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Talbus - The Guard

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Ok - I promise I’ll try not to make a habit of this, but I tweaked the last entry a bit. :oops: See below...

“Can we fuck her?” A pair of youths no older than Julia grinned up at Talbus. Julia’s eyes rolled in weary disgust as she turned to await Talbus’ response.

“Sorry, Boys,” he said in his almost friendly, yet distant guard-voice, “You’ll have to wait until she’s on the cross.”

“Awww...!” Their disappointment was good-natured, showing they hadn’t had much hope. “But how are we supposed to fuck her when she’s on the cross?” one of them asked, still grinning. Talbus acknowledged the question with the minimum flash of an unamused smile necessary not to seem a killjoy.

“Good luck, Boys.” And they moved on to spit at Priscilla’s nipples.

For several more minutes, Talbus stood next to Julia, and Julia continued to hug her shift to her chest and stare at the ground. She didn’t want to talk, and Talbus could think of nothing to say.

Finally, observing the red and pink stripes across her uncovered back, Talbus spoke: “I was flogged myself once, you know.” At this Julia again looked up at him, curiosity mixing with the hardness of her face. “Yes, on account of a girl very much like you.” He smiled a gentle smile, full of regret as she looked into his eyes, as if to determine whether he were lying. Then she turned back, and Talbus did too.

Soon the execution squad reappeared with a new beam and set it down a few yards from where they were standing.

“Well,” Talbus began, turning toward the girl, and she forced her hands down between her shift and her waist to undress. One of Talbus’ knots wouldn’t come undone, so he reached over to untie it for her, and the garment fell away. She draped it twice over her forearm and handed it silently to Talbus, not looking him in the eye. He took it, and as he patted her bare back, she was already walking naked toward the soldiers to be crucified.

“It won’t hurt so badly the second time,” he told her. He didn’t know if she heard him. He didn’t know if it was true.


(To be continued...)
 
Talbus didn’t want to watch them nail Julia to her cross. He watched for just a moment as they began tying her down, then turned to see what other duties he could set his attention to so as to have his mind occupied when her screams came. The youths who had been spitting at Priscilla had moved on to prod the contents of Aurelia’s loincloth with a short branch. It was fine. She was already dead - they could do what they liked with her. Talbus wandered toward them, his eyes fixed on the engorged, purple face of the aristocrat. It still angered him. “I’ll make it right, Anna. I promise.”

As he passed under the cross where Priscilla hung, he paused. “Are you alright, Priscilla?” he asked. “Breathing well?” She was uncomfortable holding conversation given her condition, but she had apparently made peace with the idea that Talbus was more or less on her side, so she didn’t seem to resent his attentions the way she had earlier that morning. She closed her eyes to nod, then hauled herself up slightly to reply, “I’m fine.”

The distinct tink of iron on iron pierced the air, followed immediately by Julia’s first sobbing scream. Talbus sighed, but didn’t turn to see.

Then the youths were trotting toward him, giggling and elbowing each other.

“Can we touch her asshole?” Priscilla’s mouth opened and she let out a shocked, breathy groan, rolling her head wearily to the other side. Talbus spent only a moment regarding them with silent disapproval, then turned to step behind Priscilla’s cross.

More hammer blows, and more screams from Julia.

Priscilla started with pain when Talbus took her welted bottom in both hands and began pulling her hips slowly to the side. She gasped desperately as he twisted her body and strained her nail wounds.

“Sorry, old girl,” he said. This was not an altogether uncommon request, and he had learned this was the only way to do it. It was also the procedure he followed when placing a cornu.

Once he had her hips cocked enough to reveal the cleft of her buttocks from behind the cross, he stopped and pulled the cheeks apart with his thumbs to reveal her anus. “There you have it, Boys.” They giggled, cocking their heads to see under her, touching her lightly at first, then poking harder while Talbus held her for them. She was panting and gasping in pain, but managed to gasp out a few curses.

“What... is wrong... with you!?” It only made them laugh harder.

Talbus couldn’t help but glance briefly toward Julia. They were tying the ropes, preparing to raise her.

