by Ahimsa Kerp
****
In his dreams, he was still on the ship, still on the island, still captured by the past. Waves tossed him, whilst he was jostled by the harsh stones found on the road between Otia and Rome. Behind it all, the vast amphitheater grew until it blotted out the very sky.
He awoke with a start, still in his court clothes, and realized a servant was before him.
“You have a visitor, Senator,” the servant said.
Rufus yawned largely, and stretched like a lion. The curly-haired Celtic woman slept soundly next to him. He frowned. She should have left while he slept. Too late now. She would have to be disciplined. “Send him in,” he said. For the servant to have woken him, it would be someone important. Then again, he had an Empire of important people to speak with. He dressed quickly, knowing that he looked more disheveled than he would like.
A very tired Domitian entered. Rufus looked at him more closely. The Emperor’s youngest son had become a man during his absence. He was tall, and his head reached a good hand higher than Rufus. His eyes were large and intelligent but he squinted a little in the dim light. Even at two-and-twenty, his hair was beginning to recede. Like his father, he’d be hairless before he turned thirty. Also like his father, he was very direct.
“I'm taking your place,” he said, without preamble, as he sat upon a plush bench. “I'm going to the war.” Domitian was blushing, but this Rufus remembered. The man’s cheeks were frequently red, though no man knew why.
“That is very kind,” Rufus said. He was at a loss for words. He’d been out of the game too long, and his instincts were dull. His inner voice was still drowned out by the roaring of the sea.
“It is no kindness, and you know it. I need to know the men. Father became emperor because his men knew him and loved him. Titus led the assault on Jerusalem and has many triumphs coming for subduing the Great Revolt. It is my turn. Besides, you have no place out there, and the Dacians would string you up within a week of your arrival.”
“What you say is sound,” Rufus said. He couldn’t deny such accusations. “Yet, your father—”
“I've spoken to him already. He needs you here, and he knows it. You'd be wasted building forts and watchtowers on that muddy river.”
“My skills are at the discretion of the Emperor, of course,” Rufus said. This boon so after the disappointment of his meeting left him unsettled. “I spoke earlier out of surprise and fatigue.”
“He knows it, and I know it. Moreover, I need to escape Rome.” Domitian said. “For many reasons. Domitia is pregnant, and gods be good, she will bear a son who has a man for a father. Though, in truth, I desire some separation from her. It is her first, and she is not dealing well with the changes.”
Rufus laughed knowingly. “She who wants to remain beautiful aborts.”
“Ovid, yes,” Domitian agreed. “At any rate, you will enjoy this city, where I am weary of it. I yearn for the simple life of a soldier, away from bloated rumors and women.”
“Well,” Rufus said, “do this and I'm your man. For the long run. I have many seeds to plant here, and no amount of sleeping under the stars was going to help me.”
“We are agreed,” the son of the Emperor said as he clasped Rufus’ hand. “This isn't about power,” he said, indicating his fist. “This is about what's right. It's what Augustus would have done.”
Domitian was on his way out the door when Rufus called after him. “Just one more question. You seem to have convinced him quite readily. Why was he threatening to send me in the first place?”
Domitian turned and with a slow smile he said, “Oh, he was just annoyed.”
“At what?”
“At you. For supporting Nero, he would say, but his spies watched you stop at the amphitheater. He wanted to surprise you. I don’t think he meant it. He would have changed his mind even if I had not talked to him. I think.”
“I wonder,” said Rufus slowly, but Domitian was already gone.
CHAPTER III
Palmyra: 79 CE, Summer
Life had never been so pleasant, Tettius Iullianus fuzzily decided as he drained another beer. He had never meant to stop in Palmyra, certainly not for so long, but he was free from pursuit and the oasis town was perfect. It had good food and beautiful women, and either could be had for quite an affordable price. The only thing expensive here was the wine.
That made Iullianus smile. He didn’t give a fuck about wine. Most soldiers drank it daily, more than water, but most soldiers were effete Italian cowards, or worse, they wanted to be. Iullianus, despite his name and position with the Roman army, was certainly not a Roman.
