As she was still shaking from pain and exhaustion, the long strands thrashed into her again, the tips this time going around her torso to dig into her left breast. She howled, pulling as hard as she could on the manacles. Then a new roar of pain left her mouth as she rocked back. Panting, she looked down at her breast. There were wheals and blood was oozing from the delicate skin. She turned her head to the lictor, as if to check that he was real, that a human being was indeed capable of such cruelty. 'Twenty-eight'.
Eulalia and Dorothea screamed in horror, then shouted a torrent of insults to the Romans in general and General Tullius in particular.
The lictor calmly dipped the scourge into the bucket again, then took a three-pace run-up and let her arm go. The thongs crashed into her waistline. It seemed for a moment that she was going to be torn from the post as her body convulsed and her head snapped back. She bounced back and retched loudly. Then a howl that was more animal then human echoed throughout the fortress. 'Twenty-nine'
He shook out the scourge and came in again, ripping it down from under her right shoulder to her left buttock. News sprays of blood flew up as the knots tore into the wounded flesh. Barbaria screamed and screamed again to the skies above her, eyes wide open. Then she rested her head on her arm, sobbing, as a pitiful wailing was coming from her throat. It seemed that she was on the verge of fainting again.
Another lictor took a towel, dipped it into the salt water and applied it to the Queen’s back and buttocks. She shrieked in agony as her body stiffened, twitched and then she sank in her bonds again, breathing heavily.
As two legionaries unfastened her, she fell limp to the ground, lying face down in the blood-soaked dust of the courtyard, torso heaving. Her back and flanks were a terrible sight, her skin and flesh having been torn by no less than 360 leather knots.
But she slowly pushed herself up before pausing, exhausted. Her legs still lay flat to the ground but by the way she rested on her arms, her chest was raised and everybody got a fine view of her breasts hanging down. They might have been quite small, bruised and welted now by the lashes, but they were delicate and enticing and a rumour of appreciation, mixed with some sneering, came from the assembled soldiers.
She raised her tears-bathed face toward Tullius, fire in her half-closed eyes.
"She raised her tears-bathed face toward Tullius, fire in her half-closed eyes." That should be all the confirmation Tullius needs to know that my defiance is as strong as ever. Thirty lashes, 360 leather knots ... I will not submit to his or any other Roman's will!