by Peter Darman
They were nearing the gates of the town, the banners of the kings fluttering above the gatehouse and bored guards at the open entrance leaning on spears as they watched people and animals enter and exit Melitene. The streets of the town were arranged in right angles to each other according to the Greek style of urban planning, an unusual number of shops and homes being stone structures. A result of an abundance of stone building materials resulting from the remains of what was once a great and sprawling city. The shops and markets were full of wares and doing a brisk business, a sign of a flourishing town. Klietas was glad Melitene had not been sacked by the Parthian army he had been a part of the previous year.
At the palace there was less activity and more security, the guards in front of the closed gates flagging down the two horsemen and the cart following them and archers on the walls focusing their attention on the new arrivals.
Three guards walked towards Talib and Klietas, two wearing mail armour and carrying spears and shields, the other armed with a sword and wearing a mail cuirass that extended to his knees. All three wore open-faced helmets sporting blue plumes, and yellow tunics. The man with a sword, an officer, peered up at Talib.
‘Who are you?’
Talib smiled, and pulled a rolled papyrus scroll from inside his tunic and handed it to the officer.
‘An imperial pass to travel anywhere in Roman lands and signed by the governor of Syria. You recognise the name?’
The document was not a forgery but had been given to Talib by Governor Cicero himself. The pair had met numerous times while Talib had been in Damascus taking care of Byrd’s business affairs. The pass stated that the bearer was a personal friend of the governor and had been signed and sealed by Cicero himself. The officer read the words then handed the document back to Talib.
‘You still have not stated your purpose, sir.’
Talib smile again. The officer’s attitude now more conciliatory.
‘I wish to see Governor Cenk,’ said Talib. ‘I have a gift for him, one I think he will appreciate.’
The officer looked past Talib to examine the driver of the cart and his companion. He gave a knowing smile.
‘If you wait here, sir, I will enquire if the governor will see you. He is pre-occupied with hosting several important dignitaries.’
Talib looked up at the banners.
‘I can see. No doubt you and your men are attending to their every need?’
The officer gave him a knowing nod. ‘You could say that, sir, yes.’
He disappeared with his men into the palace via a door cut in one of the impressive gates, leaving Talib and his group alone, though still under the watchful eyes of the archers on the walls.
Klietas began to get nervous. ‘What if they suspect something.’
Talib was examining his fingernails.
‘Why should they suspect anything? I am just a rich merchant seeking an audience with the governor, with a gift that he will find irresistible. As I told you in Zeugma all those months ago, the enemy cannot see into your soul.’
Klietas glanced behind at Yasmina.
‘You disagree with our strategy?’ Talib asked him.
‘It seems wrong to send her to be molested by the governor.’
Talib shrugged. ‘There are many wrongs in the world, Klietas. All we are doing is seeking to right a few of them. The men we are hunting are responsible for tens of thousands of Parthian dead, your people, not mine. Atrax himself is indirectly responsible for the deaths of your parents. Besides, we are not sending Yasmina to her death.’
The officer returned with news that the governor would indeed see Talib and his ‘gift’, though Klietas and Bullus would have to remain outside the palace. Talib ordered Yasmina to alight from the cart and follow him on foot, the girl jumping down from her seat and shuffling with head down towards the gates, which opened to allow the rich merchant and his slave to enter.
The palace was teeming with slaves, soldiers and flustered officials, but the office of the governor was an oasis of calm. He was clearly a man who knew how to devolve authority and the stress that came with it to subordinates. The officer of the guard at first remained in the spacious, airy room overlooking the courtyard below, the governor sitting back in his large, ornate chair when Talib and Yasmina entered. The governor’s eyes immediately fell on the girlish Yasmina as he began talking to Talib.
‘So, you are a friend of the governor of Syria.’
Talib bowed his head to Cenk. ‘And I hope to be yours, governor. My name is Talib and I have come to beg your indulgence.’
