‘That is true, Legate.’
‘And you can tell me nothing about what they contained?’
‘Nothing, Legate.’
‘Obviously,’ replied Varus without further insistence.
They met again the next day, after the crew had been mustered to deal with worsening weather conditions. The captain ordered them, as the wind picked up, to first shorten sail and then to truss it up. At that point, the oarsmen and helmsmen would take over. ‘Let’s hope that the gales hit while there is still daylight. In the meantime, we’ll try to get closer to the coast; the rocks are less of a threat to us than the open sea in a storm. We’ll try to find shelter. We’ll use the sails for as long as possible to gain time.’
Neither Arminius nor Publius Quinctilius Varus seemed worried and they continued their conversation. Evidently the legate knew much more about the young man than he was letting on. It was well known that Varus had ties with the emperor. Arminius would later discover why in speaking to Sergius Vetilius and Rufius Corvus, loyal men and fine officers who were clearly called upon for the most sensitive missions. Such as this one.
In the meantime the sky was getting dark and the wind was strengthening, but the coast was coming into sight at the north and with it the Gulf of Antalya, with the eastern Taurus range towering behind it. The captain ordered the helmsman to turn the rudder to port and to keep the plumb line in the water. The sea was swelling up much faster than they’d expected. The sail was immediately trussed up and the foreman picked up the rowing beat to get them to the western coast of the gulf as quickly as possible. But the north wind was pushing the ship out to sea, causing her to drift leeward over the grey-foamed waves. A sudden burst of very strong wind tilted the ship onto her right side and tore the yard from the mast, causing it to fall on the deck. Rufius, who had been trying to give the crew a hand, was trapped underneath.
Arminius rushed over to help him, grabbing the shaft of an oar to use as a lever. The prefect managed to slide out from under and free his leg, which was bruised and bloody but not broken. He was taken straight to the sterncastle where he could be treated by the doctor. Then Arminius returned on deck to help the crew in their struggle to attach the yard somehow to the base of the mast and the sail to the yard so it wouldn’t do any further damage. Publius Quinctilius Varus observed him from his cabin, finding himself impressed by the strength and the ready reflexes of the young officer who was commanding his guard.
The foreman accelerated the rowing rhythm in an attempt to beat the force of the wind, and the ship’s prow slowly began to move into the shelter of the mountain and then the promontory. The foreman slowed the drumbeat to let the oarsmen catch their breath and the ship continued to advance towards the end of the gulf, where the sea was almost calm.
The sun pierced the cloud cover and shot out towards the horizon, sending bloody flashes through the sky and sea. The ship was finally able to drop the fore and aft anchors and it stopped for the night in the harbour.
The crew lit the on-board lamps to signal the Chimaera’s presence to other ships seeking haven there during the night. The captain had a very frugal dinner distributed to the crew and oarsmen, with just one cup of water a head. Arminius sat with Rufius and Sergius; he was pleased to share a meal with them after such a long, tiring day. They spoke about their passenger and it was thus that Arminius learned about how close that man was to the emperor, since he had married Vipsania, who was the daughter of Agrippa and his first wife. He had acted as judge and arbiter in a trial between King Herod of Judea and his children and heirs, and he had subdued a revolt in Jerusalem by crucifying two thousand rebels.
15
THE NEXT MORNING, after breakfast, Varus made a point of congratulating Arminius for the way he’d helped cavalry officer Rufius Corvus when the yard had fallen from the mast to the deck, pinning him underneath. He wanted to see Rufius as well, who approached them with a limp. His leg was still hurting him because the surgeon had had to stitch up a gash that bared his shin bone. The wound had been rinsed with strong vinegar and straight wine so it wouldn’t become infected, and bandaged carefully.
