watched appreciatively as the two women struggled for life on their crosses of death, but after a while they just ignored them, ignoring also their pleas for water, as the fluids in their bodies gradually leaked out of them to stain the earth at the base of their crosses.
Night fell, a cold, dark, endless night, lit only by the light of the guards fire, though even that went out when a heavy shower came through several hours after sunset. Now Boudica added coldness to her many problems. Shivering with cold is not what you need when you are nailed to a cross.
When the sun rose, Trina was blue and quite obviously dead. Boudica hadn’t even been aware of the moment she’d gone. Eventually the Romans noticed that she had died, and pulled the nails out one by one until she dropped to the ground beneath the cross like a sack of potatoes. Boudica wept as they carried her daughter’s body over to one of the graves, dumped her in it, and buried her. She wept as much from loneliness as from bereavement, and she just longed to be in her grave beside that of her daughter.
But death would not come. The sun climbed up into the sky, reached its zenith, and still Boudica’s struggle against her four spikes of agony continued. And still Barbara remained locked inside that crucified body. But as the afternoon wore on, she had less and less strength, her kidneys had failed from dehydration, and the life was literally draining out of her. The only thing left was pain, and gradually even that faded as her consciousness was lost….
She became aware of a loud hammering sound. Oh, God, no, surely it wasn’t happening again? Surely she wasn’t doomed to experience those last terrible hours of life repeatedly? Her eyes flew open, but this time, God be praised, there was no pain. But there was a lot of hammering! Her head was enclosed in a bulky frame, and she realized that she was in some kind of a tube.
She had no idea where she was, and she started struggling and screaming. The hammering noise stopped abruptly, and a disembodied voice called “Keep still, Barbara! We’re coming to get you!”
“Coming to get me?” Then she felt a hand on her right calf, and she just knew that they were going to drive a nail through her heel, so she really freaked out then. She bellowed in terror, the frame smashed to one side, and she fought her way out of the tube, away from the clutching hands.
She fell out onto a hard floor, staring in terror at a woman in a white uniform, with burgundy piping around her collar. “Dr Moore? Are you all right? You’re safe, it’s OK, you’re in hospital! My name is Rebecca, I’m a radiographer, and we were just doing an MRI scan for you!”
She backed away from her into a corner, shaking with fear. She looked anxiously at her wrists, and moved her hands around experimentally, there was something in the back of her wrist! Was it a nail? She tore it out, and then there was blood all over her hand. She sat there and screamed in total terror.
Suddenly there were lots of people, lots of shouting, they carried her out of the room, away from the dangerous magnetic field, and put her on a trolley. But in her tortured mind she thought they had carried her and put her on a cross! Despite the best efforts of the staff to keep her decent the gown was slipping in all this mayhem, to her this was evidence that she was being stripped for her cross. Someone was trying to stick a nail into her, was it a Roman soldier? She screamed and kicked and struggled, lots of people were holding her still, just as she’d been held down for her crucifixion! She felt a sharp prick in her other wrist, and she howled in absolute and utter dread, but instead of the expected blow she just felt cold fluid in her vein, and unconsciousness returned.
“Barb? Barb?”
She could hear a voice…a friendly voice. She opened her eyes, and focussed on a lovely face, framed by tresses of blonde hair. Two clear blue eyes regarded her with deep concern.
“Oh, Barb, I’ve been so worried about you! You’ve been out of it for days!”
“Wha…what happened? Where am I?”
“You had some kind of a fit, Barb, you yelled ‘Oh God, Siss! Help me!’ and then you became unconscious. They say you woke up in the MRI scanner, but that you had another fit, and they had to sedate you!”
There was also a nurse in the room, who started asking damn fool questions.
“Do you know what day it is?”
“I haven’t got a clue! Saturn’s Day? Moon’s day? I don’t know!”
“OK then, Who’s the Prime Minister?”
“Prime Minister? What’s a Prime Minister? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“She’s American,” said Siss, as if that explained everything.
“And can you tell me your name?”
“Yes. I am Boudica, Queen of the Iceni!”
Siss looked at her in shock. “No you’re not….”
