3. And so I came to make the acquaintances of Marcus and Lucius, the unlucky and disgruntled pair of legionaries who on my account were rudely roused from the warmth and comfort of their beds on a blustery rainy morning and ordered to take a frightened young Briton out on the road and crucify her.
As other soldiers gathered to watch with amusement what certainly in their minds promised to be a spectacle not to be missed despite the inclement weather, the two legionnaires reported to and sullenly took their orders from the officers who had seized me following my little act of defiance.
Grumbling and cursing all the way, they frog-marched me, arms pinned behind my back, across camp to a place where a stout wooden post had been driven into the ground. I stood there compliantly while Lucius produced a length of rope from his kit and used it to bind my thin wrists to an iron ring affixed to the top of the post high over my head.
As a growing crowd of onlookers watched, Marcus worked swiftly and methodically to strip me of my clothing ... ripping and tearing with a vengeance that reflected his foul mood each and every piece of fabric.
Terrified and humiliated, I sobbed and begged for mercy, becoming more and more hysterical with each loss of clothing, much to the entertainment of the crowd of legionaries who jeered and whistled at each step of my growing nakedness, and who cheered lustily as my last remaining article of clothing ... my last shred of dignity ... a small white loincloth ... was torn away with a triumphant flourish.
As the small piece of cloth was ripped from between my thighs, I tried to at first resist and then to cover up by pressing my thighs tightly together, but to no avail. I was naked and everyone was staring at me, ogling me; pointing and joking raucously among themselves.
Then all fell silent as attention was diverted to Marcus, who was thoughtfully weighing in his hand a long leather whip with a knotted tip. I gawked, wide-eyed and fearful, at the menacing sight of the whip and at the long muscular arm about to wield it. I gasped and looked around in desperation as a sudden gust of wind came up and a sheet of icy cold rain doused my naked trembling body. Knowing full well what was in store for me I braced myself, turning to face the gnarled blood-stained wood of the whipping post, knees bent slightly, loosely hugging the wood as though it might somehow protect me.
Several seconds passed. It seemed like an eternity. Then with a grunt Marcus swung the whip over his head and leaned into a biting lash that cut like fire straight across my bare back just below the shoulder blades. The knotted tip wrapped around my ribs, slapping down hard and then digging into and abrading my flesh as it was swiftly pulled away. I screamed on impact and jerked my body about, raising one knee in the air, throwing my head back and slamming my chest hard against the wet slippery post.
Before I had a chance to recover, a second lash zinged across my buttocks, causing my tight little ass cheeks to quiver and shake and eliciting a bawdy chorus of appreciative cheers. I screamed, jumped up against the post, slid back and glanced ruefully over my shoulder at the long angry-looking red welt left by the whip.
The wind came up again. A fresh burst of blustery slanting rain enveloped me and my executioners, quickly sending even the most die-hard spectators scurrying for cover, and leaving Marcus and Lucius to finish the job alone.
Standing ankle deep in red mud and soaked to the skin, Marcus resolutely continued on to deliver eight more brutal lashes. I screamed and howled and repeated my little frenzied dance of agony after each of the first six, before giving it up and allowing myself to hang limply from my wrists, half-turned away from the post, while Marcus delivered the last two lashes … one snaking around my hips and across my belly and the other slashing ferociously at the exposed soft undersides of my breasts.
With that it was over. I hung from the post, buffeted by wind and rain, water tinged with blood running in rivulets down my scourged backside. I was both cold and in shock, shaking uncontrollably and whimpering feebly to myself.
Marcus laid down the whip and ordered Lucius forward to take me down. Eager to please, the young downy-faced soldier rushed forward only to promptly lose his footing in the slippery mud and fall flat on his face. He slowly picked himself up, gobs of slimy red goo decorating his face; his leggings and jerkin caked with red mud. Marcus sighed, and with a look of utter contempt on his face, placed a boot squarely against Lucius' raised rear end and sent him sprawling a second time.
The older man then proceeded to take me down, muttering to himself as he freed me from the ring at the top of the whipping post. He caught me before I could fall to the ground, spun me around, took me by the hair and propelled me toward the camp gate. Lucius picked himself up and followed along.
TO BE CONTINUED
or maybe like Asterix, the locals may teach the Romans a thing or two. 
The Romans just saw the results of Messa's latest hunt .... see Anjou Cavalries 
(...should that say "Calvaries"?)
