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Eila and the Wolf

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Barfuß-Hanna

Spectator

Part 1​

Eila slept poorly since she’d been condemned. When someone turned the key in the dungeon’s door, it tore her from an exhausted half sleep. Prisoners chained to the walls looked up, relaxing only when they realized the jailer and the two soldiers came walking straight towards Eila. The soldiers‘ faces displayed disgust at the cell’s strong smell of sweat and feces.

One of the soldiers kicked Eila in the thigh. “Get up, slave.“ His leathery face looked battle-hardened. As Eila rose and the jailer unlocked the shackles on her feet, hands and neck, he asked the soldiers could he keep the cloth around the prisoner‘s hips, the only clothing Eila had worn through her two years in the Ergastulum and these last few days in the city‘s prison. The soldier who’d kicked her took a good look at the filthy piece and with another look at his younger companion, he seemed to decide it wasn’t worth keeping for themselves. By a nod he signaled to the jailer it was his, and the jailer smiled and thanked the soldiers and then unknotted it from Eila’s body.

The soldiers seized her arms and pulled her towards the dungeon door. Eila resisted initially but finally put the first foot in front of the other. “No,“ she whispered as a slight drop of urine escaped her. She hadn’t eaten or drunken much in the dungeon as fear of what lay ahead had killed her appetite alongside her sleep. Also, she hoped decimation might shorten the ordeal.

The soldier who had kicked her showed amusement rather than anger. “Just follow us, slave,“ he said. “No need to be afraid, we know the way.“

Eila remembered an occurrence from her childhood days, where a warrior and hunter in her village had shot an arrow into a wolf. The wounded animal had shown no fear, not even for as long as an eye glimpse, as the attacker neared him with a knife in hand. The wolf died trying to bite the man until his very last breath, when the blade was driven into him for the third time, and before his eyes were an empty blue like a cloudless winter sky, his gaze fell upon Eila.

She had told her uncle later that day and he had explained to her how in that moment, the wolf had passed his fierceness and courage on to her.

“That’s right slave,“ the older soldier said as Eila made use of her shivering legs. “Just keep walking. There’s still quite a way to go.“
 
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Seems a pretty interesting premise!
 
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Part II​

Two more soldiers were waiting outside, one of them on horse. It was a beautiful spring morning and the city had already awoken. Some spectators had stopped as they must have seen the soldiers, the one not on horseback holding a stake with the Titulus they would later place above Eila‘s head. On the ground waiting lay the crossbeam and ropes.

But first the two soldiers who’d brought her out chained Eila’s hands to the scourging pillar and the older of the two picked up a whip lying next to the pillar. Then he took a few steps back. “Not her first whipping,“ he remarked behind Eila. She knew her back was scarred from her time in the Ergastulum, where the lash was a constant companion through the day. “But her last,“ the soldier mumbled to himself and commenced his task.

The first three strikes Eila gulped down through clenched teeth, refusing to give onlookers something to cheer about, but with the fourth she moaned and with the fifth she screamed.

Twenty lashes, then it was over. Warm blood ran over Eila’s buttocks and down her legs. Tears blinded her but she’d been through worse. They could have given her more strokes but they probably didn’t want to unnecessary shorten her dance later on. After all, she’d murdered a citizen, an overseer at the Ergastulum, as a man read aloud from the Titulus for those in the crowd who weren’t educated enough to do so themselves.


Of course they hadn’t written there how that overseer who she’d strangled with the chains meant to hold her had forced himself upon Eila numerous times in her small sleeping niche, and even if, it probably wouldn’t have mattered. She was a slave after all, a girl they’d brought here all the way from Germania to please honorable men and women in the bathing house. After she’d bitten a scumbag of a senator in his manhood - an occurrence that made the bathing house owner burst out in laughter after everybody was gone - she had gone to the heating chambers under the bath, throwing logs of wood into the fire from a sunup to a sundown she never saw.

After a long and in Eila‘s esteem particularly unfair whipping because bathers had complained about the too low temperature and threatened to prefer the competitor next time, she threw a log against the overseeing slave’s head in furious anger. During the whipping he’d yelled at her again and again he’d teach her to throw those logs faster, and as he stood there afterwards with blood dripping from his split eyebrow, Eila yelled back at him did he think that she threw it the right way this time. With that overseeing slave being among their master’s and especially the domina’s favorites, Eila was lowered down into the dark and stinky pit that was the Ergastulum the very next day.

“Pity,“ the overseer there said as he put the heavy chains on her that Eila was at that time supposed to wear for the rest of her days. “You could have lived a good life.“

“I could have lived good life if your people hadn’t taken me from my home in the first place,“ Eila snapped at him.

