J
Juan1234
Guest
First I was waiting in my cell, on the wobbly wooden bench. Today they were executing me along with two men, and one of them was a Gaulish chieftain, so it was an event. Outside I could hear the crowd growing as the hour approached. After a while, they came in to strip me of my clothes and tie my hands together in front of me. Then they left, and I waited, naked on the bench, crossing my legs. The crowd grew bigger, louder, and I waited.
Finally they grabbed me by my upper arms and brought me out, through the corridors, to the narrow vestibule before the gate that led out into the street. The thief was already there, waiting in a loincloth before the gate, and they stood me behind him to wait with him. We waited. I couldn't see well through the gate, but I could see the crowd now, louder than ever.
Soon they brought the chieftain, also in a loincloth, and stood him behind me, in all his large, hirsute rankness, noisy breathing, and compulsive, exotic mutterings I could not distinguish for certain from his breathing. I felt uncomfortable with his breath so close behind me -- I could feel the bareness of my buttocks as a physical sensation -- but when I glanced over my shoulder at him, his watery blue eyes were big and sad and not directed at me at all. I felt a little sorry for him. He probably deserved this less than me.
After a while they brought an old length of cloth and tied it around my hips, covering me as much as the men were covered.
Then they opened the gate. First went the thief, and the noise of the crowd rose as he was introduced. Next it was my turn, and I was brought into the noise itself, with nothing between me and it. After me came the chieftain.
Next I waited while they tied my hands to one of the the whipping posts, high over my head. The hands worked slowly, winding the rope around, weaving it over and under, then suddenly cinching it quick-tight, then winding more while I stretched out below, more than half naked, waiting. When they had finally finished with me, they still had work to do to secure the chieftain to the middle post (a big man requires a big knot) so I waited, waited for the lash.
Then they flogged me. I don't know if it was for half an hour or for two hours, but I stood waiting for each lash, listening to the roars and bellows of the chieftain, and the pathetic cries of the thief, then bucking and arching back, shrieking my own shriek of pain, putting my forehead back to the post to weep while I waited for the next, waited for it to be over, waited to be allowed to go and be put to death.
When it was over, the took down the thief first, and made him pick up his patibulum. I waited, hanging from my post, bleeding. Then they took the chieftain. I was last, and still I waited while they untied the knots that held me there. Then my hands were free for the first time since I had come out of my cell, and I had a brief moment to tug down at the cloth about my hips before they made me carry my patibulum. The beam was splintery, bloodstained and pocked with nail-holes at each end.
The cloth was not a proper loincloth, not passing between my legs, and I didn't feel it covered me well, especially as I went down to lift the beam and took the wide, low strides necessary to bear its weight. I couldn't tell for sure by feeling it whether it came low enough to fully cover the crease of my bottom when I walked.
After a long and difficult death march, surrounded by the cruel crowd, I arrived at the hill by the main road, just outside the city gate. There were the thief and the chieftain, who had just set down their beams in front of their respective stipes, rising from the slope just a few paces from the road. I dropped my beam from my bleeding shoulder, then waited while the soldiers slid the stipes from its slot in the ground and set about fastening my crossbeam to it.
What does one do while one's executioners prepare one's execution device, when one is mostly naked in front of an eager crowd? I stood for a few moments and watched them work, hugging my breasts. There was a low stone wall beside me, so I sat down, immediately realizing that sitting compromised my covering, shifting sideways and crossing my legs to hide myself. There I waited, trying not to make eye contact with soldier or crowd.
Then they finished. "Stand up!" I stood. They led me by the arm closer to the crowd, in front of where my fully-constructed cross lay on the ground. When they had stood me where they wanted me, one of them stepped behind me, wrenched my arms from my breasts and pinned them behind me, then slipped his big thumbs between my cloth and my hips. I waited, unable to keep from looking in the faces of the crowd watching me. When he felt the moment was right, he shoved the cloth down swiftly to my ankles, eliciting a cheer.
Then they bent me over and hammered a blunt peg into my most shameful orifice. This done, two of them took my wrists and a third lifted my ankles, carrying me and setting me down on my cross.
