by Rob Rosen
“Pretty, isn’t he?” Aristedes asked, pulling down the boy’s trousers. He was unusually handsome in form and face, deeply tanned and dark of eye and hair.
“Yes,” I agreed, not sure he seemed wealthy enough to hold for ransom.
Aristedes ripped the Persian’s tunic off. “Let us both have him here.” He looked eager.
It was something some men did on the battlefield, taking ass as well as gold, but I never had. Aristedes had, I supposed. His passions had certainly risen high; I could see the evidence protruding from his tunic.
“No,” I said. “We have work to do. Let us see to our men.”
“No!” Aristedes screamed, bringing me to a halt a step away. “I will have this man or he will die!”
I turned and looked into the Persian’s eyes. “Let him die then.” With those words from me, Aristedes slit the young man’s throat and he joined his brothers at our feet. Aristedes stepped across his back to me.
“Let you and I fuck here then,” he said defiantly, grabbing my hand and dragging me after him.
“Not here,” I told him, but he ignored me, looking for a more private spot. I could see the state he was in and searched with him. I could deny him the Persian, but not myself. There was an outcropping nearby. I led him there and removed my tunic once we were inside the rocks.
“Thank you!” he exclaimed, pulling off his own thin garment.
Being in the open seemed to bring out the lover in him and the animal in me. Aristedes half kneeled, one thick thigh remaining parallel to the ground, and took me into his mouth, pushing me into him with large heavily calloused hands on my ass. He rubbed my body as he sucked, down my legs and up my stomach, across my chest and ass, snorting occasionally when he gagged.
“You are almost hairless, like a boy,” he said, taking a breath, then eased me back inside him. His mouth was tight and wet, like my wife’s sweet pleasure hole. Though it felt good, I am not an exhibitionist so I hurried him to his feet and took his cock into my mouth, which I knew he wanted. I sucked diligently until his breath was short and quick. He yanked me up then and turned my back to him. I leaned my arms against a boulder while he forced his cock inside me. It seemed larger out of doors. I felt filled, forgetting where I ended and he began. He reached under me for my nipples and twisted, pinched and yanked them while he fucked, his groin pounding hurriedly against my ass, his balls slapping me with each thrust. I tried not to enjoy it, concentrating instead on the battlefield below. The Persian dead spread from our rocks to the river and beyond.
“Make him come,” a voice yelled behind and above us. I couldn’t tell whether it was Attic or Ionian. I tried to pull away, but Aristedes would not be stopped. He was like a mad bull: having mounted his cow, he was locked in place. One hand took my cock and jerked it rapidly in time to his own rocking motion inside my ass. Like a cow I almost mooed with pleasure and, on hearing sounds from me, he pumped and pulled harder until I came, shouting, whitish globs thick in his hand. With a bellow, he shot his own seed into my ass. The man watching applauded.
“Well done, Thrace and Ephesus. Well done. Now, get dressed. We have a world to win.”
“Alexander,” Aristedes smirked, not at all ashamed.
“Give me my tunic,” I muttered to him, my face red with embarrassment. I avoided looking up until I was dressed. When I looked, there was no one to see.
The Persians ran so quickly from Issus and defeat that they left most of their belongings. I urged that we follow up the rout and make all Persia Greek, but Alexander ignored my advice. We went on to Tyre, Syria and Gaza, fighting our way south rather than east. Alexander was welcomed in Egypt. The battles brought victories and welcome riches. We sojourned at Memphis. All thought of Persia and the East seemed to have vanished from Alexander’s head.
One night at yet another banquet, I felt divorced from all and everyone around me. I thought of Ephesus and of defeating Darius. I drank my wine meditatively.
“Ephesus!”
Alexander was bringing me to attention. He motioned me into his private chambers. I don’t think Aristedes noticed. He was too drunk and too busy with his boy. I remembered the rocks above Issus and wondered if Alexander wanted to take a turn with me while my Thracian was distracted. This might be good. However, Hephaestion was already there. I wondered how else to use this opportunity.
