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I managed a short entry. I appreciate your patience (and the patience of Barbaria at the post - don't worry, dear, more is soon to come).

Praeses Antonious instructed that his comites (retinue – advisors and staff) and his two lictores (lictors – bodyguards denoting his rank) be prepared to accompany him well before noon to the harena. If he was forced to decide the Goth slavegirl's fate, he might as well do it with all the majesty of his position. He also ordered that a sumptuous prandium (luncheon) be provided in the Imperial Box for himself and his guests. Privately, he cursed his son and that lugubrious Quaestor for getting him into this affair.

Sextus gave a deep sigh of relief as his patrol emerged from the old-growth oak forest (whose wood the Romans had used for many generations to build crosses in Gaul) and entered the cleared and rolling agros (farmland) that supplied Narbo with sustenance. In the woods, the danger of an ambush was always present. Even 374 years later, any good Roman soldier knew about the Germans ambushing the three legions of ‎Publius Quinctilius Varus and slaughtering them, almost to the last man in Teutoburg Forest.
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Now, in the open agros, threats could be seen at a great distance, giving the Tesserarius plenty of time to assemble even his tirones (new recruits) for defense.
Judging from the sun's position, Sextus thought it was the hora quarta (10 AM). His Centurio had asked that he try to have his patrol at the harena well before meridiem (noon). He should be able to do so with no difficulty. Given the long march already completed on a hot day, Sextus allowed his men a brief break.

Mogurix and two soldiers rushed to Galerius's side as he completed the ten lashes. He looked almost worse off than the Goth and might collapse at any moment.
The Optio took the heavy flagrum, and the two other men helped the lad to his seat between Piso and Claudius. One servant began to fan the perspiring youth, while a soldier brought a chilled goblet of poscae (sour wine and water, spiced with cumin, myrrh, and salt; legionaries swore by the utility of this elixir which was effectively the Gatorade of the legions). Marcus helped hold the goblet to his mouth and gradually had him drink to rehydrate. Even with the attention, it was clear that Galerius was only semi-aware.

Centurion Gaius Calixtus took this opportunity to speak privately with the Quaestor. A brief discussion ended with Piso nodding in the affirmative. Gaius then stepped out to address the audience.
You would think a delectable Goth Slut, naked and bound to the post, could demand a more capable flagellator than decrepit, exhausted Galerius!

As an aside there has been a recent German TV series about the massacre of the legionnaires in Teutoburg Forest called Barbarians - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barbarians_(2020_TV_series)

... and what's more the leading female, Jeanne Goursaud, gets naked quite regularly AND there's a crucifixion scene! What more could we wish for :)
 
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Friþugairns waited as his chiefs loudly expressed their support of rescue for his daughter. While he enjoyed almost worshipful respect from the members of his tribe, the headman had always listened to the opinion of the men he respected. After a decent interval, he raised his hand to request attention. The assembly soon fell silent to listen.
Frijonds meins,” he began in his soft voice, now clearly touched with emotion, “It touches my heart deeply to hear your love and support for Barbaþais. However, as a headman of this tribe, I have to andsaihwan (consider) the good of all barns meins (my children).” He paused for a moment as he contained a sob.
“She will be ushramjan (crucified) at midday. It will take hweilohun (for an hour) to get to Narbos. How many of our great 'harjis' (army) can be raised in time to save her? Fidwōr tigjus (forty)? Fimf tigjus (fifty)? Ni saíhs tigjus (not sixty)!”
The chiefs looked glumly at one another and reluctantly nodded in agreement.
Rumonis (The Romans) have more than sibuntēhund (seventy) well-armed and well trained gadrauhtis (soldiers) in their garrison. And many other guards and police. Their camp is well-fortified and we can not hope for surprise or ambush at midday. Ni! I cannot lead barns meins into a slauhts (slaughter)!”
The faces of all fell with despair. One of the younger chiefs asked, “What can we do, then, atta (father – also heavenly father from the Gospels - a term of high respect in this Gothic culture) to save Barbaþais?”
“I shall go to Narbos. I hear that the Governor is a fair man. I shall take him giba (gifts) and biugan (prostrate) myself before him and bidjan (beg) for dauhtars meins (my daughter’s) life.”
Shock took hold of the proud Gothic leaders. The young one again spoke, bursting with anger, “The Hroþeigs þiufaþos Gutas (victorious general of the Goth people), who afslahan Kaisar (slew the Emperor) at Adrianople will be a bidagwa (begger) to a Kindins Rumonisks (Roman Governor)? NI AIW (NEVER)!”

