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   THE PRINCESS HYPOTHERMIA

   BY FAIBHAR

   "Hail"!

   "Hardly", the figure said as he emerged from the shadows of the cedar
into the waning sunlight.  "Though those sea breezes could add something to
the wind chill factor later tonight."

   Already the youthful sentry had wrapped his tartan around his shoulders
to ward off the growing chill though his cheeks now burned hot from
embarrassment on learning that he had just saluted one of the same rank as
he.  The two stood and gazed along the beach and at the solitary figure
hanging spread-eagle just offshore.  Tidal currents had already moved the
waters closer and now small waves lapped around her chained feet.

   "So this is what is the remainder of the royal family, eh?"

   Knowing that the invading horde had murdered the king along with his
queen, the other merely shrugged.  "The princess remains.  Achaemenes is no
fool.  It was on his personal order that the princess should be spared if
only to be sentenced to die as you see her now."

   Feeling more confident that his consul was being heeded, the youth
continued and said, "He himself had her golden mane shorn and the gleaming
tresses tossed to the eagerly grasping mid-wives.  They will see that the
hair is put to good use."

   The other stirred the sand beneath his boots and said, "Her name shall
be recorded in history whenever anyone mentions the cold."

   "Princess Hypothermia?"

   "The same.  Just you wait and see what the elements decide to wrought
from her young body."

   "From the cold?"

   "They don't call it 'Twist & Shout' for nothing, but tell me.  Why did
our leader decide to allow her to remain in her royal rainments?"

   "Oh, the gown.  Well, it should wash away by dawn tomorrow.  That is if
the crabs don't get it first."

   Both men laughed for both had heard of the nocturnal habits of the
Klawsae.  These crabs were indigenous to the area and would soon be
migrating to shore.  When they did at evening time, the hungry critters
would discover an especially delectable dinner.  Already the seawater
sloshed about the lower hem of her slipped chiton, slipping the once-gilded
gown still lower and exposing more of her bare neck to the elements.

   Up and down the same beach were scattered clusters of defeated townsfolk
who had made the short journey outside of the palace walls down to see
their princess's denouement.  Spectators were favored with the dying sun at
their backs and shining into the forlorn figure struggling in the deepening
water.  Many had already returned back to the warmer climes of their
sheltered homes as the late afternoon air gusted and chilled.

   As night fell and only the small bonfires of the sentries remained to
illuminate the darkened beach few were present to witness the shrill wails
of the princess as her clothes and flesh were torn asunder.

   Sometime after dawn the next day those that did venture forth to look
out along the coast saw the once beautiful woman a spectacle arising from
the surf.  A leader of the horse-riding nomads that had conquered this
section of Thrace called out to one of his soldiers.

   "Thermostats!  It is time for you to check her core temperature!"

   With an arm signal that combined the most enthusiastic elements of a
salute and nomadic high-five, a young soldier splashed into the muddy tidal
beach.  Many knowingly smiled as this one was renown for his meat
thermometer.  Applause cheered Thermostats as he sloshed closer to the
quiet figure.  Reaching her hung form, the lad looked back and shouted out
that already the morning sun was warming her back but that her front felt
cool to the touch.  The barbaric officer shouted back to check her core
temperature.  Ripping away the remaining shreds of the gown, many gasped as
the female was fully unclothed.



   "The bitch is back, " he muttered under his breath.  Since a toddler
bouncing on his father's knee, the grizzled senior NCO had had a gift for
music and lyrics.  Idly, he could not help but wonder if this latest
inspiration would make it to the Top XX, much less the Top X, but that was
of little import at the moment.

   A simple nod green lighted the two Roman mercenaries who eagerly waited
near his side and the brothers plunged into the shallow surf.  Quite soon
after joining the hoary band, the two had carved out a special niche in the
nomad's Discipline Department and sprang to the task at hand with the same
fervor as the day they first enlisted their services.  Both let fall the
heavy whips they had coiled and ignored the heavy leather as it smacked
into the water choosing to concentrate instead on the nude beauty that hung
from the x-shaped cross in front of them.

   Cirrus was the first to note the glistening chains that wrapped around
the slender white ankles like black snakes and the ruby-red of the
lacerations where metal had chafed flesh.  Immediately he moved to her
raised right arm and unwrapped the chains that held the victim to the wood
as his sibling did the same with her other wrist.

   "Don't forget to check her cold front!" shouted the NCO from back on dry
land and noted with bitter irony that neither Italian had bothered to
remove his boots before first plunging into the sea.

   Princess Hypothermia moaned as her aching body slowly reawakened with
the new day.  Wearily she raised her head from off of one shoulder to gaze
through swollen eyelids at the gathering throng a scant few yards in front.
The assault from the previous youth had stirred something deep inside as he
had thrust his human tornado.  The churning burning stirred prickly feeling
back into her numbed hips, her teeth once more chattered and goose pimples
returned like the swallows to Capistrano.  Nudity no longer was a source of
embarrassment as she hung spread before the onlookers.  Nor, for that
matter, was her new rough cut coif to be a source of shame for Princess
Hypothermia new hours before that this was to be yet another bad hair day.

   Many of those on shore wept or turned away as their once fair maiden was
left to fall face first into the muddy shallows.  Cirrus moved behind the
fallen princess as his dutiful brother jerked her head up by yanking the
human remains of her once celestial hair.  With the weeping beauty facing
the shore, one after the other of them took her from the rear as her ankles
remained chained to the gibbet.  Sea water and insensible perspiration wet
her face and what remained of her hair.  Chuckles from the observing guards
as the beauty was jostled down and into the water were met with derisive
looks from those who remained loyal.

   The Romans each took an arm and this time raised her back up onto the
high beams of the cross.  They wrapped the same chains around each wrist
and then Cumulus took hammer and spikes.  With this he nailed the princess
to the wood.  Vasodilatation caused blood to run in deep rivers down her
pale arms.

   Stomping back to where each now uncoiled whip lay in the surf, each
brother bent and lifted the sodden leather up by the stout handles. 
Twirling them over their heads only briefly, one, and then the other let
fly and the lashes thudded into the helpless victim with alarming
precision.

   Scabrous claw-marks from the nocturnal crap feast erupted as they were
hit into bright fuschia.  The alabaster form was soon criss-crossed by
bleeding welts.  Various hues of crimson rained like so many tears over
sculpted curves.

   The senior enlisted nomad turned to an aide and said, "She is strong,
but now the crabs know."

   The orderly nodded in seeming comprehension, forced to admire his
superior's hem and way.

   "Her breath is shallow now.  When the tide returns late this afternoon,
it will be stilled forever."

   -O