Talib estimated Cenk to be a man in his fifties who, judging by his yellow silk tunic, double chin and portly frame, was used to fine living. The governor must have been a handsome man once, but now his hair was receding fast and his cheeks were red from over consumption of alcohol.
Cenk flicked a hand at the officer to indicate he should leave. The man saluted and left the three alone in the office.
‘And bring wine for our guest,’ he called after the officer, ‘a man might die of thirst in this palace.’
‘Indulgence?’ Cenk said to Talib.
‘I wish to purchase some land near Melitene, governor. I am prepared to pay a great deal of money for the privilege.’
‘I have money,’ said Cenk casually, his eyes not leaving Yasmina. ‘But sit, please. I will hear what you have to say.’
There was a knock on the door and two slaves entered when ordered to do so, one carrying a tray holding silver chalices, the other carrying a wine jug. Talib sat in the well-upholstered chair in front of the polished maple desk and waited until his and the governor’s chalices were filled.
‘Leave the jug,’ commanded Cenk.
The slaves bowed and departed, closing the door behind them. Cenk raised his chalice to Talib.
‘To commerce.’
Talib took a sip of wine, which was a fine vintage.
‘I wish to purchase five hundred acres of land,’ he told the governor. ‘I am willing to pay five hundred talents of gold, a talent of gold for each acre.’
Cenk’s eyes lit up. He may have been wealthy but five hundred talents – fifteen tons of gold – were not to be sniffed at. Before he could answer, Talib pulled a pouch from inside his tunic, opened it and proceeded to place half a dozen small gold bars on the table.
‘Regardless of your decision, governor, please accept these small tokens of my gratitude in seeing me.’
Cenk was warming to this merchant with black face tattoos and a sharp little beard. He had been bribed before, of course. Indeed, he expected it as part of his business negotiations, but he sensed this man from the south was not prepared to fawn and beg for the land, unlike the usual sycophants he had to deal with. For that reason alone, his interest was pricked. The gold had diverted his attention away from the girl, but now Talib mentioned her.
‘I do not expect a decision, now, governor. I know you are a busy man, what with playing host to important visitors.’
Cenk drained his chalice and rolled his eyes.
‘Don’t remind me.’
Talib clicked his fingers to prompt Yasmina to walk forward a few steps.
‘Please accept another gift, governor, given in good faith. Yasmina is as yet untouched and is both pliant and eager. I hope she will be a pleasant diversion from your present onerous duties.’
Cenk, licking his lips, could barely conceal his excitement.
‘Yes, yes, most generous.’
‘May I return in two days to learn your answer regarding the land, governor?’
Cenk nodded, his eyes taking a tour over Yasmina’s pert body. Talib rose, bowed his head and made to leave.
‘What do want the land for?’ Cenk asked suddenly.
‘To grow apricots,’ said Talib. ‘that I intend to dry and transport to Syria and Egypt.’
Cenk could think of no reason why the Syrians or Egyptians would want dried apricots, but if this rich merchant wanted to waste his money, who was he to deprive him of the
opportunity?
Outside the palace, a straight-faced Talib said farewell to the officer who had escorted him to the governor’s office, waved to the bored archers on the walls, and trotted over to where an equally bored Bullus and a mournful-looking Klietas were waiting. He grinned at them both.
‘He took the bait.’
Chapter 6
Cenk had always been attracted to youthful women. He had married a woman of ancient Persian stock who had died in childbirth, the couple’s son also expiring to leave him a grieving widower. In the immediate aftermath he threw himself into being a loyal and diligent servant of the crown, which had resulted in him being appointed governor of the town of Melitene and the fertile surrounding region. The town and land around it prospered under his governorship, Cenk encouraging commerce, farming and the exploitation of the area’s rich resources. But as his best years passed, like many men of his age and position, he acquired a taste for good living. His waistline increased and his hairline receded. He understandably enjoyed the wealth and privilege he had worked hard for, facilitated by the increasing prosperity of Melitene and its province. People judged him a good governor. He was not cruel, he maintained law and order with a firm hand, though the Parthian invasion had resulted in an increase in banditry that was proving troublesome, and he was not a tyrant when it came to imposing taxes. He also liked young girls.
