9
Barbara and I exchanged furtive glances, like naughty schoolgirls in a strict teacher's classroom, while Lucia's final steps and crucifixion were being broadcast on the giant screens around the Parade ground. Lucia made no more gestures of defiance, but she strode confidently to her Place of Execution next to Gaby, passing my four cousins who were all heaving their bodies in the dance of death, the morning sun bright on their glistening whiteness.
Lucia lay down on her Cross when commanded, stretching her arms co-operatively. Her fine long legs, one flexed up, the other stretched out, her plump breasts lying as slowly heaving cushions over her raised rib-cage, her face nestled against her sea of rich dark hair bore a determined expression. She took her nailing with roars of pain and furious kicking, submitted quietly to the ritual rape and humiliation, held herself strongly as the cross was raised, and fought vigorously when the shock of the upright dropping into its socket threw her into her climax of agony.
Barbara, too, looked calm. We avoided each others' eyes as she was called up to the platform, not wanting further additions to our suffering, knowing they can always find something worse to do to us. She spoke her confession in a quiet but clear, matter-of-fact tone, sounded almost perky as she confirmed her understanding and acceptance of her sentence.
She too was led past my cousins, her Guards were particularly enthusiastic in groping and mauling her shapely buttocks and pert breasts, making no secret of their arousal at the prospect of inflicting lethal pain on her youthful body. My mind flowed back to our hours together in the Resistance Base, I could not deny that I shared those Guards' lustful urges.
Even as she lay on her Cross, stretched and ready, part of me was urging her, with all my heart, to be strong and brave – and her quiet expression showed she was – but another, darker side was fascinated to watch her subjection to the agony, penetration and humiliation, sensing delicious terror in the knowledge that my turn is next.
Her screams were shrill, her convulsions exquisite, as the nails were driven home. She tossed her sweet head as if in ecstasy while she was raped – perhaps she was, or at least she was where intensity of pleasure and pain are inseparable. She continued shaking her head while they pissed on her, then prepared herself for the raising. Being lightly-built and gymnastic, she coped well, only letting out a sharp squeal as the shaft dropped, and then moving into the routine of flexing and hauling as if she were practising in the gym. I was delighted, felt full of love and joy for my dear Babs!
The camera dwelt on her dance for a short while, to me it seemed endless, before the loudspeakers boomed forth "Present the next condemned!" My yoke was jerked up, the electric prod jolted my hips, I staggered upright and stepped forwards, up the steps, looking down to place my feet as I climbed to the platform - “Stand up straight, you slut! Let’s have a look at you!” I lifted my eyes, looked into those of my Director of Punishments, the steel-hard triumphant eyes of Brigadier Zeta!
So all three of the unholy trinity are here, Ioannides, Sheng and Zeta – he must have flown up from the IPCG especially to enjoy the pleasure of supervising my execution, his final stamp of victory on the face of my family and my cause. I blushed, suddenly felt my nakedness, a burning glow, a hint of my racing blood through my shoulders, collar, neck and breasts. But why? Good God, it’s not the first time that I’ve stood naked in front of this man.
But now it was all flooding back, the terror and anticipation I experienced when he first ordered me to strip my kit off, softened me up, took me down for my first taste of Torture, and all that had happened since, in his Torture Chamber, on the Scaffold, in Dr. Sheng's Laboratory, in Ioannides' 'Bedroom', my youthfulness stretched out again and again until they broke me.
That’s why I was blushing. How should a martyr look? Poised, confident? Not after that, not with these men who’ve laid me bare, and penetrated me – not just my flesh, but deep inside my soul. My anxious eyes felt hot with tears, my lips – I know, erotic, kissable – they almost quivered and betrayed a hint of doubt, resentment, fear. I felt younger, softer now than I was nearly three years back when they first captured me. "They’ve got me where they want me," I heard myself say inwardly, "vulnerable."
"Number and name!" "381152 Eulalia Mérida, Sir!" My voice was clear, but almost cracked. "Repeat your confession." The words flowed, mercifully, without conscious effort, my voice was toneless, I felt a strange sensation of listening to myself as if from a distance. "The final sentence for your crimes is that you shall be nailed through your wrists and ankles to a wooden Cross, to suffer the Torture of Crucifixion until you are dead. Eulalia Mérida, do you understand an accept your sentence?" "Yes, Sir, I understand and accept my just sentence." I did, yet there was something a bit odd, not quite the same words as I'd heard in the Court of the Tribune Martial.
Zeta continued, his voice growing ever more triumphant as the liturgy approached its climax. "Eulalia Mérida, I hand you over to your Executioner!" I turned, "Kneel!" yelled my Guards, I dropped to my knees, swung forward and pressed my forehead against the stone of the platform. A boot kicked my head, "Up!" I lurched to my feet again and found myself looking up into another familiar face, Buron, the monster who'd been in charge when Laura and I were exposed naked on the scaffold, who'd beaten my baby out of my womb. He simply nodded, the Guards, Averil and Sara too, escorted me down the steps at the far side of the platform, across the Parade Ground past the corralled youngsters destined for the slave market, through a great gate and up a flight of wide stone steps, along a rough stony walkway around the Castle wall, from where I could be seen by the whole city of Moro.
We came to the bastion which was the Place of Execution. I'd kept my head down during my march this far, seeing only the jagged stones and thorny weeds under my bare feet, but my captors forced my shoulders back as we approached the row of crosses bearing my four cousins. Faith glanced down at me, her deathly pale face seemed to brighten a little, her tired eyes widened slightly, her teeth flashed momentarily in the sunlight. Erica's head was bowed, she seemed taken up with her struggle, but Carina hauled herself up and actually mouthed some word of encouragement – I couldn't hear what, best that the Guards didn't either, but I was heartened by her courage, though her body quickly sank again, shuddering. And Julia too, like Barbara and Faith benefiting from her relatively small stature, her good strength-to-weight ratio, was coping well, for a brief moment she gave me what could only be called a cheeky grin.
And now we came to the centre of the Execution area. Barbara, newly-crucified, was on the far side, still coming to terms with her cruel choice of painful postures, both she and Lucia beyond her were screaming, though Barbara turned her head and looked my way for a moment. And I looked around, perplexed, wondering where my Cross would be. Between me and the Castle Wall was a huge horizontal wheel, set on some mechanism. We stopped beside it, they made me kneel, my yoke with its burden was lifted off and I stood up, at the ready, facing this apparatus - but Buron commanded me to look the other way, at the other, vertical machine, "Turn Eulalia, turn and face your Wheel of Death!"
Scots isn't English,