Sunus meins (my son), I am no longer a þiufaþos. I am just a alþeis fadar (old father) who will do ƕa (anything) for
dauhtar meins.”

þiufaþos Friþugairns breaks through the Roman line at the Battle of Adrianople
Gothic-Wars-Battle-of-Adrianople-01-1200x350-c-default.jpg
 
“I shall go to Narbos. I hear that the Governor is a fair man. I shall take him giba (gifts) and biugan (prostrate) myself before him and bidjan (beg) for dauhtars meins (my daughter’s) life.”
Shock took hold of the proud Gothic leaders. The young one again spoke, bursting with anger, “The Hroþeigs þiufaþos Gutas (victorious general of the Goth people), who afslahan Kaisar (slew the Emperor) at Adrianople will be a bidagwa (begger) to a Kindins Rumonisks (Roman Governor)? NI AIW (NEVER)!”
It’s lonely at the top. Such decisions are never straightforward, and nearly always second guessed. But for fuck’s sake get off your blooming’ ass, dad! They’re planning on crucifying me! Do you get that? Rescue me! And do it fast!
 
Friþugairns waited as his chiefs loudly expressed their support of rescue for his daughter. While he enjoyed almost worshipful respect from the members of his tribe, the headman had always listened to the opinion of the men he respected. After a decent interval, he raised his hand to request attention. The assembly soon fell silent to listen.
Frijonds meins,” he began in his soft voice, now clearly touched with emotion, “It touches my heart deeply to hear your love and support for Barbaþais. However, as a headman of this tribe, I have to andsaihwan (consider) the good of all barns meins (my children).” He paused for a moment as he contained a sob.
“She will be ushramjan (crucified) at midday. It will take hweilohun (for an hour) to get to Narbos. How many of our great 'harjis' (army) can be raised in time to save her? Fidwōr tigjus (forty)? Fimf tigjus (fifty)? Ni saíhs tigjus (not sixty)!”
The chiefs looked glumly at one another and reluctantly nodded in agreement.
Rumonis (The Romans) have more than sibuntēhund (seventy) well-armed and well trained gadrauhtis (soldiers) in their garrison. And many other guards and police. Their camp is well-fortified and we can not hope for surprise or ambush at midday. Ni! I cannot lead barns meins into a slauhts (slaughter)!”
The faces of all fell with despair. One of the younger chiefs asked, “What can we do, then, atta (father – also heavenly father from the Gospels - a term of high respect in this Gothic culture) to save Barbaþais?”
“I shall go to Narbos. I hear that the Governor is a fair man. I shall take him giba (gifts) and biugan (prostrate) myself before him and bidjan (beg) for dauhtars meins (my daughter’s) life.”
Shock took hold of the proud Gothic leaders. The young one again spoke, bursting with anger, “The Hroþeigs þiufaþos Gutas (victorious general of the Goth people), who afslahan Kaisar (slew the Emperor) at Adrianople will be a bidagwa (begger) to a Kindins Rumonisks (Roman Governor)? NI AIW (NEVER)!”

Sunus meins (my son), I am no longer a þiufaþos. I am just a alþeis fadar (old father) who will do ƕa (anything) for
dauhtar meins.”

þiufaþos Friþugairns breaks through the Roman line at the Battle of Adrianople
View attachment 995338
Who'd have thought it - almost a democratic vote in those old Gothic Lands, but as our Goth Slut herself says, ... get a fucking move on Fripugairns!
 
Who'd have thought it - almost a democratic vote in those old Gothic Lands, but as our Goth Slut herself says, ... get a fucking move on Fripugairns!
Yes, call out the Goth hordes. But first get them all liquored up and into a fighting frenzy!
 
