Moriturae Te Salutant

[Eulalia]

In Albus park

The multicoloured flowers of the park flaunt their nectaries under the caress of the sun's early rays, exhaling perfumes unknown to the townsmen, but not to Agatha. While she moves quietly in the morning mist, checking the place, Regulus, standing at the edge of the square marble bathing pool, watches her from afar, his heart heavy. Now Agatha has seen him, her heart beats fast, she starts running, lifting her fine breasts, awkwardly at first until she takes off her sandals to sprint more quickly.

She halts abruptly, stopped a few metres from Regulus by his cold, stony gaze. She lets out a cry of horror when he moves aside. Senator Albus is lying behind him, his neck noosed around the base of a funerary column. Soldiers come out from behind every tree, seizing the hundred fleeing Christians.

On a command from Regulus, giving the emperor a second proof of loyalty, the males, older women and babies are put to the sword, among the moans and howls of wives and mothers. The surviving Christian females are then lined up in front of him. He slowly passes along their rows, inspecting. He diverts his eyes from the blazing glare Agatha gives him.

An idea strikes him, he murmurs an order to a legionary. Then he takes by the arm ten of the most beautiful Christians, including Agatha and her friends, making them move to the front row. The legionary returns, carrying wax tablets and a stylus found in the library of Albus. He hands to each Christian woman one of the tablets, and Regulus orders them to inscribe their personal names and cognomens.[1]

The legionaries thread cords through the edges of the tablets, and tie them around the women's necks. A sinister procession of about sixty dust-covered women andyoung girls is marched off, the soldiers goading them ahead with their lances. Bowed heads hardly conceal the tearstains on their ashen cheeks.

[1] French text prénoms, but women (at least in Imperial times) didn't have praenomina, though they did have cognomina. Agatha would have been her – Greek origin – cognomen, preceded by her nomen (family name) in feminine form, e.g. Iulia Agatha. The girl in the picture seems to have a two-part name in Greek letters, Rhodon [H]eton[?]a.

 

[The Fallen Angel]

There is a tremendous amount of work going in to this!!!.....Hans, in your PDF (Which is brilliant!) the font after page 2 changes. I hope all the footnotes are kept.

 

[admihoek]

the first ten pages are send to eul (in PM) and with footnotes

 

[admihoek]

the first ten pages are send to eul (in PM) and with footnotes

the first send pdf the wrong one the second was the right one

 

[Eulalia]

An afternoon at the Forum
A crowd is squeezing under the arcades. Craftsmen emerge from the streets and side-alleys, sailors whose ships have just landed, madames of the red-light district, their voices wine-slurred, blacksmiths, freed slaves enjoying their new liberty, charlatans, all the lowest sort of people, lured by the rumour of the capture of the Christian families, they're all hastening towards the Forum.

Every two minutes the official herald, the one who announces the Circus games, repeats his sinister recitation, perched under the gilded portico which separates the oldest Forum of the city, the one that saw the birth of the Republic, from the Field of Mars. "Approach, Romans, approach. Nero invites you to attend the sufferings of the Christians who set fire to your homes, tomorrow, in the Coliseum, in honour of the Ides of July. Approach, approach!" Everyone in the crowd is happy to be thus exempted from paying the traditional offerings to the Divine Lares. A joyful commotion is swelling all around.

Clodia, wife of Senator Marcus Gaius, orders her sedan-chair to stop. With her friend Fulvia, she listens for a few moments to the murmur. "Ah, Fulvia, Nero's pretty smart for sure, that's what people want to hear, not Senators' speeches." "You're quite right. You know what Juvenal was saying yesterday, in the library of Caracalla's Baths, since votes are no longer for sale, people just make fun of everything - all the things which used to represent absolute power, the Fasces, the Legions, the whole lot. All they want now is bread and circuses, panem et circenses."

Cries of delight from passers-by drown her speech. Clodia looks up and hails a baker-boy who is pushing a hoop ahead of him, "What's just been said?" The youngster puts his hands to his mouth to amplify his voice, "He said those who can write will be able to vote and choose the tortures for the Christian women!" Terrified, Clodia sinks deep into her chair and signals the bearers to go on.

