This original writer for LEGAL ADULT READERS ONLY intends the following
historic novella, "Vulcanalia", to be read only where local standards
permit depictions of violence and torture. Please do not publish
the following elsewhere without first requesting permission from me. Thank
you.
Faibhar
VULCANALIA
AUGUST 22, AD79
The town elder of Stabiae smiled at his success. At long last, he would
one-up that snooty Pompeii governor Vannozzo. Only he, Caius Baldassario
Zirondi, would provide a human sacrifice to the mighty god Vulcanus during
this year's celebration. To make his show even more dramatic, Zirondi
planned to crucify the female atop the mountain. The people and the gods
would realize just how better a leader he was than some big city clown.
Zirondi stepped closer to the captive. Catching this royal in her
trading vessel as it sailed into the Mediterranean from up north had been a
real coup. His gray eyes sought hers and then traveled lowered down her
neck. She was beautiful, perhaps even too so to waste on some sacrifice,
but he reminded himself of the long run and that, after all, duty was duty.
He looked away from her fair face and to the coarse countenances of the two
soldiers on either side of her as they stood in the cool marble chamber in
his palazzio.
"She needs something else to wear for the festival. Get a tunic from
the bordellorito."
One of his pivoted away to fulfill this latest command as Zirondi
stroked his goatee and glared once more into the placid prisoner. "Your
people have all been sent to the mines in chains. There is no hope for you
Contessa. No rescue. I, however, have devised a means by which you can
royally serve." Her eyes stared past him at curtains in the distance. "Do
you understand at all?"
Carlia glanced away from the far wall and disdainfully considered the
short stubby lout addressing her. "You mean, do I understand that my ship
was wrecked, taken and now held in chains before you? Yes. I
understand that much." She knew her sapphire eyes glinted hate glared; the
fool only chuckled at her disrespect. Not a good sign, she thought.
Zirondi accepted a goblet of cold wine from a slave and wet his lips.
The prisoner included Attitude amongst her many charms. He liked that.
She would make an excellent candidate for the sacrifice.
"Yes, of course you are my prisoner," he said and wiped his fat lips,
"but more than that, I plan to use you. You are to be my sacrifice. You
must have appeased many before.now you will get to appease the Roman God of
Fire, Vulcan himself!"
Her throat tightened but her voice remained steady and she said, "So
that's why this sorry spit of an island is called Vulcano, right? Because
you dolts are so caught up in serving the blacksmith who forges Jupiter's
thunderbolts and Mars' artillery."
"Right you are, Contessa or may I call you Carlia? Professional
courtesy and all that, you know."
"I have no courtesy with stable like you."
"Here you are, your Highness." The soldier returned with a light ivory
colored cloth folded his forearms.
"Ahh, good," Zirondi said and sipped more wine before placing it on a
side table, "let's see what our royal sacrifice has to offer. Strip her!"
Rough hands fingered the gold clasp near the base of Carlia's throat.
Fingers pulled back the strands of hair that softly fell over her
shoulders. The fine material was opened and then parted. The heavy iron
chains held her sure as she was undressed.
"The soldier has brought a gauzy tunic much more appropriate for our
offering here, but these," his words slowed as he cupped one warm and gently lifted it higher, "must be shown to the people. What a shame it
would be to show them only to the gods." His grip delicately squeezed the
breast in his grip. A reddish nipple adamantly poked out at him. It was
surrounded by a dark pink oval and then the creaminess of the rest of the
breast.
He continued to weigh the soft firmness between his fingers and cupped
in his palm. Zirondi looked back into the prisoner's eyes. Glad that he
had her attention once more he said, "Your skin is very fair. You are very
beautiful. As a royal, I see that much of your body hair is shaven."
"What would you know of Beauty?" Carlia spat out her words as she stood
ramrod still. Being undressed and then groped by swine did little to
diminish her fury, but then there seemed little else to do but submit.
Just as she was about to twist away, the grip on her body released.
"This is much better," he said and held out the diaphanous citron. "Put
this on her, but leave a deep gap, let's show her off. Then let's go. The
people and gods await."
AUGUST 22, AD 79:THE PROCESSION (TO BE CONTINUED)
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