ARENA

This is a dramatization of a scene in the Roman coliseums--actually this one took place in Carthage--during the time when the Romans were tossing Christians to the lions. Perpetua was a young noblewoman who could have, with a word, saved herself--but she chose to die with her condemned slave Felicity instead. In the original accounts, it is stated that the two girls were shown into the arena nude and bound in nets; the audience then demanded that they be unbound. Later Christian writers state that "unbound" means that the audience wanted the girls to be clothed modestly--an amazing interpretation, to say the least; it seems highly unlikely that the audience, delighted by having the chance to watch two pretty young girls die, would want them to be clothed--but it gave the Christian writers the chance to add in some nonsense about how Perpetua focused on keeping herself covered when she was being gored by a cow.

There are all sorts of reliable reports that the holding cells for Christian martyrs were ongoing orgy scenes. Since their martyrdom would in their view make them saints, there was hardly a reason to deny themselves pleasure.

The scene in which Perpetua guides the gladiator's sword to her own throat is reasonably historically documented.

"Did you fast yesterday?" Perpetua asked as she and the slave girl Felicity waited in the tunnel leading to the arena itself.

Her companion nodded. "I did," she acknowledged. Then she giggled. "Save that I had connection with some of the men with my mouth, and I swallowed their issue!"

Perpetua smiled back. "As did I," she admitted. "But I think that matters little. So long as our bowels and bladders are empty, so that we do not humiliate ourselves as we die!"

They had no time for further conversation. The guards stripped off their tunics, and, ignoring their protests, tied rope nets around them. With their hands bound and their legs tied so tightly they could barely hobble, they were shoved through the open gate and into the arena.

As they came in, the crowd of onlookers was for a moment struck silent. Except for the ropes, the two young girls were completely naked; Perpetua, slender, delicate, and quite beautiful, looked like some sort of fragile doll. Felicity, darker but pretty in her own right, was obviously fresh from childbed. Her abdomen was still wrinkled and her breasts full and heavy. The ropes pressed in on them, and from her dark nipples beads of milk appeared and dripped to the ground. They both smiled when the crowd loudly demanded that they be unbound. The guards finally responded; they took them out, removed the nets, and quickly sent them back in again.

Now the crowd roared with delight, eager to see these soft bodies torn and bleeding. The two girls walked together to the center of the arena and stood with their heads high, surveying the onlookers.

After a short pause, another gate was opened and a long-horned cow, well known for its viciousness, was let in with them. They turned to face it, but it did nothing except stand near the gate staring at them. With Felicity in the lead, they walked boldly toward it, even though it started pawing the ground nervously. The girls began yelling at it and waving their hands, and at last it made a perfunctory charge. Its shoulder struck the slave-girl a glancing blow, knocking her down; rushing on past her, it lowered its head and rather half-heartedly tossed Perpetua. The crowd screamed as the girls scrambled to their feet; the cow turned and glared at them for a moment, then trotted off. After that it seemed to lose interest in them. It moved away placidly when the girls tried to approach it, ignoring their repeated attempts to provoke it further.

When they finally gave it up, Felicity glanced at her friend and gasped. "Perpetua, you have been wounded!" she cried.

Perpetua looked down at herself in disbelief. There was a puncture in her right side, a rather neat hole from which blood still oozed. Her hip and leg were coated in red. "I did not even feel it," she said wonderingly. "I felt no pain at all! Still there is none!"

While Perpetua and Felicity were examining the wound, orders were given; the cow was removed and her place was taken by a pair of gladiators armed with swords. Perpetua and Felicity, holding hands, waited calmly as the men approached them.

The men glared at them. "Run!" one of them ordered. "There is no entertainment if we simply kill you where you stand!"

"We will not," Perpertua told him firmly. She smiled calmly.

The man grinned back. "There are other means of entertaining the crowd!"

Perpetua's smile brightened. "Yes," she agreed. "And we do wish them entertained!"

The gladiator shrugged. "The slave girl first, then," he said, grabbing Felicity by the arm.

She didn't resist him. "Yes," she said, offering him an ingenous smile. "Yes, I am ready for your sword!"

The gladiator lifted his short blade, pointed it toward her chest. "Are you?" he asked. Using the tip, he flicked her nipple hard, sending droplets of milk flying. A drop of blood appeared, mixing with the milk that still flowed freely.

She reacted almost not at all. "Yes," she told him, looking down at herself. "Yes, I am!"

"Ah, good," he told her, pressing the point of the sword against her turgid breast. Milk oozed from her nipple more rapidly; the gladiator jabbed at her breast with the sword hard, but not hard enough to break the skin. Milk squirted out then, and the spectators roared in delight.