He drank another beer in one long pull and eased out of the inn. A sense of urgency was building in him. The day was half gone, and he hadn’t even fucked anyone yet. No beer was so good that he preferred it to a good hard skin-slapping session. His pale skin and red hair made him a novelty around here, and he was far more popular than with the women in his own lands. He sometimes fancied his cock was much bigger than they were used to, and that, or they, were better at feigning pleasure than the whores on his misty, cold isle.
Palmyra had become part of Syria and hence Rome under Tiberius. It had grown fat and happy in the intervening sixty years. Traders from Parthia, India, Rome, and even far-flung China, met here, as it was a midway point between the ports of Sidon, Tyre, Byblos, and the Euphrates. One could find everything from luxury silks to discounted camels in this cosmopolitan trading city. Palmyra's mixed nature was evident even from the people. Some wore togas, while others preferred the Parthian baggy trousers. Many women wore garments made of Indian silks. Iullianus preferred the trousers, but did not—would not—own any in silk.
He stumbled into a brothel and asked for three beers and two women. He had no permit, so the pockmarked proprietor required an entire sesterce. There were at least a dozen women to choose from, but he made his choice instantly.
Both had dark hair. One had pouting lips and large breasts, while the other was a slim Syrian with a remarkable smile. When he noticed a woman with a smile like that, he knew why Paris had jeopardized his entire city for the love of a woman.
He appreciated that they were mostly undressed. In Rome, for some bizarre reason, they dressed as men—wearing togas. They pushed through the curtain into a small room. Both tried to kiss him but he pushed their heads away and drank deeply from his beer. They kissed his chest and he downed the first beer.
“Strip,” he told them. They weren’t wearing much, but in the few moments it took to remove their clothing, Iullianus had finished another beer. The room spun pleasantly around him and he felt the creeping steps of slumber stalking him.
“Why don't you two kiss,” he suggested. As they complied, he dropped his trousers and began to stroke his member. Despite the show before him, it wasn’t hard.
“I can help with that,” the Syrian said.
“As can I,” the large-breasted one added.
“Fuck off,” he said. “I’ve done this enough times. I know what I’m doing.” He caught it in their eyes then—the sudden understanding that he would not fuck them. Even a whore doesn't like to feel rejection, but their feelings were not his concern. He stroked his cock with more urgency. The women showered him with soft kisses, sucked on his nipples, and stroked him all over. His cock stirred, and one of them grunted her approval. The other made to move her mouth toward him, but he waved her away. He never had sex with a proseda, and never would.
Even in a drunken haze, Iullianus was able to summon the needed fortitude. It didn’t take long before he'd blasted both with his seed. He tipped each girl an extra as when he was done. “I must depart,” he said. “I fear I can outrun all foes, save sobriety.” He downed his last beer and slipped out of the curtain.
The warrior emerged into the busy streets of Palmyra. The sun hung heavily in the western sky. It was almost evening. There was no use pressing his luck—even with his head start, they would be closing in on him now. Coming to a city like this had
risks, but it was worth it. He thought again of the two women and smiled. It was definitely worth it.
“Be careful,” a man said, “he is dangerous, even this drunk.”
Iullianus looked up in surprise. There were ten centurions before him in uniform, with swords drawn.
“By Mithras,” he said, concentrating very hard not to slur his words. Like most soldiers, he often swore to the sun god, though he did not believe in him.
People on his side of the street were crossing to the other side. Behind him, the door to the tavern slammed shut. He was on his own, and he didn’t even have a blade. His lead was not as great as he’d supposed. It must not have been very hard to find him. There was a downside, he mused, to being so conspicuous.
“Tettius Iullianus,” said the spokesperson, “we are here to arrest you for dereliction of duty. Please come quietly.” He sounded very serious. He sounded very young.
Iullianus tried to focus on the man's face. Behind him, rising high in the city was the temple of Ba'al. That temple, like so much in this area, was ancient. A thousand years old, perhaps twice that. It looked like a huge hard cock thrust into the air. Iullianus laughed.
