Ancient Arena Shock, Part II and Conclusion
Whatever could, mud brick and wood, sandals boots and shoes, a thousand voices
of differing timbre, all resumed the thunderous shake of the filled arena at
Xantan. In ground-shaking peal the chant arose, if anything louder than
previously. Only sentries lining the stadium's upper ring remained impervious
and stood steadfast, refusing to participate in the cacophony.
"We shall, We shall, We shall..."
Sophrus, proconsul to the smelly porcine nephew of Rome's emperor, concerned
himself with penetrating more than just the crowd noise. His stringy frame bent,
features set and he plunged face-first through the gaseous cloud. Verginus
Flatulus Rufus Caesar, the local ruler noted mainly for his constant bursts of
flatulence, heedlessly sat at the cloud's core.
Sophrus shouted to be heard over the din and explained that what was next to
occur in the arena had to do with the high standing in which the local Batavii
held their seers.
"CRU-CI-FY-YOUuuuuu!"
Flatulus laughingly waved to the stomping, cheering crowd and grabbed another
fistful of the scrumptious pancakes. Washing the gustatory delight with an even
heavier swig of Trimalchio's one-hundred year old wine, Flatulus relaxed
blithely unconcerned as another salvo of noxious fumes exploded into the plush
cushion on which he was perched.
Swallowing and chewing, Flatulus turned his attention back to the center of the
arena. Legionaires pulled the soaked seer to her knees. The mere sight of her
sodden robe, rent as it was, sent chills through his hefty girth as he watched
The scourge left the garment nothing but tatters, not that it being whole would
make much difference in this cool Germania air.
But still...
A bare knee and upper thigh showed through a long tear in the robe as she was
positioned. One of the soldiers held her wrists behind her. Flatulus privately
smiled at the two chest-high points poking the front of the wet robe caused by
little erections of flesh he knew only too well from last night's dalliance.
Of course then they weren't so chilled.
Organization amongst the chanting crowd dissolved into a massive roar as first
one long sleeve of the already shredded robe was ripped away. Another pulled
away until the female knelt naked from the waist up. All watched her tits shake
and trembled as they were freed, topped by the elongated nipples, shriveled skin
around each base perhaps seeking more warmth. Many of the attendees were heard
to ponder if all Batavii were as physically well endowed as the maiden stripped
before them.
Sophrus straightened, hoping against hope some miracle could shift the wind.
Together with his height he just might be delivered from Flatulus's odiferous
revenge. Duty commanded that he remain by his master's side, but he did his best
to crane his back away to escape further insult to his olfactory, not to mention
other senses.
Flatulus chortled and pointed to the arena center as he drank more of the
Opimian Falernia swill. Another legionaire, one who looked to be from the 5th
legion Alaudae, held the tight circle of thorns above the Batavii's head.
One seer was about to be royally crowned, a coronation Verginis Flatulus Rufus
Caesar wasn't going to miss.
Her lover Civils wasn't going to come Veleda despaired as she felt her chin
lifted up. Above black spikes shot crazy diagonals across the gray sky. Lungs
deeply inhaled and her fingers tightly balled, nails digging into her palms.
At her shrill scream the crowd leapt to its feet. Contortions caused serpentine
crimson lines to run down her face. Another brutish pounding of the crown caused
another scream. The female somehow broke free. Her hand flew up as she scuttled
across the arena floor and tried to knock off the piercing thorns, her attempt
only succeeding in pricking her hand. The move provoked gales of laughter in the
arena. Alert legionaries quickly regained control of their prisoner.
Flatulus let go another blast and settled back in his chair. He drained the cup,
amazed that even in this chilly weather he felt his face perspiring and heart
thumping. Ordering more of the same wine, he watched as a heavy timber, or
patibulum, was fastened across the female's bare shoulders. She had to be helped
up once her arms were tied around the crossbeam.
Its weight bent her forward and she was led close to the rim. With some
prodding, the bleeding figure staggered around the perimeter leaving tracks on
the partially frosted arena floor, completing a full circle before collapsing to
her knees in front of Flatulus's box.
With all of the gravity he could muster, Flatulus semi-jovially,
semi-authoritatively gave a final nod to the soldiers.
As they left for a return with the condemned to the center Flatulus could not
help but pass more gas. Sophrus winced and poured fresh wine into Flatulus's
cup, wondering as he did if the vintage's bouquet would somehow be upset by the
pungency of this latest outburst by his boss.
A stir arose in the crowd again. Stomping feet returned. The "We shall,We
shall..." chant resumed. During the circular review, despite its agonizingly
slow pace, most got great looks at the Batavii. The crowd smelled blood in the
cold air.
