Marcius
Tribune
The end of Chapter IV; Chapter V is going to be Delia's crucifixion per se.
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Marcius
Tribune
V
In Crucem Tollitur
The girl hung limply on her abraded wrists, her head bowed, a long, quavering moan issuing from her throat. When the soldiers untied her she fell in a heap at the base of the whipping-post. Castus threw a bucket of water at her, washing the blood away from her mottled, torn back.
Delia gave a piercing scream when water reignited horribly the seething pain. In a daze, she felt the soldiers grabbing her arms and putting her on her knees. She heard some men in the crowd loudly advising her to resume her fellatrix duties at once. Suddenly the world darkened as the rim of the bucket was brought close to her lips, and she drank greedily what little was left in it.
‘Move it, boys!’ the centurion commanded.
When the bucket was taken away her eyes went wide in terror.
‘Noli,’ Delia mouthed inaudibly, staring at the sturdy oaken beam, its old bloodied nail-holes on horrifying display, being carried towards her.
‘Care to join me in the litter, Crispus, once they get her going?’ said Rectus, glancing at the clear blue sky. ‘Summer days here are perishingly hot, so let’s take this trip together. Not that you haven’t experienced worse beyond the Euphrates.’
‘Certainly, quaestor.’
The beam was pressed on to her wealed back, and Delia keened her pain and helplessly flailed on the ground. In a few heartbeats the soldiers stretched her arms tight along the patibulum, the coarse ropes binding them to the timber. Delia moaned, bent under the weight.
Silo’s hobnailed caliga connected with her backside as Saturninus and Castus grabbed the ends of the patibulum and helped her on her feet. She felt someone tying a frayed, soiled narrow rag round her hips. It scratched at her welts and somehow made her exposure even more obscene, with her wet black pubic hair spilling out of the foul garment. Then a rope was thrown round her neck, and she felt the full weight of the crossbeam as the soldiers let it go.
‘Let’s take a walk, cunne!’
Delia groaned and made the first step.
Rectus’ litter swayed a little in tow of the execution party.
‘You’re from Bononia, right?’ asked the quaestor.
‘I am indeed,’ Crispus drank some watered red wine offered by Rectus’ slave.
‘Who was your patronus when you received the first equestrian appointment, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘Avidius Nigrinus,’ Crispus regretted that the wine had been watered.
The senator contemplated the answer in silence. Avidius Nigrinus from Faventia was one of the consulars killed for participating in the alleged plot, it was true, but there were whispers at the court that the Emperor grieved over losing the erstwhile friend, dead at the hands of an over-eager prefect...
‘Do you know his wife, er, widow well?’
‘I cannot say that,’ Crispus shook his head.
That’s a pity, she has a couple of influential catspaws in the Senate, and there are widowers to ensnare.
‘What about senators from your town?’
‘There are but the Trebii brothers, and, er, my father sued them over a piece of land and lost...’
‘That’s better than if he had prevailed in court,’ the quaestor waved dismissively, ‘but it’s a pity. The Trebii are in great favour with Caesar. Who were your commanders in the war?’
‘The legate is dead. Pestilence. The governor was Lusius.’
The quaestor suppressed a groan. Lusius Quietus, the Moorish general, was highly esteemed by Trajan – and put to death along with Nigrinus on the same charges of conspiracy.
‘Who else?’
‘Terentius Gentianus.’
No better: Gentianus, who showed such promise and was appointed consul by Trajan before he turned thirty, is out of favour and has turned to drink. Oh well, I have my own clientela to build up. ‘My friend Platorius Nepos has just been appointed governor of Germania Inferior, and he might require battle-tested commanders. There are enough alae in the province, I believe, and I'm of a mind to write him a letter recommending you.’
‘I am overwhelmed with gratitude, Rectus,’ Crispus’ eyes lit up.
They heard a scream and looked outside. Delia had stumbled and fell on her knees, twisting the crossbeam hard enough to prefect herself from crashing face first on to the pavement. Saturninus lashed her arse almost perfunctorily, making her jolt.