“You are thinking, Prince Lysimachus. This is an odd time for thoughts.” Alexander indicated the party with a leer over his shoulder.
“I am thinking, my lord.”
“Tell me.”
“Darius, sire. And Persia.”
“You want both dead.” I nodded.
“You will get your wish. We turn north in two days. Until then, enjoy yourself.” Hephaestion took his hand, while I left them to themselves.
In two days we marched toward Mesopotamia. We crossed the Tigris and Euphrates without opposition. Darius had decided to meet us at Gaugamela, our informers told us. At last, we would destroy the Persian Empire and throne.
At our new camp, on the evening of our arrival, I supervised our tent’s reconstruction. Aristedes stood by, joking with other idle men. I had given up asking him to help. Alexander approached and all of us came to attention.
“Come with me, Ephesus,” he commanded. Aristedes also stepped forward. “No, my friend. I need someone who speaks Persian. Besides,” he chuckled, “you are so gigantic the enemy would see you even in the dark. Your lover and I are both small. Come, Lysimachus.” I followed, without a look back. Aristedes had been my hope of reaching Alexander. That hope had been realized.
We rode with hoofs bound with cloth, then walked the last bit to an overhang above the fires of the massive camp. Before we could comment on the panorama below us, Alexander put his finger to his lips. We heard the sentries’ horses and hid among the rocks, springing on the riders as they came noisily along. I shouted to them in Persian as they struggled. They all froze at their own language.
I introduced them to Alexander and urged them to speak the truth. It did not take much urging. Within moments, they had told us numbers of men and the location of hidden armaments and traps. Within more moments, they were all dead, killed at Alexander’s order. We walked and rode back to our camp of Greeks.
“You did well, Lysimachus,” Alexander said once we had dismounted. “You have earned a favor. What is it?” I merely smiled. He laughed at me. “You Ionians! Too subtle for us northern Greeks.” Then he laughed again. “Of course, maybe not too subtle for Thracians.” He gave me a wink outside his tent, and I walked back to mine.
Aristedes rushed outside as soon as he heard my footsteps. “You’re back! I was afraid…” With that he pulled me into our tent and pushed me onto the bed, holding me for a long time without words. His eyes startled me; I could see his soul. I gently urged him back.
“Lie down,” I whispered and began to massage his feet, his calves and thighs. When I reached his cock, I stroked it as gently as I had stroked his legs.
“You know what I like, beloved.”
I winced at the word. We had never spoken of love. I wasn’t sure I was capable of such a lie. Instead of answering, I slid my mouth over his engorged cock, taking it entirely. Aristedes drew a sharp intake of breath.
“You are so good at this, Lysimachus. So good.”
His cock filled my mouth to choking and my jaw to breaking. I slid back up the shaft before I gagged, then down again slowly. I was his opposite in lovemaking; I knew how to elongate pleasure. He tried to roll on top of me, but I held him still, my body on his legs, my hands working up his hairy forearms to his massive biceps and bulging chest. There I squeezed the mounds and had him moaning like a woman. Perhaps tonight he would let me fuck him.
But it was not to be. With a steady rise and roll, he maneuvered me beneath him on the bed and then it was short work before my legs were on his shoulders and his cock up my ass, insistent and rapid. I played with my chest and jerked my cock and rolled my head back and forth.
Aristedes liked the effect.
“Come first, my beauty,” he whispered into my ear before he bit. I followed his instruction and jerked and pinched myself until my back was arching, holding his weight above me. It was then, in a rush, that he came, seconds after I spurted my aromatic seed between us. “Oh, oh, oh!” he yelled, as if he were wounded.
He came in aftershocks for several seconds, his mouth on mine, hands holding my head in place. “That was the best, beloved,” he said, giving me a final kiss before he withdrew his cock. For the first time, I felt a strange emptiness and wished him back inside me, but he enclosed me in his arms and fell asleep so I repressed that unwelcome feeling and let him slumber. We would both need our rest for Gaugamela.