The overseer laughed. “You would have preferred to sit around the fire in those German forests and eat rat meat with the other Barbarians to spending your days in one of the finest bathing houses outside of Rome?“

“I‘d rather be free and eat rats and nothing but rats than be a slave in the finest palace of …“ She despised the name of the city and its citizens so much she hardly brought it over her lips.

“Well,“ the overseer said, “you can eat all the rats you want down here as long as I don’t catch you sidestepping work.“ He ran his fingers through her red hair. Eila’s hands went up for protection, her new chains rattling. She stopped at her breast’s height. Her back was still raw from the whipping under the bathing house, and she wasn’t willing to risk another one just for someone touching her hair. She’d been involuntarily touched in way more intimate places since she’d become a slave. “And this we can sell to the wig makers every now and then,“ the overseer had remarked. “Very popular color.“


The soldiers unshackled Eila from the scourging pillar and led her to where the crossbeam waited for her on the ground. Eila stood and stared and pretended to not know what she was supposed to do next. Once they’d tied her to that beam, she‘d never be without it again in this life. “Well, go ahead, slave, it’s yours,“ the whipping soldier ordered her. Some in the growing crowd laughed at his remark, at which a certain pride showed on his face. When Eila still didn’t move, he took a few steps back and gave her another lash. “Lie on it, I said!“
 

Part III​


Eila sat and the ground and felt warm stones pressing into the hurting flesh of her bottom. When she hesitated to lie down, the two soldiers grabbed an arm each and tied it to the beam using the ropes. The timber nestled to the skin of Eila’s arms and shoulders.

Once they’d finished, the soldier with the whip kicked Eila just as he’d done in the dungeon. “Get up, slave!“ Yelling seemed his only mode of speaking now when addressing her. Eila wanted nothing more than to lie there and then until the end of days, but as the second kick pierced her side, followed by the whip cracking on her belly, she got up.

Or at least she tried. She failed to rise from her position with her arms tied to the heavy beam. The whip went down her on belly and breast and the soldier, with every lash, shouted at her to get up.

“I can’t!“ Eila protested, sensing how nobody around her gave a damn about what she could and could not do. Except for the soldier on horse, their commander, the Centurion, who suddenly turned around and said: “Now help her up, damnit, or we’ll still be here by sundown!“

Some laughter again in the crowd, and Eila saw how this time, the soldier with the whip didn’t like it. He and his comrade grabbed the beam each on one side and pulled Eila up to stand. The beam made her stoop down. She looked at her feet and heard someone in the crowd crack a joke on the red hair between her legs, how he wonders have they put that into the rich people’s wigs, too? He probably thought she couldn’t hear him.

No, Eila corrected herself. He doesn’t care.

The next opportunity for that fool to please the audience came when the soldier with the whip walked towards his commander’s horse. Eila’s eyes widened at the jingling sound as the Centurion handed his subordinate something from his elevated position. The jingle knocked all the strength from her legs. The soldier still standing with her caught her under the arms tied to the beam, so close was he she could feel his breath and smell some wine on it.

“Stand,“ he said. “Come on, remain standing.“

It was an comforting voice and he whispered as if he didn’t want the crowd to hear him. In his eyes Eila saw he wanted to be somewhere else just like her. In this moment, she thought maybe she could have loved a Roman, one who would have bought her out of slavery and …

“Step aside, Decimus,“ the other soldier said. He stood before Eila holding up a spray of three nails, each as long as a hand and thicker than a thumb. A piece of string held them together. Eila forced her eyes sideways as the soldier tied the nails around her neck like a necklace.

“Ready for a banquet at the palace now,“ the wisecracker said and was rewarded some laughter again. Decimus turned around to the crowd at which not all, but some of the laughter died. The other soldier patted Eila’s cheek. “Looking good,“ he praised his work.

“Manius!“ the Centurion called out to his subordinate. The soldier standing in front of Eila turned around. “What in Jupiter‘s name is taking you so long back there?“

Manius made a gesture like he didn’t know what he’d just done wrong. “Giving my best here, Centurio.“ Some giggling in the crowd.

“Do it faster, then. Catch!“ With that, the Centurion threw Manius one end of a rope. Manius caught it by the snare at its end. The other end was knotted to the saddle of the Centurion‘s horse. Manius put the snare over Eila’s head and around her neck.

“Got it?“ the Centurion asked.

Manius pulled on the snare so Eila had to take a step forward. He nodded. “We’re good to go.“

“Then we go. Move, slave!“ The Centurion spurred his horse and it started with a slow trot. The rope strained. Eila tried to resist the pull but was no match for the horse‘s power. With the crossbeam bending her head and shoulders forward, she started to walk with the pebbled street under her naked feet. She knew they wouldn’t go any faster so people could take a good look at her, but she would rather have done this walk of shame forever than reaching their destination.


