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The Guilty

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Juan1234

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When Galbus opened the screeching gate to the dim cell, the girl looked up reluctantly, then slowly rose to her feet, resigned, and made her way to him. Surprised by her cooperation, however gloomy, he had not yet spoken, and when she stood before him, he simply handed her the titulus: "Leah, Murderess." Even though Galbus had not commanded her, she obediently put it over her head to hang about her neck, face full of regret, accepting the label, and all of its shame. When Galbus did not move, but remained looking down at her, scrutinizing her manner, she looked up at him, eyes soon cast away, then back again, as if she was ashamed of herself and wished he would stop looking at her.

"I am here to crucify you," he said. It seemed he should say something. She nodded. That was it, so he turned. "This way," he said, taking her by the arm and leading her out of the prison, though it hardly seemed necessary.

"Who did you kill?" he asked. He had only ever shouted at the condemned before, never just spoken to them.

"My mistress's daughter."

Galbus cocked his head and shrugged to himself. She deserved it, he supposed.

"I didn't really hate her," the girl explained, looking up at him, as if hopeful he would understand. Galbus didn't know what to say. He was eager to get back to the barracks - there was work to be done. It was no good talking to this condemned girl like a social acquaintance anyhow.

They reached the courtyard.

"Here is your cross," he motioned to the patibulum, "Pick it up and carry it. We're going to the merchant's gate. I'll crucify you outside on the road."

She eyed the beam uncertainly. He guessed she was genuinely confused, not resisting.

"Won't you flog me first? Or will you flog me when we get there?"

"No, there's no time to flog you. I'm busy today."

Her face changed to pleading, though only gently. "Please, Sir," she said, "my father told me I should request a severe flogging." Galbus looked at her, puzzled and bemused. "To help me die faster on the cross," she explained.

"I told you, Miss, it's a busy day..."

"Sir? Please?"

"Can you pay for it?"

"You mean money?"

"Yes."

"Sir, I'm a slave. I have nothing."

He looked at her for a while, scratching his nose and holding the back of his neck with one hand.

"I'll tell you what," he said, "go over to that whipping post behind you, take off your stola, and pull your tunic up to uncover your butt. Put your hands against the post and I'll beat you with one of these canes," he motioned to a row of long, thick rods leaning against a nearby wall.

"Thank you," she said. Of course she did not smile, and she was still reticent as she made her way toward the post, but her gratitude was heartfelt.
 
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When Galbus opened the screeching gate to the dim cell, the girl looked up reluctantly, then slowly rose to her feet, resigned, and made her way to him. Surprised by her cooperation, however gloomy, he had not yet spoken, and when she stood before him, he simply handed her the titulus: "Leah, Murderess." Even though Galbus had not commanded her, she obediently put it over her head to hang about her neck, face full of regret, accepting the label, and all of its shame. When Galbus did not move, but remained looking down at her, scrutinizing her manner, she looked up at him, eyes soon cast away, then back again, as if she was ashamed of herself and wished he would stop looking at her.

"I am here to crucify you," he said. It seemed he should say something. She nodded. That was it, so he turned. "This way," he said, taking her by the arm and leading her out of the prison, though it hardly seemed necessary.

"Who did you kill?" he asked. He had only ever shouted at the condemned before, never just spoken to them.

"My mistress's daughter."

Galbus cocked his head and shrugged to himself. She deserved it, he supposed.

"I didn't really hate her," the girl explained, looking up at him, as if hopeful he would understand. Galbus didn't know what to say. He was eager to get back to the barracks - there was work to be done. It was no good talking to this condemned girl like a social acquaintance anyhow.

They reached the courtyard.

"Here is your cross," he motioned to the patibulum, "Pick it up and carry it. We're going to the merchant's gate. I'll crucify you outside on the road."

She eyes the beam uncertainly. He guessed she was genuinely confused, not resisting.

"Won't you flog me first? Or will you flog me when we get there?"

"No, there's no time to flog you. I'm busy today."

Her face changed to pleading, though only gently. "Please, Sir," she said, "my father told me I should request a severe flogging." Gal us looked at her, puzzled and bemused. "To help me die faster on the cross," she explained.

"I told you, Miss, it's a busy day..."

"Sir? Please?"

