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The Fate of a Goth Girl

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Barbaria1 said:
Brilliant! Yes I can feel her despair. Love the cute loincloth
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Cute? :rolleyes:

"Get me to the Cross on time!" - Barbaria Doolittle

The Optio already saw a danger of the crowd slowing his progress. It was inconceivable that a detachment under Mogurix’s command might be late. He ordered Quintus Maximinus, decanus of the leading contubernium, to move ahead and clear the way. The large Spaniard saluted and hurried off to do so. His men began using their swords and spears to move the crowd, with little gentleness from the road. Those in the crowd who might be injured or pushed around were resentful but knew all too well not to take it out on the soldiers. So they redirected their anger at the Goth girl.
Not wishing to take any chances the Optio ordered a faster pace. Barbaria, worn out by her unbearable torture and already sweating and struggling under the precarious balance and oppressive weight of the patibulum, had only been moving at a slow, deliberate pace. At Mogurix's instruction, the man leading the Goth jerked the leash hard, and two soldiers, with leather thongs, began to whip her back and legs to drive her faster. Barbaria panicked as the noose tightened, restricting her breathing and her back erupted in new, terrible pain. Yelping and coughing, the girl jumped and struggled to move her feet faster while maintaining the awkward balance of the beam tied to her arms.

The six men who had accompanied Friþugairns to the arena swiftly left the city and met with their comrades just out of sight of the town wall. These men anxiously asked those returning, “What is the waurd (word) from the fraujinonds (leader)?” The six conveyed the message. One young chieftain, the one who had objected to his headman begging from the Romans, swore a truly terrible Goth oath.

“Thank you for your frank opinion, Centurio,” said the Praeses, placing his hand on Calistus’s shoulder. “As for your self-deprecating comments, I can tell you that my wisest advisor, Marcus Claudius, raised precisely the same concern. Unfortunately, it does not make my decision any easier. Sometimes a leader must view the ‘bigger picture,’ and not be swayed by petty sympathies or excessive devotion to justice for one, relatively unimportant individual.”
“Sadly true, Praeses.” agreed the Centurion, hiding his sympathy for the mistreated girl.

Each step was harder and harder for the Goth girl as she struggled up the incline toward the small forum on the way to her crucifixion. The Via Domitia was a major route from Italy to Hispania and was well paved and maintained. But the road was rough cobblestones, not meant for tender feet carrying an impossible load. Dirt and little rocks abraded and even cut at her feet, while her toes stubbed on the uneven stones. As agony rose up from her feet, her legs began cramping with fatigue. She was panting hard now, gulping breaths when the guard wsn’t pulling tight on her noose.
Via_Domitia_(Narbonne).jpgA section of the Via Domitia, uncovered in modern Narbonne

The men surrounding Barbaria constantly urged her to move faster. Her mind reeled with the heat. From the increaasingly angry crowd, the girl heard a constant stream of verbal abuse. Vile remarks about her sexual morals and her exposed body maintained an unending assault on her mind. Already several clumps of dung had struck her, assaulting her further with disgusting smells.
 
Praefectus Praetorio said:
Cute? :rolleyes:

"Get me to the Cross on time!" - Barbaria Doolittle

The Optio already saw a danger of the crowd slowing his progress. It was inconceivable that a detachment under Mogurix’s command might be late. He ordered Quintus Maximinus, decanus of the leading contubernium, to move ahead and clear the way. The large Spaniard saluted and hurried off to do so. His men began using their swords and spears to move the crowd, with little gentleness from the road. Those in the crowd who might be injured or pushed around were resentful but knew all too well not to take it out on the soldiers. So they redirected their anger at the Goth girl.
Not wishing to take any chances the Optio ordered a faster pace. Barbaria, worn out by her unbearable torture and already sweating and struggling under the precarious balance and oppressive weight of the patibulum, had only been moving at a slow, deliberate pace. At Mogurix's instruction, the man leading the Goth jerked the leash hard, and two soldiers, with leather thongs, began to whip her back and legs to drive her faster. Barbaria panicked as the noose tightened, restricting her breathing and her back erupted in new, terrible pain. Yelping and coughing, the girl jumped and struggled to move her feet faster while maintaining the awkward balance of the beam tied to her arms.