Girls were often married by the age of twelve in Egypt, Rome and Greece, though admittedly to boys aged fifteen or sixteen. But as he grew older, Cenk’s sexual hunger could only be satisfied by increasingly younger females. And the female the merchant Talib had gifted him aroused him greatly.
Yasmina stood before him in his magnificent bedroom with head bowed, feet together and hands by her side. She had been bathed and dressed in a see-through white linen dress that ended just above her knees. Her feet were bare and her fingernails had been painted orange. The curls in her hair had been accentuated to increase her girlish appearance, and she was devoid of any jewellery so as not to spoil the picture of innocence.
Cenk, wine chalice in hand, heart pounding in his chest, his manhood straining to break free from the white silk robe he was wearing, began to circle the girl. The tension in the room was unbearable. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead and his eyes could not be wrenched away from the vision of girlish purity standing before him.
‘You have been instructed in how to pleasure a man?’
‘Yes, master.’
He reached out to trace a finger down her cheek and neck.
‘Disrobe,’ he commanded.
She moved the small straps off her shoulders to allow her dress to fall to the floor. Cenk thought his heart would burst from his chest so aroused was he by her flawless naked body.
‘Lie on the bed,’ he told her, gulping down his wine before joining her on silk sheets.
He sincerely believed that he was making love to Yasmina as he raped, sodomised and forced her to do things that stretched even her young, subtle limbs. At the end he screamed in ecstasy as he shot his aged seed over her hurting body. Then he lay beside her on his back, panting with exhaustion and having great difficulty catching his breath.
‘Bring me some wine,’ he managed to babble, unable to move.
Yasmina rose from the bed and walked over to the wine jug on the table and refilled Cenk’s chalice. He smiled with satisfaction when he noticed the bruises on her buttocks. She walked back to him and gently lifted his head to allow him to sip at the wine.
‘You were very tense, master,’ she cooed.
‘Tense? You don’t know the half of it.’
‘Tell me, master,’ she smiled. ‘Unburden yourself.’
So he did. As she massaged his tired limbs with oil and planted delicate kisses on his back, he told her about the meetings of the kings he had attended, listening to their plans for war with Gordyene and worrying about his town and province. It was easy for him to do so because she was just a slave, a disposable item that had no worth and was on the same level as the hounds he kept in the palace kennels. The only advantage she had over his dogs was her ability to understand what he was saying. Simple creature that she was, he knew he could say anything in her presence without fear of anyone finding out.
‘The King of Galatia is a boorish idiot, and it is sad to see King Archelaus indulge the brute. And you know who will suffer when the ridiculous plan to punish Gordyene fails?’
‘No, master.’
‘We will, this town and the farms and villages that surround it. Last year the gods were kind and ushered the Parthians on their way before they had time to plunder this region. But if we attack Gordyene, then surely as day follows night, the Parthians will retaliate and Melitene will be the first to suffer.’
‘Yes, master.’
He went on to whine like a small child that no one would come to his aid if the Parthians returned, and that he would be forced to fight them through no fault of his own. He told her about Tiridates and Atrax being in the palace and how their presence in Pontus had provoked the Parthians invading that kingdom the previous year. How any fool could see that they would never reclaim their crowns and they should be sent back to the Parthians in chains.
‘At least that would guarantee peace, and you know what peace brings?’
‘No, master.’
‘Prosperity. Wars are expensive. There would be no war if it were not for the Roman bastards. They like to get others to do their fighting. It will not be Rome that is burnt to the ground in a fresh war with the Parthians, it will be Melitene.’
