20. The second circuit of the Cathedral went slowly. We were all weakened and tired. I plodded on, head down, keeping my eye on Messaline's narrow ankles and gracefully tapered calves, and on the squared-off tail of the wooden beam she bore on her back as it grated along behind her on the stone pavement.
I winced as my own cross dug with every step into my bloody whip-ravaged back. My arms ached from the awkward way in which they had been forced to wrap up and over the crossbeam that rested on my neck and shoulders. Also, although one would think I would have been immune to it by then, I was still mortified by the public display of my nearly naked body, at the prurient way that His Eminence, the monks and priests, and even many of the nuns and novices, feasted their hungry eyes on me and the others.
On a more positive note, Ethelbert was not whipping me nearly as hard and often as Sister Hilda had, preferring instead to shout words of encouragement accompanied by only an occasional lash applied to my bare ass or back.
Behind me I could hear Thessela's short raspy breathing as she struggled to keep up. Every now and then she would repeat out loud to herself that she was going to make it, but I seriously wondered if the poor thing would.
Eulalia, like Thessela, seemed to have dropped farther behind. I wanted to look back to check on her. The heavy crossbeam, however, prevented me from doing so ... but it really didn't matter because just then something quite extraordinary happened. As we rounded the west transept, bursts of cheers and applause erupted … at first well behind me, and then closer and closer.
As I twisted my neck as best I could to discover the source of the commotion, the Scottish novice suddenly appeared alongside me. She seemed to come out of nowhere and was moving up fast to pass me and Messaline too.
But, nothing like the ugly brawl that surrounded Sister Hilda's driving of me forward on the previous lap occurred. Why? Because this was a thing of beauty! Here was a young woman in her prime, naked save for the tiniest of loincloths, carrying two massive crossed beams perfectly balanced on her back, arms stretched out along and bound to each upper fork, head held high between, with crown of thorns at a jaunty angle. A leather strap wrapped around under her armpits and just over her swaying breasts held the crossing point firmly and in perfect balance on the bloodily scourged back of her bent figure, sprinting at a slight crouch, finely sculpted thighs flexing, relaxing, with such grace and fluidity. It was both breathtakingly elegant and erotic all at the same time.
This had been planned and practiced. I understood now why the Scottish team had held back like it did.
The Cardinal, who was leading the procession spun around to watch with such surprise and delight that he tripped over his own feet and fell down on his bum, causing his entourage to break ranks and comically collide with one another in a frantic, bumbling attempt to come to a stop before running His Eminence over.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bishop Wragg slap his hand to his forehead and look in exasperation to the heavens above.
Moments later, Eulalia, with her X-cross on her back, slid smoothly into line ahead of Messaline and the procession continued on its final and what turned out to be an uneventful lap, before exiting the church for the enclosed, but outdoor, confines of the Cathedral cloister. On that final lap the pace slowed appreciably, even came to a halt at times, as fatigue brought each of the novices closer to the point of sheer exhaustion.
As we neared the end, and my mind was floating about in a semi-delirious, pain-induced state ... I experienced a sudden moment of clarity, in which the full realization struck home that all four of us novices were about to die, to willingly give up our lives, and in one of the most horribly cruel fashions known to mankind.
Why?
As a matter of devout faith, as an honor and privilege to follow and experience at first hand the agony and anguish of the crucifixion of our dear Savior and Lord? Was it to bring honor and glory to our respective Abbeys and Orders? Or, was it simply to accede naively to being the objects of a hideously contrived performance whose only purpose was to satisfy the sadistically erotic and debauched desires and fantasies of the deranged higher echelons of a Church gone mad?
But at the same time, I realized that there was also something deep inside me that strangely wanted this, even hungered for it ... there was something about me, hidden, forbidden … that reveled in the humiliation of being nakedly on display, helpless, whipped and beaten, forced to participate in my own public degradation, endure unbelievable hardship and pain, and the ultimate anguish and suffering of spending hours nailed naked to the wood, exposed, twisting and writhing ... dancing as long as I am able that last desperate lonely dance of death.
Did the other three novices harbor this same unspoken, secreted desire as well? Were we perhaps more sisters than competitors? Were there others out there among the onlookers, who in there imaginations traded places with me, or with the other novices? Could I see it in their faces? Perhaps, for example, in the face of the tall thin nun with the Cardinal's entourage?
Ahead of me the doors leading to the cloister swung open. The procession, still led by the Cardinal and his full retinue began passing through. The nuns and monks of the Abbeys, closed in behind us. The bearing of the crosses was over.
I turned the corner, about to step out into the light, when everything suddenly began to spin. My legs buckled. I lurched forward, the weight of my cross driving me to my knees. Ethelbert, fearful of losing performance points, shouted at me to get up. I tried, shakily raising one knee, only to topple over.
In frustration, Ethelbert applied the lash, once, twice, then again and again.
TO BE CONTINUED
Thanks to all of you for joining in on this thread the way you are!!!