She knows she won't be able to wriggle away again, without being appearing to be a disciple of this Jesus Christ, who keeps on disturbing public order sixty years after his death. Her family lost part of their fortune at the time of the second Slave Revolt, she knows the interests of her own class are not compatible with the doctrines of the Christians. She drives away these troubling thoughts from her mind, and resigns herself pensively to the idea that she will have to attend these beastly festivities.

 

[Eulalia]

Chapter III Third day. In the arena of the Coliseum

The arrival

Agatha has taken the head of the small column of captives which has just passed under the triumphal arch of Claudius.[1] The last traces of the fire which has just devastated
Rome have been extinguished now. Crazed with anxiety, the women and young girls did not sleep for a moment last night. The howls of the crowd which form their terrifying guard of honour terrorise them. They know all too well that if they were not being screened by two lines of legionaries, who keep pushing back the waves of this human flood, they would be grabbed and crushed in these hideous jaws.

At her sides, Regulushas placed all her friends, who can be identified by their names. They seem to support Agatha like bodyguards, and she feels stronger now. The procession soon emerges in front of the Coliseum, and just as each Roman always does, they pause before the impressive external enclosure composed of four levels, which can house close to seventy thousand spectators. All their eyes follow the eighty arcades of the ground floor, before going up up to the highest level where continuous walls, supported by pilasters, are divided into compartments housing bronze shields, one of each pair adorned with a square. Over them thunder the velae, linen veils suspended on masts, spread out to protect the noble spectators on the topmost row from rain and heat.

The Christian females and the crowd take different ways in. The young women are admitted into the arena by a service door service that has just been opened in front of them, while the crowd invades the steps after passing through the four main gates. Exclamations of surprise rise everywhere: since the previous day, sappers of four centuries of the Third Legion, returned from distinguished service in Germania, have built with their axes four turrets, siege towers, as high as the walls, their broad platforms set at four compass-points around the arena, seeming to reach the middle tiers. Nero wants the crowd to have the full benefit of the torment of the young Christian women from every angle. Of course he has made sure that the most spectacular tortures will be applied on the tower located right opposite the imperial box.

Except for Agatha and her sisters, who will join them a little later, the Christian women have been made to descend immediately down a long staircase made of blackened stones, cold and dark as a tomb. At the heart of a labyrinth of ill-lit rooms, their cells await them. They look with fear at the small underground city which nourishes the games. The sand of the arena rests on a gigantic wooden floor, about ninety metres long and sixty metres wide. In the underground, baths, kitchens, stores, and the areas assigned to equipment, lifts, machines, cranes, and cages with the wild beasts. Narrow corridors run from the beasts' enclosure to several trap doors. Some roars sound across the enclosure, and the Christian women huddle together, trembling. They hurry along the main corridor with hastier steps, sobbing, as if their cells were going to afford them any lasting protection.

During this time, bakers, blacksmiths, craftsmen, tradesmen, horsemen of minor rank, retired soldiers come from their villulae in Campania, servants rewarded with one day off by their masters, maidens with blushing faces, continue to press forward in the rows. In contrast with this haste, the patricians, sure to find a place in their enclosure, leisurely cross the bridge which separates them from the voting room. They discuss with enthusiasm the torments which are scheduled fornoon today, for which each of them has inscribed on a small piece of papyrus the name of one of the Christian females who have been paraded before them, to their great pleasure.


The opening of the games

While the last spectators are taking their seats to the accompaniment of protests from those who were already seated, the herald charged with the proclamation of the games declares them open in honour of Mercury. To entertain the crowd before Nero's triumphant arrival, lightly armed velites occupy the centre of the arena engaged in mock fights. They are replaced a few moments later by acrobats who juggle ceaselessly with balls.