“Can I put this in?” Talbus’ attention was brought back to the youths, one of whom held up a twig from the branch they had used to poke at Aurelia. It was barely longer than a man’s middle finger, and it was thin and flexible, with tiny knots all along it’s length. Talbus considered a moment.

“What is it?” gasped Priscilla, apparently unable to take the silence. The boys burst out laughing.

“It’s a pine cone!” said one, and she groaned.

“It’s just a little twig, Priscilla,” said Talbus. It wouldn’t hasten her death, he was sure. So he had no choice.

“You can do that,” he said, restraining the reluctance in his voice. The young men set to work poking the twig into her anus, prying her open with their fingers, laughing at her gasping and grunting.

Julia was crying out again, sobbing and weeping uncontrollably. They must have been hauling her off the ground to hang.

When the youths had shoved the twig into Priscilla, then yanked it partway out again and shoved it in and out several times, Talbus told them it was enough and they should move on.

“Well take it out!” Priscilla demanded as they sauntered back to the road.

“Do you want the twig back?” Talbus asked them, hesitating before allowing Priscilla’s bottom to return to its original position.

“No, leave it in!”

“I’m sorry, Priscilla,” Talbus set her buttocks gently against the cross again, the twig barely protruding.

(To be continued...)
 
Talbus had nothing else to put his hand to, and his mind could not be wrenched from anticipating poor Julia’s screams when they would nail her feet, but he tried.

“You haven’t had anyone visit you, Priscilla? Do you have family here?” She turned to look at him, mouth open with shallow breaths, mind elsewhere, but returning. She was warming up to the guard, though the awkward circumstance was still clearly a humiliation.

“Most —” she hailed herself up a little, wincing, to speak, “Most of them are in Ostia. By the time they —” again she winced, swallowing, muscles straining to shift her body somehow, “...hear about me, I’ll —” a grunt of pain, “I’ll be vulture food.”

What was taking them so long with Julia? Talbus still didn’t look.

“But —“ Priscilla continued, “I thought my son might come.” Talbus’ attention was only half on Priscilla as a profound sadness came over her face, very different from the expression of pain that never left. “He’s probably embarrassed to — to see his mother like this.”

It was worse not seeing what they were doing, so Talbus finally turned and saw Julia’s cross from a distance as the hammers swung again, and her slender form arched in graceful agony. That was it: she was crucified.

All those years ago, Anna had been on her period, and the thought had quickly occurred to Talbus that her monthly blood made it look very much like she had been wounded, and that it might give cover for a merciful fatal thrust to end her misery. Now, though he had never seriously contemplated killing one of his charges since Anna, the thought came to him that he should grant that final mercy to this new Julia.

He had already given it great thought when Anna was on her cross, so there was little need to plan. His long, thin dagger was the perfect implement. If he was careful, he could slip it up her vagina and into her body without doing damage until the tip came to her womb. Then he could thrust up into her belly and she would bleed as if on her period. Death would follow quickly. He could do it at dusk, when the roads were empty and the light was dim, before the night guards came to relieve him. It wouldn’t even be discovered until morning, by which time she would have died. It would work. He only needed the nerve.

For now, he walked over to Julia’s cross, where the girl hung, still sobbing. The hardness of her face was gone. She was broken, and her eyes only begged for mercy now. So like Anna. She was obviously working hard to keep her bare legs together, and only a small tuft of pale orange pubic hair was visible at her groin. This was the earliest stage. Within the hour, she would be too exhausted to weep, and her legs would splay open, offering her naked femininity to every passerby who cared to look at her body. But for now, she had the strength to guard the small modesty she could and to grieve the loss of her own life.

“There there,” Talbus said, patting her knee. There was little else to say. He parted her legs just a little so he could wiped away the soldiers’ semen from her private parts and thighs. Then he offered her water on his sponge, and she took it, tears still streaming down her face. “As I said, I was flogged once in account of a young lady much like you,” Talbus said, trying to take her attention from her suffering. She was looking at him, moist despairing eyes giving her full attention. “She looked very much like you,” Talbus continued, “and I wanted to help her. I got so distracted with her that I forgot to give her father his sedile. Didn’t notice he couldn’t breathe, and he died on his second day. Got fifteen for that. It’s never happened again.” Julia had calmed somewhat.