You are my stepping-stone back into the service, slave-girl.
‘Divination, escape, disdaining the Imperial mercy, joining the latrones, attempted prison break... It’s a pity we cannot crucify her more than once, isn’t it?’ Crispus said with a smile.
‘Well, there was that slave poisoner... it happened in the reign of the Divine Titus. She was crucified nine times with ropes, I think, and only then with nails.’
‘Really? Tell me more, brother!’ Crispus gulped more Barcino red.
In Crucem Tollitur
The girl hung limply on her abraded wrists, her head bowed, a long, quavering moan issuing from her throat. When the soldiers untied her she fell in a heap at the base of the whipping-post. Castus threw a bucket of water at her, washing the blood away from her mottled, torn back.
Delia gave a piercing scream when water reignited horribly the seething pain. In a daze, she felt the soldiers grabbing her arms and putting her on her knees. She heard some men in the crowd loudly advising her to resume her fellatrix duties at once. Suddenly the world darkened as the rim of the bucket was brought close to her lips, and she drank greedily what little was left in it.
‘Move it, boys!’ the centurion commanded.
When the bucket was taken away her eyes went wide in terror.
‘Noli,’ Delia mouthed inaudibly, staring at the sturdy oaken beam, its old bloodied nail-holes on horrifying display, being carried towards her.
‘Care to join me in the litter, Crispus, once they get her going?’ said Rectus, glancing at the clear blue sky. ‘Summer days here are perishingly hot, so let’s take this trip together. Not that you haven’t experienced worse beyond the Euphrates.’
‘Certainly, quaestor.’
The beam was pressed on to her wealed back, and Delia keened her pain and helplessly flailed on the ground. In a few heartbeats the soldiers stretched her arms tight along the patibulum, the coarse ropes binding them to the timber. Delia moaned, bent under the weight.
Silo’s hobnailed caliga connected with her backside as Saturninus and Castus grabbed the ends of the patibulum and helped her on her feet. She felt someone tying a frayed, soiled narrow rag round her hips. It scratched at her welts and somehow made her exposure even more obscene, with her wet black pubic hair spilling out of the foul garment. Then a rope was thrown round her neck, and she felt the full weight of the crossbeam as the soldiers let it go.
‘Let’s take a walk, cunne!’
Delia groaned and made the first step.
Rectus’ litter swayed a little in tow of the execution party.
‘You’re from Bononia, right?’ asked the quaestor.
‘I am indeed,’ Crispus drank some watered red wine offered by Rectus’ slave.
‘Who was your patronus when you received the first equestrian appointment, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘Avidius Nigrinus,’ Crispus regretted that the wine had been watered.
The senator contemplated the answer in silence. Avidius Nigrinus from Faventia was one of the consulars killed for participating in the alleged plot, it was true, but there were whispers at the court that the Emperor grieved over losing the erstwhile friend, dead at the hands of an over-eager prefect...
‘Do you know his wife, er, widow well?’
‘I cannot say that,’ Crispus shook his head.
That’s a pity, she has a couple of influential catspaws in the Senate, and there are widowers to ensnare.
‘What about senators from your town?’
‘There are but the Trebii brothers, and, er, my father sued them over a piece of land and lost...’
‘That’s better than if he had prevailed in court,’ the quaestor waved dismissively, ‘but it’s a pity. The Trebii are in great favour with Caesar. Who were your commanders in the war?’
‘The legate is dead. Pestilence. The governor was Lusius.’
The quaestor suppressed a groan. Lusius Quietus, the Moorish general, was highly esteemed by Trajan – and put to death along with Nigrinus on the same charges of conspiracy.
‘Who else?’
‘Terentius Gentianus.’
No better: Gentianus, who showed such promise and was appointed consul by Trajan before he turned thirty, is out of favour and has turned to drink. Oh well, I have my own clientela to build up. ‘My friend Platorius Nepos has just been appointed governor of Germania Inferior, and he might require battle-tested commanders. There are enough alae in the province, I believe, and I'm of a mind to write him a letter recommending you.’