The six men who had accompanied Friþugairns to the arena swiftly left the city and met with their comrades just out of sight of the town wall. These men anxiously asked those returning, “What is the waurd (word) from the fraujinonds (leader)?” The six conveyed the message. One young chieftain, the one who had objected to his headman begging from the Romans, swore a truly terrible Goth oath.

“Thank you for your frank opinion, Centurio,” said the Praeses, placing his hand on Calistus’s shoulder. “As for your self-deprecating comments, I can tell you that my wisest advisor, Marcus Claudius, raised precisely the same concern. Unfortunately, it does not make my decision any easier. Sometimes a leader must view the ‘bigger picture,’ and not be swayed by petty sympathies or excessive devotion to justice for one, relatively unimportant individual.”
“Sadly true, Praeses.” agreed the Centurion, hiding his sympathy for the mistreated girl.

Each step was harder and harder for the Goth girl as she struggled up the incline toward the small forum on the way to her crucifixion. The Via Domitia was a major route from Italy to Hispania and was well paved and maintained. But the road was rough cobblestones, not meant for tender feet carrying an impossible load. Dirt and little rocks abraded and even cut at her feet, while her toes stubbed on the uneven stones. As agony rose up from her feet, her legs began cramping with fatigue. She was panting hard now, gulping breaths when the guard wsn’t pulling tight on her noose.
View attachment 1003993A section of the Via Domitia, uncovered in modern Narbonne

The men surrounding Barbaria constantly urged her to move faster. Her mind reeled with the heat. From the increaasingly angry crowd, the girl heard a constant stream of verbal abuse. Vile remarks about her sexual morals and her exposed body maintained an unending assault on her mind. Already several clumps of dung had struck her, assaulting her further with disgusting smells.
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What, with the long walk of death burdened not only by a very heavy Patibulum, but also by the noose and the excretive missiles, the Goth Slut must be absolutely buggered ... or does that come later? ...

Buggered
adjective
VULGAR SLANG•BRITISH
1. (of a person) extremely tired - "when I got there, I was absolutely buggered"
 
Loinclothslave1 said:
I’m completely appreciating these Via Crux installments! Very enjoyable seeing Barb whipped into shape as she takes her charming stroll up Via Domitia ...
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Via Domitia or Via Crux or Via Dolorosa?

“Back to military matters, Centurio,” said the Governor, reverting to using the officer's title, “how many men will you have here?”
“Just over sixty, fully armed and on alert, Praeses. About two-thirds will be assigned to the gates and most of the rest to the arena to control the crowd and crucify the girl.”
“Excellent. Please have one or two with you in the box. The headman is old and peaceful, but he might become a bit agitated if he sees his daughter nailed to the tree. I don’t rely on him to appreciate the political considerations.”
“I shall do so. Of course, it would be easier on everyone, if she is pardoned.”
“Yes, I understand that, Centurio. I well understand that,” said the Praeses, shaking his head and again wiping his brow. “Let us return to my guests in the box.”

Friþugairns sat on the chair next to the Governor’s seat. He paid no attention to the unfriendly looks he received from the Governor’s other guests, nor to the stares of the three soldiers near the entry stair who seemed between bravado and fear. He did note the large man, evidently a bodyguard, standing behind the curule chair. When sumptuous food and drink were offered, the Goth politely declined, requesting only water. On his other side, was the Governor’s son, fat and odious, reclining while eating and drinking as if he’d been starved for a week. The chief had tried a few polite remarks with the lad to start a conversation but was met only with dismissive monosyllables and burps. He glanced around the amphitheater at the capacity crowd which seemed lively and celebratory. These, he thought apprehensively, might prove to be his daughter’s jury.