“Sir,” she said.

“Talbus, Miss.”

“Talbus, I need... I have to... relieve myself.”

Pity took over Talbus’ face. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you with that, Julia.” The girl was distressed by this answer.

“Can’t you cover me?” Talbus shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“But I don’t want them to see me!”

“I know, Miss. I know. It’s just... it’s just part of the... the punishment, I suppose...”

For several moments, she looked down at him, bare chest heaving with frustration. Then, as if it surprised her, she suddenly thrust her hips forward, spreading her knees wide, and threw her head back, groaning, face contorting with what appeared to be a shame so intense as to be physically painful, as a stream of urine sprayed from her most intimate place. There was laughter from the crowd. Before she had finished, she was sobbing again.

Talbus was filled with resolve. “I’ll make it right, Anna. I promise.”

To be continued...
 
Of course the young men were upon Julia almost as soon as she was raised, pinching her nipples, stroking her vulva, driving their grimy fingers up into her body. Talbus could make them take turns, one at a time, but that was all, as long as they weren’t damaging her body, hastening her death. Julia, for her part could do nothing but watch, her arms nailed outspread above her head, tears of shame streaming down her face while the boys stuck their faces in her crotch and fondled what now seemed more theirs than hers.

Talbus’ resolve was strengthening. In his mind, he spoke continually to Anna, vowing to her spirit that Julia would not suffer the same way she had.

Because Talbus had never done the deed. Anna had hung on her cross in agony, her feminine blood staining her crotch and thighs for the world to see, for four full days, and Talbus had watched with moist eyes as she finally fought for a last breath, and lost the fight, early in the afternoon of the fifth day. For ten days after that, Talbus had watched her naked corpse decay and be ripped apart by vultures before they finally needed her cross for another criminal.

While she had been alive, Talbus had stared at his long, thin dagger each night. Each morning he had hidden it in his uniform, resolved to end Anna’s suffering. But the second day, he had lost his nerve. By the end of the third day, she had taken the cornu up her vagina. It felt riskier to have to lift her off the cornu, kill her, and then force her back down on the peg. What if someone happened by? The fourth day, he had figured she would die before nightfall anyway. When he had arrived on the morning of the fifth day, without the dagger, and found her still breathing, blank eyes and mouth still wide with the insanity of constant agony, it felt like a punch to the gut. He had failed her.

This time would be different. He promised Anna over and over.

By later that afternoon, Priscilla was losing strength.

“Hard to breathe then, Priscilla?” She shook her head frantically, seemingly trying to speak, her face reddening. When she finally managed to haul herself up just slightly, she grunted out:

“No, I’m fine. Just... Lift me for a moment...” It was all the strength she had, and she fell with an audible tug on the nails. Talbus took her between her legs as he had in the morning to wash her, and lifted her body. She exhaled dramatically and breathed hard for a moment, exhausted. When she had somewhat recovered, Talbus spoke:

“I think it’s tike for your sedile, Priscilla.”

“No, no - it’s a cornu, isn’t it?” Talbus nodded.

“I don’t need it yet. Just hold me up for another moment and get me some water - I’m alright.” But Talbus had watched enough people die on crosses to know when it was time for the sedile. He brought Priscilla’s cornu a moment later.

“I’m sorry, Priscilla, but it’s time for this.” She closed her eyes in dread and defeat, acknowledging his authority to do what he had to do with her body. “Do you want it in your anus or vagina?”

She swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut. “Vagina.”

Her legs were already splayed wide, and she made no effort to close them as he approached her womanhood with the horn in his hand. “Now, this is up to you, but I think it will be easier for you if I stroke you a little so you’re not so dry.”

“NO,” she said, almost before he had finished. “DON’T do that. Just shove it in and leave me be.”

