Chapter 25

Africa

Carthage,

The Ides of March, AD238

‘No one with any morals has ever enjoyed a mime show.’

Gordian laughed. ‘But every mime artist has been enjoyed by half the town.’

Sabinianus was right. For those with self-proclaimed high morals, the problem with pantomimes was always the fights in the audience, but with mimes it was the sex on stage. The Adulterer Caught was one of the worst, or best depending on your viewpoint.

The scenery in the small theatre was simple, just a bed and a large wooden chest. The doddering old husband had been sent on a fool’s errand. To persuade him to go, his young wife had sucked his prick. Gordian and Sabinianus had hooted along with the rest of the audience when the pretty young actress had lifted up his tunic, pulled it over to cover her head. The old actor had shuddered and snorted with comic abandon, his spindly limbs trembling at the quickening rhythmic movements under the material. The actress had emerged, daintily dabbing her chin.

‘She reminds me of Lycaenion.’

‘I did not know you were so intimate with Menophilus’ mistress.’

‘Unfortunately, no.’ Sabinianus grinned. ‘Not all my friends are as generous as you with Chione and Parthenope.’

‘Only what you give to your friends is yours forever.’

They both took another drink.

The young male lead entered. He knew his craft; appearing exaggeratedly nervous, his whole body quivering, as fear struggled with lust. After kissing her on the mouth, he ran his tongue over his lips, as if tasting something strange. The audience groaned, revolted and delighted.

‘Darling,’ the lover said, ‘what do you want to do? Eat breakfast or have sex?’

‘Whatever you want,’ the wife replied, ‘but there is no food in the house.’

It was good to lay down the cares of office. Gordian took another drink. Sabinianus had suggested the mimes. Going in disguise had been Gordian’s idea. He was not sure how convincing they were as slaves. Sabinianus had said they should take some soldiers, just in case. Gordian had vetoed that. He wanted to be Mark Antony peeping into the pleasures of the poor, not Nero assaulting innocent passers-by.

After some of the oldest jokes in the world — How chaste! How easily caught! — the play reached the navigation of Venus. The lover bent the wife over the bed, flipped up her skirts, revealing her white rounded buttocks. With a look of unbridled desire, he hauled up his clothes, and started vigorously thrusting.

‘In the reign of Elagabalus that would have been real,’ Sabinianus said.

‘Are you sure it is not now? Anyway, when you are governor of Africa, you have imperial dispensation to make penetration the law.’

Much loud stamping and muttering announced the return of the husband.

‘Quick, into the chest.’

Acting or not, the lover had a creditable erection. It bobbed in front, as he hopped across the stage and clambered into the chest.

The crowd stamped their feet in amusement.

‘Possibly how he got the role,’ Sabinianus said.

‘What a walk.’ The husband sat down on the chest. ‘It was all downhill to the Forum, by the time I came back it had turned into a steep climb.’

Muffled thumps came from inside the chest.

‘What is that noise?’

‘Mice.’

‘Never in my house.’

‘I heard them. You know I am terrified of mice, darling.’

‘In that case.’ The old man got up, threw back the lid.

Gasping, the young man tumbled out, his tunic still up around his waist.

‘What? What? Oh, now I see. A thief in my private property.’ The husband looked around myopically. ‘Where is my sword?’

‘Darling,’ the wife put her arms around him, waving over his shoulder for her lover to pull his tunic down. ‘He is here to catch the mice.’

‘Oh, in that case, I had better pay him.’

While the husband peered into the chest for his money, behind his back the young man bent his wife back over the bed, mounted her again.

‘I am sure I put it in here,’ the old man said.

‘Me too,’ the young man said.

The husband rummaged faster. The lover thrust quicker.

‘I will not be long,’ the old man said from inside the chest.

‘Nor me.’

‘Got it.’ As the husband stood, the lovers finished, straightened, and lowered their clothes.