They tied my ankles together, and my arms to the crossbeam, leaving me unable to move. There I waited, naked, lying down, but on a slope, so that I still faced the crowd. I heard the squeals of the thief as they nailed him to his cross, then the long bellow of the chieftain, followed incongruously by soft weeping, and even what sounded like it could be the softly moaned lilt of a lullaby between heavy breaths.
Some of the nails had broken as they had extracted them from our predecessor's corpses, so there weren't enough to nail me to my cross. I waited while they sent for more nails from the city. By the time they returned with my nails, the thief had been raised to hang, and he had shrieked like a little girl when his cross slid down into its base and jolted to a stop. Unable to move, my back was stiff, and my circulation was waning in my loins.
They set the first nail-point to my wrist, and I checked just to see how much I could flinch in my bindings. I couldn't move at all, so I just waited. Waited and looked away. The hammer came down, and I have been in agony ever since.
When they finished nailing me down, they cut my bindings (I suppose they might have diminished my suffering?) and left me to raise the chieftain. There I waited, nailed and bleeding, weeping. I thought I was crucified, but I soon found out there is a great and terrible difference between being nailed to a cross and being crucified. I was nailed there and immobile while the crowd taunted me, and I thought I was in terrible pain.
The chieftain's cry when his cross slid into place started low but ended up in a high falsetto, like he was losing the will to even cry out. Again I felt sorry for him, even wished I could comfort him somehow.
Then it was finally my turn. They lifted me higher and higher, sliding my body off of the wood I had been resting on, the nails biting harder and harder to prevent my from falling, my panicked breathing growing faster and more shallow, until I was completely vertical, dumped off of the cross, yet caught by the nails and not allowed to fall. I would never again touch the ground.
Then the jolt. Nothing could prepare me for it - not even watching the thief and the chieftain suffer. A flash of white, and the most all-consuming, unimaginable pain. I wretched. I felt my urine streaming hot down my legs. Now I was crucified.
Now flies buzz incessantly around the vomit on my chest, down my belly. When I began to lose strength, they fastened my cornu to the stipes. I can do nothing now but wait. I feel I am waiting for this day to end so I can be back in my cell, or even back at home on my bed-mat. I don't feel like I am waiting for death. I feel pain, I feel nausea, I feel humiliation, I even feel my mind on the edge of insanity, unable to contain it all. But so far I do not feel death. I feel punished, but not executed. Death is a long way off.
And yet, death is all I have to wait for anymore.
Finally they grabbed me by my upper arms and brought me out, through the corridors, to the narrow vestibule before the gate that led out into the street. The thief was already there, waiting in a loincloth before the gate, and they stood me behind him to wait with him. We waited. I couldn't see well through the gate, but I could see the crowd now, louder than ever.
Soon they brought the chieftain, also in a loincloth, and stood him behind me, in all his large, hirsute rankness, noisy breathing, and compulsive, exotic mutterings I could not distinguish for certain from his breathing. I felt uncomfortable with his breath so close behind me -- I could feel the bareness of my buttocks as a physical sensation -- but when I glanced over my shoulder at him, his watery blue eyes were big and sad and not directed at me at all. I felt a little sorry for him. He probably deserved this less than me.
After a while they brought an old length of cloth and tied it around my hips, covering me as much as the men were covered.
Then they opened the gate. First went the thief, and the noise of the crowd rose as he was introduced. Next it was my turn, and I was brought into the noise itself, with nothing between me and it. After me came the chieftain.
Next I waited while they tied my hands to one of the the whipping posts, high over my head. The hands worked slowly, winding the rope around, weaving it over and under, then suddenly cinching it quick-tight, then winding more while I stretched out below, more than half naked, waiting. When they had finally finished with me, they still had work to do to secure the chieftain to the middle post (a big man requires a big knot) so I waited, waited for the lash.
Then they flogged me. I don't know if it was for half an hour or for two hours, but I stood waiting for each lash, listening to the roars and bellows of the chieftain, and the pathetic cries of the thief, then bucking and arching back, shrieking my own shriek of pain, putting my forehead back to the post to weep while I waited for the next, waited for it to be over, waited to be allowed to go and be put to death.
When it was over, the took down the thief first, and made him pick up his patibulum. I waited, hanging from my post, bleeding. Then they took the chieftain. I was last, and still I waited while they untied the knots that held me there. Then my hands were free for the first time since I had come out of my cell, and I had a brief moment to tug down at the cloth about my hips before they made me carry my patibulum. The beam was splintery, bloodstained and pocked with nail-holes at each end.
