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.