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The Acts Of Julia Of Brixellum

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Part 30 : AD 2073.

An abandoned railroad yard.

The clock on the hangar showed 09:30 pm. It was dark.

“Good evening, Livia!”

“Good evening, Father!”

“Livia, this is Father Nicodemus, my collaborator in this mission. Nico, Livia here is part of a research program to provide mental support for the condemned during the nailing phase. It should take away their focus on the ongoing operations on the other condemned.”

“Interesting! And does it work?”

“We cannot evaluate yet. But I have the impression, less condemned seem to faint or even die of fear. Staying conscious and alive is essential for the purpose of the punishment!”

“What about Julia Bersel?”

“Julia Bersel, and her companions, have behaved very resigning. A typical accepting attitude for condemned who knew what they risked. There have been no incidents! Julia Bersel refused to take her clothes off herself, stating that such is the job of an executioner, which is her right. She seemed to hesitate when we offered them to choose their place in the execution row, but it rather appeared to me that the male condemned were deciding faster!”

“Did she say something particular?”

As far as I recall, she said something like : ‘for Julia of … I cannot recall the name!”

“Julia of Brixellum?”

“Right! Any hero of her?”

“Something like that! “

“Excuse me, may I ask a question too?”

“Go ahead, Nico!”

“What happens with them the forthcoming hours?”

“We have no idea!” Livia answered “The anesthesia is over now. But they seem to be completely worn out. Due to the anesthesia, they seem to exhaust their forces more rapidly, I guess. We shall have to await how they pass the night!”

“Let’s have another look before we go, Nico!”

Their footsteps creaked over the grit. There were several police guards and still a number of onlookers. But it was calm. No more shouting and insulting towards the condemned.

Spotlights illuminated the condemned’ bodies. Their faces were hardly discernible in the dark. But their suffering was clearly audible. They moaned and groaned of pain, despair and discomfort. They were hanging motionless, kept alive by their sedile. Some tried to utter words, but exhaustion had already weakened their ability to talk, except for some broken sentences and loose words, often not understandable. As they walked along the execution yard perimeter, the condemned tried to raise their head. Clearly, they instictively sought for help when they spotted a human being, so strong was their will to live. But it was clear from their desperate voices, they knew very well their calls for help were in vain. They knew, no one could or would do anything.

“I sometimes wonder what goes through their head!”

“There is only one drastic way to find out, remember, Nico, the drastic way of Father Loxuru! By the way did I tell you? He got arrested!”

“Really? When?”

“While you were getting the sandwiches ! He started to protest and to make a one man riot in front of the camera crew. But he was quickly brought away by the police!”

“Father Loxuru!?” Livia said, “ That is right! He is on the work list for tomorrow! Unbelievable! He was the student’s chaplain at The University! He was very enthusiastic about Del Nero, at least in the beginning! Until suddenly, he changed his mind. Today I had to crucify my former anatomy teacher, Professor Malachius, tomorrow Father Loxuru!”

“That’s very quick justice! I told you Nico, his prayers would be heard if did not be careful. And del Nero can once more show that no one is immune or protected, even not a priest! Again very convenient!”

“Can’t we do nothing? Form him? For them?”

“No, Nico, and do not try anything, unless you desire to share experience with Father Loxuru tomorrow?”

“Maybe….”

“Nico, I think it is time to go! Do not have yourself carried away by your concern for these unfortunate condemned. Livia! Thank you for helping us! See you later!”

“Good night, Father Camillo!”

“Nico! I think we better attack that bottle of Seagram’s! You know what, I put it on my note of charges!”

“Good idea! What about reporting to Santa Maria del Monte about the events?”

“Absolutely, Nico! I shall inform the abbot first, about Julia Bersel’s tragic journey up to now.”

***

Eight hundred years earlier.

1274 AD.

The Abbey of Santa Maria del Monte, Italy.

“Welcome, Father Camillo! You have made a long journey!”

“Thank you, Father Abbot! I bring you the manuscript!”

“Right! The one you wrote about, that created such unrest to your Count! It seems fascinating!”

“It is, in some way, Father Abbot. Unfortunately I cannot hand you the original.”

"What happened to her, Father Camillo?”

“The Count has pushed his will! He has searched to abbey and confiscated the original manuscript. He had it thrown into the same pile of fire in which poor Sister Julia has perished, on the public square of Brescello.”

“Poor Sister Julia!”

“It is all my fault, Father Abbot! I had to do more to rescue her!”

“Do not blame yourself, Father Camillo! Sister Julia is with God now! And the Count will burn in hell for his cruelty!”

“I deserve to burn in hell too, for my failure! It would be better I end up there, so I shall never face Sister Julia anymore!”

“Father Camillo! Please! You have no guilt in the death of Sister Julia! You have done all that was in your power! But, if the original is destroyed, what are you bringing me here?”

“Sister Julia had made a secret copy for herself. I discovered it before the Count could.”