When the battle came, we were more than ready, Greeks and mercenaries alike. Days had been spent in training and planning, nights in drinking and bravado. At last, Alexander told of his intention to strike, in council and to the men. I was sure I would not sleep that night, but Aristedes was more attentive to my needs in bed than usual and afterward we both drifted off and slept well. I trusted in our sentries’ honor and in Darius’s cowardice.
The next morning, we took our places again near the rear of the army, waiting for the dust cloud to rise ahead. There would be no Issus for us here—the last would not be first—but I knew there would be plenty of Persians for all Greeks to slaughter. Darius though would fall to other men, if he did not run again.
The dust cloud rose and the shouting with it. We marched slowly forward and then ran when an opening appeared. Ephesians and Thracians moved into it as a wedge, with Aristedes and myself at the point, parting men as we passed. I began to believe we might be essential and to hope again that I might kill Darius with my own hands.
We cut down Persians left and right, thrusting with pikes, slashing with swords, blood spurting onto our hair and clothes, limbs detaching from our enemies, helmets falling faster than heads. On and on we pushed, farther and farther into them, ignoring their cries, aiming for Darius. I could see him, standing on his gilded chariot, gazing frantically in all directions.
“Stop, Lysimachus!” Aristedes yelled into my ear. “We are surrounded!”
We did seem to be the only Greeks among the Persians. I did not want my men enveloped, so I instructed a runner to reconnoiter our position vis-à-vis the front. He returned, astounded.
“Alexander is behind us!”
“Behind us?” It was hard to hear through the cries of battle and of dying.
“Yes, Prince Lysimachus. Behind us. He is urging us forward.”
“Then forward it is!” I said to him and returned to butchering. “Let Alexander follow us,” I said more softly, which was good because he was suddenly there beside me.
“Well done, priest! Where is Darius? Ah, there. Here man, lend me your spear.” A stunned Ephesian yeoman handed his weapon over to our great king and god.
I watched Darius while Alexander hefted the unfamiliar spear onto his shoulder. I damned such bad luck after good to have worked my way through the masses to the coward king, and yet not be able to take the chance to kill him. I tried once.
“Here, my lord. I will handle it for you. These Ionian spears are a little different.”
“I think I have it, Lysimachus. Stand clear.”
I reluctantly stepped aside and watched as he sent the shaft toward Darius’s shriveled heart. I listened, too. Something about the song the missile sang in its travel through the air was off. It would not strike its mark.
It did not, passing inches from Darius’s wild-eyed face, close enough to send him on his heels again. He jumped from his chariot onto a convenient horse and disappeared into the mob.
“May you split!” Alexander cursed. I thought to myself it was a little late for that. He turned to me, smiling. “We almost did it though, didn’t we?” He was probably happiest at moments such as these, with the canceling shouts of men and clamor of swords.
We attended again to killing every Persian within reach. Alexander and his guards drifted left and we drifted right. As word of Darius’s personal retreat spread, his men followed and Aristedes and I stopped to talk. “Let other men take the hunt,” he said, his hands on my shoulders, holding me in place. “You should have thrown that spear,” he said next.
“Yes,” I agreed. “I should have.”
He busied himself with accepting presents from the dead while I wondered what it would take to kill Darius. My answer came the next day. Alexander confirmed the rumor at our council: Darius had been assassinated by one of his own generals. I asked to see Alexander alone that night and he agreed.
I bathed carefully and put on my best clothing. My servant curled my hair in the Ionian way. I went to Alexander while Aristedes was busy with his men.
“Welcome, Prince Lysimachus. Would you have some wine?” He filled a flagon for me and drank from his. I bent my head back with drinking and then, thus fortified, began to ask my boon.
“My lord, I have stayed with you faithfully—”
“And now you want to return to Ephesus.”
“Yes,” I stammered out. “How did you know?”
“Why else would you come alone to me at night in your royal robes and scented body?” He patted the cushions beside him. “Sit here.”
When I had settled, he asked the one question I thought he might.
“What of Aristedes?”