The sea was not as rough as it had been the day before and they were able to set sail again, once the yard had been returned to its place, its sail half clewed so that it would not offer too much resistance to the wind, which was still rather high. They sailed along the coast of Pamphylia. Every now and then, when the captain veered south to pick up the wind, some of the mountains of Cyprus could be seen ahead. On the fourth day of their voyage they sighted Cilicia, a land ruled by an elderly sovereign without heirs. It wasn’t difficult to foresee what the future of that tiny kingdom might hold.
The wind had turned and was now blowing from the southwest. The sea was calm enough and that put an end to their worries; it was consoling to realize that peace had been brought to that pirate-ridden stretch of sea half a century earlier by Pompey. He had rounded up all the pirates in the Gulf of Alexandria of Cilicia and given them a choice: would they rather be relocated inland and become farmers, or crucified from the first to the last? They had chosen the former.
Varus laughed recounting those long-past events.
They had begun to sail by night and each dawn was more beautiful than the day before. Every now and then they would pass close to the small islands that were scattered around and Arminius wished he could have gone ashore to see what they were like. He often wondered what the island that Julia had been banished to was like; he imagined her wandering the confined spaces of an unfriendly landscape, or sitting on a lonely rock, scanning the horizon like the survivor of a shipwreck waiting for a ship to spy her and save her.
They finally reached Laodicea, where they were welcomed by a squad of cavalrymen. After spending the night there, they continued on to Antioch.
Arminius was very excited at what he was seeing and experiencing. The East was coming alive before his eyes in one astonishing place after another. Ancient cities, which had been founded before his ancestral people had given themselves a name, such as Aleppo and Jerusalem, Babylonia, Damascus, Tyrus and Sidon, Byblos and Thapsus. Others had become centres of blinding splendour over the past three hundred years: Antioch, Gaza, Seleucia, Alexandria and Palmyra. He’d heard all about their greatness and their past and present splendours from Diodorus. He remembered his tutor’s lessons on Alexander the Great, who had reunited all the nations from the Danube to the Indus and the Nile in a single vast empire. But that empire had instantly dissolved upon his death. Arminius often thought about this and wondered whether it was inevitable that every empire should collapse sooner or later. Maybe even Rome. The thought almost frightened him.
When they would stop in the way stations or cities, Varus would attempt to strike up a conversation with the young man who commanded his guard and who showed such acumen and desire to learn. And Varus had plenty to teach him. ‘Our world today is divided up between two empires: ours and the Parthian Empire which extends east all the way to India and represents a continuous threat to our borders and to our allies. Some say that Julius Caesar, before he was assassinated, was organizing the invasion of the Parthian Empire in order to extend our borders to the very heart of Asia, where only Alexander had succeeded in arriving three centuries ago. However, the project ended with his death.’
The journey continued until they reached Antioch. It was a city of marvels, the third largest in the Empire, after Rome and Alexandria. Her streets were flanked by columned porticoes and majestic temples. The statues within had been sculpted or cast by the greatest artists of the day and of times past. Some of them were even animated; they could move their arms, tilt their heads and turn their eyes to the left and right. There were hippodromes and baths with hot and cold waters, and even pools more than one hundred feet long, where one could swim and play ball.
Antioch was the point of arrival for all the caravans coming from Persia, India and Bactriana laden with precious stones, silken fabrics, pearls and spices. The city was the sea
t of the Roman governor, who represented the power of Rome and had four legions at his command, but it was also the land of every pleasure, from the most refined arts of love to the most scandalous perversions. It was a paradise for revellers and hedonists, the land of one thousand temptations – the ideal place for a young man eager to experience every sensation of body and soul.
Arminius had left his ancestral land when he was barely an adolescent. His only thought of love so far had been born that spring day that he saw a girl with a crown of flowers, and their eyes had locked. How long ago had that been? It seemed like an eternity, even though many years had not really passed. But each of those years had been dense with events, thoughts, fears and enthusiasm, hopes and dreams. Each one of those years had been worth at least three or four, and Arminius felt like a man, an adult; he was responsible and aware, and knew much about the complex, intricate ways of the world.