"Can you pay for it?"

"You mean money?"

"Yes."

"Sir, I'm a slave. I have nothing."

He looked at her for a while, scratching his nose and holding the back of his neck with one hand.

"I'll tell you what," he said, "go over to that whipping post behind you, take off your stola, and pull your tunic up to uncover your butt. Put your hands against the post and I'll beat you with one of these canes," he motioned to a row of long, thick rods leaning against a nearby wall.

"Thank you," she said. Of course she did not smile, and she was still reticent as she made her way toward the post, but her gratitude was heartfelt.
Now this looks promising, Juan!

:popcorn:
 
Her face changed to pleading, though only gently. "Please, Sir," she said, "my father told me I should request a severe flogging." Galbus looked at her, puzzled and bemused. "To help me die faster on the cross," she explained.

A logical request, yet I can't remember seeing it in any of our stories recently. Well thought out.
 
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If Galbus' centurion saw the girl hanging on her cross all bloodied and torn by a flagellum, he would likely be censured for spending the time on her when he was needed back at the barracks. But the cane wouldn't draw much blood. He'd just lay a few strokes across her buttocks and get on with it. As he approached her with the rod, he almost felt guilty - this wasn't going to shorten her suffering by much.

Her stola lay at the foot of the post, and now she bunched the hem of her sleeveless tunic in her hands and pulled it up to reveal her soft, white bum. She bent over, putting her left hand against the post, her right hand keeping the garment up until she could bend over far enough that it slid up her back instead of down over the part she offered for punishment. She looked back at Galbus, anguish in her eyes.

"Ready?" he asked. He had never spoken to a prisoner that way. He laughed at himself inwardly. Well, she was prettier than any of the men he'd crucified that month. She nodded, turning back to face the post, already looking close to tears. Galbus hesitated a moment. The whole situation felt surreal. He really should get back to the barracks. Just a few strokes.

Snap! He brought the cane down. She cried out through a deeper sob that had already been there, and her head shot up, and her legs bent. So as not to let the tunic fall down, she returned quickly to her former position, weeping from more than just pain.

If he was going to take the time, he might as well hurt her. Galbus' next stroke was harder. She shrieked, bucking to a standing position and stumbling forward, hugging the post.

"If we're going to do this, you have to stand still," said Galbus. "I really can't take the time-"

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping her eyes. Watching her struggling to regain her composure, Galbus lost his impatience for a moment. "I'm sorry. I won't." She returned and again hiked up her tunic, bending to present her bottom. Two thick, red-purple lines flamed across it now.

CRACK! Her cry rerouted from a deep place in her belly, and again she stood, back arched backward, chest to the post.

"Alright, that's it," said Galbus.

"No!" she begged, "I won't do it again."

"Come on, pick up your cross."

"Please! Tie me here," she said.

It was such an odd request, Galbus took a moment to say anything.

"I didn't bring rope..." he said.

"I'll tear by stola into strips," she replied, bending down to begin the job.

"No! Don't do that." Galbus' certainty was back. "Your stola is my payment for executing you. If you tear it it will be worthless."

She looked up at him with a despairing confusion. Of course it was the furthest thing from her mind; and of course it was very near to his.

Galbus looked around and saw a coil of rope hanging from a peg in a wall of the courtyard. "Alright," he said. When he came to her with the rope cut to length, she turned back toward the post and pulled her whole tunic over her head so that it hung in her elbows, inside out, draped down over her front, but leaving her back bare. Galbus raised his eyebrow. She voluntarily lifted her hands toward the iron rings atop the post, and he bound her there, his face near hers. She mostly stared ahead, swallowing, trying not to weep. Only once did her eyes stray to look at him with the defeated look of a young girl bullied by older brothers.

Galbus stepped back. She was on her tip-toes, bare from her shoulders to her heels, waiting for him to strike. Her bottom looked less perfect now that she was not bent over, but Galbus enjoyed the view all the same.

Crack! He swung again, and her head bucked back as she failed to stifle a scream. Again, and again, he brought the cane stinging into her buttocks. After eight more stokes, she was weeping uncontrollably, her feet dancing and kicking in an effort to come to terms with the pain.

"Please!" she cried, "just a moment!"

