My History of Abuse, by Augusta

Hi. I am so glad you have climbed all those steps and stopped at all those shrines to come and see me in my lovely chapel which dates back at least a thousand years.

My name is Augusta. Please cancel from your brain any memory of the formidable Aunt Augusta in Oscar Wilde’s ‘The Importance of being Earnest’ for I am a quite different kettle of fish.

I am the daughter of Matrucco, one of Alaric’s captains when the Visigoth king invaded the Italian peninsula. Matrucco established himself in a fort on Mount Marcantone in Treviso province and became known for his despotism and cruelty, especially towards Christians. My life, as you’ll find out, was to especially suffer because of this.

My mother’s pregnancy proved very difficult and so she was taken to the more comfortable surroundings of a loyalist’s castle near the town of Fregona. I was born there in 410 but, sadly, mum died in childbirth. My father was evidently filled with grief for he truly loved my mother and gave me the name of Augusta as a sign of good luck, for the name was given to the daughters of Roman emperors and means ‘magnificent’.

Although my father didn’t believe in Jesus Christ I was baptized by a hermit who lived not far from the castle of Serravalle. From an early age I practised the teachings of the Gospel and helped and consoled as far as I could all those Christians who were being persecuted by my dad. Some of these Christians escaped death by miracles attributed to me!

My father tried to tell me off but I defended my faith. He then decided to imprison me in a small room but I refused to change my mind and my faith. Then, horribly, he hired a local dentist who came with his instruments and had him pull out all my teeth to spoil my beauty. I was locked up again.

My teenage life was largely spent being imprisoned and then tortured. Then the ogre of my father, for the redemption of whose soul I prayed daily passionately, decided to send me to the stake to be burnt alive. But the blood of Jesus, our Saviour, kept me from being touched by the flames and I miraculously emerged unharmed.

Unrepentant, Matrucco then had me tied to a wheel and thrown down from a nearby hill. Because he was such a powerful despot there was no-one to step forwards and plead for me. But God, in his infinite love, preserved my life yet again. At this stage my dad went wild with anger and ordered his chief executioner to behead me. It was, thus, that I finally found myself among the saints and angels in the kingdom of the Lord.

Forgiveness is a great virtue and I forgave my father for the horrible life he’d given me on earth and for his abuse against, not only my innate freedom of thought, but my sex too,

From my forgiveness I saw Matrucco slowly realise what he’d done and he finally repented. He buried my body with dignity in the place you can see now. Matrucco then self-flagellated himself with remorse, accusing himself of being the most evil being on the planet. He subsequently left the area where I’d been born to travel back north to find a little peace in the Germanic lands where he had been brought up in. If God is great then he will have surely given Matrucco at least a little peace. I hope that all those men who abuse and kill women today may realise, like my father, what they have done before they die.

Incidentally every saint is a patron of some cause. I am the patron saint of all those who suffer from diseases of the head. These could range from a simple headache to that spreading syndrome of your times, psychological ailments and maladies of old age. In fact, if you go behind the altar where now I lie you’ll find a stone with a hole in its centre. Place your head in that hole and all ills will disappear from you and you will feel as if you’ve never suffered from any mental anguish.