When some whistles are already rising, a clamour announces the arrival of Nero, and silence falls. Greeted by the deep clangour of the cymbals, covered by his white imperial cloak, Nero appears through the Triumphal Gate. A roar of astonished approval arises from the tiered rows - for, instead of the usual Arab stallions draped with clinking, sparkling horsecloths, four young Christian women are drawing the quadriga, the four-wheeled imperial chariot. In a state of perfect nudity, each one pushing at her yoke, panting. A kind of barbaric halter girds their firm young breasts, swollen by the appalling pressure. They stop, groan, set forth again to the applause of the crowd rewarding their feeble efforts.

Nero forces them to made a whole circuit around arena, very close to the lowest tiers, so the plebs can appreciate the twisting of their buttocks stimulated by the flagrum, the whip reserved for runaway slaves. When one of the Christian girls buckles at the knee, her own sisters urge her to get up, and they increase their efforts, trying to relieve her suffering. Their feet drag over the sand while Nero's whip whistles.

The jeers of the crowd grow more intense while their overworked thighs seem about to break. The finishing line looks so far from the Triumphal Gate! Dark weals now mark the backs of the martyrs. Nero slows down the rate of blows from his riding crop, because he does not want to risk having to step down from his chariot in front of the crowd.

The deep furrows left in the coarse sand by the chariot wheels are lined by the traces of the rivulets of sweat which ooze ceaselessly from their shining skin. Laughter rises when they mix with the menstrual blood of the youngest Christian girl, whose legs are trembling beneath her. Now the mark of each stage of their interminable ordeal remains in the burning sand.

Calpurnia is chewing juniper twigs, because she fears that her mouth could still bear the scent of her last customer's sperm. The courtesan is leaning on the neck of Drusilla, her young cousin, and mutters, "That's disgusting. I hope we're going to see some good tortures. I think there's a he-ass with a member the size of your thigh!" Drusilla blushes, they are her first games, and she is very disturbed to see these poor women naked in front of the rabble. She has mixed emotions, she is unsure what to feel at the moment, but her heart is beating very quickly.


[1] Original has 'triumphal arch ofConstantine', anachronistic both historically and architecturally.

 

[admihoek]

sorry the pdf comes not today I think it will be 4 or 5 pages isn't?

 

[Eulalia]

sorry the pdf comes not today I think it will be 4 or 5 pages isn't?

Yes, a double helping tonight, two sections of chapter III ​

 

[admihoek]

Yes, a double helping tonight, two sections of chapter III ​

tomorrow before the match otherwise .................................................

 

[Eulalia]

tomorrow before the match otherwise .................................................

no hurry!​

 

[admihoek]

no hurry!​

 

[The Fallen Angel]

The least I can do is show the readers some of the illustrations.

 

[The Fallen Angel]

More illustrations

 

[The Fallen Angel]

More pics

 

[The Fallen Angel]

More pics

 

[The Fallen Angel]

More pics

 

[Eulalia]

I hope all the footnotes are kept.

Yes, Hansi's saving the footnotes.​

They're just my pedantic tweaking of small anachronisms and inaccuracies that don't matter to the story,​

though I'm turning a blind eye to much bigger ones.​

​

Most glaring is the fact that the Colosseum didn't exist in Nero's time -​

it was built under his (eventual) successors, Vespasian and Titus.​

But obviously the story needs that spectacular arena.​

(I've kept the old-fashioned spelling Coliseum too)​

​

Another anachronism is "bread and circuses" in Chapter II,​

Juvenal did indeed make that famous comment,​

but only when Nero had been dead for a good 60 years.​

​

Like the Hollywood epics,​

Moriturae has shifted Nero from first century Rome well into the second,​

but it's all good cruxing fun!​

 

[Eulalia]

The least I can do is show the readers some of the illustrations.