"You know, I really don't have time for this," said Galbus, "I can give you a few more, or you can pick up your cross and we can go to the gate." She just hung there. Then, as he approached to untie her - "how many more?" she asked, sniffling, her nose obviously full and running. He paused, again feeling a touch of pity.

"Alright," he said, "I'll give you ten more, all in a row, no waiting." She squeezed her eyes shut and stamped her feet with internal agony. Galbus realized he was waiting for a response. He shook his head and chuckled to himself again, backing up to begin the beating again.

"Twenty?" she said faintly.

"Twenty?" Galbus repeated, realizing what she had said.

"Please?"

Again he smiled and shook his head. "Twenty it is," he said, winding up.

CRACK - scream! CRACK - scream! CRACK - no breath! CRACK - a gurgling, guttural wail. CRACK! Galbus didn't stop. Soon he could see blood at the ends of the thick, raised welts. Fifteen to go.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! This was actually winding him. CRACK! CRACK! The girl screamed and wailed when she could find the breath. Otherwise, there was an incoherent torrent of desperate gasps and inhaled moans.

When he had finished, her bottom was a crisscrossed mess of thick, dark welts. A few trickles of blood ran crimson down her thighs.

He untied her. She was sobbing softly, holding her face in her hands.

"Come on!" said Galbus, genuinely impatient, and perhaps made more so by the twinge of guilt he felt watching her weep. "I told you I don't have much time! Get over here and pick up your cross! It's time to go." He watched her for a minute, almost wanting to soften, then added, "You can cry when you're on the cross."

She pulled her tunic back on, then turned from the whipping post toward Galbus and the waiting beam, sobbing a little less, and wiping her eyes.
 
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Galbus wanted to shout at her for putting the tunic back on and getting blood on it, but as he watched her shuffle painfully toward him, he thought better of it.

"I didn't hate her," she wept, bending to pick up her cross. Galbus squinted at her. Was she crying about the beating, or about her crime? He was almost insulted; he was still breathing heavily from the beating - he had earned her tears.

He helped her get the timber onto her shoulders, then set about collecting the nails, hammer, and rope he would need to complete his task.

"No?" he asked, a little curious in spite of himself. They began the slow walk toward the merchants gate. It wasn't far, but Galbus was already regretting having beaten her. She winced with each slow step. He had hurt her plenty.

"We were like sisters," she said after a few steps, sniffing, but no longer weeping. "We grew up together."

They were out on the streets now, and people were taking notice of the condemned girl's plight. One or two began to follow them.

"Hmm," Galbus replied absently. "But then you killed her." She broke down again. He rolled his eyes. "A little faster, Miss," he urged.

"I'm so afraid!" she cried, squeezing her red eyes tight around her tears.

"Well, I can't say I blame you, but we have a job to do, so keep moving."

It was mid morning, and most of the small city was busy buying and selling, but when they arrived outside the merchants gate, where the lone stipes stood, tall and austere, they had attracted about a dozen neighbors and acquaintances of Leah's. Galbus guessed by their generally dispassionate interest that they were not close friends. The girl herself, having set down the beam, stood grasping her locked elbow in front of her, gazing up at the stake, shaking and shivering in the summer heat as if she were freezing in the mountain snows.

Galbus, a man of great muscle, lifted the stipes from its hole, straining a little, and set it on the ground, then set about fitting the patibulum to it and securing it with a few nails.

"Please stand back a little," he told the spectators, rising from this task. They obeyed without protest. Then he turned to the girl he was about to kill. "All ready for you!" he said cheerily, dusting his hands off. "Take your clothes off and, get on..." As if he were instructing a child to mount a new rocking horse.

Wet eyes downcast, she stepped forward and lowered herself gingerly to a sitting position on the cross, wincing as she let her weight settle on her abused buttocks. Balancing there on the narrow timber, feet on the ground on either side, she first lifted the titulus over her head and set it to the side, then slowly pulled up the hem of her tunic, lifting herself with an arm behind her so she could get it past her bottom, then pulled one arm inside, then the other, until at last she lifted the garment over her head, handing it to Galbus as payment for his services, shook her dark hair free, and sat there naked. She looked up at Galbus, as if to ask further instruction, then remembered her titulus, and put it on again. It hung down below her breasts, so that it covered neither them nor her navel. She took a deep, shuddering breath, filling her chest and stretching her belly, then lay back and spread out her arms, trembling all over.