Talbus shrugged. “Alright...” And he used two fingers to hold her labia open as he set the tip of the cornu to her vagina. He gave it a hard push, and she arched her back and tossed her head from side to side. One more firm shove, and it was in as far as it needed to be. Next Talbus would fasten it to the cross.

But just then, a soldier approached him. A group of bandits had been captured, and the governor wanted them crucified right away. It just so happened there were eight bandits and eight crosses, so any of Talbus’ charges still alive were to have their legs broken so they could be taken down to make room for the bandits.

It was something of a relief to Talbus to know that he would not have to stab Julia. She would die in the next few hours anyway. But he also felt robbed of his opportunity for redemption. The soldier left, and Talbus took up the heavy iron club he used to break the legs of the condemned.

But before he began, the soldier was back.

“Actually, just seven bandits. One of them died of his wounds.”

Seven. Talbus had only two living charges: Priscilla and Julia. As Priscilla had been crucified first, she would be the one to have her legs broken. Julia’s suffering would continue.

To be continued...
 
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Seven. Talbus had only two living charges: Priscilla and Julia. As Priscilla had been crucified first, she would be the one to have her legs broken. Julia’s suffering would continue.

Decisions...decisions ...

Is Talbus the only one here with a conscience?

Great writing!
 
Decisions...decisions ...

Is Talbus the only one here with a conscience?

Great writing!
I find that people with a true conscience are rare. Everybody wants to believe they have one, or at least want others to believe they have one, so most people at least keep up appearances. Most people do enough to convince themselves, too. But when the collective conscience of an entire society has been worn down, there’s less incentive to even do that. A true, inner conscience that takes no guidance from without, is rare, I think.

Sorry - waxing philosophical. I’m sure you don’t all agree. That’s fine. :)
 
Well, obviously I forgot about poor Phillip. Unless one of the mods wants to modify my last paragraph to include him, we’ll just pretend there’s nothing strange when he suddenly reappears in the next installment. :)
 
It was strange to have two women out of three charges. Most weeks there were no women, and when there were, they were almost always outnumbered by the men. In fact, if Aurelia’s family hadn’t bought a quick death for her, there would have been three women and only one man.

Talbus’ anger at Aurelia had cooled slightly when he had understood it, but his disgust for her and her patrician family only deepened as the soldiers prepared to lower her from her cross. Not only had she been dead within minutes, but even her corpse would only be displayed for a few hours. Her family would probably give her a royal burial.

Talbus moved first toward Philip. By procedural rule, he had to start with whichever criminal had hung the longest and proceed from there in order.

“Well, my friend, you won’t have to wait until tonight,” he said, walking behind Phillip’s cross to pry at the nails fastening his sedile. Phillip was very near death already, and did not respond, though his fatigued eye contact and the rasp of his breathing showed that his suffering had not ended. As Talbus removed the sedile, Phillip abruptly sank with a tortured gasp to a full hanging position, eyes and mouth widening as the pain registered, the muscles of his limbs quivering. “Goodbye, Phillip,” Talbus swung the iron club hard, first against one shin, then the other, breaking them with a sickening crack. Phillip’s head slumped forward, dead. Almost before Talbus had finished, other soldiers were setting ladders against the cross to lower the corpse.

Next came Priscilla, very much still alive, if not breathing well, the peg still shoved up her vagina, though not fastened to the cross.

“You’re going to kill me.”

“Yes - they need your cross for someone else.”

She shifted, and her eyes looked to either side, like she couldn’t decide wheather she felt gratitude or trepidation. The other soldiers approached just then, with their ladders and ropes.

“She’s still alive,” Talbus told them.

“Oh, we know. You go ahead. We’re just getting ready to get her down when you’re done with her.” As they threaded the ropes under Priscilla’s armpits, the coffle of bandits came through the gate - seven tan men in loincloths, hands tied behind their bleeding backs, collars threaded together in a train.

Talbus looked up, and Priscilla was looking down at him, a sort of nervous anticipation in her eyes - almost fear, but not as clear as fear. The pair of soldiers stood higher than her, and had finished their rope work. As soon as she was a corpse, she was already prepared to be lowered.

