Cella
Spectator
The cheap, sour wine tastes horrible but at least it numbs my senses a bit. I want to be numb now. Don't want to thin about what is next -- my crucifixion.GORDIAN:
......"crucify, crucify", the spectators in the Atrium are shouting. At the end of the flogging Marcella goes down to her knees, shaking. Dena and I untie the thief, drag the woman to the side, to throw her careless into the dust.
Like almost all victims, she peed on herself and vomited during the flogging.
Dena gets a bucket of cold water, dumps it on Marcella, to sort of clean her. Slowly she is regaining control over her body again.
Hectorius and I put her on her feet. Dena is wrapping the loincloth around Marcella's waist, redresses the delinquent with her tunic, to then give her more posca.
Dena speaks:
"Drink Marcella. You will need it. Look here, your Patibulum. I help you to put your clothes back on, in that way the Patibulum will not hurt your shoulders that much."
"Please, more wine." I beg of my executioners. The woman looks over to the man who shrugs his shoulders as if to say why not.
My female executioner puts the end of the wineskin in my mouth as I tilt my head back to drink. I swallow as much as I can, nearly gagging. It overflows my mouth and runs down to my chest. It stings the welts on my breasts. Then I can drink no more. My belly is full of the awful, vinegary stuff. I hope I can hold it down. The alcohol makes my head swim. I want to be as insensible as possible for what I have to endure soon. But I know it won't help that much. The thought of nails being pounded through my flesh sends shudderes of terror through me. My stomach rebels. I drop my head and vomit up much of what I just drank.
"Fuck," says the woman, "waste of good wine on this bitch."
"Wait until she's elevated on the cross," says the man, "she'll be begging for it again."