The spokesman grimaced. “It’s no laughing matter. You’re not going to resist us. You can hardly stand.”
“No, no,” Iullianus said, holding his hands in front of him. He did want to fight, but his judgment wasn’t so impaired as to make him challenge so many men. Not without a weapon anyway. “I'll come peacefully.” The man stepped up nervously, sheathed his sword, and wrapped a coarse rope around Iullianus' hands. The men formed a circle around him. As they walked away, toward the agora, Iullianus started laughing again.
He'd gotten fucked twice in one day, hard and good.
There were cells and all the apparatus of justice at the agora, but to his surprise, they didn't stop there, they kept walking. All the while, the city fell behind them until only the temple could be seen, sticking up like a cock that never shrank. They walked right out of town, and into the sand and heat of the desert. Though the sun sank, it remained miserably hot. Flies buzzed and with hands bound, Iullianus had to suffer them crawling on his face, drinking his sweat.
What he really needed, he decided, was another beer. Even water would be tolerable. His request for a drink, which he’d thought quite restrained, had received him a gag—a foul cloth that smelled of sour wine and semen.
He wondered if they'd kill him. Deserters were in fact, typically crucified, or worse, but he didn’t think they could prove that he deserted. Not exactly.
They stopped after two hours march, on the road north to the sea. Iullianus knew the posting inn at once. That son of a whore, he thought. He had been hoping that Lepidus would be too busy to spend time chasing down one lost soldier.
Lepidus came out of the inn, and smiled at the red-haired soldier.
“Remove this man's binds and gag. Hells, I said don't let him do anything dangerous, not treat him like an Etruscan.” Two men behind him immediately complied. Iullianus tried not to collapse. He felt woozy and wasn't sure if he was still drunk or suffering from the heat. “Give him some water,” Lepidus said.
“Fuck water,” Iullianus croaked, “give me beer.”
Lepidus was all smiles but Iullianus wasn't fooled. The man would have given very direct orders about his treatment. He’d probably supplied the rope and the gag. Probably the semen as well, come to think of it.
“Come inside, Iullianus. Share some wine with me,” Lepidus said. His voice was soft honey. Suddenly, the red-haired man felt more afraid than when he had thought he might die.
****
“Tell me, Tettius Iullianus, what do you know about Alexander the Great?” Lepidus asked.
He was resting on the lectus, the versatile long couch used for sleeping, sitting, relaxing and eating. Inside, it was blessedly cool, and Iullianus was feeling better after quaffing three long pulls of weak Roman wine. He didn’t like wine, but he wasn’t foolish enough to turn it down when there was nothing else.
“Some Greek King who fucked boys and died too young,” he said.
Lepidus smiled again, but Iullianus thought he could sense the frustration that lay behind it. Lepidus, though completely Roman, had been born in Corinth. “He was Macedonian, and conquered most of the world when he was still younger than you. But otherwise, that is correct.”
“Do you know what the difference between the Greeks and the Romans is?” Iullianus asked.
“What?”
“Greeks invented sex, but Romans introduced it to women,” Iullianus said.
“That’s funny,” Lepidus said, without so much as a smile.
“And, he didn’t conquer the whole world, did he? He never got up to my homeland,” Iullianus said eying the empty wine amphorae. Surely that wasn't all the wine they had. There had been barely enough to slake one man’s thirst. He didn’t even like wine, and there wasn’t enough for him. That was a real problem.
“Exactly. He didn't conquer the entire world,” Lepidus said. “Now, your lands were too insignificant and primitive to concern him. But in the end, he could not defeat India, not with their thousands of war elephants.”
Maybe his brain had gotten soft from the sun. They needed wine and this man was talking about elephants, but he couldn’t help getting drawn in.
“He had elephants too,” Iullianus pointed out. He chewed on some grapes found by the empty amphorae. “Probably buggered them as well.”
“If he did, Arrian was curiously silent about it,” Lepidus said. “More to the point, he had a few hundred of the beasts. The Emperor of the Nanda had ten thousand, or so they say. But,” he said, pausing. Iullianus knew the shift in tone well. His instinct told him he was about to get punched. “But it's an interesting point. He did have elephants, and kept a force at Babylon. The man who led them was known as the Elephantarch, and he had great honor.”