‘I am overwhelmed with gratitude, Rectus,’ Crispus’ eyes lit up.
They heard a scream and looked outside. Delia had stumbled and fell on her knees, twisting the crossbeam hard enough to prefect herself from crashing face first on to the pavement. Saturninus lashed her arse almost perfunctorily, making her jolt.
You are my stepping-stone back into the service, slave-girl.
‘Divination, escape, disdaining the Imperial mercy, joining the latrones, attempted prison break... It’s a pity we cannot crucify her more than once, isn’t it?’ Crispus said with a smile.
‘Well, there was that slave poisoner... it happened in the reign of the Divine Titus. She was crucified nine times with ropes, I think, and only then with nails.’
‘Really? Tell me more, brother!’ Crispus gulped more Barcino red.
malins
Stumbling Seeker
That calls to memory one of Jedakk's subplots...
perhaps this tradition will be revived
Marcius
Tribune
Lots of talk here, but I hope it does a little more than being just the author showing off -- I might use Crispus later in another story about either his past or his future. Terentius Gentianus turning to drink is just a guess -- after all, there were lots of reasons for a Roman to die young, but if I were the youngest consul in decades outside the domus regnatrix suddenly put out to pasture, I would have hit the amphorae. 
The reference at the end is to Jedakk's masterpiece, of course; although in forty years, the details of Lucilla's case were for the most part forgotten.
The reference at the end is to Jedakk's masterpiece, of course; although in forty years, the details of Lucilla's case were for the most part forgotten.
malins
Stumbling Seeker
it gives background, they have things to talk about, looking for ways to advance... they keep on with their business, aren't totally absorbed by the spectacle when it's just the march, their attention will return fully at a later stage...
Oh! what more does a girl have to do, or rather have done to her, to be remembered?
Marcius
Tribune
Quite so.
Circa AD 100? A girl has to get herself involved in court intrigues, I suppose.
Pity Hollywood didn't make a well-financed NC-17 movie about Nero in 2000s -- Halle Berry would've been perfect as Calvia Crispinilla, Nero's 'tutor in vice' from Africa.
Crispinilla got away with that -- and with some more than that.Epicharis was mentioned earlier in the thread.
Lucilla's story is, I think, of a kind high-ranking Romans would've told at an all-male dinner when running out of wine was already a distinct possibility.
Just like mangling and embellishing the tale. As a matter of fact, Trajan should've known it -- it's likely that he was one of the quaestors of AD 79.
malins
Stumbling Seeker
... of course most of those fail miserably and end on the cross
- I think a few incarnations of mine must have tried that... at least that is a possible interpretation of certain recurring dreams
Marcius
Tribune
Hmm... I'm toying with a couple of story ideas involving the 2nd century Roman court; if Delia was involuntarily put on her via crucis by a paroxysm of seeking enemies everywhere -- invented for the purposes of plot, certainly, but, given that we know almost nothing about the end of Lusius, Nigrinus, Palma, and Celsus, common people might have gone unnoticed -- other people might consciously rush headlong into the maelstrom of intrigue. I'm not big on the 'innocent maiden' scenario, that I admit, although I have sketched the beginnings of a story about two mostly innocent (although far from maidenly) slave-girls who get in legal trouble.... of course most of those fail miserably and end on the cross
malins
Stumbling Seeker
well you can be legally and factually guilty ... but still feel innocent in your own arrogant heart -- that's the tale of unregenerate rebels and runaways, and unrepentant traitors who believe they're doing the nation a service by deposing supposedly incompetent emperors (if they succeed, of course, they're no longer traitors but get to write their version of history...)