Slaves had planted a tall upright in the center of the arena as the laboring
Batavii was displayed along the outer circle. It faced where Flatulus sat,
complete with sign, or titulus, near the top that proclaimed a rebel. When
firmly in place the slaves left.
The party crossed its weak shadow before stopping near its base. Veleda deeply
sighed as the burden was lifted. Shoulders slumped as the lower half of her robe
was torn away. Cold no longer mattered. Nor did nudity, or the many shrill yells
aimed at her from the arena crowd. She was merely happy to be free of the
weight.
The exotic beast at first appeared frightened by the horde of humans, or perhaps
it merely reacted to the crisp air that was so unlike its native habitat. Once
acclimated though, the tiger deliberately stalked toward the arena center. It
too smelled blood in the cold air.
Veleda tried to slow her throbbing body. There were so many pains and now adding
to them was panic. High above the arena floor, nailed to the cross, Veleda
fought to breathe. Every time her lungs and mind no longer permitted
suffocating, she had to writhe upward for a second to exhale and inhale. Almost
immediately she would slide back down when the pressure exerted on the single
spike nailing her feet became too great. At the rate she was going, the effort
needed would tax remaining strength. She needed to slow her pace.
Word shot around the arena that the beast was a true tiger. They sat with rapt
attention as the striped feline approached the upright, its massive head
lifting, nostrils sniffing and then pink tongue beginning to lap at blood from
the Batavii's wounded feet.
It growled once. A great paw swung. The Batavii screamed. Bright furrows of
fresh blood streamed down the clawed calf. The animal rose, placed its forepaws
on the upright. The crowd gaped as they saw huge white teeth clamp down on the
female's lower leg. She wailed.
Veleda screamed hysterically as she shook. She saw the tiger raise and open its
jaws to bite her. She and the upright trembled under the cat's weight.
And then there fell a pall before pandemonium broke.
Veleda saw it drop, an arrow's shaft protruding from its neck. It lay still on
the ground. Impulsively, her eyes rose. The sentries she had seen before on the
upper ring of the arena were gone. The crowd below seemed to nervously stir, and
then they began screaming in fright. Veleda looked to the gladiator archers who
had killed the tiger, but saw them pivot and start to shoot more arrows into the
crowd.
Civilis with his fierce and brave fighters had at long last arrived.
Flatulus began a series of flatulence that he was unable or unwilling to stop.
His fat head swivled to Sophrus for help and that's when he saw his gangly
proconsul laying back, dead eyes turned heavenward, an arrow protruding from his
aide's chest. People all around were screaming. The packed crowd panicked.
Bodies shoved other bodies in their haste to exit.
Flatulus clamored to his feet, but made the fateful mistake of reaching for one
more handful of pancakes. As he did personal gas erupted loudly. A nearby fallen
torch connected with the exiting flammable fumes. The connection produced a
fiery spear that shot right into the rear of Flatulus's toga.
Catapults commandeered from the armory at Fortress Vetera began lobbing glowing
balls of oil from outside of the arena into the tiers. Men and women scrambled
to rush from under their onslaught. No longer did the crowd focus any attention
on the tortured Batavii's crucifix. All attempts were made to flee the burning
oil.
Civilis rushed to the center of the arena, stepped over the fallen body of the
tiger, and focused on treating the bleeding leg of the crucified. He suspected
the victim was one of his own people, but had no idea it belonged to his lover,
Veleda.
That is, until he heard his name murmured.
The face high above with its shroud of tangled hair did reveal some hints of
beauty, but dark contortions masked its true identity. Civilis could see
encrusted scabs where rivulets were no longer were fresh amongst the ravaged
features.
"It's...me," Veleda said in hoarse tones.
Crushed with the realization that it was his lover on the cross, Civilis sank to
his knees and wept. Slowly standing, he winced as he looked up at the tortured
and said weakly with a shrug, "Better late than never, right?"
Veleda shut her swollen eyes for a long moment. Sounds of the arena chaos
surrounded them. She finally reopened her eyes. Head still downcast she said,
"Maybe. But NOT soon enough..."
Civilis helplessly stood looking up at the tragic face and figure looming above.
He so wanted to help but really did not know what to do, or where to even start.
His lover's cracked lips parted again and he strained up to hear her rasping
words, faint enough on their own but with the entire clamor around nearly
impossible to detect.
"If you truly love me...," Veleda chose her words deliberately, "use your
sword."
And so, Civilis at last had an answer to his dilemma.
He drew his blade and put an end to the final chapter of Arena Shock.
