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Gabriella In Kytherramne

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Gabriella, last part

Nature granted Gabriella a magnificent sunset. The orange ball stretched to an oval as it touched the edge of the hollow, the scatter of clouds glowed red and molten gold.

But for Gabriella it was another torture. As her head had jerked around her neck had seized unmoveable. Her eyes were facing directly into the glare and she could not move her frozen neck. Her eyes clenched shut against the dazzle but still the red glare pierced.

The last few watchers packed up their belongings and departed, walking slowly home in the peaceful gloaming, minds drifting between the sights and sounds of the day and the prospect of the evening.

The watch got their equipment together, going off duty at last. Except for Maxi and the unfortunate Dirennius, assigned to spend the night in the hollow. They gathered sticks and made a fire, sat beside it to eat their supper of cold pease porridge with bacon, and then played dice by its meagre light to pass the time.

Time did not pass for Gabriella. Pain erased time.

There were nightmares that engulfed her, and wakings to racking agony when she did not know if this was a continuation of the wild swirlings of terror or a different universe, did not know what was horror and what crucifixion. Whether in the real world or the nightmare, there was nothing but terror and appalling pain.

It was a long, tedious night for Maxi and Dirennius. It was endless for Gabriella. Time had ceased and there was only pain, constantly changing, always the same for each new moment lasted forever.

* * *

It was a pleasant road from Skrymos to Kytheramne, with its scent of sun-warmed thyme in the meadows and the cool, pine-smelling woods between.

Tiberius Pompeius (his grandfather had been given his freedom by Pompey the Great) was content with life. He had done good business in Skrymos, eaten well in an inn where the proprietor knew him, slept in an almost flealess bed. His mule was well fed and watered.

There had been talk in the inn of doings at Kytheramne. A mass crucifixion … some said three crosses, some said six. One over-excited man said a dozen. But everyone agreed it was women who had been put up. An uprising by the local whores, a conspiracy by the wives to kill all their husbands and take over the town. The theory nearest to the truth was that some house slaves had murdered their master.

He’d been meaning to take in Kytheramne on his way back, but it seemed worth taking a detour there now rather than later. His wares would sell as easily today as some other time. And there might be something to see on the way.

If the women were still alive, of course. They’d have been up two days now, be past their best. But Tiberius was a bit of a connoisseur of crucifixions. Sure the first frenzies were spectacular, but the long-drawn agony was something to be savoured. And with a little bit of luck – given they’d have been up two days – he might see one in her death throes when the lungs ripped apart and the heart hammered and burst. When she turned from living being to dead meat. It makes you think, that moment does.

It was just down the road, the killing ground. He recognised the town walls in the distance. Not a spectacular sessorium, the Kytheramne one, but it had a certain charm. For the observer at least. Crosses set on a hill, particularly the craggy rock site at Dyremne, were more dramatic, but that mean little hollow at Kytheramne gave an intimacy that no other site afforded.

He reined in the mule, clambered down and left the reins trailing on the ground to let the beast know it was to stay there. Paths trodden in the grass showed there had been a lot of people here recently. With any luck the rumours at Skrymos might be true.

Well, as he reached the crest he saw there were not a dozen on crosses. Just two, and both pretty far gone. Though the moaning, the harsh jerking of their chests, the twitching of muscles, showed they were still alive.

A couple of guards were sitting by the ashes of their fire playing dice.

A dozen, no way. They sniggered at his naivety. There’d been three of them, but one went pretty quickly. She was on the town midden now. That one there tried to poison her owner. The other, now she was something else. A big-wig’s daughter, rich as Croesus – and about as unlucky (the man made a sign to ward off evil). Been behind pirate gangs or something. Anyway, the Tribune had evidence enough and we put her up a couple of days ago.

Pretty girl, though you wouldn’t think it to look at her now. Very nice tits, though they’re sagging a bit now. Body’s burned up all the fat, you know. Lovely skin she had, but two days in the sun, well …

The body convulsed. Her lungs were bursting, her heart hammering itself to pieces. The strongest muscle in the body, people said, and it was tearing apart.

Tiberius moved closer, seeing the terror in the bulging eyes. Foam flecked with blood erupted from her mouth. She struggled, terrified, and life ebbed away. Her lifeless carcass sagged.

He tipped the guards with a couple of small coins, walked back to his cart and went about his trade.

The guards wondered if there was any point their staying longer, debated conscientiously then picked up the dice and headed back to town.

The hollow was silent but for the chirruping of crickets and the harsh breathing of the skivvy dying on her cross.


One of the best stories ever written. I can't see how it can get any better.
 
I've caught up with this years after it was written, following a recommendation from the Favorite Stories thread.
I was familiar with Andy's previous work like An Execution in Arelate or Crossing Europe. This one is at least as good.
I don't have much to add to the praise.
What I'll say is: Getting this level of engagement from commenters, among them some of the great writers and artists of crux, is praise enough in itself.

As usual crucifixion doesn't get romanticized here ... there is some comedy with the failures in the attempt to get the first victim raised but there's more tragedy, and a look at the humanity of the victims:

Do you think slaves have no shame? The girl from the Hill Farm who'd tended goats and had tentative, nervous flirtations with boys? The woman who had run the kitchen as a kindly but absolute mistress of her craft, who had had five lovers in so many years? Do you think they have no shame?
 
I've caught up with this years after it was written, following a recommendation from the Favorite Stories thread.
I was quite pleased to get a reminder of this story, myself. There are a lot of stories that tell us about crucifixion, or eroticism, or both, and then there are those that go that step further, to really interest us sympathetically in the victims, their hopes, despair, and terror. This story is one of those that grabs you and makes you pay attention to each individual character.
 
Just read this story today..been here after some time. must say the best i read for some time. Great work Andy. Just wish if someone good with art could draw up pictures too for some important moments. However, it takes nothing away from the description. It was so vivid, its hard not to visualize the entire scene in the mind. Thanks for the great story again Andy.
 
This just keeps getting more intense! :eek::) I feel quite sorry for young Gabriella now.

I made a bit of a manip picture, inspired by this story. It's a couple of episodes behind now: Gabriella arrives at the execution ground:
View attachment 417239
Many thanks JR. I've always wished artists might bring Kytheramne or EJ Main or Arelate to the screen. So am grateful that at last this has happened.
 
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