“We’re done - just let us know,” said one of them. Talbus nodded and pulled the cornu out of Priscilla, then stepped back a little with the club. Priscilla’s shallow breathing became rapid as she watched, wide-eyed, her chest heaving ever higher as she could hardly exhale.

“Ready?” Talbus asked. It took her several moments before she gave a quick, nervous nod.

CRACK!! His club crashed through her right shin, and her arms jerked her upward to shriek.

“Sweet Venus!” It was almost a whisper as she began weeping with pain.

She groaned deeply as Talbus swing again, but could only gasp when her left leg broke, leaving her to hang and weep. Talbus patted her thigh with the grim eyes of a man who dislikes what he has accepted. “Won’t be long now,” he told her. The soldiers still watched from above her, waiting for her to die so they could lower her.

That left only little Julia, whose wait for death would be much longer now, because some overly zealous soldier had been too rough with one of these bandits and killed him before he could take his punishment.

While they waited for Priscilla’s cross to become available, other soldiers set about crucifying the bandits on the crosses that were already free. One by one, they released them from their collars, marched them to their crosses, stripped them of their loincloths, bound their ankles, unbound their hands, tied them down on their patibula, and drove in the nails.

When six of the bandits had been raised on their crosses, the last remaining was stood in front of Priscilla to wait for her cross while she died. As there was nothing else to do, they stripped him and bound his ankles, leaving his hands tied behind him. There he stood, naked, flanked by the soldiers who would execute him, waiting for the naked woman on his cross to finish dying.

The impatient soldiers made little cuts with their knives on her legs to see if she would respond, to test whether she was alive, but each time, she writhed impotently. Finally, the centurion began scourging her breasts and belly. She only had the strength and breath to let out little whimpers and groans as she writhed under each lashing, but the beating was severe. Blood ran down her whole body.

Talbus, repulsed, took up his pilum. “Do you want me to run her through, Sir?” he asked. The centurion paused for a moment to look at Talbus, taking a moment to overcome the furor of the flogging he was administering enough to understand what Talbus had said.

“No, this won’t take long,” he said, and he resumed beating the helpless woman with all his might, tearing away visible chunks of her flesh with each stroke. It took longer than anyone expected, but eventually, Priscilla’s stopped convulsing with pain, and her body’s only response to each lash was the response of any inanimate object struck with such force.

“Alright - get her down.” The soldiers who had watched the whole thing from their ladders began prying from behind at the nails through her wrists.

To be continued...
 
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Well, obviously I forgot about poor Phillip. Unless one of the mods wants to modify my last paragraph to include him, we’ll just pretend there’s nothing strange when he suddenly reappears in the next installment. :)
let it be for now - when the story's finished,
and Madiosi will make a pdf and ebook,
you'll be able to make changes if you want to.
 
Talbus watched while Priscilla’s limp body was lowered by the ropes under her armpits. Blood still ran fresh and red from her breasts, belly, and groin, down her bare legs to drip rapidly from her toes. Then she was on the ground, spread eagle, and the soldiers’ attention turned to executing the waiting bandit.

It was always a strange feeling to look on the corpse of a criminal whose legs had been broken. Usually, Talbus’ charges died more gradually. They might seem all but dead for most of a day before they finally breathed their last. But Priscilla had been alive just minutes ago. She had spoken to him. Now, there she was - dead. As far as Talbus could discern, her left nipple was gone - torn off by the lash. The rest of her front faired little better. He tried to think she was finally at peace after her ordeal, but her face was a horrific portrait of indescribable agony, her wild, open eyes like empty gates to a universe of suffering beyond what life on earth can inflict. Her body was mangled, her limbs splayed indecently. Within the hour, she - what was left of her - her pathetic remains, would be dumped with the rest of the city’s refuse, naked and nameless. There was no peace to be found.

Talbus didn’t like looking at her, and yet the strangeness if having spoken with her so recently kept him there, fascinated, baffled, perplexed. Over and over, he remembered how the ropes had already been made ready to lower her before he even broke her legs. She had hung there, surrounded by fellow humans ready to take her down from her place of suffering, doubtless longing for the relief the ropes under her arms could bring her. But first she had to die.