Galbus and the spectators could see every quiver of her naked flesh. She could hide nothing - not her small breasts, not quite as firm as she wished, not her belly, not quite as flat as she wished, not her sparsely-haired womanhood or the way her bottom conformed to the shape of the cross beneath her - nothing. She no longer belonged to herself. She squinted at the sky through her tears, fighting to keep some composure.

Galbus approached with rope to bind her. "So why did you kill her?" he asked. So strange to talk to this girl this way!
 
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Galbus wanted to shout at her for putting the tunic back on and getting blood on it, but as he watched her shuffle painfully toward him, he thought better of it.

"I didn't hate her," she wept, bending to pick up her cross. Galbus squinted at her. Was she crying about the beating, or about her crime? He was almost insulted; he was still breathing heavily from the beating - he had earned her tears.

He helped her get the timber onto her shoulders, then set about collecting the nails, hammer, and rope he would need to complete his task.

"No?" he asked, a little curious in spite of himself. They began the slow walk toward the merchants gate. It wasn't far, but Galbus was already regretting having beaten her. She winced with each slow step. He had hurt her plenty.

"We were like sisters," she said after a few steps, sniffing, but no longer weeping. "We grew up together."

They were out on the streets now, and people were taking notice of the condemned girl's plight. One or two began to follow them.

"Hmm," Galbus replied absently. "But then you killed her." She broke down again. He rolled his eyes. "A little faster, Miss," he urged.

"I'm so afraid!" she cried, squeezing her red eyes tight around her tears.

"Well, I can't say I blame you, but we have a job to do, so keep moving."

It was mid morning, and most of the small city was busy buying and selling, but when they arrived outside the merchants gate, where the lone stipes stood, tall and austere, they had attracted about a dozen neighbors and acquaintances of Leah's. Galbus guessed by their generally dispassionate interest that they were not close friends. The girl herself, having set down the beam, stood grasping her locked elbow in front of her, gazing up at the stake, shaking and shivering in the summer heat as if she were freezing in the mountain snows.

Galbus, a man of great muscle, lifted the stipes from its hole, straining a little, and set it on the ground, then set about fitting the patibulum to it and securing it with a few nails.

"Please stand back a little," he told the spectators, rising from this task. They obeyed without protest. Then he turned to the girl he was about to kill. "All ready for you!" he said cheerily, dusting his hands off. "Take your clothes off and, get on..." As if he were instructing a child to mount a new rocking horse.

Wet eyes downcast, she stepped forward and lowered herself gingerly to a sitting position on the cross, wincing as she let her weight settle on her abused buttocks. Balancing there on the narrow timber, feet on the ground on either side, she first lifted the titulus over her head and set it to the side, then slowly pulled up the hem of her tunic, lifting herself with an arm behind her so she could get it past her bottom, then pulled one arm inside, then the other, until at last she lifted the garment over her head, handing it to Galbus as payment for his services, shook her dark hair free, and sat there naked. She looked up at Galbus, as if to ask further instruction, then remembered her titulus, and put it on again. It hung down below her breasts, so that it covered neither them nor her navel. She took a deep, shuddering breath, filling her chest and stretching her belly, then lay back and spread out her arms, trembling all over.

Galbus and the spectators could see every quiver of her naked flesh. She could hide nothing - not her small breasts, not quite as firm as she wished, not her belly, not quite as flat as she wished, not her sparsely-haired womanhood or the way her bottom conformed to the shape of the cross beneath her - nothing. She no longer belonged to herself. She squinted at the sky through her tears, fighting to keep some composure.

Galbus approached with rope to bind her. "So why did you kill her?" he asked. So strange to talk to this girl this way!
very good story...well written.
 
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"She was going to be married," said the girl, swallowing to calm herself as Galbus began looping the rope around her wrist. "I spilled wine on her gown the night before the wedding - it was an accident!" she peered pleadingly up and behind her into Galbus' eyes, as if it mattered whether he believed her.

"M-hmm," he answered, forming the knot.

