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Talbus - The Guard

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Barbaria1 said:
look for the toggle link in the lower left hand corner of your screen.
Click to expand...
Thanks... There seems to be an issue with the text itself when I paste it into CF. If I write directly in the “chat window,” it shows up black against the white screen AND white against the black screen, right? (This note, for example.) But when I paste it in, it seems to be only black? Is there a way to fix that?
 
Juan1234 said:
Thanks... There seems to be an issue with the text itself when I paste it into CF. If I write directly in the “chat window,” it shows up black against the white screen AND white against the black screen, right? (This note, for example.) But when I paste it in, it seems to be only black? Is there a way to fix that?
Click to expand...

You can change the color of pasted in text by using the color tab on the control panel at the top of the chat window (looks like a teardrop)
 
But if you paste in the text, highlight it all then click on the 'eraser' symbol
for 'Remove formatting' at top left on the bar, that will correct it to the default setting.
 
Talbus remembered the names and stories of many of the criminals he’d watched die. Of course there were thousands, and most of them were nameless faces to him by now, but his memory was strong, and he saw it as almost a duty to try to remember each one. After they had died, and the carrions and dogs made off with bits of their flesh, he felt that his memory served as a small human dignity to them, and that they deserved no less.

So he remembered Anna. He was reminded of her because of the execution party that emerged from the gate that morning, just as the sun was lifting off the horizon, and the buzz and activity of the day was just beginning. In the quiet of the morning, Talbus had heard the girl’s distant cries as she was beaten at the whipping post in the city plaza, so he wasn’t surprised to see a young woman, but he was fairly shocked to see what he first thought must be little Anna come back to life, after more than twenty years.

She had the same creamy-white skin, the same striking orange hair, and the same diminutive frame. She was naked above the dirty skirt that hung from her boney hips, and Talbus could see she had the same small, almost boyish breasts. Like Anna all those years before, she couldn’t have been much older than eighteen. “Julia: Murderess”

Talbus had seen many women executed. Most had already born a few children, like Priscilla. But even still, after thirty years, he’d seen plenty of young women as well. Anna, and now Julia, were not the most beautiful he’d seen, but Anna had affected him deeply.

He had first seen her when she came with her mother to visit her father, who had been crucified earlier in the day. As he always did, Talbus let them approach to speak to the man, to kiss his legs, and to weep. Something about the tragedy of it all, and the small kindness he was authorized to extend in his official capacity, fed Talbus’ soul, and he gave them as long as he felt he could. But then of course others wanted their turn, to spit, slap, and squeeze his scrotum.

“You’ll have to move back now, Ladies,” he had told Anna and her mother, gently guiding them away from the cross with his hands. But Anna wouldn’t go. When Talbus had reluctantly begun to use more force to remove her, she had screamed, then punched his face and run around behind her father’s cross, digging at the protruding points of the nails through his feet like she thought she could free him. “Young Lady, please,” Talbus had pleaded, increasingly uncomfortable with the scene she was making, “You can’t help your father this way. You’ll only make things worse.” By then, he had restrained her and held her firmly in his arms from behind, but she had still been struggling.

“You should know,” he had rumbled in her ear as she kicked and fought, “that my orders are to kill anyone who attempts to free one of my prisoners.” And he flashed the iron tip of his pilum in front of her face. Here, she had slowed and listened. “Now I don’t want to do that. You’re upset, and you’re making a mistake. Now go back to the road with your mother, and--”

“A problem, Talbus?” It was Talbus’ commanding centurion, riding by on horseback at the head of a dozen legionaries.

“Oh, not really, Sir. She was a little upset - it’s her father,” he motioned with his head toward the crucified man.

“It looked like she was trying to help him escape.”

“Oh, no, Sir - only with her bare hands. She just needs--”

“Crucify her.”

(To be continued...)

 
Juan1234 said:
Past the age of fifty, and having spent most of his waking hours for three decades watching naked men and women slowly expire on their crosses, Talbus took little of any sexual pleasure in his duties. But in a strange way, he did enjoy having women to guard. He took no pleasure in the idea of a woman suffering on a cross - in fact, it collided with his own sense of justice. But it was perhaps because it seemed so wrong that he felt the urge to participate in his way as a sort of counterbalance to the cruelty. He enjoyed earning his charges’ trust; it was in his nature to care for the downtrodden and to enjoy their confidence, and this effect was most pronounced when the condemned was most vulnerable, most frightened and insecure. The women generally fit this description better than the men, at least in Talbus’ mind. Thus, though he knew he was at his post solely to ensure that their lives lingered as long as possible in abject misery, he was very often rewarded for his pains with their gratitude, and a sense of magnanimous friendship.

He was a simple man, but all men have secrets, however simple, and Talbus would tell his favorite charges his secrets in the mornings or evenings, when traffic on the road was scarcer, and there was nothing to see but the blank city walls, nothing to hear but the groans of the condemned and the twitter of the birds and the faint sweep of the breeze. Then he would ask them about their crimes. “Phillip: Murderer” Yes, Phillip had killed another slave. They usually told him the truth, and they were usually guilty. “Priscilla: Murderess and Adulteress” Yes, she had poisoned her abusive husband and slept with another man. As she was not a citizen, the magistrate condemned her to the cross.