The cloth was not a proper loincloth, not passing between my legs, and I didn't feel it covered me well, especially as I went down to lift the beam and took the wide, low strides necessary to bear its weight. I couldn't tell for sure by feeling it whether it came low enough to fully cover the crease of my bottom when I walked.
After a long and difficult death march, surrounded by the cruel crowd, I arrived at the hill by the main road, just outside the city gate. There were the thief and the chieftain, who had just set down their beams in front of their respective stipes, rising from the slope just a few paces from the road. I dropped my beam from my bleeding shoulder, then waited while the soldiers slid the stipes from its slot in the ground and set about fastening my crossbeam to it.
What does one do while one's executioners prepare one's execution device, when one is mostly naked in front of an eager crowd? I stood for a few moments and watched them work, hugging my breasts. There was a low stone wall beside me, so I sat down, immediately realizing that sitting compromised my covering, shifting sideways and crossing my legs to hide myself. There I waited, trying not to make eye contact with soldier or crowd.
Then they finished. "Stand up!" I stood. They led me by the arm closer to the crowd, in front of where my fully-constructed cross lay on the ground. When they had stood me where they wanted me, one of them stepped behind me, wrenched my arms from my breasts and pinned them behind me, then slipped his big thumbs between my cloth and my hips. I waited, unable to keep from looking in the faces of the crowd watching me. When he felt the moment was right, he shoved the cloth down swiftly to my ankles, eliciting a cheer.
Then they bent me over and hammered a blunt peg into my most shameful orifice. This done, two of them took my wrists and a third lifted my ankles, carrying me and setting me down on my cross.
They tied my ankles together, and my arms to the crossbeam, leaving me unable to move. There I waited, naked, lying down, but on a slope, so that I still faced the crowd. I heard the squeals of the thief as they nailed him to his cross, then the long bellow of the chieftain, followed incongruously by soft weeping, and even what sounded like it could be the softly moaned lilt of a lullaby between heavy breaths.
Some of the nails had broken as they had extracted them from our predecessor's corpses, so there weren't enough to nail me to my cross. I waited while they sent for more nails from the city. By the time they returned with my nails, the thief had been raised to hang, and he had shrieked like a little girl when his cross slid down into its base and jolted to a stop. Unable to move, my back was stiff, and my circulation was waning in my loins.
They set the first nail-point to my wrist, and I checked just to see how much I could flinch in my bindings. I couldn't move at all, so I just waited. Waited and looked away. The hammer came down, and I have been in agony ever since.
When they finished nailing me down, they cut my bindings (I suppose they might have diminished my suffering?) and left me to raise the chieftain. There I waited, nailed and bleeding, weeping. I thought I was crucified, but I soon found out there is a great and terrible difference between being nailed to a cross and being crucified. I was nailed there and immobile while the crowd taunted me, and I thought I was in terrible pain.
The chieftain's cry when his cross slid into place started low but ended up in a high falsetto, like he was losing the will to even cry out. Again I felt sorry for him, even wished I could comfort him somehow.
Then it was finally my turn. They lifted me higher and higher, sliding my body off of the wood I had been resting on, the nails biting harder and harder to prevent my from falling, my panicked breathing growing faster and more shallow, until I was completely vertical, dumped off of the cross, yet caught by the nails and not allowed to fall. I would never again touch the ground.
Then the jolt. Nothing could prepare me for it - not even watching the thief and the chieftain suffer. A flash of white, and the most all-consuming, unimaginable pain. I wretched. I felt my urine streaming hot down my legs. Now I was crucified.
Now flies buzz incessantly around the vomit on my chest, down my belly. When I began to lose strength, they fastened my cornu to the stipes. I can do nothing now but wait. I feel I am waiting for this day to end so I can be back in my cell, or even back at home on my bed-mat. I don't feel like I am waiting for death. I feel pain, I feel nausea, I feel humiliation, I even feel my mind on the edge of insanity, unable to contain it all. But so far I do not feel death. I feel punished, but not executed. Death is a long way off.
And yet, death is all I have to wait for anymore.
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