In my fantasies I sometimes go through intricate convolutions to ensure that the crucifier is actually a good guy
Marcius
Tribune
Speaking of innocence: I've meant the straight-up 'maiden grabbed by the Romans, maltreated and nailed' story. It can be done very well and I can enjoy reading one, it's just that I don't think I can write a passable tale along these lines.well you can be legally and factually guilty ... but still feel innocent in your own arrogant heart -- that's the tale of unregenerate rebels and runaways, and unrepentant traitors who believe they're doing the nation a service by deposing supposedly incompetent emperors (if they succeed, of course, they're no longer traitors but get to write their version of history...)
In my fantasies I sometimes go through intricate convolutions to ensure that the crucifier is actually a good guy
Delia here might've been guilty of a lot of things, and she might regret some of them, it's just that the governor chose a Lewis Carrollesque sentence-first approach in her case. The 'Remember Caesar! You have a duty! To keep the peace, so crucify him!' line from Jesus Christ Superstar is all too true -- the only thing that limited the Roman governor in the exercise of his duties, of which peace-keeping was the primary one, was the possibility of charges against him by maltreated once he was out of office. Well, that and Caesar's displeasure.
Neither stopped Volesus Messalla of Asia from having three hundred people beheaded in one day and crying over the bloody corpses, 'What a regal deed!' Augustus had him tried by the Senate. The Senate had him exiled.
Once Delia is sentenced because of who she is, a runaway slave condemned in perpetuity, her deeds are of no concern to the government. Note that Crispus limits her questioning to the subject of accomplices -- in theory, the condemned in Rome were supposed to be interrogated regarding this subject only, and Crispus fancies himself a great lawyer, which doesn't stop him from slaking his lust on her -- if asked, he perhaps would've spun a theory that she belongs to Rome and he, a representative of the Roman Senate and People, could do to her whatever a private slave-owner can to his slaves...
Crucifier as a good guy... The one with the hammer, the one to set everything up, or the one to pass the sentence?
malins
Stumbling Seeker
Oh, probably he doesn't really need... theory to justify that to other men of Rome.
If so, ... the People have delegated certain... powers.... to their representatives, and that's enough.
Ahum.
Now you venture away from historical fiction that's well-founded in knowledge and research, into the miasmatic fairy-world of my fantasies.
That's a quagmire.
'Intricate convolutions' is just to say 'really really embarassingly silly'
Courtroom procedures don't really get me all wet.
In the end, it's the man with the proper equipment,
who does all the pounding and nailing me,
who matters most.
And it's a bit sad if that's going to be a dull-witted tool just going through the motions.
And yes, my crucifixion ought to be not dismally sad, but ecstatically frenziful.
And also yes I do tend to being that arrogant and haughty person who believes she deserves something better
That's what gets me into all that trouble.
If I knew my place in life, ... then my place wouldn't be the cross!
Why should that very special person to do that to me, be someone from the lowest rung, who just carries out commands, the kind of person who grunts, "I don't make the laws, I just enforce them!"
This event is going to be the punchline to the story of my life,
and I don't want it to be something where you just groan.
It has to be... stylish, somehow.
There'll be someone who cuts through my web of conspiracies, exposes my falsehoods, and collects the incontrovertible evidence that condemns me to the cross.
That's "the one to set everything up" and that one is going to be smart.
I'll be negotiating from the most precarious position imaginable - knowing he has everything in hand to have me crucified and I can't do a thing about it - but the goal of my bargaining would be to get him to bypass the normal procedures of justice and crucify me himself.
It's a bargain for both sides, for him -- if he just passes me on to the judicial apparatus he will only be an onlooker, this way he gets to harvest and enjoy in full the fruits of his endeavors.
For me -- I escape the dull-witted grunt.
Possibly my family escapes the humiliation of the walk of shame to the cross of their daughter.
It'll be a challenge to seduce him into this but once I realize the amount of incriminating evidence he has collected and the inescapable finality of my situation, I'll concentrate all my scheming on that.
And yes, I will come up with a convincing plot that doesn't put him in any danger of appearing to obstruct justice.
This will lead to the very interesting conversation where I explain to him how exactly he's going to go along with some complex scheme I devised while lying awake nights without end, -- in order for him to crucify me for his unlimited private enjoyment without him being unduly implicated.
