Marcella’s Crucifixion, Episode 4
(Yes, I know this narrative based on Hasturan's images is taking so long to tell. Please bear with me everyone!)
Marcus returned to the city as ordered. Upon entering the courts building he is ushered into the magistrate’s office to receive news and instructions. The magistrate discusses the recent business of the escaped slave who was condemned to death for assaulting her mistress. Marcus is not pleased with the magistrate’s information.
“You mean we had the escaped slave in custody all the time?"
“Yes. She was captured a few days ago.” The magistrate is seated at his desk covered with papers. He does not look up at the Decurion as he answers.
“Then why did we crucify the girl taken from the market?”
“She was believed to be the slave in question. Regrettably, that turned out to be not accurate."
“Regrettably? Regrettably?” Marcus’s raises his voice.
“Do not use that tone with me Decurion!” The magistrate looks up at Marcus, his anger obvious. “I’m telling you the slave girl was never initially identified as the one who assaulted Gnaeus Claudius Porculus’s wife.”
“Excuse me sir, but the girl you thought was guilty was just crucified this morning. She is hanging nailed to her cross as we speak! She’s an innocent who’s been unjustly crucified! How can this action be ‘regrettable?’”
The magistrate sighs, leaning back in his chair. “It is always regrettable when an innocent must suffer, but this is the case we have before us. Mistakes were made in her identification, but the witness was a man of standing in this community. His word was good enough for me. Clearly he erred. It is unfortunate for the girl. The mistake was only caught this morning. Too late to do anything about it.”
“Unfortunate? Now this girl’s crucifixion is ‘unfortunate?’ Magistrate, what happened to this girl is a gross miscarriage of justice! A fucking disgrace! The so-called witness, Gracchus Glabrus, is an old fool who can barely see his hand in front of his face! He should never have been believed! I always knew the girl was innocent!”
The magistrate jumps to feet and slams his fist on his desk. “Decurion, you will not address me in that manner! Do not challenge my judgement in this matter! What is done, is done! We have others matters to attend to. What is this girl to you anyhow? Why should you care if she is innocent?”
“Forgive my outburst magistrate. I am not challenging your decision. I only seek mercy for the girl. You must give me permission to put the girl out of her misery. She’s young and healthy. It’ll take her until tomorrow to die. She doesn’t deserve to suffer for this error.”
“You will do no such thing Decurion,” the magistrate says firmly. “The girl’s execution must not be interfered with.”
“Why? I do not understand! All I know is that she is an innocent. I’m not asking that she be taken down from her cross – her wounds would only putrefy and she’d die eventually. All I want to do is give her a quick, merciful death. That’s the least we can do for her.”
“I know this is hard to understand but it is in the interest of Roman justice that I cannot permit you to kill this girl.”
“But why? What purpose does her suffering serve?”
“It serves the interest of the state, Decurion. Killing this girl before death takes her would be an admission that she was not legally crucified. She was thought to have been an escaped slave who assaulted her mistress. As you well know there remains a lot of worry and concern in the populace over renegade slaves that remain on the loose. They need to be assured that Roman justice is quickly and properly applied to maintain order. A mercy killing would be an admission that a mistake had been made. It would rile up the locals since it one of their own who was mistakenly crucified. The provincial governor does not need to have more problems now, does he Decurion?”
“No sir,” grumbled Marcus.
“Very well. I am glad you see why this decision is correct. Now, the slave who is actually guilty will be also be crucified today. And what’s one more executed slave? No one will care why she’s been crucified. Slaves are executed all the time. As for the bitch who killed your soldier – the girl’s supposed sister – when she’s also crucified there will be no questions asked. The locals may not love us but they know if you kill a soldier you will be executed. They’ll accept it easily enough. The citizens will feel assured that the killing of soldiers will not be tolerated. Simple justice it is, even if the bitch did not mean to kill. Had your man not died I would have had her stripped and whipped through the streets. But, unfortunately, he died. Too bad for her your man had a thin skull. Am I making sense here, Decurion?”