He never remembered his dreams; it was as if they were snatched away before morning. But he was sure that in some of them he was living wild adventures with his brother, riding horses at breakneck speed, flying even, over the peaks of mountains, skimming the tops of forest trees, gliding over rivers as silvery fish splashed in the water. Not because he could remember images, colours or sounds, but because the feelings and emotions he felt in his dreams survived for just a few moments in the mornings before he opened his eyes.
That evening he had escorted Proconsul Quinctilius Varus to the residence of Governor Calpurnius. He had been dismissed on arrival and had no further duties, so he met up with his friends Rufius Corvus and Sergius Vetilius, who’d offered to give him a guided tour through the labyrinths of pleasure.
Quinctilius Varus, guest of the highest Roman authority in Syria, spent a tranquil night talking about business and politics with his colleague and then sleeping in a comfortable room at the centre of the garrison headquarters.
For Arminius that same night was a descent into hell, teeming with sensations he’d never experienced. He’d never be able to forget it, not for his whole life.
Prostitutes were everywhere in Antioch. The finest ones called themselves ‘hetairai’, using the Greek term for ‘companions’. They lived in private apartments and they were free, not slaves. The ones who were best known for their skill in the erotic arts commanded a very high fee and managed to amass fortunes. The dream of each and every one was to find a steady, wealthy companion willing to pay for her exclusive services. In that way, he could have sex without protection and avoid promiscuity with other clients. She would be ensured a life of luxury in an elegant residence with a garden, servants, pets, refined food and costly wines. The more ordinary prostitutes, who were nearly always slaves managed by a procurer, lived in quarters where no man or woman of high social ranking would ever dream of being seen. But Antioch was the capital of the province, and there were at least two legions camped near the city, with thousands of young men who wanted their needs met.
As they neared the entrance to that quarter, Rufius Corvus offered his young companion an object that would protect him from some very disagreeable and even disfiguring diseases, and he taught him how to use it. They set off together in their discovery of Eros and pleasure. The first thing they did was to watch a play in which the scenes of love were acted out live by actors and actresses, with women coupling with men, men with other men and women other women. His friends told him that sometimes actual orgies were acted out in simulated banquets. In certain theatres, mythological scenes were played out; for instance Leda, completely naked, would offer herself to an actor dressed like a swan. At the moment of ecstasy, he would let out the sharp, raucous squawk of a bird. Other theatre companies acted out the union of Pasiphaë with a bull. The sham queen of Crete would crawl inside a wooden cow, to be mounted by an actor disguised as a bull, re-enacting the monstrous coupling that would generate the no less monstrous Minotaur.
Last of all, Arminius and his two companions watched the pederastic union of Zeus with Ganymede, where a large, hairy man took off his eagle’s feathers and deflowered a passive and resigned young hero, an actor so bony and wrinkled that he bore no resemblance at all to the plump statuary models that Diodorus had shown them. The public’s reaction was more hilarity than arousal, because the staging was so shabby and the actors and their costumes were so rough that no one could be fooled by them.
Every now and then, Arminius stole a look at his companions and they seemed to be just as amused as the other spectators. He was about to suggest that they return to their quarters and forget about the rest of the evening, but Rufius Corvus and Sergius Vetilius had prepared a sexual initiation for their young friend, who they imagined to be inexpert in the ways of Eros. He may have attracted Roman matrons with his statuary build and his blue eyes, but they were certainly no match for the refined lovemaking games of the Antiochian hetairai who had honed their skills for thousands of years, winning the favour of the highest-ranking lords of the Euphrates and the Nile with the only weapon they had at hand.
Arminius realized instantly that his friends were well known in the district. They handled themselves with ease and were greeted warmly by the girls who lived there. It was a different world from the theatre here; no improvization. There were girls from every corner of the earth: Phrygians, Egyptians, Persians and Babylonians, Phoenicians and Greeks, Ethiopians with limbs the colour of bronze and dewy eyes, Armenians with green eyes and raven-black hair, and even Jewesses. Each wearing the costumes and the jewellery of her native land.