Most were slaves. Most of the rest were non-citizens from the lower classes. They came through the gate in various states of undress, bleeding from being beaten, bound and surrounded by the execution squad. The men were often nude already, but sometimes wore a loincloth; the women were usually allowed to cover more during their death march.

On two occasions over the course of his career, Talbus had seen an entire family of aristocrats crucified when the head of the household was convicted of treason. There weren’t enough crosses to crucify then all at once, so the women were executed first, while the men were made to watch from the other side of the road. So as to extend the time they would hang as a warning to other would-be traitors, the women were not beaten beforehand, so they arrived for execution fully clothed in all their jewelry and finery. All of this they were made to remove, until they wore nothing but the liner on their eyes. The naked women were then sent to Talbus to wait until their patibula could be brought down and made read for them.

Talbus had seen nude prostitutes, and the seducing way they stepped around like cats, advertising their charms. Women facing the cross were not nude like that; they were just naked. They stepped awkwardly, like scared lambs, like the pebbles hurt their bare feet, like they couldn’t find a way to stand that would conceal everything they wanted to conceal. Their arms clutched their own nakedness, humiliated, trying to hide.

When he was younger, Talbus had suppressed a silent indignation at the sight. By now, he had mostly learned to accept it, and to find solace in his own role as servant to the condemned. He had only let his own feelings get the better of him once, and that had been long ago.

(To be continued...)
Click to expand...
This is superbly written. It really catches Talbus' dilemma and the strange situation of the condemned. Very captivating.
 
There had been a stunned moment before the various people around the crosses had returned to life. “I’m so sorry - I should have killed you,” Talbus had intoned in the girl’s ear as her mother shrieked and her father groaned in despair from his cross.

That was it. The soldiers had taken her, silent, stunned, and seemingly unable to resist much anymore, taken her clothes from her, lifting them over her head so as not to tear them, tied her hands to an empty cross, and flogged her. Talbus rarely saw the floggings - they were almost always done inside the city at the whipping post. Hearing the girl’s cries as she was beaten had deepened his sense of guilt. He could have run her through with his pilum. Now she would suffer on a cross instead.

When the soldiers had gone to rape her, they had noticed the cloth stuffed inside her womanhood and begun laughing. Talbus hadn’t been among them, but he was close enough to hear their laughter, to see Anna’s red face. He had tried to forget the cruel, lewd jokes, but they stuck, along with the look on her face, and his guilt.

They had begun by raping her annally (“Perhaps you have another hole to offer?”), but by the end, they had tugged the cloth from her body and let her menstrual blood drip down her legs. Then they had nailed her body to a cross, and in the space of less than half an hour, she had gone from a winsome young woman mourning her father to a naked young criminal dying on a cross. “Anna: Traitor”

All that agony and humiliation, and Talbus could have saved her from it.
Now, two decades later, this new Julia reminded him very much of Anna. As Julia finished undressing herself, one of the soldiers of the execution detail chatted with Talbus, tossing the long crucifixion spikes in one hand as he spoke. Julia had tried to murder one of their barracks-mates - the one who had driven the nails into her father’s wrists when he had been crucified a few weeks before. She had failed, but she had tried. Now she had to die herself. So like Anna, Talbus thought.

(To be continued...)
 
Talbus had not expected Julia, but he had expected another woman. The whole city had been talking about her for days: Aurelia, wife of Quintus Antonius, a prominent aristocrat. Thus he was not surprised when, just as young Julia finished undressing and cautiously lowered herself to the ground so the soldiers could bind her arms to the waiting patibulum, Aurelia’s execution party came through the gate.

Aurelia was approaching sixty years old, and had long been as prominent in the local gossip as her husband was in the local government. For years it had been an open secret that she had other lovers besides Antonius, but in the absence of publicly available evidence, Antonius had always been able to dismiss the rumors as gossip. Then, just a week before, Antonius had suddenly denounced her to the magistrate, producing a great quantity of evidence that Aurelia had not only kept other lovers, but had, as her youth had left her, begun paying them for their services, and later arranging for them to be murdered. Aurelia’s family had worked hard to exonerate her, but Antonius’ mountain of evidence and the stiff wind of public opinion were against her. Her family’s bribes could secure certain concessions, but her fate was sealed. The magistrate granted Antonius’ request that she be crucified like a common criminal.

Now here she was, this once voluptuous woman, now a bit heavy with age, reporting for execution with the defiantly haughty bearing if her class. Talbus could not help but feel the huge contrast between her and young Julia, who reminded him so much of Anna long ago. In Aurelia, he saw an old, tired she-wolf who had spent decades cheating on her husband and murdering her own lovers. It was one of few times in his career he looked forward to the crucifixion of a prisoner, not because he would enjoy it, but because he felt there was a great tear in the fabric of justice, and the only agony of the cross could repair it.