“Yes sir!”
“You will have no problem seeing to the crucifixion of the sister, will you?” The magistrate looks Marcus in the eye. Marcus knows the answer he must give. He is not perfectly comfortable with the sister’s crucifixion either, since she clearly had no intention of killing anyone. She was only trying to protect her sister from being falsely accused and arrested. A perfectly normal response. Yet, his soldier died. He will of course see to it that the sister’s crucifixion is carried out. He knows his duty, never minding how distasteful it is at times.
“Decurion, I am waiting for your answer.” The magistrate wants a clear declaration of Marcus’s support. Marcus knew not to push further. But it galls him and highly offends his sense of justice and honor that a beautiful young woman must be permitted to die in such agony for a crime she never committed. And that another woman must die for behaving as any sister would. His scowling face betrays his emotions.
“No sir, no problems with this one. She deserves to die.”
The magistrate walks around his desk and puts his hand on Marcus’s shoulder, squeezing it firmly. “This is a hard business Decurion, I know it. But you are a soldier and have seen death in many forms. Innocents often die in war or for other reasons. Sometimes it is necessary and sometimes it is not. But it is clearly necessary here. You must understand that.”
“I understand the logic of it sir. I will carry out your orders to the letter.”
“Good man!” The magistrate slaps Marcus’s shoulder. “Now,” he continues, “proceed to the courtyard and take possession of the sister. She should be prepared by now. I hear she’s a very comely bitch. Should be quite a sight on her cross. It’ll keep the crowds happy too, eh?” The magistrate gives Marcus a sly grin, as if crucifying another pretty woman will make up for the disgust he feels for knowing an innocent girl continues to suffer for a crime she never committed. The magistrate should be present at the execution grounds, Marcus thinks. Perhaps seeing a terrified, naked woman raped and nailed to a cross would change his understanding of the utter agony and degradation of crucifixion. He’d probably puke at seeing the nails being driven, the blood and the loss of bodily functions.
Marcus snorts at the thought, then replies, “Yes sir!”
“Then carry out your duty Decurion.” The magistrate turns away and returns to the work on his desk.
Marcus begins to leave but remembers. “What about the slave, the fucking bitch who started all of this? You said she was to be crucified also.”
Without looking up from his work the magistrate says, “Oh, she’s still being questioned about any knowledge of other escaped slaves or renegades from the recent uprising. She’ll be sent along soon. Just leave someone reliable for the escort.”
Marcus knows what “being questioned” entails for the unfortunate slave. Her eventual crucifixion will at least mean her suffering will be over in a day or so. Under torture she could kept alive for a week or more. He does an about face and proceeds to the courtyard to claim the woman for crucifixion.
Upon reaching the courtyard he finds the condemned woman kneeling on the pavement. He gives a sign to raise her to her feet. His eyes widen, and he feels his cock respond. The magistrate was accurate: she is fucking beautiful! It’s obvious despite her severe whipping and other tortures. Not quite as tall as her sister, it seems to him, but more curvaceous and with heavier breasts. She has the body of a mature woman, not the slender figure of a girl. Her magnificent tits bobble deliciously on her chest as the full cross is placed across her back. She bends under the load, spreading her legs for balance. She looks at him, just as her sister did – directly. But she does not cry out for mercy. No, she knows there is none. She knows what will soon happen. She looks terrified, as anyone would, yet with steely defiance and anger glowing behind the terror.
Marcus gives the command and two soldiers form up on either side of her as she groans under the weight of the cross. He gives an order to the senior soldier present, Priscus, a man he knows as a good friend from the legion, and one he can trust.
“There’s a slave soon to be delivered over for crucifixion, Priscus. She’s still being questioned.” Marcus and Priscus give each other knowing glances. They well know what tortures this entails. Suddenly, a high, ragged, female scream is heard on the other side of the courtyard wall. “That’s no doubt she,” says Marcus. “Bring her along promptly when they are finished.”