A superb gallery of classic pictures!​

One of the pictures, where the girl's being bound ready for pulling part by oxen​

"inspired" a eulalia poem (it's in Eulalia's Book):​

​

About to die​

​

Sand hot to my bare skin,​

flies hum,​

the searing sun,​

smell of my sweat,​

mouth dry,​

heart drumming,​

shaking…​

​

Dung, blood.​

the oxen reek,​

stamping the sand, impatient,​

eager …​

​

Hushed, the excited crowd.​

​

“Give us your wrists to tie, girl.”​

​

“Open your legs!”​

​

The ropes are biting​

tighter and tighter.​

​

Look up.​

They’re looking at me​

naked.​

​

The last knot’s tied…​

 

[admihoek]

see pm

 

[Eulalia]

Entry of the Legion

Preceded by the labarum, the imperial standard, each of the three maniples which make up LegioIII is separated from the next by ten Christian females loaded with chains. Many have lost their stolas, torn from them during the ceaseless raping they suffered last night in the camp reserved for the men who had conquered the Sicambres in Germania. At first the legionaries march with a measured step, then, as they approach the senators' box, they accelerate until they are double-marching at an athletic pace. Little used to moving at such a trot, the chained ankles of the Christian women get tangled. The centurions prick the women's buttocks with their swords, while the troop continues quick-marching on the spot to keep up the rhythm. When the frightened and humiliated Christian women have been gathered into a more or less orderly herd more, the legionaries resume their march, their chests swelling with pride. They imperceptibly shorten their tread to avoid any further disaster. At the end of the parade, the Christian women are taken down to their cells, while Nero returns to his box. Some specially selected legionaries and their centurions remain. Helped by a small troop of slaves who will sweep and clean the sand throughout all the games, they busily prepare the Tortures.

In the dungeon

The Christian women recover with difficulty from their circuit. Only the horrible fear which grips their entrails slows down the sudden starts which shake their bosoms. Many are praying now, while gasping at the slightest noise. The most curious go to the bottom of the immense room. They realize that the cell is lower than the arena by a half a storey. In front of them, at chest height and all along the width of the room, there are barred windows, but through these they can touch the sand with their hands. Agatha and Elagia mechanically take fistfuls of the hot sand, and let it trickle down while exchanging a long, helpless gaze.

When the heavy bronze grid opens with a sinister groan, they turn and run towards the entry. Regulus has reserved for himself the pleasure of telling them the result of the vote. He recites with an impassive voice which torments will be applied to them. By his extreme zeal he wants to express to Nero his thanks for sparing his life. He wants to see all trace of his treason quickly expunged.

He has not seen Agatha moving behind his back and sneaking between the two legionaries who are escorting him. When he turns, spittle surprises and blinds him. The two legionaries raise their swords, but he stops them. "Wait! I've got something better for her, and I'll do it myself!". A mean smile darkens the beauty of his somewhat feminie features. He casts a long glance at the naked women to enjoy their fear and hopelessness, before adding, "Pray to your God! Yes, you'll give him plenty of work!" He gives a last order, "And they must be washed immediately, they stink as much as the tigers! !


Delivered to the animals

While the Christian women are forced to proceed to their ablutions, their throats tightened by their knowledge of the torments, the first animals are brought into the arena. Three large brown asses from Thessalia are paraded, drawn by a slave. They precede a pack of mastiffs from Abyssinia, impatient and famished, their raucous barking choked by their muzzles. Next, a slave carries a cage partially covered with a red cloth.

With cords of hemp which they slacken gently, the legionaries lower down light footbridges from the turrets. Each ass goes slowly up into one of the towers. The slave moves towards the turret which faces the imperial box. Five Christian women, including Livia, are brought into the arena. Agatha grabs the bars. She feels in her own flesh the vulnerability of her friend, she bites her fist when hearing the sentences read aloud by him who she will not name any more, at the point of not caring about her own fate.

The legionaries seize four Christian women to lead them to the top of the towers. Three of them find an ass waiting for them, its forefeet resting on a broad bench. With whipstrokes they are forced down to their knees underneath the woolly bellies, and are immediately compelled to fellate the gigantic members, stinking and hairy.

Agatha pulls back, deeply shocked. When the asses began rutting, the Christian women are forced to take their place on the benches and raise their buttocks so as to present their vulvas to the excited animals. A chorus of obscene jokes greets the spectacle of an ass whose immense sex must be guided into the virgin hole of the youngest Christian girl. Calpurnia lets her finger move discreetly between her legs, while Drusilla has her tongue stuck to the palate. The spasmodic rapes seem to go on indefinitely, because the asses lack sufficiently firm standing to be able to ejaculate at the bottom of the cunts, which they alternately rub and penetrate.