But for fuck’s sake get off your blooming’ ass, dad!
but as our Goth Slut herself says, ... get a fucking move on Fripugairns!
In the words of Eliza Doolittle:

“C’MON FRIÞUGAIRNS, MOVE YOUR BLOOMIN’ ARSE!”

Barbaria as Audry Hepburn? Hmmm! No!
 
Calixtus spoke, “That concludes the decem (ten) strokes to be administered by the civibus (civilians), and we thank Galerius Antonious for his fine efforts." A scattered snickering among the soldiers ceased instantly at a stern look from Gaius.
“Now, the praesidium (garrison) shall complete this stage of the slavegirl’s punishment. Quaestor Piso, after careful consideration, has decided to reduce the count. It is important that the Goth suffer the full agony of death on the cross. Therefore, the milites (soldiers) shall administer only an additional sedecim (sixteen) strokes of the flagrum.” Many of the onlookers nodded approvingly, realizing how this would still amount to brutal and crushing punishment. Galerius was still too exhausted from his ordeal to catch the news or to object. He just sat and moaned as he was fanned like a prizefighter, resting in his corner in a tough match.

Centurio Calixtus continued, “On behalf of the praesidii, two milites will alternate in delivering the strokes. First, my Optio, Mogurix Acaunissa." The Gallic giant stepped to the center with his brawny arms folded over his massive chest. The soldiers began chanting, "Gallus! Gallus! Gallus! (the Gaul)!”
Gaius waited for the chant to quiet. “The other champion of the militum, shall be...
the Centurion paused for effect...
Quintus Maximinus!”
The atrium erupted in shouts and applause as the second flogger stepped up. Now the chant “Eque! Eque! Equs! (the Horse)” was raised.
A simple Decanus (leader of a contubernium, tent mates, consisted of 8 men) from Hispania, Quintus was a large, hearty sort that was very popular with his fellows. His cognomen (family name) came from the Emperor, Gaius Julius Verus Maximinus, the first soldier who rose through the ranks to become a Roman emperor. The other soldiers joked that the name was for his size and strength. He was thusly nicknamed "The Horse."
Maximinus was large, not only in stature. Many joked that the "horse" epithet referred to his manly endowment, which would be more appropriate on a stallion. Earlier this morning, his tentmates had kidded him for being away the previous night on an assignment and missing the fun of fucking the Goth. Some said it was good. Otherwise, she would not have been alive this morning.

Calixtus quieted the crowd and finished his introduction. “Each shall apply four strokes before yielding to the other. Two sets each for a total of sedecim.”
 
Calixtus spoke, “That concludes the decem (ten) strokes to be administered by the civibus (civilians), and we thank Galerius Antonious for his fine efforts." A scattered snickering among the soldiers ceased instantly at a stern look from Gaius.
“Now, the praesidium (garrison) shall complete this stage of the slavegirl’s punishment. Quaestor Piso, after careful consideration, has decided to reduce the count. It is important that the Goth suffer the full agony of death on the cross. Therefore, the milites (soldiers) shall administer only an additional sedecim (sixteen) strokes of the flagrum.” Many of the onlookers nodded approvingly, realizing how this would still amount to brutal and crushing punishment. Galerius was still too exhausted from his ordeal to catch the news or to object. He just sat and moaned as he was fanned like a prizefighter, resting in his corner in a tough match.

Centurio Calixtus continued, “On behalf of the praesidii, two milites will alternate in delivering the strokes. First, my Optio, Mogurix Acaunissa." The Gallic giant stepped to the center with his brawny arms folded over his massive chest. The soldiers began chanting, "Gallus! Gallus! Gallus! (the Gaul)!”
Gaius waited for the chant to quiet. “The other champion of the militum, shall be...
the Centurion paused for effect...
Quintus Maximinus!”
The atrium erupted in shouts and applause as the second flogger stepped up. Now the chant “Eque! Eque! Equs! (the Horse)” was raised.
A simple Decanus (leader of a contubernium, tent mates, consisted of 8 men) from Hispania, Quintus was a large, hearty sort that was very popular with his fellows. His cognomen (family name) came from the Emperor, Gaius Julius Verus Maximinus, the first soldier who rose through the ranks to become a Roman emperor. The other soldiers joked that the name was for his size and strength. He was thusly nicknamed "The Horse."
Maximinus was large, not only in stature. Many joked that the "horse" epithet referred to his manly endowment, which would be more appropriate on a stallion. Earlier this morning, his tentmates had kidded him for being away the previous night on an assignment and missing the fun of fucking the Goth. Some said it was good. Otherwise, she would not have been alive this morning.