After he had vented his spleen he ordered pastries and fruit to be delivered to his room, and more wine. Always more wine. And after he had gorged himself on food and drink, he sank into a deep slumber. It was only then that Yasmina sat on the edge of the bed and sobbed. When she was being abused she had told herself over and over it was for Dura and Queen Gallia. And even though the training she had received in The Sanctuary had taught her to endure pain and focus on other things to become detached from what was happening to her body, she was still a child and alone in a foreign town in the bed of a monster. She saw the knife with an ivory handle lying on the table beside the snoring brute, the same blade he had used to cut slices from the fruit he had eaten. Her tears stopped when she considered how easy it would be to nick his throat and watch his lifeblood pump out of his neck on to the expensive bed sheets. She forced herself to think about Cenk waking up to discover he had been mortally wounded. It helped to banish the memories of what he had done to her, if only for a while.
She woke before the first rays of the morning sun showed through the shutters in the bedroom, slaves gently knocking at the door to bring their master fresh water to wash his face and body, and pots to allow him to relieve himself. He grunted like a hog when there was a second tap at the door.
‘Come.’
There were three slaves, two women and one man, the latter middle aged with a bald head, gold earrings and a huge belly. For a man of such size he was remarkably light on his feet.
‘Been over-indulging, have we?’
His voice was high, effeminate, as he threw the sheet back to expose Cenk’s naked body, Yasmina’s too. She instinctively clutched at the sheet to cover her flesh.
‘Up we get.’
Cenk grunted and raised himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, the fat slave assisting him to stand. One of the slaves was opening the shutters to the room, the other stood before Cenk holding a silver pot, which the governor proceeded to piss into. They all ignored Yasmina. The effeminate slave, whom she assumed was a eunuch, stared at the governor’s manhood.
‘He looks as though he had an athletic time last night. He’s red raw.’
Cenk finished his piss and the slave with the pot withdrew.
‘Prepare me a bath. Get me something to eat,’ said Cenk, ‘and wine.’
‘Fruit juice first thing, I think,’ said the eunuch. ‘You have a meeting of the kings to attend today, after all.’
>
Cenk rolled his eyes. ‘The gods have mercy on me.’
‘What about this one?’ asked the eunuch, looking at Yasmina.
‘Get her what she wants. She’s the only bright spot in what promises to be a taxing day.’
The governor washed his hands in the bowl of fresh water proffered by the other slave and the eunuch assisted him in putting on his robe. He slapped the eunuch’s hand when it crept too close to his groin.
‘Spoilsport,’ he said.
‘What time does the meeting begin?’
‘One hour,’ answered the eunuch.
‘So soon?’ groaned the governor. He pulled a ring off one of his fingers and tossed it to Yasmina.
‘This will allow you to move freely around the palace. Show it to anyone who stops you.’
‘Yes, master,’ said Yasmina, hardly believing her luck.
‘We are being very generous today,’ remarked the eunuch in a haughty tone.
‘She was a gift and it would be impolite to abuse a generous gift. Make sure she is fed, bathed and given fresh clothes,’ said Cenk.
They were the last words he said before he and the slaves left the room, leaving Yasmina alone. She too wanted a bath to cleanse herself of the abuse she had suffered, but had no idea where to go. However, she was left alone for only a few moments before a female slave appeared with a large towel and a request to follow her. She was shown to a bathing room where other female slaves were filling a stone bathtub with hot water. She expected them to leave once the bath had been filled, but instead they insisted on remaining and assisting her. At first reluctant, when one began massaging her shoulders when she was immersed in the warm water, she soon succumbed. Afterwards she was led to an adjacent room where she lay face-down on a cushioned table to receive a body massage, oils being kneaded into her soft skin. She fell asleep and blissfully forgot about Cenk and his depraved sexual appetite. When she woke a slave was waiting with a new dress, an altogether more modest offering compared to the one she had worn when Talib had brought her to the palace, plus a pair of soft leather sandals. And all the time the slaves kept glancing at the governor’s ring on Yasmina’s finger. It was like a magic talisman that guaranteed she was treated like a princess, being served the finest food and accorded the utmost respect.
