Supernatural Selection

By Bill Gallagher
4170 Words


     Sol The Unconquerable had not yet erupted above the dark, whipping his Radiant and Holy Quadriga across the sky again, but soon.  The new days eastern glow became brighter every second now, and Roman Legionary Manius Lucius Paullus watched it happen while waiting at the front of the prison in Arelate.  He pulled his light cloak a little tighter about himself.  It was always coldest right before the sunrise.
     Soon another hot summer day would be under way in this Gallic city along the deep green river.  That would not make his job any easier, but then he thought better of that, because he had done this in the snow too, and heat was definitely preferable.  Rain or snow, heat or plague, this was necessary work, and Manius performed his job well, as did every legionary in Romes force.
     Legionaries were taught to fear no other man, but all feared the punishments that could be imposed by other men, or worse, groups of other men.  He remembered seeing a Decimation during his earliest days in the Legion, a unit of nearly a hundred men had been punished for dereliction by having every tenth man executed.  The executions were done, bare handed, by the nine preceding the executed one.  Manius had never witnessed such barbarity and ferocity as he had then.  If asked he would have said it was not possible, but his eyes told him and all the others watching the real story of Rome.  The men doing the executing were well aware their performances could dictate their future survival, so there was no slacking any more.  Not by those men, or any who witnessed it.
     After seeing the decimation of the unit he could better understand the gossip handed down for centuries about Hannibal making captured Roman soldiers fight each other to the death for his entertainment, then the winners were put up against beasts in the arena, some of the animals being trained war elephants.
     With the fear of punishment there was another fear, really an all pervading dread, shared by every single living thing on the planet, and that was the fear of the other world, the visible but unknown place where things weren't natural. The world all around that could be witnessed but not understood.  People rightly feared the super natural, because it had a habit of chewing things up and spitting them out indiscriminately. Once he had seen a cow that was struck by lightning, and he thought it would probably look even worse when a person was hit.  He knew that people were sometimes struck by lightning, he had heard first hand, and he had seen lightning himself many times throughout his life.  Thunderbolts, weaponry of The Gods.
     Manius thought of his wife then, as she lay sleeping this morning, so small in the big bed, so beautiful.  He remembered how she called his name when they made love, Manny! Manny! It was almost a profanity to think of her while he did this work today, but he had volunteered for the duty because of the extra pay, and that was for her most of all.  
     He happened to look up then and saw a large raven roosting on a ledge near the front gate of the prison, glistening black with bright orange eyes.  It sensed his attention and dropped off its perch, gliding into the air.  Cawing loudly it flapped its wings once and was gone.  This inauspicious event filled Manius with foreboding, and he frowned openly, but his attention was quickly diverted by the opening of the prison gate.  Let the show begin, he thought glumly.
     Three prisoners were being hustled out by the Centurion in charge of this detail, Marcus Rusticus.  Marc was accompanied by two more legionaries, and three slaves who would assist in the days events.
     The prisoners, all men, had been prepared for crucifixion, in that they had been starved for a week and then beaten with clubs repeatedly to induce a state near shock.  They were then made to wear the cross member of their crucifix across their shoulders, it was tied onto their outstretched arms with ropes.
     Soon the parade to the crucifying place outside the cities walls would commence, with crowds lining the way to gawk and hiss, feeling superior to something for a few moments in their miserable lives, even it was just criminals.   Roman punishments were almost always spectacles for the eyes, the supreme glands of emotion.  These spectacles were created to serve as deterrents, and this deterrent effect was much more important than simply causing humiliation and agony among the punished.
     Manius was sure of one thing.  When the end came they would welcome it.  He would see to it.  It was his job, his purpose, and he was good at it.  Lots of practice.  No matter then that mercy meant an upward thrust of the gladius into the heart, no matter at all.  They would welcome that and see it as mercy, surely, before this day was done.  
     He remembered another time from his early days in the Legion, back when The Emperor Hadrian was still alive.  It was at the colossal arena in Rome, on leave with several other members of his unit, together they watched a spectacle of beasts, big cats.  The animals had been kept hungry for days, and when released onto the 20 or so prisoners in the arena, they looked like some unearthly fluid, flowing into the crowd.  One leaped a full twenty feet and grabbed a small woman by the face, twisting quickly it broke her neck and began to feed, all the while fending off other panthera.
       The biting and snarling was raucous, teeth clattered against teeth, feline screams filled the air along with human screams.  A tiger grabbed a man by the arm and was shaking him like a rag doll.  Blood spurted everywhere, igniting further violence among the starving tigers and leopards, who were also attacking each other.  One buried its face in a dead prisoners belly and came up with blood covering its whole face like some sort of gruesome mask.  It licked its chops then continued to feed.  
