The two Nubians pull the beam down, rocking it back and forth as they seat it solidly on the tenon. Every movement is a jolt of agony for Sabina, whose naked body twists and writhes frantically in search of some escape from the pain. Julia Lepida narrates:
The agony of the nails in her wrists forced her to struggle in search of some relief. She would get the soles of her feet against the upright, arching her body and thrusting her pelvis forward toward the crowd, then she would slip and flail her legs again, still in a desperate search for some purchase to relieve the agony in her wrists. Her wild screams had become groans of pain with every breath.
The beam was now tilted the other way, but at least it was loosely set on the tenon so there was no longer any danger of the girl pulling it off and falling. That meant a long and agonizing punishment for her rather than the possibility of her escaping through a quick death. But I never expected that to happen.
Now both of the Nubians could reach the ends of the beam. They got hold of it and pulled it straight and level, then rocked it back and forth, putting their weight on it to force the joint together and make it secure, the rough wood creaking as it slipped lower. The slave thrust her hips forward toward the crowd, arching her body in agony, screaming and groaning helplessly as the nails moved in her wounds with each shift of the timber.
What had been a separate beam and post had now become a cross, and the girl’s naked body was hanging on it. Her struggles as she died would only work the joint down tighter. She was being punished as she deserved.
Meanwhile Balbus is having a conversation with Gundericus, his new German slave whom he is training to be an executioner's helper:
“Positioning the feet for nailing is an art,” I said. “Too low, and these bastards die too quickly. Too high, and they last a long time but spend it all sitting with their asses on their heels. They’re a pretty sight like that, but it’s like watching a statue. No action. The assholes that come to see these executions don’t come to view a statue; they want to see a life-and-death struggle.”
“She is giving us a nice struggle now, Domine, even without her feet nailed,” Gundericus replied. The little slave girl was hanging by the nails in her wrists, screaming, dripping with sweat and writhing like a worm impaled on a fish hook.
“She’ll tire out soon. We let her do this because it’s part of the show, and it makes the punishment look even worse. It won’t last long, but the crowd loves it.”
“Ja, but won’t she start to strangle soon?”
“No, they have to be totally exhausted to be unable to breathe at all. She could hang for several hours like this with no problem. Once her feet are nailed she’ll lean on those nails for some support, rest her arms and shoulders some. Then it could be days before she gives out completely. Right now, she’s found out that it’s harder to breathe, but all she can think about is the pain. See how her stomach moves when she breathes? That’s what makes her hips rock back and forth with every breath, stomach muscles pulling her hips up. She has to work to breathe, but she has plenty of strength left so it’s not hard work yet. But after two or three days everything she does will be.”
I watched as the slave worked her feet up close underneath her ass and tried to push herself up. She only succeeded in arching her body outward toward the crowd as if she was trying to present them with a closer look at her cunnus. Some motherless maggots had bright things to say about that and there was a lot of laughter.
She continued trying to push upwards, but suddenly her feet slipped and she dropped heavily, tits bouncing and more agonized screaming.