Livia has been strapped to a marble table. She lies with her legs and sex wide open in front of Nero. In spite of her bound neck, she manages to raise her head slightly when an ominous murmur greets the presentation of the cage to the Caesar. She barely makes out a familiar animal, before quivering in horror when she recognizes the muzzle of a large rat. She is perfectly aware that the fragile vulvar lips of a woman who has just given birth are a prime target for the enormous rodent. She lets out a howl of despair, "NOOOOOOO, Caesar, meeeeercyyyyyy!"

The last Christian woman, a bit plump, remains in the middle of the arena. Suddenly, she is surrounded by ten legionaries who drive her with the points of their lances towards a portico. She stops in front of a carpet of glass shards barring her way, but when the pressure of the iron points against her buttocks becomes unbearable, she must cross it while howling in pain. Arriving close to the portico, she falls down, sobbing, while the blood oozing from her feet soaks the sand. Two legionaries advance. While one of them holds her arms pinned to her back despite her lack of resistance, the second one pierces her two large hanging breasts from the sides. The two legionaries seize the lance by each side of the handle and carelessly drag her under the portico. Despite her atrocious howls, she is promptly raised by her breasts, and the lance rests now on the bars of the portico. The Christian woman, strangulated by the pain, soon stops her struggling, trying not to increase her immeasurable suffering.

Livia is no longer begging. She remains still as a stone as the hot cage is attached over her belly. She hopes that the rat will perhaps fall asleep on the warmth of her skin, she believes she can calm it down by remaining motionless, in spite of feeling the revolting tickling of its muzzle over her pubic hairs. If only her purple clit were not so prominent... She screams with all her might when a slave advances carrying a red-hot poker.

The mastiffs are released. In no time at all they are smelling the blood and tracking the bloody scent in the sand. The swiftest are already trying to bite the feet streaming with blood. The captive raises her legs violently when she hears the first barks. She cries, "Jesus, my God, protect me!" But nothing can stop the cruel contest, and the crowd patiently awaits the inevitable outcome. Every time the poor bloody feet fall down, the jaws snip the empty air. In this exhausting game, each jolt is a new excruciating torture for her impaled breasts. The tears in her teats gradually widen, and small scarlet streams run down her mutilated chest. At the end of her strength, the young Christian fails to raise her right leg quickly enough, and the jaws of the largest of the mastiffs sink into it. To the clamour of the public, her breasts are slowly stretched before they literally burst like a pair of ripe water melons.

While the dogs devour their prey, the asses are now held firmly, and another opening is offered to them. Very prudish, the Christian women, now firmly strapped over the benches, are not accustomed to the practise of sodomy. As the asses manage with difficulty to nudge the points of their members into the tightened anuses, some legionaries move behind them and whip them violently. The Christian females pass out at the same time.

Livia's shrieks struck Agatha to the bottom of her heart. She can't prevent herself from looking at the tower, trembling. Her belly contracts as she imagines what Livia is feeling. Frenzied by burns, the rodent seeks to escape through the natural exit which it can see. It digs with its irregular claws the hole which its teeth have opened. It splatters in blood and chokes a little on the belly whose wild spasms prevent it from finding its balance. In this atrocious fight, Livia is gradually losing her strength, but the rat is hardly faring better. It struggles to flee, devouring the scraps of flesh made for the most delicate caresses, and becomes as crazed as Livia under the ceaseless burning of the poker. Livia's wild howls continue a short while after the predator ceases moving, then they stop abruptly. Agatha bites her fist and cries.

After some slaps, the Christian women emerge from merciless oblivion. They are left on the towers, groaning and starting to recover, when the mastiffs are released. When they invade the platforms, each Christian woman throws herself down from the turret. In "tortoise" formation, shields over their heads and pila pointing up, the kneeling legionaries spit the bodies of the martyrs.