Obviously he's going to be smart and creative enough to further bend my plan to serve not only his lusts but also some other devices of his.
(There have to be surprises)
Where was I again? Silly fantasies
A connoisseur of a quality crucifixion!Oh, probably he doesn't really need... theory to justify that to other men of Rome.
If so, ... the People have delegated certain... powers.... to their representatives, and that's enough.
Ahum.
Now you venture away from historical fiction that's well-founded in knowledge and research, into the miasmatic fairy-world of my fantasies.
That's a quagmire.
'Intricate convolutions' is just to say 'really really embarassingly silly'
Courtroom procedures don't really get me all wet.
In the end, it's the man with the proper equipment,
who does all the pounding and nailing me,
who matters most.
And it's a bit sad if that's going to be a dull-witted tool just going through the motions.
And yes, my crucifixion ought to be not dismally sad, but ecstatically frenziful.
And also yes I do tend to being that arrogant and haughty person who believes she deserves something better
That's what gets me into all that trouble.
If I knew my place in life, ... then my place wouldn't be the cross!
Why should that very special person to do that to me, be someone from the lowest rung, who just carries out commands, the kind of person who grunts, "I don't make the laws, I just enforce them!"
This event is going to be the punchline to the story of my life,
and I don't want it to be something where you just groan.
It has to be... stylish, somehow.
There'll be someone who cuts through my web of conspiracies, exposes my falsehoods, and collects the incontrovertible evidence that condemns me to the cross.
That's "the one to set everything up" and that one is going to be smart.
I'll be negotiating from the most precarious position imaginable - knowing he has everything in hand to have me crucified and I can't do a thing about it - but the goal of my bargaining would be to get him to bypass the normal procedures of justice and crucify me himself.
It's a bargain for both sides, for him -- if he just passes me on to the judicial apparatus he will only be an onlooker, this way he gets to harvest and enjoy in full the fruits of his endeavors.
For me -- I escape the dull-witted grunt.
Possibly my family escapes the humiliation of the walk of shame to the cross of their daughter.
It'll be a challenge to seduce him into this but once I realize the amount of incriminating evidence he has collected and the inescapable finality of my situation, I'll concentrate all my scheming on that.
And yes, I will come up with a convincing plot that doesn't put him in any danger of appearing to obstruct justice.
This will lead to the very interesting conversation where I explain to him how exactly he's going to go along with some complex scheme I devised while lying awake nights without end, -- in order for him to crucify me for his unlimited private enjoyment without him being unduly implicated.
Obviously he's going to be smart and creative enough to further bend my plan to serve not only his lusts but also some other devices of his.
(There have to be surprises)
Where was I again? Silly fantasies
You escalate crucifixion to the level of fine wine, Malins!
Marcius
Tribune
He doesn't need one, that's true.
Why, the world of your fantasies is a great place to be (or, er, to observe)! It's fascinating in its own way, the way of passion and talent and intricacies and did I mention talent?Ahum.
Now you venture away from historical fiction that's well-founded in knowledge and research, into the miasmatic fairy-world of my fantasies.
That's a quagmire.
'Intricate convolutions' is just to say 'really really embarassingly silly'
As ever Malin hits the nail on the head, as it were.
In this life it is important to find a good craftsman, a man with "the proper equipment", to deal with the important things.
I hope the pounding and nailing is to your satisfaction
malins
Stumbling Seeker
Especially when it's the one who's supposed to catapult you into the next life...
It turns out Good Craftsman did a bit of a ...messy job, which in that situation, was just right.
Marcius
Tribune
Cascades of sweat stung Delia’s eyes and salted her lips. Her short hair was wringing wet, and sweat was dripping from her nose and chin. It streamed down her torso, making her many lacerations itch terribly. Blood oozing from the torn nipple mixed with sweat in a wide pinkish band. The heavy crossbeam was rubbing her shoulders raw.
