Remus Rabirius( Scene11)
Following the judgment of the crowd and that fraught night in which
I would yielded up all my old privilege just for the chance to be with
her had she not compelled me back to my duty that hateful morning
when the sentence of death was to be enacted of Ayesha arrived. It was
clear that someone had abused her in the night and I would have gone
and questioned her and propriety be damned but she gave me a shy
smile and a shake of the head and I stopped irresolute.
Just then one of the guards through no reason save that he could struck
Ayesha so hard across the face that she went down almost straight
away. Then several of the guards and the execution squad were
around her like a pack of wolves punching and kicking her and yelling
all the imprecations against filthy Jews and backstabbing barbarians
that in years past I had always accepted as the norm for soldiers on
this hot, dusty and endlessly unforgiving station.
Now though I went to hurry forwards save I found strong hands
clutching me about the upper arms. I glared at Quintus in annoyance
and even encumbered as I was by my formal toga almost sent him
flying with a long practiced wrestling move. “Hold yourself, hold
Remus,” He whispered urgently in my ear, “The harder they use her
now the less she will suffer on the cross and you have seen enough
men nailed up there to know she does not deserve that agony.”
I calmed myself with difficulty but anyway an Optio had already
noticed my excitement and hurried to restore order, he was not afraid
to use his formal staff with a well-aimed jab to the kidney when one
man tried to return and put the boot in again against orders. The
soldiers shook themselves out into a ragged order and one even helped
Ayesha to her feet.
Of course her relief was short lived, for now the patibulum arrived.
Her slender delicate wrists, so fitted to a healer and carer were cruelly
shackled by crude iron chains to the rough wood and then she was
forced to stand tormented and hunched over awkwardly by the vicious
weight of it all. Then an Immune stepped forwards and whispered
something to the Centurion in charge of the detail who nodded his
assent.
Poor Ayesha had already been mockingly crowned with the biting
barbs of a bramble bush but this man had taken the time to weave
together the savagely protruding blackthorn from some hillside near
here into a crown similar to the triumphal laurels I worn just months
before in Rome. These he pressed down hard upon Ayesha’s head until
blood trickled down her brow. He stepped back with a laugh and
exchanged a smile and nod with his Centurion.
Some weeks later the men were surprised when I ordered them on a
dangerous mission to investigate a nasty drug addled cult that had
sprung up on our southern frontier with the ever quarrelsome Arabs.
Neither man returned and there were rumors that their fates had
been quite unpleasant but they had earned them well that day.
Now clad in her cloak and a simple loin cloth Ayesha was whipped
forth as we started the ceremonial procession to Golgotha and her
eventual execution. Also in that day’s condemned were a pair of
simple thieves, who had made the mistake of plundering the villa of a
well-connected equestrian merchant and the even worse mistake of
getting caught. They two would be nailed up high so the crowds could
watch them enjoy a lingering death but such was almost an
afterthought today.
It was Ayesha who grabbed the lion’s share of attention and abuse.
Every now and again someone in the crowd would chance to throw
something, a piece of rotten fruit, shit; ruminant was merely wet and
nasty, dog shit foul and human excrement quite revolting, especially as
some of the latter seemed frightfully fresh. It was the stones and
pebbles that did the damage. Yet each time Ayesha fell whippers were
ready to beat her back to her feet again. Her cloak became ragged and
streaks of darker purple with the blood soiling it.
I was spared the sight of most of this being at the front of the
procession and held by dignity from looking back but I could easily
imagine all of it having seen it all many times before. How easily and
stupidly the mob turn on the victim without realizing that just makes
them easier prey for the wolves who would happily drag them out and
likewise harry them to destruction.
At one point the whole procession did come to a crashing stop, an
urgent blast by the cornicen bringing up the rear alerting those of us at
the front to a problem. Ayesha had taken all she could and well but at
last the heat, the weight and the beatings were too much and she
collapsed sprawling and could not get up no matter how much the
men with whips and army boots urged and spurned her to it.
“Get her a relief carrier you fools, can you not see you idiots have
overtaxed her? She dies now I will have you all on crosses by
nightfall,” I hissed livid with rage at the sight of my poor Ayesha so
beaten and fainting on the ground. It was by rights a stupid mistake to
threaten armed men so but such was my rage, such was the knowledge
of the power of the Emperor and twenty five legions standing behind
me at that moment that the men hurried to obey.