"She was so beautiful, and I always was jealous... and Quintus Antonius is a very handsome young man - she just assumed..." (Galbus cinched part of the knot but continued winding and threading.) "She told me I was ugly and could never hope to win a man like Antonius as a slave girl."

Galbus gave a final tug, making her wince, then moved to the other wrist. He took the trembling hand and pulled it out further, then began tying again.

"I was so angry...!" she shook her head, trying to understand her own story as she squinted into the sky. Like the summer sky might know.

"So you killed her," Galbus' voice was casual. He was busy.

"I picked up a stone and threw it at her," she said faintly, still squinting up. It seemed her concentration on the past had her in a daze, and she was not weeping anymore. "And she died, right there," her voice broke as she said this. "I was horrified!" The tears were flowing freely now. "I still am!"

"Bad luck, eh?" said Galbus, finishing the knot and standing up. "Well, now you get to teach other slave girls not to throw stones." He bent backward for a moment to stretch his back after bending down (and to buy a moment to calm his nerves), then began fiddling with the ties in front of his uniform. "For what it's worth," he said, "I've seen much uglier women than you." It was true - her appearance was attractive, even if her face hadn't stunned him with any rare beauty. He hadn't thought of her breasts as small, and if her belly wasn't completely flat, it certainly didn't call much attention to itself.

Then he had his penis out, and even though he managed to keep the rest of himself clothed, he felt awkward performing his next duty out in public. He hadn't crucified many women. He wished he had done this back at the prison.

"Ever had sex?" he asked, stroking his member. She shook her head. Her face was resigned, if disgusted. He acted as casual as he could, given the circumstances. "Well," he said, lowering himself to take her, "think of it like being a pretty rich girl and getting married." With that, he shoved himself into her body, one hand on the small of her back, the other on her shoulder. She let out a deep moan of pain and grimaced. With her arms tied outspread, she was powerless to stop him. Each time he thrust, she grunted with pain and looked like she would vomit. He thrust a few times, then came quickly and silently and withdrew. A little blood trickled from her vagina as he covered himself again. And a little tear from each eye.

"Not worth throwing stones for, eh?" he chuckled as he covered himself, more to calm his own nerves than for any other reason. In fact he felt a little bit bad for the girl. "Well!" he said, glad it was over, despite how good it had felt. "Time to nail you." She shook her head slowly back and forth, her silent tears flowing more at his words.

"I'm so afraid!" she cried again as he took another length of rope and began binding her feet. "When I die, will I be punished in Tartarus?"

"I would certainly expect so..." Galbus replied absently, cinching the knot around her ankles and glancing up to see the semen beginning to dribble from her sex. Her hands were already purple from the binding, and now her feet began to turn as well. Galbus selected long, uneven spikes to drive through her. She watched him, then jerked her head away, shaking terribly, weeping silently.

"If I just had more time!" she burst as he approached with the spikes and a large hammer. "I could make up for it - I could do something wonderful and the gods would let me go to the Asphodel Meadows...!"

"Maybe," said Galbus absently, setting a nail against her left wrist and twirling the hammer a few times in his hand to adjust his grip. "But for you, I'm afraid time is up."

"Wait!" she yelled as he brought the hammer down, then she wailed eerily and her eyes shot open as the pain registered.
 
Well thought out casual remarks from Galbus.

I wonder if he will do anything to ease her pain or quicken her death? I fear not, job to do at the barracks before the tavern opens.
 
"She was going to be married," said the girl, swallowing to calm herself as Galbus began looping the rope around her wrist. "I spilled wine on her gown the night before the wedding - it was an accident!" she peered pleadingly up and behind her into Galbus' eyes, as if it mattered whether he believed her.

"M-hmm," he answered, forming the knot.

"She was so beautiful, and I always was jealous... and Quintus Antonius is a very handsome young man - she just assumed..." (Galbus cinched part of the knot but continued winding and threading.) "She told me I was ugly and could never hope to win a man like Antonius as a slave girl."

Galbus gave a final tug, making her wince, then moved to the other wrist. He took the trembling hand and pulled it out further, then began tying again.

"I was so angry...!" she shook her head, trying to understand her own story as she squinted into the sky. Like the summer sky might know.

"So you killed her," Galbus' voice was casual. He was busy.

