This original writer for LEGAL ADULT READERS ONLY intends the following historic novella, 
"Vulcanalia", to be read only where local standards permit extreme 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Please do not publish the following elsewhere without first requesting permission from me.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 men 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, men 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 animals 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 blonde 
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 breast 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)