Calixtus quieted the crowd and finished his introduction. “Each shall apply four strokes before yielding to the other. Two sets each for a total of sedecim.”
Sixteen of the very best for you my Gorgeous Goth! ...
 
Sixteen of the very best for you my Gorgeous Goth! ...
You see, that`s PrPr`s version of a reprieve.
Our readers might object at this point. How did a sentence of about seventy lashes get reduced to ten and sixteen? Are these Romans a bunch of softies? I'm afraid that I don't have a historically documented answer. All I can do is report what documents still available report to me.

First, please understand that the original sentence pronounced by Piso was verbal, and there is no evidence of it having been written down. We have the later (as much as ten years later) recollections of two of those present. They agree that the Quaestor said that the slave girl flagellābitur ā praesidiō (will be flogged by the garrison). He did not specify a number. Such a sentence would usually mean that each member of the garrison would apply one lash. It seemed to be similar to the old British Navy punishment of 'flogging round the fleet." We also know from the report submitted by Calixtus to his military superior, that he dispatched a reconnaissance patrol of circum unum dimidium praesidii (about one-half of the garrison) on the morning that Barbaria was flogged.

Two weeks after the events described in this story, Quaestor Lucius Piso wrote a formal report to the Emperor of the judicial proceedings and affixed his signet seal. This report survived due to its transfer to the Imperial Archives in Byzantium just before the fall of the last Western Roman Emperor, Honorius. In the statement, Piso said that the Gotha serva (Gothic slavegirl ) Barbaria was sentenced to viginti sex plāgae flagrī (twenty-six strikes of the flogger) delivered decim a cive et sedecim a mīlitibus (ten by a citizen and sixteen by soldiers). No explanation is supplied for the change.

I have carefully combed through every report on the fate of Barbaria, and not one has the slightest clue to the change beyond the halving of the garrison available. Therefore, I have taken the liberty of having the Centurion voice the most likely explanation: concern for the girl's survival to suffer sufficiently on the cross. One can only try to imagine how much would have been left of this Goth after a powerful scourging of seventy strokes by two strong men.
 
Well, to be fair, those of us in these shoes are perfectly able to take from you the inspiration and write our own story of a severe scourging. I think I could use the practice anyway given I like to write erotic stories. My wish is to write well enough that others enjoy, not just me personally.

In my short time on CF I’ve learned to really appreciate the danger of getting lost in one’s own fantasy. Elements like character development, accessibility to the audience, credible background, and plot are just as important to an Erotic story as any other. Assuming one wishes an audience greater than one.

So sure, I’ll write a story where for me it’s all about the scourging. But reading the best writers here is teaching me to appreciate a lot more breadth to a story. And so I write more slowly, in hopes of producing something engageable. If I had just decium percent of PrPr’s patience and skill, I’d be happy and maybe get more readers.
The oldest and best lesson I recall from the best authors I have met (such as Joe Haldeman, Jack Chalker, Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle, or Robert Heinlein , all of whom I have met, most of whom I was privileged to call friend) is that:

“Above all, a writer writes! Every day for preference.”

And so I write. Not just for here, not just personal kink stuff, and still not every day. But I write...

I will write of such a scourging that us whip bunnies will gasp, and seek to be more accessible to all.

Thanks again to PrPr - not just for such an entertaining cliffhanger by cliffhanger read, but for inspiring me to continue with my own graffiti level scratching that I pretend is writing! ;). :)
 
Again, I am humbled that my simple work should inspire such a true artist!