“You have read it yourself, Father Camillo?”

“Yes, Father Abbot, but…”

“All sins forgiven, Father Camillo! Rather tell me! What is your opinion about it?”

“It is a very… exploring and intriguing. I sometimes wonder whether those who say it is too dangerous to preserve it, could be right?”

“Listen Father Camillo! One day, mankind will face the Day of Judgement! Then we all will stand in front of a challenge of unseen proportions! Questions never raised before will have to be answered! We will have to prepare our self for it! Then, Father Camillo, we shall need everything we have in our reach! Even a sinful and subversive account of our Lord Jesus’ crucifixion, might be helpful! Therefore, Father Camillo, we have the duty to preserve this manuscript for posterity! Meanwhile, it is better to keep this manuscript out of reach of the public. Bringing out the content will only cause trouble, for those who will bring it out in the first place!”

THE END
This has been a real tour de force, Loxuru! :clapping:

And I'm really glad I'm not called 'Julia'! :very_hot:
 
An afterward about this story. First of all, thanks to all for the likes and comments. For me, this story was a tricky experiment, first of all by publishing shorter episodes on a daily schedule (there is less room for error in the continuity of the story). I was also worried whether the ‘time travels’ would work. The same for the ‘anesthesia’ technique used for the crucifixion of Julia Bersel, of which I wondered whether it would appear 'believable'.
Actually, the first half of the story, including the account of Gestas' life and death, was written already about a year ago. I originally had a quicker end in mind, then I reverted to a story snippet I have in stock, just to end up with the way it went, because I wanted more than just nail Julia to a cross as a kinf of martyr of free speech. This allowed me to explore her character a little bit, revealing that, despite her ideals, she was certainly not a briljant person, neither a good teacher, but a rather rebelous, stubborn and also opportunistic character, partly shaped by that shipwreck and the work camp, partly because that was the way she was.


OK, I have to ask: Bersel back wards is Les Reb. Is that a co-incidence?


Not exactly. I wanted the Roman times Julia been grown up in a small town, rather than in Rome. I was thinking of a small, sleepy town. Then came up to me the films of Don Camillo, playing in a small sleepy town in the Po Valley in Northern Italy. These story exactly create the atmosphere I had in mind. The name of that small town is Brescello. Even better : Brescello existed already in Roman times, when it was named Brixellum. Hence the name of the Roman Julia. The intermezzo of Sister Julia, in the Middle Ages part, is set in Brescello (allowing me to show up ‘Father Camillo’ – the Count of course being a cameo of Peppone, the Communist mayor in the Don Camillo story). I needed this intermezzo to make the link between the (lost) original (a weakness in Julia Bersel’s hypothesis) and the copy Julia Bersel has seen.

In the Wikipedia pages, I found that in the Reggio Emilia dialect, Brescello is pronounced ‘Bersel’. Hence the name. Julia of Brixellum, or Julia Bersel, it’s the same.
 
An afterward about this story. First of all, thanks to all for the likes and comments. For me, this story was a tricky experiment, first of all by publishing shorter episodes on a daily schedule (there is less room for error in the continuity of the story). I was also worried whether the ‘time travels’ would work. The same for the ‘anesthesia’ technique used for the crucifixion of Julia Bersel, of which I wondered whether it would appear 'believable'.
Actually, the first half of the story, including the account of Gestas' life and death, was written already about a year ago. I originally had a quicker end in mind, then I reverted to a story snippet I have in stock, just to end up with the way it went, because I wanted more than just nail Julia to a cross as a kinf of martyr of free speech. This allowed me to explore her character a little bit, revealing that, despite her ideals, she was certainly not a briljant person, neither a good teacher, but a rather rebelous, stubborn and also opportunistic character, partly shaped by that shipwreck and the work camp, partly because that was the way she was.





Not exactly. I wanted the Roman times Julia been grown up in a small town, rather than in Rome. I was thinking of a small, sleepy town. Then came up to me the films of Don Camillo, playing in a small sleepy town in the Po Valley in Northern Italy. These story exactly create the atmosphere I had in mind. The name of that small town is Brescello. Even better : Brescello existed already in Roman times, when it was named Brixellum. Hence the name of the Roman Julia. The intermezzo of Sister Julia, in the Middle Ages part, is set in Brescello (allowing me to show up ‘Father Camillo’ – the Count of course being a cameo of Peppone, the Communist mayor in the Don Camillo story). I needed this intermezzo to make the link between the (lost) original (a weakness in Julia Bersel’s hypothesis) and the copy Julia Bersel has seen.

In the Wikipedia pages, I found that in the Reggio Emilia dialect, Brescello is pronounced ‘Bersel’. Hence the name. Julia of Brixellum, or Julia Bersel, it’s the same.
Thank you for this explanations!
For me a good exercise text. He entice me to read.
But i start a little bit late with read and illustrations.
 