“I am Boudica, Queen of the Iceni!”
“Barb, no! You are Dr Barbara Moore!”
Deep brown eyes, full of pity, were turned toward Siss. “You were her friend, Siss. I’m sorry. Barbara Moore is dead. She took my place on the cross.”
She swung her legs out of bed.
“Now, then, let’s get out of here and go kick some Roman ass!”
She could hear a voice…a friendly voice. She opened her eyes, and focussed on a lovely face, framed by tresses of blonde hair. Two clear blue eyes regarded her with deep concern.
“Oh, Barb, I’ve been so worried about you! You’ve been out of it for days!”
“Wha…what happened? Where am I?”
“You had some kind of a fit, Barb, you yelled ‘Oh God, Siss! Help me!’ and then you became unconscious. They say you woke up in the MRI scanner, but that you had another fit, and they had to sedate you!”
There was also a nurse in the room, who started asking damn fool questions.
“Do you know what day it is?”
“I haven’t got a clue! Saturn’s Day? Moon’s day? I don’t know!”
“OK then, Who’s the Prime Minister?”
“Prime Minister? What’s a Prime Minister? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“She’s American,” said Siss, as if that explained everything.
“And can you tell me your name?”
“Yes. I am Boudica, Queen of the Iceni!”
Siss looked at her in shock. “No you’re not….”
“I am Boudica, Queen of the Iceni!”
“Barb, no! You are Dr Barbara Moore!”
Deep brown eyes, full of pity, were turned toward Siss. “You were her friend, Siss. I’m sorry. Barbara Moore is dead. She took my place on the cross.”
She swung her legs out of bed.
“Now, then, let’s get out of here and go kick some Roman ass!”
What the fuck! I can feel this, but I cannot quite comprehend what is happening to me. Am I being disembodied into another soul in another world? Two parallel lives? Reincarnation? What? 
This is so spooky, but also so real. Whose feverishly depraved little mind could have possibly come up with this unsettling little tale?
Here I am a scientific scholar. Reality is fact, nothing else. No post-modern bullshit for me. Where is the proof. Yet, I can feel her. I can feel the pain, the anguish, the horror, the nails in my wrists, the terrible pain in my shattered heel. Unbelievable. I must be dreaming, but can't be. I am wide awake.
Help!!!!! What would the doctor say? Take two aspirin and never log into cf again. Hmmmmmm. 
What would Tree say? Take a drink and keep drinking till you pass out. Hmmmmmmm
What would Pp say? Try a little exorcism under the lash? Hmmmmmmmm
What would RR say? Eat nuts? Hmmmmmmm
What would Siss say? Yesss!!!! Solution found. 
“She’s American,” said Siss, as if that explained everything.
Come on Siss...let's kick some Pommey ass.
“She’s American,” said Siss, as if that explained everything.
View attachment 221681 Come on Siss...let's kick some Pommey ass.
Siss said it, not me!
I'm like Tree, I just report these things!
View attachment 221675 What the fuck! I can feel this, but I cannot quite comprehend what is happening to me. Am I being disembodied into another soul in another world? Two parallel lives? Reincarnation? What?
This is so spooky, but also so real. Whose feverishly depraved little mind could have possibly come up with this unsettling little tale?
View attachment 221674 Here I am a scientific scholar. Reality is fact, nothing else. No post-modern bullshit for me. Where is the proof. Yet, I can feel her. I can feel the pain, the anguish, the horror, the nails in my wrists, the terrible pain in my shattered heel. Unbelievable. I must be dreaming, but can't be. I am wide awake.
View attachment 221676 Help!!!!! What would the doctor say? Take two aspirin and never log into cf again. Hmmmmmm.
View attachment 221677 What would Tree say? Take a drink and keep drinking till you pass out. Hmmmmmmm
View attachment 221678 What would Pp say? Try a little exorcism under the lash? Hmmmmmmmm
View attachment 221679 What would RR say? Eat nuts? Hmmmmmmm
View attachment 221680 What would Siss say? Yesss!!!! Solution found.
