Part VII
But as the hammer hit and the nail made its way through her flesh and in between her bones all she could do was scream. At first she begged Manius to stop in the language the enslavers had taught her, but as pain took over every cell in her body she screamed in the language she’d been born to, screamed for them to let her go, to stop doing this to her.
When Manius put the next nail through her other wrist, Eila had gone out of words and was just screaming and screaming.
“Damn it!“ Manius got up and covered his ears, Hammer still in hand. Some laughter again.
Eila looked at Deciumus with eyes flooded by tears, hoping that he would tell them to stop, that this slave had learned her lesson, but again, Decimus just looked away from her. The Centurion ordered Manius to stop his nonsense and ordered his men to Put her up!.
Quintus and Decimus did, picked her up from the ground first and then led her closer to the pole. Eila stepped through the puddle of urine she‘d left.
The soldiers climbed the ladders on the sides and took her off the ground, with Manius supporting them by pushing up her legs. When they fitted the crossbeam into the notch waiting for it, the short drop tore the wounds in Eila’s wrist further open and once again, after she had gone from screaming to moaning, a cry of pain escaped her that they must have heard in the far away city even. Eila‘s buttocks found the feces-caked sedile and although she knew it was just there to even prolong her suffering, she let out a sigh at the relief it brought.
“She likes it,“ someone in the audience said and someone else laughed. “Shut up!“ Decimus yelled in their direction from up the ladder.
“What’s wrong with you today?“ Manius asked from the foot of the cross. “You’d rather have this whore with you on some blankets, is that it?“
“Everybody shut up and finish their work,“ the Centurion said. He handed the Titulus up to Quintus who nailed it in place above Eila’s head. After that, both he and Decimus descended and put down the ladders again. Then they held Eila’s feet, one foot over the other, as Manius fixed them to the suppedaneum with the remaining nail. With three men at work, Eila couldn’t put up much of a fight. She screamed until she felt she might vomit her insides.
The soldiers took a few steps back. Decimus put a hand on his sword and yelled at the curious crowd to stay where they are. Quintus looked at where the path led down the hill longingly. Manius, however, admired their work like a sculptor would his latest creation, hammer still in hand.
“Well done, men,“ the Centurion said. “There’ll be wine for you when we return.“
Hanging from her pierced arms Eila found it harder and harder to breath, so she pushed herself up under the excruciating pain of the nail through her feet, to rest on the sedile again until she would slip off it the next time. She knew this was the dance, and people were here to see her perform it, for days maybe. In her native tongue she screamed for the wolf to come and devour them all. Some joked about how the language of the barbarian slave girl sounded like she had her mouth full of cherry stones. It was such a beautiful day. Birds chirped. Eila screamed. Don’t you dare carry me over, she thought of the birds. Wait for the wolf. Let his howl be mine.