I sat up as erectly as I could and gave the demigod look for look. “He is King of Thrace. I will be King of Ephesus. What future can we have together with such responsibilities, at such a distance?”
“You have a cold heart, Lysimachus, but a warm body,” Alexander said, reaching inside my garment. He flicked my left nipple casually back and forth, watching my body react. I closed my eyes and licked my lips for him, thrusting out my chest to meet his touch. “There will still be a cost,” he said. “I have wanted you from Issus on. Are you prepared to pay?”
I stood and removed my clothing as if my actions had been broken into parts. I presented myself to him, while he looked at me appraisingly. “Yes,” he said. “It is how I remember.” And then he pulled me down to him again.
While he caressed my cheek and kissed my lips, I thought of Hephaestion. While he pinched and soothed my nipples, I thought of Aristedes, but when he raised my legs and placed them on his shoulders, I thought of home.
After an oddly uninterrupted hour, my lord and new master smiled that he was through and handed me a prepared scroll. Perhaps he was a god to have such clairvoyance. I reattached my clothing, straightened my hair and took the signed paper with me. I did not look back.
“Why do you stay with him?” I asked that night in bed with Aristedes.
He fumbled with my body, trying to stop me from thinking and talking. I pushed him away. He tried again. I jumped up and sat on the stool, watching him. He settled back onto our bed, supporting his huge head with thick furry arms decorated with permanent blue images.
“He is Alexander. He commands; we follow.”
“You know he wants to go on. Persia is not enough for him.”
Aristedes remained quiet. I hesitated, wondering whether I could tell him. I decided I had to, if not now then soon, very soon.
“I am turning back.”
He sat up quickly. “He won’t let you.”
“He has already agreed.”
“No! How?”
I looked at him, and he saw the reason. He was on me in an instant.
“You whore! You sold yourself!”
“I want to go home. My goal was to defeat Persia and keep Ephesus and the rest of Ionia Greek. That is done.”
“But what about me?” he bellowed. “Am I nothing to you?”
“We are royal princes. Our lives are not our own.”
“They are here,” he reasoned. “We are together here.”
“Eventually, we will be killed or you will return to Thrace.”
“Perhaps not.” He held me close, almost suffocating me. “
Don’t leave me, Lysimachus. I love you.”
Neither of us had said those words before. Hearing them, I felt some regret. I let him guide me back to our bed. I allowed him to kiss my lips and face, chin and neck. I felt his hands on my chest and his fingers manipulate my nipples. I opened my mouth, and his tongue entered. His hands reached between my legs. I raised them for him, and two fingers eased inside my asshole, caressing the inside of me. When his cock slid in after the fingers had prepared the way, I arched my head back, baring my neck for him as he bit and licked. His groin battered against me, pounding harder and deeper, pushing me down until my legs were against the bed, locked in place by his blue arms. I heard myself moan, “I love you, too,” as his cock made mine burst across my stomach and his erupted inside me.
He made love to me most of that night. Finally, he slept, but I did not. I rose at daylight, dressed quietly and went to my men, letting Aristedes sleep. I took nothing but a chain he sometimes wore around his neck.
My men were eager to return home, to live in peace with the wealth they had earned and stolen. They packed quickly.
We started walking through the camp back toward Ephesus. I would return to my wife and children. I would rule Ephesus after my father’s death. I would be Alexander’s ally, satrap or whatever he might require or want from me. I would forget Aristedes, or at least try. I removed his necklace and made to throw it down to the dirt, but my true voice stopped me.
No! Don’t! it said inside me, and for once in my life I listened.
I returned my remembrance of Alexander’s Persian war to my neck and commanded my men to travel north and west. We were a long way from home and had begun our return. We had best keep going. Perhaps if Aristedes survived… I pushed the thought from my head.
“Forward,” I told my commanders. “Forward!” they yelled to their men. Forward, I thought, thinking more of who and what was behind me in a canvas tent on the edge of Asia. I said a prayer and began walking.
THE BOY HE LEFT BEHIND
Riley Shepherd
“Ow! Go slow!”