Barbaria staggered on, agonizingly, swaying under the heavy imbalance of the beam. Her shoulders felt like they had been freshly scourged as the rough plank abraded the thin flesh over bone. The muscles of her upper body and arms were almost at the end of endurance, trying to hold the beam balanced level. She swayed from side to side more all the time, gulping deep breaths into her lungs. Her trim, athletic legs trembled and screamed with fatigue even as the soldiers drove her to march faster up the hill to the forum.
Sweat coated her body in the burning heat and glare of the sun. Salty drops of sweat stinging in her eyes blinded the girl as she trudged along like an overloaded beast of burden dragged by her strangling noose. The soldiers behind showed no pity as they laid their sharp leather whips into her bruised and bleeding back, rump and legs, adding to her sea of pain.
Denied sight, Barbaria was reduced to having her remaining senses assaulted by the vile, hateful comments of the crowd and the nauseating odor of the dung on her body.
 
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Praefectus Praetorio said:
Via Domitia or Via Crux or Via Dolorosa?

“Back to military matters, Centurio,” said the Governor, reverting to using the officer's title, “how many men will you have here?”
“Just over sixty, fully armed and on alert, Praeses. About two-thirds will be assigned to the gates and most of the rest to the arena to control the crowd and crucify the girl.”
“Excellent. Please have one or two with you in the box. The headman is old and peaceful, but he might become a bit agitated if he sees his daughter nailed to the tree. I don’t rely on him to appreciate the political considerations.”
“I shall do so. Of course, it would be easier on everyone, if she is pardoned.”
“Yes, I understand that, Centurio. I well understand that,” said the Praeses, shaking his head and again wiping his brow. “Let us return to my guests in the box.”

Friþugairns sat on the chair next to the Governor’s seat. He paid no attention to the unfriendly looks he received from the Governor’s other guests, nor to the stares of the three soldiers near the entry stair who seemed between bravado and fear. He did note the large man, evidently a bodyguard, standing behind the curule chair. When sumptuous food and drink were offered, the Goth politely declined, requesting only water. On his other side, was the Governor’s son, fat and odious, reclining while eating and drinking as if he’d been starved for a week. The chief had tried a few polite remarks with the lad to start a conversation but was met only with dismissive monosyllables and burps. He glanced around the amphitheater at the capacity crowd which seemed lively and celebratory. These, he thought apprehensively, might prove to be his daughter’s jury.

Barbaria staggered on, agonizingly, swaying under the heavy imbalance of the beam. Her shoulders felt like they had been freshly scourged as the rough plank abraded the thin flesh over bone. The muscles of her upper body and arms were almost at the end of endurance, trying to hold the beam balanced level. She swayed from side to side more all the time, gulping deep breaths into her lungs. Her trim, athletic legs trembled and screamed with fatigue even as the soldiers drove her to march faster up the hill to the forum.
Sweat coated her body in the burning heat and glare of the sun. Salty drops of sweat stinging in her eyes blinded the girl as she trudged along like an overloaded beast of burden dragged by her strangling noose. The soldiers behind showed no pity as they laid their sharp leather whips into her bruised and bleeding back, rump and legs, adding to her sea of pain.
Denied sight, Barbaria was reduced to having her remaining senses assaulted by the vile, hateful comments of the crowd and the nauseating odor of the dung on her body.
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Great chapter @Praefectus Praetorio , they should put up statues of you along the Via Domitia :clap:
 
Praefectus Praetorio said:
Via Domitia or Via Crux or Via Dolorosa?

“Back to military matters, Centurio,” said the Governor, reverting to using the officer's title, “how many men will you have here?”
“Just over sixty, fully armed and on alert, Praeses. About two-thirds will be assigned to the gates and most of the rest to the arena to control the crowd and crucify the girl.”
“Excellent. Please have one or two with you in the box. The headman is old and peaceful, but he might become a bit agitated if he sees his daughter nailed to the tree. I don’t rely on him to appreciate the political considerations.”
“I shall do so. Of course, it would be easier on everyone, if she is pardoned.”
“Yes, I understand that, Centurio. I well understand that,” said the Praeses, shaking his head and again wiping his brow. “Let us return to my guests in the box.”