     The crowd cheered.  This was Roman unity, an orgy of hate, shared, get them or they'll get us.  The world is not a tame thing.  Never was.  It took this kind of spectacle to make an impression.  When severe measures were not taken to deter, chaos and mayhem erupted every time, and even with these deterrents in place, civil strife still erupted a lot.
     Today I must be like those cats, he thought.  Forever the hungry predator.  In a very real sense he knew his life depended on this.  It was The Way, and he would defend it with his life, even if he didn't understand it.  You helped those who helped you.  Everyone else was the enemy.  
     Centurion Marcus Rusticus had told Manius to watch for one of the prisoners in particular, a large man with black hair, full beard.  That type was the worst thing a Roman could imagine, he was entirely unrepentant. He was not in the least sorry for his crimes, proud even.  Instead of asking for leniency he sneered and cursed.  
     The fairness of the Roman world was evident everywhere, there was light and technology now, where only darkness and cannibalism and rape had reigned before.  To be unrepentant was to willfully dis avail ones self of the fairness provided and enforced by Roman society.  It was unfathomable. This insane person had goaded the authorities into ordering his crucifixion by openly laughing at them until he was struck down and taken away.  So he deserved to die, no question.
       "He was a local priest or something,"  continued Centurion Rusticus during his brief.  "He was caught passing coinage made to resemble Roman money, but the coins were counterfeit.  He even admitted making them.  The scene on the back portrayed a dismembered Roman soldier, the pieces hung like decoration on a double crucifix.  The top of this crucifix was a spike, and the soldiers head, with helmet intact, was plainly visible shoved down onto the spike."
     Manius watched for this one as the prisoners staggered out of the prison gates, barefoot and shirtless, but with a belted sack covering their private parts.  This was not for modesty, and would be removed after they were affixed to die, this was to catch any waste the prisoners excreted on their scourge filled journey to the cross.  It was a marvel among all crucifiers that no matter how starved and dehydrated, a prisoner was still able to urinate and defecate when the whip fell.
     The large man with the black hair was easy to pick out.  Manius retrieved the short whip, his flagellum, from the belt of his armored skirt. He'd made it himself from lion hide, and a hardwood root for the handle chosen because of its properties as abores infelices, from a tree bearing black fruit.  Small stone beads tipped the many thongs of the whip.  Pulling it off his belt he felt its reassuring weight in his hand.  Walking to the large man, he took a hard swipe at the bare back and was gratified to see bloody weels rise immediately.  The prisoner turned to him then and looked him directly in the eyes, transfixing him.  The Gaul looked vaguely familiar, but a legionairys life included many places and happenings, and the individuals within the various races all tended to look the same after a while.  This was a classic Gaul, a tender of groves, long pointed nose, chiseled features, and large, even for a Gaul.
     "Ah.  It is you, finally."  said the man, in perfect Latin.  "I have paid a great price to see you again, little Roman man, and you cannot hurt me now.   I see you do not remember me, but you will, little Roman man, you will.  This meeting between us here was carefully arranged, by me, because of what you took from me.  So in repayment I will take your woman with me when I leave here again today."
     This infuriated the legionary, and as the others of his unit came to assist he pulled back, preparing to hit the prisoner across the face with the whip, but it was not to be.   
     Manius had seen many unexplainable things during his time as a Crucifier.  The human body in extremis sometimes takes on aspects of the other world, supernatural aspects, even before it is dead.  He had seen acts of super human strength, which is why he always insisted on using ropes along with nails, if nails were called for, and many times they were.  Just ropes meant a prisoner was to survive the crucifixion, and was not to be killed by scourging, nailing, gladeus thrust, crurifragium, or what have you.  All part of the spectacle, the lesson, the sharing, the orgy of misplaced sexuality, the orgy of hate.  The great group satisfaction of being the watchers, and not the punished.  
     Manius had seen even stranger things after death, once the spirit supposedly fled to the Underworld of Rich Father Dis Pater, after all breathing stopped.  Some times, even as the birds began to feed, the body had a life of its own for awhile, without the mind, independent of spirit.  It often seemed to speak, though mostly unintelligible things.  He had heard about decapitations, with the eyes and lips of the severed head working like they were still alive, and he supposed some of the activity he had witnessed after crucifixion was somehow related.  But Manius never saw what happened next.
    The prisoner smiled broadly, and then his eyes rolled back into his head, and a violent spasm of his neck caused his face to look almost behind himself.  The snapping of his vertebra was audible to all.  The Centurion had a look of astonished consternation, and he seemed to move in slow motion, while the other two legionaries and the three slaves also turned slowly at the sounds of the altercation.  
     The big prisoner fell to one side, dead, and the cross beam roped across his shoulders hit the ground on one end, causing him to roll over onto his back.  His open eyes were staring upward again, still looking only inward, showing only the whites.