"I picked up a stone and threw it at her," she said faintly, still squinting up. It seemed her concentration on the past had her in a daze, and she was not weeping anymore. "And she died, right there," her voice broke as she said this. "I was horrified!" The tears were flowing freely now. "I still am!"

"Bad luck, eh?" said Galbus, finishing the knot and standing up. "Well, now you get to teach other slave girls not to throw stones." He bent backward for a moment to stretch his back after bending down (and to buy a moment to calm his nerves), then began fiddling with the ties in front of his uniform. "For what it's worth," he said, "I've seen much uglier women than you." It was true - her appearance was attractive, even if her face hadn't stunned him with any rare beauty. He hadn't thought of her breasts as small, and if her belly wasn't completely flat, it certainly didn't call much attention to itself.

Then he had his penis out, and even though he managed to keep the rest of himself clothed, he felt awkward performing his next duty out in public. He hadn't crucified many women. He wished he had done this back at the prison.

"Ever had sex?" he asked, stroking his member. She shook her head. Her face was resigned, if disgusted. He acted as casual as he could, given the circumstances. "Well," he said, lowering himself to take her, "think of it like being a pretty rich girl and getting married." With that, he shoved himself into her body, one hand on the small of her back, the other on her shoulder. She let out a deep moan of pain and grimaced. With her arms tied outspread, she was powerless to stop him. Each time he thrust, she grunted with pain and looked like she would vomit. He thrust a few times, then came quickly and silently and withdrew. A little blood trickled from her vagina as he covered himself again. And a little tear from each eye.

"Not worth throwing stones for, eh?" he chuckled as he covered himself, more to calm his own nerves than for any other reason. In fact he felt a little bit bad for the girl. "Well!" he said, glad it was over, despite how good it had felt. "Time to nail you." She shook her head slowly back and forth, her silent tears flowing more at his words.

"I'm so afraid!" she cried again as he took another length of rope and began binding her feet. "When I die, will I be punished in Tartarus?"

"I would certainly expect so..." Galbus replied absently, cinching the knot around her ankles and glancing up to see the semen beginning to dribble from her sex. Her hands were already purple from the binding, and now her feet began to turn as well. Galbus selected long, uneven spikes to drive through her. She watched him, then jerked her head away, shaking terribly, weeping silently.

"If I just had more time!" she burst as he approached with the spikes and a large hammer. "I could make up for it - I could do something wonderful and the gods would let me go to the Asphodel Meadows...!"

"Maybe," said Galbus absently, setting a nail against her left wrist and twirling the hammer a few times in his hand to adjust his grip. "But for you, I'm afraid time is up."

"Wait!" she yelled as he brought the hammer down, then she wailed eerily and her eyes shot open as the pain registered.

Old Slave's right, Juan.

Your command of the dialogue is masterly. :clapping:
 
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She was tied down tight to the cross, so her instinct to thrash wildly at the assault of pain could only be seen in the tenseness of her panicked muscles and the way her limbs strained at the ropes. He struck again, and she shrieked, apparently shocked anew at the pain, despite having just felt the first blow a moment before. Again, and again he pounded, driving the nail through her wrist, watching it shoot deeper and deeper with each blow, always perfectly unmoving, darting to each new position without ever traveling between. Soon the girl's cries were constant, never coming to rest after a hammer blow. "Pleeeeeaaaase...!" she cried, arching her head back, then clenching her eyes and tossing her head from side to side. Galbus didn't stop. Then he was pounding the second nail through her other wrist. This was the punishment for murder.

The condemned didn't usually cry this way. Usually they were men, and they roared, and they glared back at him with a deep hatred. He liked hurting them when they looked at him that way. He could look right into their hateful eyes and pound the agony into them, and then give their naked balls a pinch for fun. Not this girl. Her despairing, dolorous eyes were pleading with him, begging him for relief, and he couldn't look at her.

When her wrists were nailed, he moved without a break to her feet, quickly adjusting their position so that her legs were slightly bent, then setting the first spike and pounding it in.

"I'm sorry...! I'm sorry...!" she wailed, losing her breath in her sobs. Galbus had to pause briefly and look up at her - maybe to see whom she was talking to - he didn't know. Then he resumed and finished the job.

When it was over, he cut away the ropes as her weeping grew silent, if no less intense.