I'll go with Siss, who seems to have the most practical solution, but Wragg would also say, read on tomorrow!
Siss and Wragg sat together with Alice Blaire and looked at the cloth covering the object on the table. The skull of skeleton 431 had been sent to Dundee so that the experts there could perform a reconstruction upon the remains of what was now widely felt to be Boudica.
Only Siss and Wragg knew the truth of what had happened. Boudica, or Barbara or whoever, was now securely locked away in a mental health unit, after having escaped from the main hospital building. By a sheer appalling coincidence, the first people she had seen had been a group of medical students on their way to a toga party in the hospital’s social club. It was the students’ good fortune that she was wearing a hospital gown rather than armour, and had her bare hands rather than a sword. But she’d damn nearly throttled one of them.
Both Siss and Wragg sat with tears in their eyes. They just wanted their old Barb back. They both loved her, in their different ways, and they both missed her. They had tried, God knows they had tried, to get to see Barb (they refused to believe that Barb was dead), or even to phone her, but they had been repeatedly rebuffed by ‘this patient is too ill to receive visitors.’ In some ways, thought Siss bitterly, it would be better if Barb was dead, it would end this ongoing torment, from which there seemed to be no closure.
The expert from the University of Dundee was describing the processes they’d gone through to do the reconstruction. The press were fidgeting, especially the photographers, who were really only there for the big reveal.
Eventually the professor moved across to the table. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” she said, “I am delighted now to be able to reveal the face of the woman we believe to have been Boudica, Queen of the Iceni!”
She lifted the cloth, and there was a blaze of light as about thirty flash bulbs went off at one.
Long dark hair, flecked with red highlights, hazel brown eyes, and a smile to die for, the press could immediately see why the ancient Britons had fought to the death for her. But Siss and Wragg just saw Barb staring back at them.
Siss got up and left the room, tears pouring down her face, and Wragg, knowing how she felt, watched her go, then got up and followed her.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Six weeks later, the two of them were once again sat together, this time in the Parish Church of St Lawrence, Towcester, in Northamptonshire. Alice Blaire was off giving TV interviews, and she had a reserved seat at the front, as she was to read the lesson. Wragg watched the poor, harassed Church warden and her team trying to cope with the biggest and most important service in the church’s history. The press were here, TV, the Lord Lieutenant of Northamptonshire, and uncle Tom Cobley and All, to witness the reburial of skeleton 431 in a special tomb constructed in the nave of the church.
The Bishop of Peterborough presided over the service. Hymns were sung, Dr Blaire read the lesson confidently and clearly, and the choir sang the anthem beautifully, to the evident delight of Paul, their choirmaster.
The committal was poignant:
Thou only art immortal, the creator and maker of mankind; and we are mortal, formed of the earth, and unto earth shall we return. For so thou didst ordain when thou createdst me, saying, "Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return."
All we must go down to the dust; receive now we pray thy daughter Boudica, who knew the pains of the cross, and suffered for her people, even as Thou didst suffer for us.
The coffin was lowered into the grave and the pagan Boudica was given a decent Christian burial at last.
Siss couldn’t face going back to the house she’d shared with Barb, she’d organized some leave, so after the service she went directly to Heathrow and flew home to the US for a fortnight.
She dreaded returning to the UK, but she still had her job at the University to do. The two weeks with her family passed in a flash, and the time came to go back. The flight back to England, just for once, was on time and uneventful, but at least one of the passengers aboard looked down at the landscape of Britain with no pleasure whatsoever.
She reached home in the early evening, sighed as she turned the key in her lock, and bent down to pick up a fortnight’s worth of junk mail and bills, which weren’t there! Someone had been in!
Fresh flowers on the table in the hall, and Barb standing in the kitchen doorway, that magnificent smile lighting up the whole house.
“Hi, Siss!”
Siss didn’t reply, but ran to her and clung to her, deep sobs wracking her whole body, as all the emotion of the past months poured out of her.
“You ARE Barb?” she asked, eventually. “Not Boudica?”