     After the prisoner hit the ground everything came back into real time.  The two legionary soldiers other than Manius had control of the remaining prisoners to be crucified.  The Centurion quickly ordered two of the slaves to hoist the big Gaul by the cross member, one on each side, and drag him to the site.
     "He will be crucified anyway," ordered Marcus Rusticus, "Dead or alive he shall hang and feed the birds at least."
     The group made its way down the west road that led to the river.  There were the usual crowds of onlookers, but unless they got in the way the legionaries were not even aware of their presence.  If the crowd did happen to get in the way it was a woeful thing for them.  Many was the time a Centurions whip lashed out at someone not moving quickly enough.  
     The scourging of the other two prisoners proceeded as usual, they were well beyond a state of shock and had lost a lot of blood by time they reached the small enclave between the rivers edge and the outer city wall.  The area had been chosen for its visibility, easily seen from many places in the city, and from the river as well.
     The area of execution was used fairly often and had been made semi-permanent in its purpose.  There were large upright logs planted in the ground already, and the whole area was covered in rock slabs, used like natural tiles.  The cross member with the prisoner tied onto it was hoisted up by the slaves lifting both ends at once, then fitting it into a notch at the top of the upright poles.  Ladders and small wooden stair steps were used to do this work.  The hands and feet of the condemned were then nailed to the cross member and the upright with iron nails as long as a mans hand or longer. The shape of this cross, the crux commissa, was the letter T, and like all the various crucifii, it was meant to be excruciating, which literally means "out of crucifying".
     Manius worked with one of the slaves on the dead man, the local priest or whatever he was.  "Well, no matter what he was, he is dead now," thought the legionary as he hammered the nails first into the right wrist then moving the steps to do the left.  The nails had been pushed through holes on flat pieces of wood to keep the flesh from pulling loose of the nail.  After the left wrist was nailed he glanced at the mans profile.  Head limp, chin on chest, and a vague memory twitched, a drunken memory, of himself and some soldiers having sport with a local wench one night in the eastern quarters of Arelate.  He hardly remembered anything of that night, say nothing of the outcome.  Soldier fun.  Gets out of hand sometimes.  Oh well.
      After doing the hands he nailed the mans bloody feet to the sides of the post, one on each side, choosing the heel areas always with care because if not done correctly the nails would pull out in spite of the wooden stops used to keep that from happening.
     After finishing his personal assignment of crucifying the dead body, Manius went to help the others.  Legionaries worshiped the Goddess Disciplina almost to a one, if not as a primary deity at least a very important subsidiary.  The Goddess Disciplina had kept more Roman soldiers alive than any other force in the world, by far.  There was no time off until the officer in charge said so, and that never happened until all the work was done and done right.  Officers worked beside their men as a matter of course, and of teaching.  And officers could be punished too, if things went badly.  
     Once the nailing was done the sacks worn by the crucified were cut off, the final humiliation, but not the final agony.  The final agony took place when the legs of the crucified were broken with an iron rod, the act of Crurifragium.  This served to hurry death and was considered a Roman mercy.
       The crucified were kept alive for one full daylight period, unless they died before that.  If they were still alive near the end of the day, then the short sword gladius was used to stab into the heart, stilling its beat forever.
    Manius felt only contempt and hate for these criminals, they deserved to die, that was the will of the state, and he did not question that will.  His was a strictly controlled tunnel vision allowing no deviation, like a horse with side blinders on, just like that.  
    After the crucifying was done a small fire was built, a focii perhaps, a door for these damned souls to use in their retreat from this place of painful death.  It was also used to cook over at lunch time.  The sun was bright and the sky was entirely clear.  The crucified made no sounds at all.
     Centurion released the slaves, who would find their way back to the prison.  They would not risk their status as trusted workers by making foolish mistakes, they were well on their way to becoming true Romans.  "Some of the best Romans began as slaves" was a saying among the poor, handed down from time immemorial.    
     After the slaves were released the Centurion and his Legionaries reposed beneath a ledge of the city wall that had been created as a rest area.  It was shaded for most of the day at this time of year.   While any of the crucified still lived at least one of the men had to stay, to administer the final mercy of the gladius should it come to that.  
       Manius looked out to the road and saw the customary crowd come to stare. It suddenly filled him with such a feeling of hopeless loss that he had to stifle an urge to dispel the nasty little flock with his short whip of lion leather and briar wood.  They were just predators too, he thought, just another type, and this was how they preyed, they were preying in the best way they knew how.
     There were hawkers in the crowd selling paper wrapped cakes, and fruits.  A one eyed old man with no teeth was selling wine he squirted out of a large skin he carried over one shoulder.  And all around shrilled the cacophony of horse drawn carts and beasts of burden; clanging chains, cracking whips, yells and shouts; and below it all the low vibrating and constant hum of many people in one place.  