The sun was crashing down fiercely on the procession making its way along the decumanus maximus. The soldiers wanted to get everything done as soon as possible, and Saturninus’ whip drummed against her ribs or stung her buttocks at the slightest suspicion that she was flagging, making her cry and lurch forward.
Delia struggled on, putting one foot in front of the other, the paving-stones scorching her soles. Glancing to the sides, she saw only leers and curious stares. Some of the gladiators standing by the gate of their school shouted some words of encouragement, urging her to stay strong and be brave.
But how strong and brave can one be when nailed to the cross?
The city gate with towers was in front of her. So soon?
Making a little show for the people at the gate, they urged her through as if she was a stubborn she-ass, pulling hard at the rope and giving her a couple more lashes.
Outside the gate, the road was flanked by tombs, two imposing round mausolea being the most prominent. In the distance, the amphitheatre of Corduba gleamed white in the sun.
One step followed by another.
One lash followed by another.
Then Delia saw the crosses, and her knees buckled.
The sun was crashing down fiercely on the procession making its way along the decumanus maximus. The soldiers wanted to get everything done as soon as possible, and Saturninus’ whip drummed against her ribs or stung her buttocks at the slightest suspicion that she was flagging, making her cry and lurch forward.
Delia struggled on, putting one foot in front of the other, the paving-stones scorching her soles. Glancing to the sides, she saw only leers and curious stares. Some of the gladiators standing by the gate of their school shouted some words of encouragement, urging her to stay strong and be brave.
But how strong and brave can one be when nailed to the cross?
The city gate with towers was in front of her. So soon?
Making a little show for the people at the gate, they urged her through as if she was a stubborn she-ass, pulling hard at the rope and giving her a couple more lashes.
Outside the gate, the road was flanked by tombs, two imposing round mausolea being the most prominent. In the distance, the amphitheatre of Corduba gleamed white in the sun.
One step followed by another.
One lash followed by another.
Then Delia saw the crosses, and her knees buckled.
Marcius
Tribune
One of the mausolea seen by Delia and the Roman pavement are still in place:
https://www.google.com/maps/@37.885...XuL8597h6ySIVcgHkoTA!2e0!7i13312!8i6656?hl=en
https://www.google.com/maps/@37.885...XuL8597h6ySIVcgHkoTA!2e0!7i13312!8i6656?hl=en
Marcius
Tribune
‘We really should have had her executed in the arena,’ mused Rectus, glancing first at the kneeling girl being lifted on her feet by the cursing soldiers, than at the amphitheatre. ‘Governor’s orders, I’m aware of that. Pity the beast-masters here are rather mediocre. It’s just bulls and leopards, leopards and bulls...’
‘Mm. She could’ve played Dirce,’ ventured Crispus.
‘This one could, the slutty actress! Yet I should have preferred seeing her mounted by a bull in front of the crowd.’
‘Indeed. The plebs would’ve liked it, too,’ Crispus drank some more wine.
‘I’ll have to think of something special for my games in December.’
‘If I may, quaestor... I’ve heard some stories from Egypt back when I was in the service.’ And while I was on my way home after being dismissed from the legion by another Baetican senator, Hadrian’s favourite sent to govern Judaea in Lusius’ stead.
‘Alexandria has great beast-masters, so I’ve heard.’
‘They trained some wild boars to mount seditious Jewesses. The Jews find pigs offensive...’
‘I know, I know,’ Rectus laughed. ‘Those barmy Jews. It must’ve been great, but over here people would just say that I’m cheap!’
‘Also, when they caught the sister of the chief rebel from Cyrenaica, she was taken by a giraffe in the Alexandrian hippodrome.’
‘A giraffe?! I say, Crispus! That’s something to consider!’
Crispus smiled and stuck his head out of the litter.
The crosses were close.
Her knees badly scraped, Delia walked slowly, unsteadily, the patibulum swaying to and fro. The sun beating at her back grew even hotter. She felt the rope pulling at her neck – the soldier was forcing her to leave the paved road.