The city was busy with people bartering or hurrying from one place to another. People of position, but mostly simple people, slaves like her among them for sure. Some of these were given away by their collar, but it was a relatively well robed one who critically eyed a seller‘s onions when the parade coming down the street drew his attention to it.

Eila had met her share of house slaves. Many of them had treated her worse than free people. The man with the onions could only be of that class, dressed too well for a simple citizen but eyeing the soldiers way too respectful for being of real power himself. Eila he eyed, too, the way someone would some animal‘s dung they had just stepped into.

When their eyes met, Eila saw no compassion, only annoyance, or maybe fear disguised as annoyance. With a roll of his eyes, the man she took for someone’s pet turned back to bartering over the onions. Coward, it came to Eila’s mind. She clenched her fists. The ropes felt like tightening around the contracting muscles of her lower arms.

The distraction must have slowed her down without her noticing, as she suddenly felt the rope between herself and the horse pulling on the back of her neck. A short scream escaped Eila as the whip’s crack on her bare back took her by surprise. A second and third lash ensued with Manius yelling at her to move.

Some of the watchers by the sides of the street met the sounds of the whip with utters of approval. The fresh pain knocked the grudge against the house slave out of Eila. Her resentment had only given her strength for a few steps. Now she felt another drop of piss running down the insides of her thighs as she bend over in a useless attempt to avoid the whip. Instead she staggered and fell to her knees, for which constantly yelling Manius gave her further lashes until she stood and walked almost erect again. In that bend over position, the nails had come dangling right in front of Eila’s face, reminding her of pain to come.
 
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Part IV​


They didn’t take the fastest way towards the city’s gate. Eila saw it coming closer at one point, but then the Centurion, despite how eager he had seemed to get all through with the procession before, made his horse turn right to parade her through yet another street. Some onlookers cheered at what they saw, some threw rotten figs and olives, others turned away, but whether it was because of Eila herself or her crime or for what they were doing to her here, was impossible to tell.

A group of plebeian women with filthy laughs joked about Eila’s womanhood glowing orange in the sun and imitated her jittering breast and buttocks. Others seemed to rather matter-of-factly discuss what they read on the Titulus or what their esteem was about how long this delinquent would last.

“Looks stringy,“ Eila heard one say. “I say up to five days, but then again you never know of course.“

The weight of the crossbeam combined with that of shame and fear and the merciless drag of the rope around her neck made Eila stumble again. She sank to her knees a couple times but without falling, almost as if she was about to sit down right there in the street. Steps behind her came closer fast.

“Don’t you dare going any slower, slave, move!“ Eila heard Manius yell. Then, the whip bit her back.

With a half groan, half scream that some bystanders commented on with wonder and delight, Eila came back up. She wouldn’t have made it if it hadn’t been for Decimus, who rushed towards her for support once more, putting his hands under the heavy wood and lifting it up.

“We‘ll be out of the city soon,“ he whispered.

“Why don’t you take it off her and carry it yourself for the rest of the way, idiot?“ Manius asked Decimus. The Centurion turned around looking at his subordinates and Eila. He took the rope in his hand and gave it an additional pull. “Come on,“ he said in an encouraging tone.

Once more the crack of the whip could be heard above all the talking, laughter, yelling, some chicken‘s cluck and a donkey‘s bray. “Get going, damnit!“ Manius blustered behind Eila.

Although she took her steps with what strength and confidence was still left to her, she got the whip three more times, with Manius shouting at her to move as if she was standing still.


Finally, they entered through the city gate. Voices grew fewer and calmer, their constant chattering finally replaced by the spring birds‘ singing. Instead of the gravel, Eila felt soft earth and grass under her feet, which would have made walking a bit easier on her if the crossbeam hadn’t been on her shoulders for so long now.

Manius realized it too and put the whip to good use, just as the Centurion turned around and pulled on the rope again. “Come on now, slave, we‘re almost there,“ he said.

Eila 02.jpg

A carriage pulled by an oxen and pushed by a man and a woman crossed their path as they must have been on their way to the city. The two had been laughing about something until they realized what these soldiers on the road were all about. All of a sudden they grew silent.

Eila thought they were probably slaves like her. The woman’s glance met hers. For a second there, she managed an ensuring smile, and by whatever strange force she did so, Eila at least thought she was smiling back. The price for this was how she fell to her knees again and Manius came down on her like a predatory bird.

“Get up! Get up, slave! I said get up!“ Each of his sentences was accompanied by the crack of the whip Eila felt on her back, buttocks and thighs. And again, even after she had gotten back on her feet with soiled knees and tried to keep track with the ever tightening rope, Manius still gave her lashes. “I said move, slave!“

“She is moving,“ Decimus finally protested.

“You shut up and let me do my work,“ Manius gave back.