     Manny could always tell when one of the crucified died, because the birds always saw it first, and he watched them.  When they flew in to roost and feast he knew another damned soul was on its way to the underworld.  He saw no birds around the dead Gaul yet, the one who had somehow killed himself and escaped Romes retribution, and Manius thought that was passing odd.  Everyone in the world was used to oddities everywhere though, things perceived but with never an explanation forthcoming, so they rarely thought more about it.  It was hard enough just getting through, without trying to figure it all out, thats how the vast majority felt about things.  Leave all that figuring out of things to The Gods.
     After a lunch of vegetables in a wheat porridge, with local wine and cheese, the Centurion asked for a volunteer to see the day through, and Manius gladly undertook the detail.  It was an honor to do the duty, and it would be appreciated by the others of his unit and not forgotten.  It was easy duty too, at the end of the day he would walk out and administer the gladius to any who needed it, but by the looks of things even that was not going to be an issue.  
     After the others left he pulled his cape around himself and sat in the corner of the city walls recess, yawning, nodding, then he slept.  And he dreamed.
     In his dream he watched himself sleep, on the bench in the corner of the recess, and he wondered how this could be, but then came a shout, very loud, reverberating, it was an unearthly shout, from out by the crucified ones.  He was surprised to see that Sol and His Chariot were well down into the western sky.  He saw birds roosted on the crosses of the two who had been crucified alive, obviously dead now, but none around the cross of the one who had died before being crucified.
       Walking out to the area below the large Gaul Manius felt a dark foreboding and even fear, but he only began to tremble when the crucified Gaul began speaking to him.  Though he was shaking all over, he was also frozen in place, seemingly unable to move.  The resounding voice that had shouted, and spoke to him now, was not of this world, it was an unearthly shattering of the air, vibrating, he felt it in his chest.
     "Look at me little Roman man, I know what it is you fear, little Roman man.  You fear the other world, and rightly so, because there you will be judged, and your proud sanctity questioned and exposed for what it truly is, hate and a fearful  ignorance.  I am here to begin that exposure, a prelude of whats to come.  Call it an act of mercy, so that you may prepare yourself in time, if you are able.  Remember this above all! There is no difference between the worlds, you live in all of them at once, but to command them, to truly create, you must have more of a soul than you and your type will ever possess..."
    Manius saw that the dead mans eyes were open, with only the whites showing, though they reflected the bright red of the setting sun.  He felt his sphincter tighten of its own volition, to keep from emptying his bowels right there.  He pulled his whip from his belt and felt it come apart in his hands.  It fell to the ground in pieces.  He stood there, staring down at it, until he felt something warm and wet run down his cheek.  When he looked up he saw that the corpse of the Gaul was erect, his sexual organ was tumescent, and it was ejaculating blood in long gobby streams.  Manius felt other warm drops splatter his skin and he backed away in an unbelieving crouch, willing himself not to run.  Pulling the short sword from its sheath he ran in and stabbed upward into the Gauls left chest cavity, again, and again, stabbing, stabbing.  With every thrust of the knife the Gaul made a sound, "Ah, Ah, Ahhhh...." which sounded so much like laughter that Manius was wrested from his trance.  He took a step back, looking up once again.  The corpse was no longer erect, but its eyes were still opened showing only whites.
     "Remember your woman,"  it whispered finally, "how she was..."           
     One of the birds on the other crux commissa hopped over then,  a big black raven with orange eyes.  The bird stared down at Manius as if looking at an interesting bug.  When the raven jumped from the cross beam onto the cadavers head Manius awakened.  
     Demons of the underworld, what a dream!  So real.  He saw that Sol truly was well down into the western sky.  Jumping up he made sure the recess in the wall was in good order then strode out to inspect the crucified.  Both of the live crucifixions were now dead, that was easy to see, birds were all over the carcasses like lice on a wound.  There were still no birds on the Gaul, more than passing odd now, it was not natural. The body appeared as dead as it had since taking its own life that morning, but no birds came near it.  
     Sol fell below the western horizon then, and the world began another plunge into darkness.  Manius saw firelight begin in many places around the city, and he hurried home from his duty, almost at a run.  Pure and simple fear fueled his march through the streets, and the common people made way for him.  A feeling of dread was beginning to squeeze his insides like a cold fist.  He called her name as he strode in the door, but the house was all dark, no lamps were lit or cook fires working.  He felt his insides twist when she did not reply.  
     She was on the bed in the dark as he had left her that morning, though no longer sleeping, no longer alive.  He held her cold body and cried silently.  She had been claimed by the Supernatural, the other world, and he was as helpless before that as before lions and tigers.
     For the first time, but by no means the last, Manius began remembering how she was.


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