There was hasty fumbling with the chains and the patibulum was
lifted up by two stout legionaries. Then a man in robes half way
between Greek and Jewish custom so likely a prosperous shop keeper
was dragged forth and handed the evil wood. He almost dropped it
straight away and it was not until it was set across his shoulders that
he could carry it. At least he was not bound and apart from the odd
shove and the misaimed missile spared most of the abuse.
Ayesha lost in a world of misery somehow found the strength to rise
and staggered forwards. The procession now took up its course along
the winding slope of that horrid skull like hill. There at the summit Ayesha was stripped of her cloak, which had at least protected her shoulders somewhat, those of the two thieves had been rubbed raw. While she stood almost naked and entirely vulnerable surrounded by guards I strode forwards and delivered the formal sentence. I could not but help but notice she was quivering as the fear reaction set in, no one can truly comprehend the raw pain of this most humiliating form of execution till they have experienced it but she knew enough and it clearly terrified her.
I had to harden myself inside as I could not go her but instead was
burdened by my duty, duty such as seemed the necessary care that tied
us to honor before but now felt hateful and befouling.
“Behold Ayesha of Nazareth, self-proclaimed Queen regnant of the
Jews, found guilty of the crimes of sedition against Rome, in that it is
said she incited the common people to insurrection and blasphemy
against the Temple of Jerusalem in that she has claimed for herself the
title of the prophesized Messiah she is sentenced to be hanged before
you the people until such time as she is dead and justice…sentence
served,” I choked on the proclamation as I read it and altered my
words carefully as I could, it was not in the end as damning a wording
as the Greek scribes Matheus, Marcus, Lucas and John intended.
Of course that little token did not do my poor Ayesha much good. She
was forced down by the execution squad and her hands pressed
against the rough wooden beam. She was again bound to it with the
handy chains and a heavyset man sat astride her legs, then came froth
the hammers and the brutal nails. Metal was pressed to soft flesh and
she could but scream her agony to the world. The blows rang heavy in
my ears and the shrill screams sent me into a barely suppressed rage.
“Piss on the bitch before we lift her?” Suggested one of the Legionaries
so confident of the reply he was already reaching under his tunic.
“Do that if you want your cock shortened,” Hissed Quintus, sparing me
the indignity. The man hastily drew himself back to a more
appropriate posture.
The stipes of Golgotha are set higher than most so as to be visible for
miles around, the mob of Jerusalem is unruly at the best of times and
only constant fear of Roman power keeps it in the slightest check. Four
strong men of the legions hauled Ayesha to her feet and although the
strain on her arms and shoulder joints must have been awful she
restrained herself to modest gasps of pain, even as her body trembled
with the cascade of agony.
The men hauled her aloft and stood straining a moment while two of
their fellows brought the forked irons on long shafts that would be
used to carry the rest of that short yet brutal journey to the stipes. She
was hoisted into the air and then brought into line with it so the
wedged tip was ready to slide through the waiting hole in the
patibulum. With a loud thud she was lowered home but she gave only
a small yelp of pain.
Then they took her feet and bound them to the wood of the stipes.
Again the brutal assault with nails driven through delicate flesh and
this time Ayesha could not but help scream her agony.
Then the man assigned to fit the titulus took up his ladder and climbed aloft. With grinning mock he set the message up high for all to see.
Ayesha Nazerena Regina Iudaeorum
Ayesha woman of Nazareth, Queen of the Jews.
Then he unwrapped the chains and climbed down to his fellows.
“Ah look the Jew Queen has a fine Roman throne now,” Laughed one of the men and ripped her loin cloth from her body. “Oh look the wench has gone all sleepy byes,” He flung the now ragged garment away casually but some quirk or gift of Favononius carried it to my hands and I caught it and turned leaving the disgusting scene as quickly as I could. Dignitas be damned I wanted out of there as quickly as the encumbrance of my formal toga would allow.
To Be Continued
- neither are necessary
another thg is I dont care reality..cuz we all live in fantacy here...as long as we please..there's no problem
Eeek...