With a smile, the gladiator pressed even harder on the girl's breast; she moaned a little, and Perpetua, standing close to her, squeezed her hand. The point of the sword broke through the skin, but the swordsman controlled it carefully, letting it sink rather slowly into her tender flesh, forcing out even more of her milk as it went in.

He didn't let it go far enough to penetrate her lungs, and after a moment he pulled it out. Blood followed, drawing a broad red line down across her chest and stomach.

Felicity stopped moaning and smiled at the her tormentor again, her large dark eyes fixed on his face. "You are not hurting me," she told him. "Pierce me again!"

"As you wish," he said mockingly. Holding her arm tightly, he pushed the point of his sword against her other breast, then drove it deeply in with a series of short, hard jabs. More milk sprayed out, and more blood came pouring out as well. While the spectators cheered, he ripped the blade out and stabbed it into her still-wrinkled stomach, but he still didn't go deep. Even so, she doubled over the blade a little, regaining her composure only with an effort.

"You are not hurting me," she said, but her voice was now unsteady. Tears were streaming from her eyes. "You are not hurting me. Drive your sword into me, set me free!"

Perpetua put her slim arms around the girl's shoulders. "Let me hold you," she murmured, but she nodded to the gladiator, urging him to go ahead.

With a sneer, he put the tip of his sword against Felicity's lower abdomen, just above the pubic hair. He paused, and Perpetua, bracing Felicity' body with her own, nodded encouragement. Slowly and cruelly he started pushing the blade in. The girl groaned; the man paused, holding the blade in place, buried perhaps an inch deep in her flesh.

Then, while Felicity' hands clutched at Perpetua, he pushed it even deeper. The girl's knees buckled, but Perpetua supported her as blood and water drained from her.

"It - does not hurt...!" Felicity said almost desperately as he pulled the blade out. Her body spasmed as if she was going to vomit. The swordsman put his blade back to her breast, right below her milk-covered nipple, and pierced her with it again. This time he didn't stop, he ground the hard steel on into her, passing it through her breast, letting it grind past her ribs. Even when it emerged bloody from her back he went on, on and on until the crossguard rested against her chest.

Her eyes rolling and blood streaming from the corner of her mouth, she clutched Perpetua's arms even tighter as the gladiator slowly extracted his sword. Her whole body was now covered with her own blood; her legs quivered uncontrollably as the other woman tried to hold her up.

"You are going now," Perpetua whispered. "It is almost done."

"I can't see you," Felicity moaned. "I'm cold, I'm cold... I can't feel your hands..."

"See if you can feel this," the gladiator said, running his sword deeply into her belly. She grunted and gagged, her whole body trembling violently.

Then, quite suddenly, she relaxed. Her breath went out with a rush, and she didn't take another. Gently, Perpetua lowered her body to the ground; as Felicity' killer began dragging the corpse away, she stood back up and faced the other gladiator.

He seemed hesitant. "You must do the same to me," she told him. "Do you not have instructions to execute me?"

"Yes," he agreed. "But I cannot - I cannot torment you like that!"

Perpetua smiled at him almost gaily; her hazel eyes were bright as she put her hands on her hips. "You should!" she reprimanded. "My blood is worth much more if it pains me to lose it!"

He scowled. "Then let's see how you like it!" he cried in frustration, thrusting his sword forward without warning.

It caught her just under her right breast, slipping between two of her ribs and piercing her deeply. Taken by surprise, she screamed and grabbed the blade with her hands. The young gladiator started to yank it out, but he waited until she released it.

"Yes, yes, that's it," she mumbled as she watched it come free from her chest, watching the blood come streaming after it. "Again, again! Listen to the crowd, listen to their cries!"

"No," he muttered. "I must kill you, and I shall do my duty. But I will not torment you more; I will cut your throat, and you will die, quickly."

Clutching at her wound, the girl shrugged. "As you will,then." He brought his sword up, but even then, his hand trembled so badly it looked as if he might drop it.

Perpetua managed a laugh. "Here," she said. "Let me help you!" Holding his arm with one of her hands and the blade of the sword with the other, she guided it up herself until it touched her smooth throat. Then, putting her chin over the blade near the hilt, she glanced at him. "Draw it across now," she told him. "Press hard, cut deep! But draw it slowly, at least give me that!"

He wrapped his other arm around her slender shoulders and put his cheek against hers. Then he started pulling his blade across; slowly, as she'd requested.

"You are not hurting me," she gurgled as her blood began flowing onto the steel. "You are giving me pleasure, you are giving me freedom!"

The young man held her more tightly as he drew the blade onward, working its edge deeper and deeper into her tender young throat. Blood began squirting out in jets. The girl merely leaned against him, a slight smile still on her lips, as he pulled the blade along until it came free. She sagged against him then, and when the blood stopped spurting, the young gladiator allowed her corpse to slide to the ground.