Friþugairns sat on the chair next to the Governor’s seat. He paid no attention to the unfriendly looks he received from the Governor’s other guests, nor to the stares of the three soldiers near the entry stair who seemed between bravado and fear. He did note the large man, evidently a bodyguard, standing behind the curule chair. When sumptuous food and drink were offered, the Goth politely declined, requesting only water. On his other side, was the Governor’s son, fat and odious, reclining while eating and drinking as if he’d been starved for a week. The chief had tried a few polite remarks with the lad to start a conversation but was met only with dismissive monosyllables and burps. He glanced around the amphitheater at the capacity crowd which seemed lively and celebratory. These, he thought apprehensively, might prove to be his daughter’s jury.

Barbaria staggered on, agonizingly, swaying under the heavy imbalance of the beam. Her shoulders felt like they had been freshly scourged as the rough plank abraded the thin flesh over bone. The muscles of her upper body and arms were almost at the end of endurance, trying to hold the beam balanced level. She swayed from side to side more all the time, gulping deep breaths into her lungs. Her trim, athletic legs trembled and screamed with fatigue even as the soldiers drove her to march faster up the hill to the forum.
Sweat coated her body in the burning heat and glare of the sun. Salty drops of sweat stinging in her eyes blinded the girl as she trudged along like an overloaded beast of burden dragged by her strangling noose. The soldiers behind showed no pity as they laid their sharp leather whips into her bruised and bleeding back, rump and legs, adding to her sea of pain.
Denied sight, Barbaria was reduced to having her remaining senses assaulted by the vile, hateful comments of the crowd and the nauseating odor of the dung on her body.
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About two-thirds will be assigned to the gates and most of the rest to the arena to control the crowd and crucify the girl. - Got to admit to being a little gutted for the two-thirds, hope they can watch the crucifixion on catch-up later ...

... he might become a bit agitated if he sees his daughter nailed to the tree. - You think?

Surely the process is too far advanced for a pardon at this late stage ... isn't it?

Brilliant stuff!
 
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A little more military organization background to aid in understanding some of the roles to be played. A re-enactment of the XV Legio Apollinaris, breaking camp in Illyricum (modern Croatia) in 25 BC.
Roman_soldiers_with_aquilifer_signifer_centurio_70_aC.jpg​
Leading the way is the Legion's Aquilifer, bearing the Eagle Standard. Just behind him to the right is the Primus Pilus (First Pillar), the Centurion of the First Century of the First Cohort. Behind them is the Signifer (Standard Bearer) of that century, carrying the Signum Centuriae. Note that its motto reads, "LEG XV COH I APOLLI" Immediately behind him is the Cornicen (hornblower). These three (not the Centurion) wear animal skins on their head and shoulders to signify ferocity.
 
Praefectus Praetorio said:
A little more military organization background to aid in understanding some of the roles to be played. A re-enactment of the XV Legio Apollinaris, breaking camp in Illyricum (modern Croatia) in 25 BC.
Leading the way is the Legion's Aquilifer, bearing the Eagle Standard. Just behind him to the right is the Primus Pilus (First Pillar), the Centurion of the First Century of the First Cohort. Behind them is the Signifer (Standard Bearer) of that century, carrying the Signum Centuriae. Note that its motto reads, "LEG XV COH I APOLLI" Immediately behind him is the Cornicen (hornblower). These three (not the Centurion) wear animal skins on their head and shoulders to signify ferocity.
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What’s with the guy wearing the golden helmet?
 
Barbaria1 said:
What’s with the guy wearing the golden helmet?
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You are really something, Barb! Also acting smart and trying to find something to complain about! Well, here you make a good point. Since I cannot ask the re-enactor, it is hard to answer with certainty. He is marching immediately behind the cornicen, so he might have a senior position in the century. However, an Optio would have feather or horsehair on his helmet, which only leaves: Tesserarius, Decanus. I cannot find a reference to their helmets.
Another possibility is that the re-enactor just liked gold.
 
The leaders of the band of Goth warriors gave quick and simple orders to the men in the band, splitting them up into groups of twos and threes. Following the instructions relayed from their þiufaþs (chiliarch, commander), they casually entered the city gates peacefully and separately with their arms concealed. After that, they made their separate ways toward the central arena.