“Yes sir,” replies Priscus. “If they leave her cunt in reasonably good shape I might have to take some soldiers’ privileges, though.” He says with a wicked grin.
“Well, she might be ugly,” Marcus retorts in jest, “so don’t take too much time getting it up!”
“Don’t worry sir, I’ll just close my eyes and think of my favorite whore! In and out!”
Priscus salutes as Marcus mounts his horse and leads the groaning woman through the town to her crucifixion.
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Thessela was arrested the day after Marcella was taken. She’d gone back to the market trying to discreetly ask questions about where her sister was taken. She was at the stall of the cloth seller where she and Marcella were examining the quality of the local weaver’s’ products at the time Marcella was arrested. Someone recognized her from the day before and notified the patrolling soldiers that the woman who had knocked the soldier in the head with an iron pot was in the market. Thessela was unaware the soldier was found dead this very morning. The patrolling soldiers, however, were well aware of their mate’s death and were all too happy to take his killer into custody.
Thessela was at first taken to the dungeon adjacent to the city magistrate’s courthouse. She was locked in a cell for a nearly six hours until the time of the afternoon session of the magistrate’s court, whereupon she was taken to stand, hands bound behind her back, in front of the city magistrate. Little did she know that at this time Marcella was enduring the agony of the strappado.
Thessela’s trial, such as it was, was quick and perfunctory. Witnesses attested to the fact that she was the person who struck the soldier in the head. The magistrate revealed that the soldier had died, apparently from the blow delivered. An open and shut case. The magistrate asked Thessela if she had any defense. She tried to explain that she was in the market with her sister who had just been arrested. Her assault of the soldier was done without thinking when her sister Marcella was being arrested.
The magistrate asked, “Your sister is the escaped slave who assaulted her mistress? Is that not correct?”
Thessela was taken aback by this question. Marcella certainly was no slave! “No sir!” She answered emphatically. “My sister is no slave, and neither am I! I do not know why you are asking me about. My sister never assaulted anyone!”
“A reliable witness says otherwise,” replied the magistrate coolly.
“But sir, the witness is wrong! My sister was never a . . . “
Thessela is cut off by the magistrate. “Silence woman!” What your sister is, or did, or didn’t do is utterly immaterial to your case. You are a provincial, not a Roman citizen, and on trial for murder of a Roman soldier. That is a fact. There can be only one sentence: death! Accordingly, I order that you be taken to the place of execution and crucified. First, though, you will be tortured so as to determine what else you may know about the attack on the wife of Gnaeus Claudius Porculus. Guards, take her away!”
At the mention of crucifixion Thessela suddenly felt her legs go wobbly. She broke out in a cold sweat as the room began to spin around her. She was seized with utter terror at knowing she had just been condemned to death by the most awful means possible. Crucifixion! She never heard the final words of the magistrate as she dropped to the floor in a dead faint.
Thessela came to as the guards were dragging her away from the magistrate’s court. She screamed and screamed. No! No! No! This was not possible! This was not happening. But it was. Behind the courthouse was the entrance to the dungeon where she had spent the morning and early afternoon. Now the sun was lower in the sky. Thessela was not returned to prison but taken to the prison courtyard. There she was stripped naked by the guards and turned over to a to the men who would torture her.
The torturer’s assistants brought the terrified Thessela over to a gibbet that stood against the courtyard wall. A rope was dangling down from the horizontal beam. There was blood on the ground. A thin trail of blood led back to the dungeon steps showing that someone had been dragged across the ground, someone bleeding, someone who had just been tortured on this terrible instrument. Little does Thessela know that it was Marcella who had been tortured on this gibbet. It was her sister’s blood she saw on the ground. But Thessela was not even thinking of Marcella at this time. She was not even thinking about her own nakedness and vulnerability around these rough men who were about to hurt her, terribly. She was shaking in terror as her hands were tied in front of her, then tied to the dangling overhead rope.