“I’m Barb. Boudica’s gone. I think she just left me when they buried her. Wragg will tell you that I had a weird feeling when I held her skull. I know it sounds crazy but I think we disturbed her spirit when we dug up her skeleton, and she and I are so alike that she just made herself at home.”
“It would have sounded crazy, Barb, but you just weren’t you at the hospital. I didn’t know what to do! And, all that time you were unconscious, were you really experiencing Boudica’s crucifixion?”
“Oh, God, Siss! I can’t describe it to you…..it hurts soooo much! Everything hurts, even crying with the pain hurts, and you just hang there in mid air for hour after hour, stark naked, with the wind blowing around you and Roman soldiers leering at you….it’s awful!”
“I dunno,” said Siss, beginning to feel moist, “I think it sounds quite exciting!”
Barb gave her a withering look, then smiled. “Actually, you’re right. It is exciting and tedious; erotic and horrifying; painful and exhilarating; arousing and humiliating. A living death. Experiences and emotions at right angles to each other, like the two parts of the cross!”
Siss rolled her eyes. Ever the philosopher. God, it was good to have her back! She kissed her, and, for a few minutes there was silence, before Barb continued: “Since her funeral it’s taken me a fortnight to convince the shrinks that I’m not mad or suffering from schizophrenia, but I’m pleased to say that they’ve discharged me now with a clean bill of health. I’ve been examined by Psychiatrists from all over England, but they all say I’m fine. Nobody can work out what happened, but I’m just convinced that her ghost took over my body and my mind while her body was out of the ground. Anyway, I think Boudica’s at peace now, and I for one am delighted!”
“Not half as delighted as I am!” laughed Siss, leading her by the hand towards the bedroom.
This time Barb had a deeply satisfying orgasm, uninterrupted and untroubled by any grim-faced Roman legionaries. Watching them as Siss reached her own climax, Boudica stood unseen in the corner of the room, smiled at their joy, and rose quietly up through the ceiling.
Meanwhile skeleton 431 slept peacefully in its tomb in the tranquillity of a quiet English church.
Only Siss and Wragg knew the truth of what had happened. Boudica, or Barbara or whoever, was now securely locked away in a mental health unit, after having escaped from the main hospital building. By a sheer appalling coincidence, the first people she had seen had been a group of medical students on their way to a toga party in the hospital’s social club. It was the students’ good fortune that she was wearing a hospital gown rather than armour, and had her bare hands rather than a sword. But she’d damn nearly throttled one of them.
Both Siss and Wragg sat with tears in their eyes. They just wanted their old Barb back. They both loved her, in their different ways, and they both missed her. They had tried, God knows they had tried, to get to see Barb (they refused to believe that Barb was dead), or even to phone her, but they had been repeatedly rebuffed by ‘this patient is too ill to receive visitors.’ In some ways, thought Siss bitterly, it would be better if Barb was dead, it would end this ongoing torment, from which there seemed to be no closure.
The expert from the University of Dundee was describing the processes they’d gone through to do the reconstruction. The press were fidgeting, especially the photographers, who were really only there for the big reveal.
Eventually the professor moved across to the table. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” she said, “I am delighted now to be able to reveal the face of the woman we believe to have been Boudica, Queen of the Iceni!”
She lifted the cloth, and there was a blaze of light as about thirty flash bulbs went off at one.
Long dark hair, flecked with red highlights, hazel brown eyes, and a smile to die for, the press could immediately see why the ancient Britons had fought to the death for her. But Siss and Wragg just saw Barb staring back at them.
Siss got up and left the room, tears pouring down her face, and Wragg, knowing how she felt, watched her go, then got up and followed her.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Six weeks later, the two of them were once again sat together, this time in the Parish Church of St Lawrence, Towcester, in Northamptonshire. Alice Blaire was off giving TV interviews, and she had a reserved seat at the front, as she was to read the lesson. Wragg watched the poor, harassed Church warden and her team trying to cope with the biggest and most important service in the church’s history. The press were here, TV, the Lord Lieutenant of Northamptonshire, and uncle Tom Cobley and All, to witness the reburial of skeleton 431 in a special tomb constructed in the nave of the church.