Iullianus looked at the hairs on his arm. People talked about Alexander of Macedon far too much. He and Augustus Caesar. They had been men just like everyone else. “People used to do all kinds of strange things,” he said.
“Tettius, don’t play the fool,” Lepidus said. His voice was disastrously earnest now. “I could have you killed. Your scouting trip began a month ago. I put it that you were on a mission, but as the weeks passed, it became more difficult. I hope you know now that I can find you anywhere.”
“I am a slow learner, but even to me this is plain.” Iullianus had slipped away from the army several hundred miles away.
“Not too long ago, you were a mere auxiliary. It wouldn’t be hard to make you yearn for those days,” Lepidus said. “There were men, counting on you, who were put into danger while you whored and drank your days away.”
Very annoyingly, Iullianus felt a pang of conscience. “It won’t happen again,” he said.
“You put me in an awkward position. I should crucify you, but you’re a valuable man. You’ve served me well for a long time.”
“You mean since you stole me from my village?”
“Really, Tettius,” Lepidus said, “these complaints were tiring years ago. Have you not enjoyed your life? You grew rich in Iudea.”
“Of course I have. It’s still a point worth making. I wouldn’t have heard of Rome if it weren’t for you.”
Lepidus paused. “Indeed. And I’m still waiting for your gratitude. Make no mistake—you are valuable enough for one more chance. Not two.” He paused again, letting the long silence grow past maturity and into old-age before speaking again. “Iullianus, I’ve named you Elephantarch.”
That got a reaction. Iullianus leapt from the lectus.
“Juno’s hairy cunt, Lepidus. I’ve never even seen an elephant. And no one uses them anymore—not for a hundred years, or more.”
“No one uses them in the west, that’s true,” Lepidus said. His smile was broad and victorious. “The Parthians do. You’ll find the situation out here is more fluid.”
****
Fluid was a word that resonated with Iullianus over the next week, as he fed, washed, and cleaned up after a score of elephants. They had fluids aplenty. He’d always fancied himself a champion pisser, or on a good night, he could spell his name in the snow. Not even his older brother had been able to piss straighter or longer than he had. But these beasts were unparalleled. Three elephants in Rome could have smothered the Great Fire with their amber spray.
Even that was nothing, compared to the gargantuan bundles of shite they dropped. The piles were big enough that at night they used dried clumps to light a fire. It grew cold in the desert, and Iullianus was grateful for the warmth. He had not gotten used to the size of the dung, though.
Place an elephant high enough, he pondered, and its droppings would be big enough to kill a man. He had just the man in mind, too. Lepidus had been too damn clever. Elephantarch, indeed. How he’d kept a straight face and somber tone was beyond the red-haired man.
He had arrived, filled with dubious curiosity, seven days ago at a camp just south of Palmyra. The first man that he met was Amasis, the head trainer in charge of the camp. Amasis was the true Elephantarch, and he had taken an instant dislike to the man claiming his position. The big warrior had been immediately presented a shovel and sent to work, digging piss pits and shoveling dung. There were many workers present, but manual labor became Iullianus’ domain. The only other person he noticed with a shovel was a toothless old man who occasionally joined him in desultory digging.
To the north, he thought of the sparkling sea. It invited escape, but he knew better than to try again. No doubt Lepidus had men watching him. Instead, he shoveled until the calluses on his hands had their own calluses. It wasn’t so bad, as long as he didn’t dilute his wine too much in the morning. Lately, he was scarcely adding water at all.
There were good moments. He liked the food; a spicy mix of lentils and grains called kushari. At night, he enjoyed staring at the dung-filled fire, watching the shapes of yellow and red dancing in the cold desert air. His shovel was of excellent quality, the same kind that the Legions used to entrench themselves while on campaign. It was made all of iron, and came up to his waist. He named it efossion, his little digging friend, and the old man had come out to help today. He was hardworking and silent—the perfect companion.