Congratulations, Loxuru, on a beautifully crafted tale. I love the way it all fits together. Well done!
And Madi's manips are highly complimentary too - great work.
 
Thanks for the explanation as to why you chose Bresel, Lox. Nevertheless, I find it an interesting coincidence that if you rearrange the letters, it makes the word "rebels", which is what all the different Julia's did in their eras.

As for the anesthesia, I thought it worked well. Trying to make execution into a medical procedure is exactly what those states in the US that still have capital punishment have done, or tried to do, with lethal injection, though that is becoming less and less tenable every day.

So, a very interesting story, for sure.
 
Hmmm, I'm thinking if you did it the old-fashioned way, forging the nails individually, with hammer and anvil -- a square-profile one is almost what you get by default while a smooth round one would be much more delicate work...

Of course, malins, but which would you prefer, as condemned or viewer? One where the limb can pivot easily, or one where you can hear bone grate against metal?
 
which would you prefer, as condemned or viewer? One where the limb can pivot easily, or one where you can hear bone grate against metal?
Well if you let me pick my nails, and both kinds were on offer, yes, I'd pick the round, smooth ones, because I'm squeamish like that, and also yes, it would be easier for me to move. And if you let me make that choice maybe I could go on a little longer with lying to myself that there might still be a last little bit of hope, though really I should know better.

(Also, if you agree the smooth round ones are much more work to make, it means someone put in an extra effort to fashion these nails just for me which would be flattering and how could I turn that down?)

Perhaps someone else would see more clearly and be stronger, and would like the more cruel sharp-edged nails, so that the wounds tear open each time their limbs twist upon the spikes, and perhaps there is stronger bleeding, and they reach the end more quickly. I don't know if I could be made to choose for someone else. Metal grating against bone, it's one of the sounds that would probably make me want to cover my ears, and wail in protest against, if I was forced to stand by; if it's me up there, I would be howling anyway so long as I had the breath, but even if all sensation was gone, the nerves destroyed, that grating is still a sickening vibration that's transferred on through the bones, another terror working from the inside.
 
Well if you let me pick my nails, and both kinds were on offer, yes, I'd pick the round, smooth ones, because I'm squeamish like that, and also yes, it would be easier for me to move. And if you let me make that choice maybe I could go on a little longer with lying to myself that there might still be a last little bit of hope, though really I should know better.

(Also, if you agree the smooth round ones are much more work to make, it means someone put in an extra effort to fashion these nails just for me which would be flattering and how could I turn that down?)

Perhaps someone else would see more clearly and be stronger, and would like the more cruel sharp-edged nails, so that the wounds tear open each time their limbs twist upon the spikes, and perhaps there is stronger bleeding, and they reach the end more quickly. I don't know if I could be made to choose for someone else. Metal grating against bone, it's one of the sounds that would probably make me want to cover my ears, and wail in protest against, if I was forced to stand by; if it's me up there, I would be howling anyway so long as I had the breath, but even if all sensation was gone, the nerves destroyed, that grating is still a sickening vibration that's transferred on through the bones, another terror working from the inside.
Malins describes that bastard Tree and his methods perfectly... It will earn her no mercy...
 
Hmmm did you read the fine print :D
You'd ... put in an extra effort just for me?
Doesn't sound like your modus operandi at all, you'd never put in that extra effort for anyone would you, just the bare, raw necessity of getting bodies nailed up and squirming.
That is very cold of you to say that Malins! Tree has a forge in the Tree shop that molten metal can be poured in the square forms. Once cooled they are heated and hammered into spikes and only the tapered tips are attended to by the grindstone. The square shanks for your wrists and feet have not seen a hint of polishing and are covered with scales and rust. I even found a cross from the 'Great Slave Rebellion of 2013' that is still strong enough you crucify you upon but has weathered and will shred your backside.

If you wish to try me come to the Tree Estate...

Tree
 
covered with scales and rust... weathered
Well I was right about the 'raw' part at least wasn't I?

You're making the rustic the essence of your, uuuh, brand -- and now how does that fit with my tender artsy fartsy sensibilities? Apart from giving a sizzle and stink. Speaking of which, the Tree Estate, that's the place I've been told to make a wide detour around when the wind carries the groan and stench from the hill of a hundred crosses, isn't it?
 
Well I was right about the 'raw' part at least wasn't I?
You're making the rustic the essence of your, uuuh, brand -- and now how does that fit with my tender artsy fartsy sensibilities? Apart from giving a sizzle and stink. Speaking of which, the Tree Estate, that's the place I've been told to make a wide detour around when the wind carries the groan and stench from the hill of a hundred crosses, isn't it?
It is the place to avoid though I doubt the crucified women would appreciate you saying their suffering 'stench'...
I have rented a private room at the coffee shop and we can discuss what you wish to try...

B w 026.jpg

There are no guarantees you survive it...
 
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