Poor Julia had to wait, lying naked, ready to be nailed, while her own executioners’ attention was taken by the arrival of Aurelia.

It grated Talbus to see the deference with which the soldiers disrobed the old noblewoman, and the way she held her glaring head high as her body was exposed little by little. Then she was naked, and for a moment, the eyes of the crowd beheld the legendary Aurelia in a state of nature. But only for a moment. She was quickly handed a long piece of linen - one of the fruits of her family’s bribes - which she threaded between her legs and tied about her hips like a loincloth. Talbus was disgusted. Next, they handed her another linen, which she wrapped around her bust to conceal her breasts somewhat. Talbus had seen a lot in thirty years, but he had never seen anything like this. He was getting angry, seeing Julia still waiting to be nailed while Aurelia received such special treatment. At least he could be mildly amused at the ridiculous figure Aurelia cut now, standing there like a young athlete in her loincloth and strophium, while her lumpy flesh bulged and her jet black dyed hair still glittered with ornaments.

But it got worse. As Aurelia stood there waiting with the statuesque dignity of her class, they tied a rope around her neck, then stuck a small rod between the rope and her neck and began twisting it to cinch the rope tight. Her face reddened almost immediately, and her eyes widened, but she did not struggle. It was a mercy bought by her family’s bribes, and she knew better than to be ungrateful. When the rope was visibly, painfully tight, they knotted the rod into her hair to make it stay, then rushed to crucify her before she passed out.

In just a few moments, she was on her back with her arms tied to the crossbar. Then the nails were set to her wrists and driven in simultaneously by two different soldiers. Talbus didn’t usually watch the crucifixions, but he always heard the screams. This time, he watched in growing disgust as the old woman bucked and struggled in silence.

Shortly after, he heard the breathless, pleading cries of Julia behind him, as her executioners returned to their work. He didn’t turn to look. He didn’t want to see.

Soon, Aurelia was hanging, purple-faced, from her cross, her once-shapely legs kicking desperately, her eyes bulging. Then her feet were nailed as well, and she hung there, crucified. But only for a few moments before her eyes rolled back, her body slumped, and her loincloth was suddenly, visibly filled with the contents of her bladder and bowels.

(To be continued...)
 
Julia's executioners were laughing, and Talbus finally turned to see what was happening. Her right wrist had been nailed through, but on the left the cross had splintered and broken off beneath her when they had tried to drive the spike through. Aparently the old beam had taken too much Mediterranean sun and had one nail-hole too many. Talbus had seen this happen a few times, but usually the old beams could be identified and replaced before they got to this point. Now the soldiers were working to pry the nail from Julia's right wrist and calling for someone to fetch a new beam from the barracks.

Talbus had always maintained a degree of detatchment from the suffering he witnessed each day. He mostly felt pity, and he kept his pity within bounds. He had never felt the kind of anger burning in his temples that he felt now. He looked at the tender desperation of Julia's young form as the soldiers tugged and pried, then back at the grotesque figure of plum-faced Aurelia hanging in her own excrement, folds of skin drooping over and under her ridiculous costume, as if she were melting. He wanted to bring her back to life and torture her properly. He wanted to strip off her strophium and show the world her sagging, flat breasts. He wanted to plaster her filthy loincloth to her haughty face.

He shocked himself. He had never felt such ill will toward any criminal before. He had seen many men and women of despicable character meet their ends on his crosses, and even if he thought some of them deserved their punishment, he had always found at least a little pity in his heart for them. Why was now suddenly different?

Maybe it was because he spent a few days with each criminal before they died, so he got to know them and empathize with them, whereas Aurelia was dead almost as soon as she was raised on her cross. But the anger had come on him even before she had strangeld.

Then it hit him. This had nothing to do with Aurelia or her crimes or her privilege. It had to do with Julia. No - not Julia - he hadn't even spoken with Julia yet. He didn't know her. It was about Anna. When he saw Julia, he saw Anna. Aurelia was nothing but contrast.

(To be continued...)
 
Juan1234 said:
Aparently the old beam had taken too much Mediterranean sun and had one nail-hole too many. Talbus had seen this happen a few times, but usually the old beams could be identified and replaced before they got to this point. Now the soldiers were working to pry the nail from Julia's right wrist and calling for someone to fetch a new beam from the barracks.
Click to expand...

Interesting and all too realistic, I suspect, deviation from the usual “nailing narrative”

Juan1234 said:
e had never felt the kind of anger burning in his temples that he felt now. He looked at the tender desperation of Julia's young form as the soldiers tugged and pried, then back at the grotesque figure of plum-faced Aurelia hanging in her own excrement, folds of skin drooping over and under her ridiculous costume, as if she were melting.
Click to expand...

Comparison ... playing up the striking contrast between the two victims, in vivid descriptive words, Talbus’ disdain for Aurelia and pity (or is it love?) for Julia and her resemblance to Anna.
 
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