Friþugairns asked for the chieftains to choose a half dozen men to accompany him to Narbo. Immediately, everyone volunteered to go. It took only a few minutes for the headman to chose three of the elders and another three young men, well-respected, to form the procession. The elders moved with great speed to assemble the giba (gifts) that their leader requested. The Goth tribe in southern Gaul had few horses, so they set off on foot with a single mule to carry the baggage. Judging by the sun, Friþugairns hoped they could get to Narbo well before noon.

Mogurix and Quintus shed their armor to prepare for the exertion ahead. First, the galeae (helmets – ridge-style, popular in the late 4th century), then the loricae lamminatae (laminated breastplate), manicae (arm protectors), and ocreae (greaves) all were laid aside until each man stood in just his brown woolen, sleeveless tunica (tunic) with a wide leather belt and his hobnailed, open-laced caligae (boots).
935px-Casque_orné_4ème_siècle_Musée_Novi_Sad_Colisée_Rome_Italie.jpg2f3e983b1ebbc2018ec4ed0f40b2779f.jpgs-l300.jpgunnamed.jpg61jgsz3EdtL._AC_UY695_.jpg
tunic-red-roman-clothes.jpgBarbaria was slightly recovered from her rest and looked around to see the men preparing to beat her. Her stoic reserves almost entirely melted away as she saw these two giants, stripped down to show off their powerful bodies.
Morgurix was a hulk of a man, large, strong, and brawny. Quintus was smaller, but his arms were astoundingly thick and robust with bulging biceps.
As both men stretched and flexed their muscular limbs, the Goth knew this would be nothing like being flogged by that fat, weak youth. Chained to hug the post and expose her whole back, butt, and legs, Barb trembled in fear of the horror to come. “Xristus,” she muttered under her breath, “Ik bijan þuk! Nisjan mik! (Christ, I beg you. Save me)”

One can only imagine the excitement and arousal that gripped the men in the atrium, as they watched these two brutish giants strip down in preparation for the torture of this helpless, naked girl. Her shapely, sexy body spiced the scene of increasing horror with lascivious, erotic overtones.
 
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Again, I am humbled that my simple work should inspire such a true artist!

Friþugairns asked for the chieftains to choose a half dozen men to accompany him to Narbo. Immediately, everyone volunteered to go. It took only a few minutes for the headman to chose three of the elders and another three young men, well-respected, to form the procession. The elders moved with great speed to assemble the giba (gifts) that their leader requested. The Goth tribe in southern Gaul had few horses, so they set off on foot with a single mule to carry the baggage. Judging by the sun, Friþugairns hoped they could get to Narbo well before noon.

Mogurix and Quintus shed their armor to prepare for the exertion ahead. First, the galeae (helmets – ridge-style, popular in the late 4th century), then the loricae lamminatae (laminated breastplate), manicae (arm protectors), and ocreae (greaves) all were laid aside until each man stood in just his brown woolen, sleeveless tunica (tunic) with a wide leather belt and his hobnailed, open-laced caligae (boots).
View attachment 996148View attachment 996149View attachment 996154View attachment 996155View attachment 996156
View attachment 996205Barbaria was slightly recovered from her rest and looked around to see the men preparing to beat her. Her stoic reserves almost entirely melted away as she saw these two giants, stripped down to show off their powerful bodies.
Morgurix was a hulk of a man, large, strong, and brawny. Quintus was smaller, but his arms were astoundingly thick and robust with bulging biceps.
As both men stretched and flexed their muscular limbs, the Goth knew this would be nothing like being flogged by that fat, weak youth. Chained to hug the post and expose her whole back, butt, and legs, Barb trembled in fear of the horror to come. “Xristus,” she muttered under her breath, “Ik bijan þuk! Nisjan mik! (Christ, I beg you. Save me)”

One can only imagine the excitement and arousal that gripped the men in the atrium, as they watched these two brutish giants strip down in preparation for the torture of this helpless, naked girl. Her shapely, sexy body spiced the scene of increasing horror with lascivious, erotic overtones.
J'adore a good scene filled with lascivious, erotic overtones. And yes, I can imagine only too well the apparent diminutive stature of the delicate Goth slut when dwarfed by the two hulking brutes, stripped half naked, bodies oiled, fists gripping their scourges, ready to give her the thrashing of her life ...
 