A mere forty-eight hours earlier, the Goth girl, Barbaria, was strolling happily along a quiet country road without a hint of the calamity that was about to befall her. A strong, self-confident, and active, young woman, she was in top shape with a well-toned, yet still rounded and feminine body. Now, at this moment, she was drawing on every ounce of that physical and mental strength to remain on her feet and climb the gradual incline toward the forum.
The crowd of onlookers was aroused by Barb’s sexy body to even greater heights of raw lust. They could not spew enough gross insults or pelt the helpless girl with enough dung or little rocks. Mogurix, though having no sympathy for the German scum, did become concerned that this outpouring of venom and hate might delay his carefully timed march. He ordered the flanking legionaries to spread a bit wider to give Barb a slightly greater separation from the most violent in the crowd.

The forum in Narbo was small, reflecting the limited size of the initial colonial settlement. Flat and smoothly paved, it measured 40 by 30 passus (paces, about 65 X 50 Meters). In the center was a small, but exquisite marble fountain, spouting streams from three bronze lion heads into a fresh pool.
The climb to the forum served to drain all of Barb’s reserves of strength and will. As the procession entered the open marketplace, the Goth stumbled and fell. In the split second that she realized what was happening, Barb managed to twist to make one end of the patibulum strike the ground first to absorb some of the impact. Nevertheless, she hit the ground hard and, for a moment, lost consciousness.

“Cinaede (catamite)!” swore the Optio as he saw his march halted. “Cogite eam sese movere (make her move)!”
The guards, terrified of Mogurix’s temper, laid into the prone girl with their whips. Barb screamed in agony, but, with the heavy patibulum weighing down her shoulders, there was no way she could rise on her own.
“Penes, attollite eam (heave her up, you cocks)!”
The soldiers hurried to grab the beam and lift the girl to her knees.
“Let her rest a moment. Get her some water.”
A man ran to the fountain, filled his canteen, and brought it back for the Goth to drink. Half-conscious, the parched girl drank greedily from the cool, fresh fountain water. After a minute, Mogurix said, “Enough rest, cunne. On your feet!” and slammed his hastile into her right kidney. Barbaria groaned at the new pain but managed somehow to heft herself up onto her feet. The lead soldier jerked extra hard on her leash and both ones behind drove hard lashes into her bleeding ass. The Goth yelped in pain and resumed her fatal march onward.
 
Praefectus Praetorio said:
The leaders of the band of Goth warriors gave quick and simple orders to the men in the band, splitting them up into groups of twos and threes. Following the instructions relayed from their þiufaþs (chiliarch, commander), they casually entered the city gates peacefully and separately with their arms concealed. After that, they made their separate ways toward the central arena.

A mere forty-eight hours earlier, the Goth girl, Barbaria, was strolling happily along a quiet country road without a hint of the calamity that was about to befall her. A strong, self-confident, and active, young woman, she was in top shape with a well-toned, yet still rounded and feminine body. Now, at this moment, she was drawing on every ounce of that physical and mental strength to remain on her feet and climb the gradual incline toward the forum.
The crowd of onlookers was aroused by Barb’s sexy body to even greater heights of raw lust. They could not spew enough gross insults or pelt the helpless girl with enough dung or little rocks. Mogurix, though having no sympathy for the German scum, did become concerned that this outpouring of venom and hate might delay his carefully timed march. He ordered the flanking legionaries to spread a bit wider to give Barb a slightly greater separation from the most violent in the crowd.

The forum in Narbo was small, reflecting the limited size of the initial colonial settlement. Flat and smoothly paved, it measured 40 by 30 passus (paces, about 65 X 50 Meters). In the center was a small, but exquisite marble fountain, spouting streams from three bronze lion heads into a fresh pool.
The climb to the forum served to drain all of Barb’s reserves of strength and will. As the procession entered the open marketplace, the Goth stumbled and fell. In the split second that she realized what was happening, Barb managed to twist to make one end of the patibulum strike the ground first to absorb some of the impact. Nevertheless, she hit the ground hard and, for a moment, lost consciousness.

