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The equipment that the crux team brought on the cart was off-loaded and prepared for use. There was a small bench-stool, a ladder, lengths of rope and much more besides. The naked vic, by now sweaty, dirty, dishevelled and in some pain, had to stand on the simple stool, extend her arms along the horizontal beams and hold them there, whilst a member of the crux team used the small ladder to climb at rear and bind the girl's wrists to the wood.
That done, one at a time dirty feet were roped to the vertical, always an awkward job as the subject's weight had to be taken on her arms until the bindings were secure enough for feet to use them for support. There, she was done. All that remained was to wait, watch her writhe, dancing the dance of the newly-crucified as she strove to alleviate the hurting in feet and arms, back and belly, by altering her position on the cross. A futile exercise, but what else was there to do . . .?
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