Rufius Corvus and Sergius Vetilius entrusted their friend to the attentions of two Phoenician girls with amber skin, paying in advance for their services. His companions in pleasure offered him wine, undressed him and, in appreciation for how young and handsome he was, dedicated their utmost expertise to bringing him to the brink of delirium time and time again. They stretched him out in a state of semi-consciousness, in a light, quivering tension, only to awaken him again and again, one, then the other, and then together, to give him a taste of extreme ecstasy.
It lasted all night.
Just before dawn they prepared a bath of thermal water scented with aloe oil, and they immersed themselves with him, passing a sea sponge over his back and his chest. They dried him off, wrapped him in a sheet of Egyptian linen and they clung to him with their smooth bodies until he closed his eyes.
THE THREE SOLDIERS arrived at headquarters just in time to report to the legion, their faces showing the signs of their sleepless night. After they rendered honour to the standard and the silver eagle, they retired to their rooms to catch up on a little sleep.
In the days that followed, Arminius returned to the city of pleasure, mainly to observe that strange, alien place where he had lived for a few hours without really comprehending it and without seeing many of its hidden corners. He thought often of Iole, the girl prostitute who Flavus had fallen in love with; maybe she was already dead by now. He imagined that situations like hers, horrible as they were, were the price to be paid in order for civilization to go on existing.
He returned to the life of every day and every night. For a month, work went smoothly as they prepared another journey towards the East. Arminius had plenty of time to explore Antioch and the cults of Baal, Mithras and Astarte, or Ishtar, with her sacred prostitutes. It was said that the goddess of love herself – called Aphrodite by the Greeks and Venus by the Romans – would appear to the faithful who experienced sacred sleep inside the Sanctuary of Astarte. When Rufius and Sergius noticed that Arminius was curious about that place, they arranged for his curiosity to be satisfied. The feat he’d carried out in Rome certainly merited the embrace of a goddess.
And so one evening, as he was wandering in the temple district, Arminius was approached by a little boy selling water. He took a cup and began to sip from it. From that moment, his conscious mind abandoned him and he was immersed in a sort of dream where the goddess herself appeared to him in a lush, sweetly scented garden of roses and pomegranates. Her beauty was as inte
nse and inebriating as the perfume of that garden. She was encircled by a lunar aura, a glassy light that exalted her face and features. She wore a gown of an unfamiliar fabric, open from her belt to her feet. Her divinity was clear by the absence of a navel on her belly. There was just a slight hollow there, more an ornament than a scar. She had lain down beside him and he could not believe in such a miracle. The dream was so real that the caresses of the goddess made him tremble, shiver, vibrate like a reed in the path of the wind.
And there was a song. In an unknown, remote language, its melody subtle and unnerving. His heart and his thoughts were burning with desire. He was ablaze with a fever he’d never felt before; sweat beaded his forehead and he could feel it dripping onto his face like tears.
Then, without seeing and without speaking, he slipped into her and he fell prey to a wild delirium, an uncontrollable shaking. The tension was so strong he could have died of it. When he withdrew from her the dream vanished, and he sank into a darkness that was blacker than night. A hot breath blew at him: the mountain wind? The sea? Then, a light scented rain, drops of mist, washed his body softly, purifying him.
For a moment he was sure that he would slip from dream to death without feeling pain.
And that he would never wake up again.
THEY LEFT FOR THEIR eastward journey very early one morning.
Proconsul Varus travelled in his carriage, but also every now and then on horseback, and they followed the road that went from Syria to Anatolia. The Taurus range remained on their left, its peaks still snow-covered. To their right was a wide plain, green at first, with grapevines and fields of wheat as well as small groves of date palms, becoming arid and flat as their journey went on. The villages were made up of a few houses of raw clay bricks and straw where farmers lived. It took about fifteen days to arrive at Nisibis. They then turned south towards Carrhae.
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