The uprights, the crosses, two horribly sun-burnt men hanging on them.
Two stipites charred. Under them, black circles on the ground.
More soldiers coming to meet the execution party.
They halted her, and Delia felt the ropes being untied and the cross-beam taken off her shoulders. They turned her towards the road. With her back to the crosses, Delia wiped the sweat away from her eyes, her hand shaking with tension, and looked at the people who had followed her from the city, wanting to see her suffer yet more pain and indignity. All her muscles aching with exhaustion, the girl locked her knees and stood erect, barely hearing the centurion reading out her sentence again.
One of the soldiers tore the filthy rag off her hips. Her nakedness now total, Delia shuddered.
The onlookers drew closer, grinning lewdly, their gazes hot on her nude body.
‘Get back, or, by Hercules, I’m going to use your cocks for spikes!’ Silo snarled at them. He then turned to Delia and with a quick kick swept her legs out from under her. The girl landed on her ruined back and shrieked wildly.
‘Mm. She could’ve played Dirce,’ ventured Crispus.
‘This one could, the slutty actress! Yet I should have preferred seeing her mounted by a bull in front of the crowd.’
‘Indeed. The plebs would’ve liked it, too,’ Crispus drank some more wine.
‘I’ll have to think of something special for my games in December.’
‘If I may, quaestor... I’ve heard some stories from Egypt back when I was in the service.’ And while I was on my way home after being dismissed from the legion by another Baetican senator, Hadrian’s favourite sent to govern Judaea in Lusius’ stead.
‘Alexandria has great beast-masters, so I’ve heard.’
‘They trained some wild boars to mount seditious Jewesses. The Jews find pigs offensive...’
‘I know, I know,’ Rectus laughed. ‘Those barmy Jews. It must’ve been great, but over here people would just say that I’m cheap!’
‘Also, when they caught the sister of the chief rebel from Cyrenaica, she was taken by a giraffe in the Alexandrian hippodrome.’
‘A giraffe?! I say, Crispus! That’s something to consider!’
Crispus smiled and stuck his head out of the litter.
The crosses were close.
Her knees badly scraped, Delia walked slowly, unsteadily, the patibulum swaying to and fro. The sun beating at her back grew even hotter. She felt the rope pulling at her neck – the soldier was forcing her to leave the paved road.
The uprights, the crosses, two horribly sun-burnt men hanging on them.
Two stipites charred. Under them, black circles on the ground.
More soldiers coming to meet the execution party.
They halted her, and Delia felt the ropes being untied and the cross-beam taken off her shoulders. They turned her towards the road. With her back to the crosses, Delia wiped the sweat away from her eyes, her hand shaking with tension, and looked at the people who had followed her from the city, wanting to see her suffer yet more pain and indignity. All her muscles aching with exhaustion, the girl locked her knees and stood erect, barely hearing the centurion reading out her sentence again.
One of the soldiers tore the filthy rag off her hips. Her nakedness now total, Delia shuddered.
The onlookers drew closer, grinning lewdly, their gazes hot on her nude body.
‘Get back, or, by Hercules, I’m going to use your cocks for spikes!’ Silo snarled at them. He then turned to Delia and with a quick kick swept her legs out from under her. The girl landed on her ruined back and shrieked wildly.
Marcius
Tribune
The boar and giraffe business -- not attested directly for the suppression of the late-Trajanic Jewish uprising, but the Romans were extremely angry, up to exterminating all Jews on Cyprus, declaring it Jew-free and thereafter executing even the Jewish shipwreck victims who found themselves beached on the Isle of Aphrodite.
Pretty much anything went in Egypt, where the equestrian prefect governed as if he were king. All told, I wouldn't put it past them.
The identity of the first Hadrianic governor of Judaea, the one who had Crispus dismissed, is unknown.
Pretty much anything went in Egypt, where the equestrian prefect governed as if he were king. All told, I wouldn't put it past them.
The identity of the first Hadrianic governor of Judaea, the one who had Crispus dismissed, is unknown.