With a sudden tug Thessela is hoisted into the air. Whips are brought out and the men begin stroking her flesh, leaving huge lacerations in her flesh from her back down to her thighs.
Thessela loses consciousness many times as her whipping progresses. All the time the torturer is asking her questions about what she knows of a slave attacking her mistress. All Thessela knows is that it is not Marcella. But where is her sister now? What is happening to her?
With the whipping over, the torturer now brings out torches and Thessela’s flesh is burned to try to elicit any information from her at all. Again, she scream in agony as her flesh is burned. The torturers burn between her legs, hips and under her breasts. Yet, she has nothing to tell the torturer.
After several hours of near continuous torture Thessela is let down from the gibbet. She falls to the ground all the while groaning in agony from her lacerations and burns. The men drag her back to her cell as night approaches. She knows in the morning she’ll be crucified.
Thessela looks around the cell. On the other side of the bars is another cell, like hers. There is a naked, petite young woman confined there.
“Who are you?” Thessela asks.
“I go by Anna,” says the young woman.
“Why are you here?” Asks Thessela.
“I hit my mistress. Gave her a good black eye, and some broken ribs. Then I ran. I was caught soon after and have been here since.”
“Was your mistress the wife of Gnaeus Porculus?” Thessela inquires.
“Yes, she was.” Came the soft reply.
A cold chill runs through Thessela’s tortured body. This is the slave that was c0nfused with Marcella, she suddenly realizes. This slave is responsible for her arrest, and my torture and death sentence. Sudden anger burns in Thessela’s mind and heart. She’s responsible for all of this! This fucking bitch is responsible for what has happened to me and Marcella!
"I am so sorry I could not save you Marcella," cries Thessela, staring up at the naked, tortured body of her crucified sister. "The soldier I hit in the head trying to help you get away died. I am condemned to the cross for killing him. Oh, but I'm in agony seeing you so unjustly crucified! Dear sister, I pray you die quickly! I deserve this, but not you! Not you!”
The impatient executioners are ready. They begin to drag Thessela toward the cross on the ground, now ready for her. “No, no,” she yells, “not yet!” As Thessela is pulled along she hears Marcella shout: "I love you Thess!"
She shudders in horror and begins to cry at the thought of those hideous spikes being pounded through her body, at the horrific pain it will bring. But she reminds herself that Marcella endured this horror and humiliation all by herself, amongst only strangers. At least I have Marcella with me to stiffen my courage. A sudden calm comes over her as the executioners throw her down to the wood.
Hanging in overwhelming physical and emotional agony, Marcella watches as Thessela is stretched over her cross and her wrists are nailed. 
Thessela screams in agony as the long spikes are driven deep into the wood, her body twisting in the strong grips of the executioners. 
But before her feet are nailed, though, there is the expected final degradation. One of the executioners steps forward and drops his loincloth. His cock jumps up, erect and potent. He drops down between Thessela’s spread thighs. She looks up, seeing and feeling his cock slapping against her mons. 
Thessela steels herself for rape. She has never felt so naked, so vulnerable, so unable to protect herself. With her wrists nailed to the crossbeam she can do nothing. Any movement on her part just pulls her raw flesh against the nails to bring on horrendous agony. The executioner pulls back and then thrusts himself into her, quickly sheathing his cock deep into her vagina. Thessela screams with the horrible pain as he thrusts in and out of her, tearing her tender flesh. Suddenly he climaxes and fills her with his hot load of cum.
The executioners work fast with Thessela. Her feet are nailed to the upright, one nail for each foot. Thessela remained conscious throughout the nailing. Only screaming when the agony became too much to bear. Then her cross is raised and dropped into the hole prepared. It teeters back and forth a bit as it is staked. The executioners step away. 
Thessela is crucified next to her sister. 
I love it...
