Legatus Quintus Marcia woke up with a start. Something was happening. He could hear men yelling in the distance, and felt sweat running down his forehead from the nightmare he had just woken out of. Yet again he had had another nightmare of himself nailed to a cross, feeling the pain shooting through his feet and hands as he waited to die.
Why was he suddenly frightened? Surely he had nothing to fear. Rome respected him and the job he was doing, and each crucifixion he had done over the last few weeks had brought down disobedience to a all-time low. Even the slaves were quiet and respectful, giving his men ample distance. It had been two weeks since the last crucifixion, and each night the camp felt safer, only a few skirmishes with the Gaul savages as they tried to scout his war camp.
The shouts grew louder, and he sat upright in his makeshift bed. The young slave women beside him moaned sleepily as her body shifted, and he pulled away his hands from around her perky breasts. He didn't know her name, only that she made a mighty fine bed warmer.
Someone was calling his name. Marcia jolted out from beneath the thick fur blanket, looking around in the dim light. What time was it? The moon was high in the sky, and dawn was nowhere in sight. Were they under attack? He turned away from his pile of garments and found his sword, gleaming in the flickering light of the small fire.
His tent flap opened. Marcia backed away in shock, hiding his nakedness as three men entered, an older dignified man accompanied by two high-ranking soldiers with outstretched swords. The older man's words were low, angry. "My name is Lucius Cornelius Decimus, the Praetorian Prefect of this region. Do you know what you have done to my family?"
"Praefectus, I..." The words caught in his throat. What had he done? Had he crucified a member of this man's family? Of a Praetorian's family? His knees suddenly grew weak, and he leaned against a tent pole for support. Why had he not controlled his anger? What would this man do to him now? His mouth opened, then closed as Prefect Decimus continued.
"Almost a week ago I received word that my two nieces, Sabrina and Helena Decimus were sentenced to crucifixion by you. There was no trial. There was no assumption of innocence, as our courts demand."
Marcia's legs were trembling now, and the tent swam around him as the man continued speaking.
"Do you know what I did, Legatus Quintus Marcia? Within a minute of receiving that message I rode towards you camp with twenty men, stopping neither day nor night as I came to save them from your hands." Prefect Decimus's voice quivered slightly, then turned into a growl. "As I rode up the final hill two days later I found their cold bodies still hanging on crosses. They were defiled, the light gone from their eyes."
The entirely of Marcia's body was pale. His breaths came in gasp, his mind swimming as he realized his fate. He dreams would come come true after all. It would be his body hanging stiffly on a cross on the nearest hillside. What would his family think when they received the news? His name would be tarnished, his family brought to ruin and mourning. His mouth opened in a feeble attempt. "Praefectus, I am so..."
"NO!" The Prefect bellowed. "There is nothing you can do to save yourself, and all the women you love from my wrath."
Marcia slumped onto his knees. "Prefectus, I love no one." he begged. "I have no family. I beg of you, do with me what you must but leave the innocent alone."
The Prefect's head whipped back, and a hoarse laugh escaped him. "Innocent? Like my sweet nieces? The young women I cared for for almost twenty years?"
The laugh suddenly stopped as he made a motion to his two bodyguards. They rushed forwards, pinning Marcia to the ground. One stuffed cloth into his mouth, the other tied his legs and feet behind his back. His penis dug into the coarse rug, and he barely heard the words spoken to him as he squirmed desperately. He sensed more than saw the slave girl suddenly make a rush for the entrance. Not more then a few seconds after her naked body escaped under the flap she began screaming, her cries for help fading away as someone outside slapped her loudly enough to wake the dead. He faintly saw her body hit the ground with a thump as the tent flap waved in the breeze. Two soldiers knelt over her, both laughing with evil chuckles as they carefully examined her thick, spread thighs.
"I assure you, no help is coming." The Prefect's voice came from above him. "Your men know that refusing to assist my men and I will make them traitors to Rome itself."
Marcia's eyes closed as faintness swallowed him whole. The voice continued, speaking words that cut into his very soul. "Do you know what kind of man I am? Do you know what I am capable of?" There was a pause before he continued. "I spent the rest of that fateful day mourning my nieces, burying them myself. And do you know what my men and I have done since then?" Another pause. "Let me tell you. I sent men to your family, the same family you ran away from years ago to join our great military. Then, I sent men to your deceased's wife's family. Afterwards I sent men to find every women you have ever loved, and every women who has ever loved you. And after they all hang on crosses nakedly, screaming for mercy and finding none, I will crucify you."
Marcia fainted. The two solders holding him down looked up at the Prefect, who gave them a nod. One flipped him over onto his back, the other put two fingers around his penis, and stuck a thin nail deep inside. His body convulsed violently as he awoke, tears streaking his cheeks as he gagged for air. The Prefect gave another motion, and the nail was yanked out.
Oh, the screams the camp may have heard if Marcia wasn't gagged.
The Prefect straddled him, looking down directly into his eyes. "You will look at them. You will see their shame, their nakedness. And yet you will not be able to speak to them, to beg me for mercy, to plead their case. In fact, you will never speak again."
He moved to the tent flap, motioning for more of his soldiers. They came in with an eager excitement and removed the cloth from his mouth. Before Marcia even could draw in air to scream coarse hands held his mouth apart, a knife finding and cutting deeply into his tongue. It was removed, and tossed at the Prefect's feet. Marcia passed out once more, his head lulling to the side. The Prefect smiled grimly as the soldiers looked up to him for guidance.
"Leave him be. Keep him here until morning. It will all begin then."
P.S. I'm not much of a writer, but I just wanted to give a little backstory for my next images. I find it helpful to understand what they might be going through- or rather, what might be going through them! Yes, that was a cliche nail joke.
And if you don't like the idea of seeing your family crucified? Well, just consider Marcia to be adopted then, I guess.