“Cinaede (catamite)!” swore the Optio as he saw his march halted. “Cogite eam sese movere (make her move)!”
The guards, terrified of Mogurix’s temper, laid into the prone girl with their whips. Barb screamed in agony, but, with the heavy patibulum weighing down her shoulders, there was no way she could rise on her own.
“Penes, attollite eam (heave her up, you cocks)!”
The soldiers hurried to grab the beam and lift the girl to her knees.
“Let her rest a moment. Get her some water.”
A man ran to the fountain, filled his canteen, and brought it back for the Goth to drink. Half-conscious, the parched girl drank greedily from the cool, fresh fountain water. After a minute, Mogurix said, “Enough rest, cunne. On your feet!” and slammed his hastile into her right kidney. Barbaria groaned at the new pain but managed somehow to heft herself up onto her feet. The lead soldier jerked extra hard on her leash and both ones behind drove hard lashes into her bleeding ass. The Goth yelped in pain and resumed her fatal march onward.
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There’s not going to be much left of her to crucify, at this rate! Which is as it should be. Fine writing! :clap:
 
Praefectus Praetorio said:
The crowd of onlookers was aroused by Barb’s sexy body to even greater heights of raw lust. They could not spew enough gross insults or pelt the helpless girl with enough dung or little rocks.
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Rabble ... nothing but rabble ... this calls for a ‘Barb’s Lives Matter” protest! Come on all you BLM folks! Get out there and protest!
 
Praefectus Praetorio said:
The leaders of the band of Goth warriors gave quick and simple orders to the men in the band, splitting them up into groups of twos and threes. Following the instructions relayed from their þiufaþs (chiliarch, commander), they casually entered the city gates peacefully and separately with their arms concealed. After that, they made their separate ways toward the central arena.

A mere forty-eight hours earlier, the Goth girl, Barbaria, was strolling happily along a quiet country road without a hint of the calamity that was about to befall her. A strong, self-confident, and active, young woman, she was in top shape with a well-toned, yet still rounded and feminine body. Now, at this moment, she was drawing on every ounce of that physical and mental strength to remain on her feet and climb the gradual incline toward the forum.
The crowd of onlookers was aroused by Barb’s sexy body to even greater heights of raw lust. They could not spew enough gross insults or pelt the helpless girl with enough dung or little rocks. Mogurix, though having no sympathy for the German scum, did become concerned that this outpouring of venom and hate might delay his carefully timed march. He ordered the flanking legionaries to spread a bit wider to give Barb a slightly greater separation from the most violent in the crowd.

The forum in Narbo was small, reflecting the limited size of the initial colonial settlement. Flat and smoothly paved, it measured 40 by 30 passus (paces, about 65 X 50 Meters). In the center was a small, but exquisite marble fountain, spouting streams from three bronze lion heads into a fresh pool.
The climb to the forum served to drain all of Barb’s reserves of strength and will. As the procession entered the open marketplace, the Goth stumbled and fell. In the split second that she realized what was happening, Barb managed to twist to make one end of the patibulum strike the ground first to absorb some of the impact. Nevertheless, she hit the ground hard and, for a moment, lost consciousness.

“Cinaede (catamite)!” swore the Optio as he saw his march halted. “Cogite eam sese movere (make her move)!”
The guards, terrified of Mogurix’s temper, laid into the prone girl with their whips. Barb screamed in agony, but, with the heavy patibulum weighing down her shoulders, there was no way she could rise on her own.
“Penes, attollite eam (heave her up, you cocks)!”
The soldiers hurried to grab the beam and lift the girl to her knees.
“Let her rest a moment. Get her some water.”
A man ran to the fountain, filled his canteen, and brought it back for the Goth to drink. Half-conscious, the parched girl drank greedily from the cool, fresh fountain water. After a minute, Mogurix said, “Enough rest, cunne. On your feet!” and slammed his hastile into her right kidney. Barbaria groaned at the new pain but managed somehow to heft herself up onto her feet. The lead soldier jerked extra hard on her leash and both ones behind drove hard lashes into her bleeding ass. The Goth yelped in pain and resumed her fatal march onward.
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A fallen girl weighed down by a huge piece of timber and unable to avoid the lash. How much more can this girl take ... much more we hope! Loved the fleeting reflection to better times just 2 days earlier. Excellent narrative as always PrPr.
 
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