Poor Velda
Velda sobbed in the corner of the cell, many others were crying or moaning in despair.
A grey haired old man approached her, he too was naked and Velda tried to shield her eyes from his nakedness. The man put an arm on her shoulder and she shuddered at his touch.
"My child," he said in a calm voice, "we need to be brave, we need to have dignity, we need to show the Roman scum that we are prepared."
"No, no," stuttered Velda, "this is all a bad mistake, I am a noblewoman from the house of Marcus Levicus, I am not condemned to die in the arena, I only came to ....." She stopped herself from saying that she was indeed a spectator to their deaths, but the old man sensed what she was about to say.
"Well," he continued, "what ever the reason for you to be here, you will no doubt die with the rest of us today that is for certain."
"Oh God how!" screamed Velda.
"By crucifixion," came a voice outside the iron cell door, "the crosses are already prepared and the kindling, to light you up, is nice and dry. Better still," he continued, "we will be using nails so that when the fires are lit the flames will not burn through rope and speed up your deaths."
The wailing in the cells got louder as the ringing of his words, in their ears, terrorised the group.
Meanwhile, Paulus and his mother and father were enthralled by the spectacle before their eyes. There had been several gladiator fights that had provided some excellent combat and bloody deaths. There had been two naked women fight bare handed on a small plank suspended above a board of spikes. The fight lasted all of ten minutes before the black Nubian slave was flung off the plank, by her opponent, whereby several long spikes pierced her body through her breasts, arms and legs. Her body shook in a spasm before stopping and was removed from the arena with hooks pulled by slaves.
"Where's Velda," remarked Paulus, "she's missing all the fun."
"No idea, " replied Marcus, "but look, they are bringing out the crosses and the wood for the fires. It shouldn't be long now for the main event."
All around the arena slaves were busy digging the holes for the statkes and making sure they were firm. Meanwhile, jugglers and accrobats entertained the crowds as the work continued. A cart was hauled around and in and out of the erected frames, a slave on the back would throw four spikes down at the foot of each stake, more slaves placed a hammer next to them.
Below the arena floor the preparations began as the cell door was flung open and slaves poured in to overpower the prisoners. Velda was still protesting her innocence and tried to explain that she had been allowed down to see the prisoners as her father, Marcus Levicus, had arranged it. No one listened to her pleas as she was herded, like the others, into the passageway to be burdened with her crossbeam. Each prisoner had their arms bound in place but the rope would be removed after the nails are driven. It was then that she felt the first tip of the lash on the pale skin of her back. She almost crumpled under the pain but managed to keep the soles of her blistered feet on the ground. The arena entrance was now only a few steps away!
To be continued...........................