Quintus looks as though his head will explode at any moment, his face is crimson and enlarged veins stand out on his forehead and neck. He looks at the African decurian angrily and with a visibly great effort manages to rein in his temper. His gaze sweeps round the assembled Britons. They stand in complete silence now, their faces stony and unforgiving. The Iceni are more ominous now than when they were shouting and jostling with the legionaires, the initial hot rage of the moment cooled to a simmering hatred.
"In it's benevolent compassion, Rome sees fit to pardon these two headstrong girls." Quintus proclaims, though it clearly pains him to say it. "However their foolhardy and treacherous assault on Roman soldiers cannot go unpunished. Neither can Rome let it's dignity be diminished by the ill thought offense on it's honour committed by your late king's wife."
Not a sound comes from the crowd, under the stern gaze of Boudicca they hold to her command not to provoke reprisal from these Romans.
"Take them to that tree." Quintus commands the legionaries holding yourself, Boudicca and your sister. "String these troublesome sluts up by their wrists."
At the edge of the settlement's central space an ancient oak stands. By the base of it's trunk offerings of fruit, grain and cups of wine mark it as a living shrine of the Iceni gods. You know what's coming next and you desperately try to remember if anything during the set up phase of this simulation mentioned an emergancy exit method. If such does exist you skipped past it in your haste. The legionaries drag you to the tree. You dig your heels into the ground stubbornly fighting every inch of the way your head whipping around as you try to sink your teeth into the Romans hands and arms.
"Be strong my daughters." Boudicca calls out. "Whatever happens remember you are and always will be queens of the Iceni."
Boudicca herself stands tall and walks steadily towards the tree ignoring the legionaires hands that hold her. Her daughter, like yourself fights her captors with unbroken ferocity, spitting and cursing the Romans and kicking at all within reach with her long slender legs. All three of you are lined up beneath a thick branch that protudes from the gnarled old trunk some three feet above your head.
"All those injured by these women step forward." Quintus commands. "Those whose honour was assaulted shall inflict justice."
Around ten legionaires step forward already smirking in anticipation, among them you spot the soldier whose nose you broke, his mouth and chin coated in snotty blood. Beside him hobbles the legionaire with crushed toes glowering at you with an evil grin on his stubbled face. Leather cords are bound about your wrists and a rope passed around this and firmly knotted, then the loose end of the rope is tossed up and over the branch of the sacred oak. Legionaires eagerly haul on your rope and those of Boudicca and your sister, hoisting your slim arms upward until they're stretched high above your head. The snot faced legionaire maliciously gives your rope an extra tug after his fellows are satisfied that leaves you standing on only the tips of your toes.
"Strip them." The legate barks once the ropes are tied off and secure.
A massively muscled brute of a legionaire steps up in front of you smiling maliciously and grips your already ripped shirt in his huge sweaty fists. He rips the torn garment apart, jerking your slim body about as the separate pieces shred. He sneers at your meagre breasts contemptuously before moving his hands down to your slender waist. Your belt is unbuckled and tossed aside and then the Roman hooks his thumbs inside the waistband of your plaid trousers. With an impressive ripple of his grotesquely bulging biceps your trousers are rent apart, the ragged remnants sliding down your youthfully slender legs to catch around your ankles. Your sister and mother are similarly treated, leaving all three of you suspended by your wrists, naked apart from your golden torcs and leather sandals.
Quintus has dismounted and he stalks forward to feast his eyes on his humiliated captives. At Boudicca he barely glances despite her body being the ripest and most womanly on display. He lingers longer in front of your sister, drinking in the sight of her slim body and walking around her to study her from all angles. To yourself he gives the most attention, seemingly fascinated by your boyish physique and small breasts. He wets his thin lips, his tongue pale and insipid as emerges. He circles you and you feel slim cold fingers groping your small hard buttocks.
"Just like a young boy's" You hear Quintus whisper to himself and feel sickening contempt for the man.
"Cut some hazel switches." The legate commands and your stomach lurches queesily as you realise that he means to have you flogged.
Legionaires scurry to obey, stripping the thin rods in front of you so that you can look on in mounting trepidation as they prepare the whiplike switches for use on your body. Thin and flexible, the rods swish noisily through the air as the Roman soldiers test them once the bark has been peeled and the rods cut to length. A soldier positions himself to the rear of each of you, idly slapping the rods into their palms as they look eagerly to Quintus for the command to begin.
"Flog the bitches." Quintus orders with obvious relish. |