Please note that the following contains graphic scenes
of violence for ADULT ONLY readership. If you are in
any way offended by such themes read no further.
Should you decide to continue, make certain that your
local community standards permit such material.
This is written for personal consumption. Do not use
this story elsewhere without the author’s express
permission.
Thank you.
Faibhar.
An ancient form of Chamber of Commerce long ago
lobbied that the sign of a cross perched on a hill
alongside the main road to the city was sufficient
deterrent and that rotting corpses on said cross might
possibly repulse potential boosts to the local economy
by visiting mercans, or merchants. Their measure,
readily approved by the politically sensitive
administration, decreed that the condemned should be
taken down, dead or alive, on their second day and
cast over the opposite side of the chalky rise to rot
on the scavenged bones of their predecessors. Out of
sight and therefore out of mind, the execution site
remained available to those intent on meting out the
most extreme form of justice while at the same time
the local business community was appeased.
True, this crucified had lasted into the second day,
but clearly the last hours differed from the first.
For one thing, crowds of spectators had evaporated.
Secondly, dryness wrapped skin tighter around the
muscular form. Dehydration evaporated just like the
crowds. Scarce liquids remained. No longer did her
nude body shine luxuriant in its own wetness.
Congealed wounds cracked more blackly than former
rivers of red. Stamina proved to be a double-edged
sword for this shamed warrior. She endured through the
night through strength more of will than physical
attributes. An occasional flutter from her sunken
belly were all that indicated life yet remained. Gone
were the mad gyrations during yesterday’s nailing,
replaced by a repose broken only by increasingly
infrequent stirrings. Tangled and matted hair no
longer shown of gold, but limply clung in dank
disarray around a countenance once used to a beautific
command. Abject sorrow now replaced that former
confidant look.
Stamina certainly was assisted by the cornu, or
small
saddle she rode. Firmly affixed to the upright, its
phallic tongue deeply imbedded inside, it provided
support, allowing weight to somewhat ease from spikes
piercing her now swollen wrists and feet. Aligned with
prolonging her torment, she was able to breathe more
easily because of the tiny support.
Too far away to be identified by the two sentries
posted near the base of the crucifix, two diminutive
figures emerged from the towering walls of the city.
They moved along the main road and at first appeared
to be headed in the direction of the site until an
abrupt turn into a nearby vineyard hid them from
sight.
