Pontifical Commission. I tested established theories regarding how it kills the victim.”
Charlotte wasn’t sure how to respond. “I’ve got to ask...why?”
“Look, I know it sounds morbid. But crucifixion was practiced for centuries and it’s hugely relevant to understanding the early Roman government. I prefer to think of it as a niche,” he smiled. “It was a popular paper.”
“I’m sure it was. A regular barrel of laughs.”
“Would you like me to continue?”
“Please do.”
“Before they were crucified, criminals were scourged, usually with a cane or whip, making them more compliant for delivery to the execution site. In the case of our man, it seems the scourging was performed with a flagrum—a vicious, multi-thong whip with metal barbs.”
“That explains why the ribs were so badly scarred.”
“Si. And judging from the depth of the fissures, his flesh must have been severely flayed. This man would have been in tremendous pain and bleeding terribly.”
“That’s so cruel.” She fought off the urge to visualize the razor-tipped whip streaming through the air and raking across flesh.
“That was just the beginning I’m afraid. Crucifixion itself was far, far worse. There were a number of variations on this type of execution, basically all for the same lethal effect. The criminal was impaled on a cruciform by long spikes driven through the wrists and feet. A rope was bound around the arms to provide additional support when the body was hung upright. The cruciform could take many forms: a simple tree or post, two beams crossed like an X, or a solid structure built like a capital T. I’d guess that in the case of our victim, the cross was a crux composita, consisting of an upright post, or stipe, and a crossbar called a patibulum. We know that the familiar images of crucifixion depict victims being nailed to the cross through the hands....”
Charlotte knew where this was going. “But the small bones and weak flesh in the hands couldn’t support the weight of a body, right? Nailed through the hands, the body would slip off the cross.” She clenched her hands round the cup.
“Exactly. So to support the weight, the iron spikes—huge things measuring eighteen centimeters or so— would be driven into the wrist, just above the ulna and radius along with a large wooden washer to prevent slippage. Right here.” Bersei pointed to a spot just above the crease of his wrist. “It would’ve crushed or severed the median nerve, sending shock waves of excruciating pain up the arm. The hands would have been instantly paralyzed. Once both wrists were nailed, the patibulum, bearing the full weight of the body, would be violently hoisted onto the stipe. One can’t imagine how that must have felt. Unbelievable.”
Hideous images of nails pounding into flesh came into her mind’s eye. “That explains the shoulder dislocation.”
“It also explains the gouge patterns and trace residues of hematite we see in the wrists—evidence of extreme pressure against the bones. Grinding. Like the weight of the body was suspended on nails.”
Hennesey dropped her cup into the sink. “I can’t drink any more.”
Bersei put his hand on her arm. “Are you okay?”
She rubbed her eyes. Maybe bone cancer wasn’t so bad after all. “Keep going. I’m fine.”
“Once the body was pulled upright,” the Italian continued, “the feet would have been laid over one another, then nailed into the post. It wouldn’t have been easy as the victim would have been flailing about.”
“Probably explains the fracture we saw on the foot. There was a struggle.”
“Yes.” Bersei’s voice dropped. “Sometimes, to avoid that struggle, a supporting peg called a sedile was inserted between the legs. A nail was pounded through...”—he paused to reconsider this part, but felt the need to be thorough in his explanation—“the penis and into the sedile to secure victims to the cross.”
For a moment Charlotte felt light-headed, as if she was going to faint. Every time Dr. Bersei added another layer of detail, she felt herself sinking lower, as if her bones were being picked out from inside her one by one. “That’s unbelievably brutal,” she said in a small whisper. This terrifying knowledge appeared totally at odds with Giovanni’s otherwise gentle disposition. She took a deep breath.
Folding his hands, Bersei paused to marshal his thoughts. “The fact is, in crucifixion no one thing kills the victim. Overall trauma eventually does that. Scourging, impalement, exposure to the elements...they all contribute. Depending on the victim’s health before execution, death could take days.”
It was impossible for Charlotte to imagine humans being subjected to such extreme punishment. Equally puzzling to her was Bersei’s intensity regarding the subject. She couldn’t help but think that men had an innate curiosity for this sort of thing. “And we already know that this man was extremely healthy.”
Bersei nodded. “The damage we saw to the ribs suggests that the intensity of the scourging alone should have killed him. The skin and muscle structure would have been left in tatters, possibly exposing the internal organs. It’s incredible that this person could have persevered—he must have suffered horribly. Which brings me to my last point.”
Charlotte’s stomach contracted. She knew he was about to lay it on her even thicker.
“If the criminal wasn’t moving through the process quickly enough,” Bersei continued, “death would be speeded up—they’d break the knees with a large metal club.”
That visual came quick and she felt her own knees wobble. “Just like we’re seeing here,” she replied. Fighting to remain objective, Charlotte pondered the consequences of the punishment’s final stage. “Without the support of the legs, the full weight of the body would pull across the rib cage. Is that why the cartilage in the chest was torn?”
“Quite so. With the lungs constricted, the victim would struggle desperately to breathe. Meanwhile what little blood remained would begin to settle lower into the legs and torso.”
“Then basically the criminal would have expired from asphyxiation and heart failure, right?”