“And you stop arguing right now or I’ll use that whip on both of you once we‘re back,“ the Centurion rebuked them from his horse without looking at his soldiers.
 
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Part V​


They reached the ascent to their terminus. Under Eila‘s feet, the ground changed again, from soft earth to flat, hard stone this time, the provisional steps that led up to the top in circles going around the hill. Eila‘s walk was mainly stumbling by now and worsened with the path leading uphill. The Centurion realized it and turned around with that encouraging voice again. “Come on now, slave, don’t give up on me now. You almost made it.“

A second later, Manius gave his preferred version of encouragement. “He said move, damn it!“ he yelled and with that, gave Eila another two lashes.

Eila 03.jpg

When the soldier wearing the Titulus took it down and had it by one hand at his side, the Centurion turned to him from upon his horse. “What do you think you’re doing?“

The soldier looked around. There were birds, trees and above it all, the blue spring sky and some friendly white clouds. “There’s no one to read it anyway,“ the soldier explained.

“It’s your task to carry that thing properly so everybody knows why that slave carries her cross,“ the Centurion said. “And it’s my task to see to that you’re doing it properly. So if you don’t put that Titulus right back up again, I’m going to ram it up your ass and then that’s how you’ll carry it for the rest of the way.“

As the soldier followed his order and Manius laughed behind Eila, everything moved slower, had actually for these last few moments. Just as Eila had caught a bit of breath, Manius laughter ended abruptly and the whip went down on her back again. “What do you think you’re doing, slave? Get a move on!“

As Eila’s toes felt their uncertain way up the next step, her glance fell upon some lilies about to bloom. It hurt Eila just like Manius‘ lashes to know she wouldn’t be here to see them flourish, but at the same time the sight of the lilies made her breast feel like her heart was smiling. She hadn’t seen such beautiful things for a long time in that dark pit that was the Ergastulum, and now she‘d try to hold on to the sight for the rest of her way. Her whole way.

The distraction almost made her fall as she hadn’t put her foot properly on the next step. Her tripping was a welcome opportunity for Manius to let the whip speak again. “Look where you’re going, slave!“

Eila 01.jpg

“No stumbling now, slave,“ the Centurion agreed in a much friendlier tone. “Only a few more steps and you’re there.“

He pointed to the left hand side and ahead where the tops of two poles could already be seen. A shocked moan escaped Eila and she went slower, for which Manius rewarded her with lashes and yelling.

The horse reached the level where the ground was even again. Heads were turned. “Here she comes!“ a woman smirked.
 
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Part VI​


From two of the five pillars still hung Eila’s predecessors. According to the stink and what was left, it must have been a while since their execution. An audience of maybe twenty had assembled to witness Eila’s arrival. Among those people stood a donkey laden with cloth. It’s owner must have passed by here on his way to the city, seen the people and decided to watch a while. Coming from the north to enter through the main gate, this was one the most elevated and frequently used routes. Eila looked at Decimus. When their eyes crossed, he diverted his to the ground.

The Centurion gestured for the soldier bearing the Titulus to walk up ahead so everybody could see why Eila was here and would stay here. Most of them probably knew already. It wasn’t a big city and news travelled fast.

Although Eila kept up with the horse‘s speed especially now that it went slower and that she wasn’t walking uphill anymore, Manius made use of his whip a final time and yelled at her to move.

“Here!“ The Centurion pointed at a pole with both sedile and suppedaneum. Some in the audience rejoiced at the prospect of probably coming here tomorrow, the day after that, and maybe after that and after that to witness a murdering slave‘s just demise.

The horse stopped. Eila stopped, too, breathing heavily. She received one last lash, then Manius congratulated her on how she’d made it. Some laughed.

The Centurion got off his horse. As Manius took first the rope and then the nails from Eila’s neck, she couldn’t take her eyes of the vertical beam and all the dried blood on it. Birds hacked at the rotten bodies hanging from the other poles.

Decimus neared her from the side, and when she turned her head she saw he had a hammer in his hand. Eila shook her head. “No,“ she said. “I don’t want this.“

A long and strong stream of urine shot from between her legs. Manius jumped backwards with a curse. Laughter.

“Lie down,“ Manius ordered Eila as his comrade put the Titulus down and leaned ladders against the pole‘s sides. On trembling knees, Eila sank to the ground. When she was kneeling, Manius gave her a push with his boot against the shoulder. Eila fell on her back, the dirt burning in the flesh torn open by the whip.

“Hold her legs, Quintus,“ Manius ordered the Titulus soldier and he came over from his task placing the ladders.

“And you give me that hammer and help me up here.“ He gestured for Decimus to secure one end of the beam while he would put the first nail through Eila’s wrist. She felt the cold point of the iron on her skin and breathed fast like she was in labor. The wolf, she thought. Please uncle, I have his courage.
 
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