The Bishop of Peterborough presided over the service. Hymns were sung, Dr Blaire read the lesson confidently and clearly, and the choir sang the anthem beautifully, to the evident delight of Paul, their choirmaster.
The committal was poignant:
Thou only art immortal, the creator and maker of mankind; and we are mortal, formed of the earth, and unto earth shall we return. For so thou didst ordain when thou createdst me, saying, "Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return."
All we must go down to the dust; receive now we pray thy daughter Boudica, who knew the pains of the cross, and suffered for her people, even as Thou didst suffer for us.
The coffin was lowered into the grave and the pagan Boudica was given a decent Christian burial at last.
Siss couldn’t face going back to the house she’d shared with Barb, she’d organized some leave, so after the service she went directly to Heathrow and flew home to the US for a fortnight.
She dreaded returning to the UK, but she still had her job at the University to do. The two weeks with her family passed in a flash, and the time came to go back. The flight back to England, just for once, was on time and uneventful, but at least one of the passengers aboard looked down at the landscape of Britain with no pleasure whatsoever.
She reached home in the early evening, sighed as she turned the key in her lock, and bent down to pick up a fortnight’s worth of junk mail and bills, which weren’t there! Someone had been in!
Fresh flowers on the table in the hall, and Barb standing in the kitchen doorway, that magnificent smile lighting up the whole house.
“Hi, Siss!”
Siss didn’t reply, but ran to her and clung to her, deep sobs wracking her whole body, as all the emotion of the past months poured out of her.
“You ARE Barb?” she asked, eventually. “Not Boudica?”
“I’m Barb. Boudica’s gone. I think she just left me when they buried her. Wragg will tell you that I had a weird feeling when I held her skull. I know it sounds crazy but I think we disturbed her spirit when we dug up her skeleton, and she and I are so alike that she just made herself at home.”
“It would have sounded crazy, Barb, but you just weren’t you at the hospital. I didn’t know what to do! And, all that time you were unconscious, were you really experiencing Boudica’s crucifixion?”
“Oh, God, Siss! I can’t describe it to you…..it hurts soooo much! Everything hurts, even crying with the pain hurts, and you just hang there in mid air for hour after hour, stark naked, with the wind blowing around you and Roman soldiers leering at you….it’s awful!”
“I dunno,” said Siss, beginning to feel moist, “I think it sounds quite exciting!”
Barb gave her a withering look, then smiled. “Actually, you’re right. It is exciting and tedious; erotic and horrifying; painful and exhilarating; arousing and humiliating. A living death. Experiences and emotions at right angles to each other, like the two parts of the cross!”
Siss rolled her eyes. Ever the philosopher. God, it was good to have her back! She kissed her, and, for a few minutes there was silence, before Barb continued: “Since her funeral it’s taken me a fortnight to convince the shrinks that I’m not mad or suffering from schizophrenia, but I’m pleased to say that they’ve discharged me now with a clean bill of health. I’ve been examined by Psychiatrists from all over England, but they all say I’m fine. Nobody can work out what happened, but I’m just convinced that her ghost took over my body and my mind while her body was out of the ground. Anyway, I think Boudica’s at peace now, and I for one am delighted!”
“Not half as delighted as I am!” laughed Siss, leading her by the hand towards the bedroom.
This time Barb had a deeply satisfying orgasm, uninterrupted and untroubled by any grim-faced Roman legionaries. Watching them as Siss reached her own climax, Boudica stood unseen in the corner of the room, smiled at their joy, and rose quietly up through the ceiling.
Meanwhile skeleton 431 slept peacefully in its tomb in the tranquillity of a quiet English church.
Thanks Eul, my new resolution!
I've just put up the entire set of Silver River Chronicles here
http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/the-disappearance-of-princess-cordelia.4313/page-12
That proves it, Madiosi, you ARE a genius!
And I've just archived it!
I wasn't fishing to have them archived, but thank you, Eul!
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
A couple of days confined away from cf and Pp misses so much!
The writer is a genius, I'm just a worker.That proves it, Madiosi, you ARE a genius!
I wasn't fishing to have them archived, but thank you, Eul!