the best authors I have met (such as Joe Haldeman, Jack Chalker, Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle, or Robert Heinlein
Now you really make me blush. To be mentioned in the same post as such accomplished authors is extremely flattering if also totally misguided. As, at least one of those, I spent time as a school teacher to earn my daily bread while writing without the princely compensation I now receive on CF!
If I had just decium percent of PrPr’s patience and skill, I’d be happy
Any patience is a misinterpretation of reluctance to get to the point. In terms of length, I intended this to be over by now. I have a dread of actually writing three types of scenes: love-making (especially lesbian - no experience or understanding), brutal torture (I'm actually very squeamish), and crux/death scenes (not my favorite erotic stimulant).
Therefore, I pursue the other plots as long as possible, putting off the day of reckoning as long as possible. The upcoming scourging scene is, I believe, one of the most difficult to pull off in a way that reads well. Too little gory detail and the readers will be sorely disappointed. Too repetitive, blow-by-blow description and they will be bored while drowning in a tidal wave of blood. I have written only a tiny part (still procrastinating) and I don't know how well (or more likely, poorly) it shall turn out.
Thanks again to PrPr - not just for such an entertaining cliffhanger by cliffhanger read, but for inspiring me to continue with my own graffiti level scratching that I pretend is writing!
You are welcome. I have come to love setting up cliffhangers, large and small. Many authors have found that it is the way to keep their audience engaged - and it's just plain fun.
I also find immense fun in creating characters that stir my own feelings. Whether it is a sympathetic heroine like Barbaria here or a loathsome brat like Galerius, or a reasonably good man like Calixtus, torn by duty and emotion, they capture my heart and demand further 'fleshing out.' This delays the plot, but it is something I cannot give up.
 
The Spaniard

The Centurion handed Quintus the whip to administer the first four blows. This man had been born in a poor town in the province of Cartheginiensis in Hispania. The fifth of six children of an often drunken day laborer, Quintus had been the proverbial ‘runt of the litter' at first. However, he grew...and grew...and grew! By the time he was twelve, he dwarfed his father and older brothers. However, opportunity in the poverty-stricken village, even for a giant of a man, was limited to exhausting drudgery and occasional drunkenness.

Then one day, a conquisitor (recruiting officer) for the Roman exercitus (army – meaning a group of men exercised in military training) came to the village. This strong lad seemed ideal for the army. At 15, Quintus was a bit younger than the traditional limit of 17, though he was over the (recently lowered) minimum age of 13, and well exceeded the minimum height of 5’ 8”. The opportunities for regular pay, possible plunder, comradeship, and travel enraptured the youth. A few hours later, he was accepted as a Probatus, one approved for training, the first stage of being a Tirones, a basic recruit. Three months later, well ahead of schedule, having easily passed all strength and proficiency tests, he became a Signatus (marked or recognized), meaning officially enlisted. His name with his age and any distinguishing marks were added to the unit’s record. Still a Tirones, but a fully qualified soldier, Quintus took to the military life like a fish to water and never looked back.

Quintus took the weapon from his Centurion in his left hand. Calixtus had wisely chosen a right- and a left-hander to spread the blows in a maximally devastating spread. Maximinus took his stand about five pedes behind and two pedes to the right of the bound serva. He gave a few stretches and flexes to loosen his tight sinews for the work ahead. Several of his contubernalium (tentmates, comrades) noticed a large bulge forming in the front of his tunic. They nudged each other and snickered at their friend becoming aroused at the prospect of torturing this sexy German. They joked that he was keeping his best weapon sub rosa (concealed). It was a reaction that many in the atrium shared.

Quintus turned and twisted his body one last time to loosen up for his first stroke. Then he swept the flagrum through the air in two practice swings. Many of the onlookers caught their breath at the sight and sound of the heavy weapon slicing through the air. How delicious it would be when it made contact with the Goth girl’s soft back! Quintus stood still for a moment, his eyes fixed on Barbaria’s back. He looked to Calixtus.
 
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