"Oh - I almost forgot your sedile," he said, picking up a rough block of wood barely larger than a man's two fists, on on top of the other.

"My -" she swallowed, then took a few deep breaths, "My father told me I should request to hang without a sedile."

Galbus smirked, maybe at her father, maybe at his own feelings of remorse. "Well..." he said, pausing, as if considering, "did he tell you to request not to be crucified?" She closed her eyes, then slowly opened them again, looking at him half sullen, half pleading. "Or for that matter," Galbus continued, "did he tell you not to throw stones!?" He was angry. The sarcasm hadn't helped. He strode briskly back to her and patted her closed knees. "Come on," he urged impatiently, "open up. You know where this goes." She gave him one last pleading look, then obeyed, splaying her knees out as much as she could, though the motion was obviously painful. He reached down to set the long face of the block against the cross, then shoved it up roughly so that it pressed hard into her private parts. This invasive action might have solicited a wince before, but now that she had nails through her limbs, she could not suppress a gasp and little cry. He nailed down the block with two nails. When he had finished, she pressed her knees together again to preserve whatever modesty they could afford her.

"Ok!" Galbus turned to the group of spectators, "I need someone to help me raise the cross." A hand shot up immediately, and a very young man stepped forward, grinning.

"Good," said Galbus, scrutinizing him. "You look... eager," he said.

"She's my cousin," the boy grinned.

"I see," Galbus disliked him.

The boy walked right up to the crucified girl and stood over her, gloating. She didn't look at him.

"Nice boobs, Leah," he sneered, reaching down to pinch her soft breast. She couldn't move. She was nailed down naked in front of him. He looked her up and down. Galbus thought of stopping him. Then, with a hideous noise, the boy summoned the phlegm from the back of his throat and let it slowly dangle from his lips over her red, exhausted face. She couldn't move. She turned her head back and forth with disgust as the glob slowly neared her face, but she couldn't avoid it when it finally landed just below her eye. Nor could she wipe it away. "You know," the boy continued, exulting, "you're actually lucky you got crucified. Otherwise you would have died a virgin!" He laughed. She cried.

"Alright, that's enough," Galbus bent, preparing to lift the left side of the cross, motioning with his head for the boy to take the right. They lifted, and as they lifted, the girl's breathing grew rapid and intense. Her weight was shifting to hang more and more on the cruel nails. Soon she was shrieking, and her arms were stretched, and her legs bent a little more than before. When she was almost upright, Galbus, straining, positioned the base of the cross over the hole.

"Ok - big drop..." he said, and the cross fell with a thud into the hole. The girl's body jolted downward at the bottom, and she screamed. Galbus felt sick. The boy, coming from behind her, patted her bleeding bum, smirking.

"Looking good, Leah!" he said.

It was done. Galbus gathered up the extra rope and the clothing the naked girl had taken off, then headed back to the barracks. The guards at the gate would watch and make sure nothing happened to the girl on the cross. He looked back as he left and saw the spectators throwing dust in her eyes.

Galbus worked the rest of the day in the barracks, then, when his mates went to the tavern, he told them he didn't feel well, and he returned to look again at the murderess he had crucified.

There was a bigger crowd now that the day's work was done. But as he approached, he was surprised to see thick, dark blood running down her thighs. Her period had started. Somehow it made Galbus feel worse. She had also lost the strength to keep her knees together, and had set herself down on the sedile. Many in the crowd mocked and jeered her. Her head hung, her dark hair sweaty, clinging in bedraggled locks in some places, in others spiraling wildly in the humid air. Here was a girl who had felt ugly and wanted to be beautiful. Now she could hide nothing from her neighbors. They saw every detail of her body - every flaw, every pimple on her chest, the two moles on her abdomen, and now her feminine bleeding.

Galbus fought his revulsion. He had done a good thing. What he had done was good and right and just. In putting this woman to death, he had served the senate and the people of Rome. The empire was safer, and the world was a better place now that this girl was hanging naked on the cross, and the crowd was mocking her suffering. She deserved it. She deserved a long, slow death. She deserved to die in public with her naked body on display. She deserved to hang on this cross in agony while her neighbors watched her menstruate. This was the punishment for murder.

(The end)
 
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