When he finally tore himself from Priscilla, Talbus wandered toward Julia. She no longer held her legs together, but all her muscles were tense. She still strained hard, like they all did before they finally accepted that the pain would never abate, that this was not some temporary torture, too terrible to last - that all the straining in the world was only the product of a frantic, primal self-deception. Tomorrow, exhaustion would conquer the deception, and she would only strain when she needed to breathe.

Talbus spent most of the rest of the afternoon asking Julia about her father and listening patiently as she labored to answer his questions and tell him her stories. Talbus liked to talk with his charges. He liked to think it took their minds off of their suffering a little. He seldom had reason to leave Julia’s cross; she was by far the most popular target for the derision, curiosity, and abuse of the passing crowds.

Then, as the sun sank low and traffic on the road slowed to nothing, Talbus broached the subject on his mind: “Julia, if you could, would you like to... die sooner? Instead of waiting?”

She looked at him, puzzled. “I... I think so...?”

“Death does not frighten you?”

“It does.” She nodded, and fresh tears fell from her eyes.

“But you would choose death?”

“I must die anyway...” She said it as one who knows the truth but has not experienced it. “I would rather live though...” Even as she said it, her bare chest shuddered with pain.

Talbus did not ask any further. Minutes later, the night guards arrived to relieve him, and he returned to the barracks.

Over the decades, Talbus had learned not to think of the condemned when he was off duty. Tonight was different, of course. He got out his long, thin dagger and sharpened it, just in case. And all night in his dreams the naked Anna came to him from across the years, hanging on her cross, impaled on her cornu, her feminine blood staining her thighs, begging him for mercy. And then Julia’s gentle tears, in such contrast with the intense struggle of her body against the nails: “I would rather live, though...”

To be continued...
 
This is only tangentially related to this story, but I did some math and thought you might enjoy it. :) In this story, Talbus usually has 2-3 living charges at a time, so I’ll say that’s something like 4 crucifixions each week, or about 200 each year. If 15% of them are women, that’s 30 women each year. If a woman has heavy, noticeable menstrual bleeding for something like 3 days out of every 28 (round to 30), there’s about a 10% chance that a given woman being crucified will bleed heavily on a given day she spends hanging on the cross. If an average woman lives for about 3 days on the cross before dying, (and this is where my probability skills are stretched - maybe a bit too far - correct me if I do this wrong) there’s about a 30% chance that she will bleed during at least one of her three days on the cross. So if 30 women are nailed to crosses each year, and for each one there’s a 30% chance she’ll bleed at some point, on average, 9 of them will bleed. If we assume, given poorer nutrition two millennia ago, that half of the women crucified were post-menopausal, Talbus would see about 4-5 women menstruate on their cross each year. Ta-da!! :)

(Did I mess anything up??)
 
This is only tangentially related to this story, but I did some math and thought you might enjoy it. :) In this story, Talbus usually has 2-3 living charges at a time, so I’ll say that’s something like 4 crucifixions each week, or about 200 each year. If 15% of them are women, that’s 30 women each year. If a woman has heavy, noticeable menstrual bleeding for something like 3 days out of every 28 (round to 30), there’s about a 10% chance that a given woman being crucified will bleed heavily on a given day she spends hanging on the cross. If an average woman lives for about 3 days on the cross before dying, (and this is where my probability skills are stretched - maybe a bit too far - correct me if I do this wrong) there’s about a 30% chance that she will bleed during at least one of her three days on the cross. So if 30 women are nailed to crosses each year, and for each one there’s a 30% chance she’ll bleed at some point, on average, 9 of them will bleed. If we assume, given poorer nutrition two millennia ago, that half of the women crucified were post-menopausal, Talbus would see about 4-5 women menstruate on their cross each year. Ta-da!! :)

(Did I mess anything up??)
Talbus seems to have a busy job... 30 women to be crucified each year +a lot of men.... he ought to join the cruxers union...
 
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