‘Here you are.’ The old man handed over some coins. ‘Mind you, I still do not think there ever were any mice, but as long as my wife is satisfied.’

The Adulterer Caught was always the same. The humour came from the comfortable repetition spiced with small impromptu variations, and everything depended on timing and delivery. The latter so much more difficult without a mask.

After the show, Gordian followed Sabinianus through a labyrinth of narrow shop-lined streets. Sabinianus said he knew just the bar for a night such as this. Most of the shops had merchandise piled up outside on rugs. Barely breaking stride, Sabinianus took a bun.

‘You going to pay for that?’

‘No.’ Sabinianus turned to Gordian. ‘Run!’

‘Stop, thieves!’

One man tried to stop them. Sabinianus knocked him aside. Gordian ran after Sabinianus, side-stepping and barging down the street. They turned left and right, further into the maze. The sounds of a half-hearted pursuit soon falling behind.

‘In here.’

The alley was more insalubrious than most. Gordian doubled over, hands on knees, fighting to get his breath. He was out of condition, carrying too much weight. He needed a campaign to get him back in shape. Like Antony or Alexander, he was better in the field.

‘Want a bun?’

‘Not really.’

‘Nor me.’ Sabinianus dropped it in the gutter. ‘You have to say, that was almost exciting. Follow me.’

Gordian pulled the hood of his cloak back over his head, and did as he was told.

The small and grubby bar was distinguished by the inventive obscenity of its murals. Apart from the bar owner in his leather tunic, a sluttish-looking barmaid and a rat-like pot boy, there was one other customer. The latter sat in a corner, the broad brim of his travelling hat down over his eyes.

‘This looks like fun.’

‘We are early. It fills up later; all the low-life characters one could want.’

The wall opposite where they sat was dominated by a painting of a girl riding a man. Although not blessed with much talent, the painter had taken pains depicting their genitals. But more striking was the fact that she was exercising with weights while having sex. Gordian wondered how she managed to combine the rhythms of the two activities.

‘A present.’ Sabinianus pushed something across the table.

‘If I did not know better, I would say you have given me a small, dead lizard.’

‘A skink.’

‘A skink?’

‘A small, dead, dried north African lizard. Powdered, it will solve your problem.’

‘I do not have a problem.’

‘Far better than any amount of oysters.’

‘It happened once. I was tired, had been drinking too much.’

‘Far more efficacious than satyrion, rocket, nettle seed, pepper.’

‘Chione should not have told you.’

‘She said it had happened more than once.’

‘Her demands are voracious. I am not as young as I was.’

Three soldiers swaggered in, swinging the metal weights on the ends of their military belts.

Sabinianus leant close, spoke quietly from under his hood. ‘We should leave.’

‘We only just got here.’

‘Leave Carthage. Get to Rome. Secure the throne.’

Gordian took a long drink of wine. ‘My father is reluctant to sail. The astrologer said we would be drowned at sea. And he talks much about the prodigy.’

‘An animal gave birth. What could be more natural? That it did so when your father was about to sacrifice it, was no more than an unfortunate coincidence.’ Sabinianus shrugged. ‘An Epicurean of all people should be unconcerned.’

‘Now Arrian has Numidia, there is no hurry to leave Africa.’ Gordian put down his drink, held out both hands, flat palm up, then turned them palm down. ‘See these? Clean hands. Menophilus will do what is necessary in Rome.’

‘The East then?’

‘How many times have I reassured you that Claudius Julianus in Dalmatia, Fidus in Thrace, Egnatius Lollianus in Bithynia-Pontus will all declare for us.’

‘And the provinces with legions?’

‘They will follow.’

‘Well, that is all good,’ Sabinianus said. ‘I have told you before, talents such as mine should not be wasted. I have no desire to die in some doomed cause.’

The ornaments on their belts showed the soldiers belonged to the detachment from the 3rd Augusta. They were playing Kottabos. The bartender had set a cup on a stool, and the legionaries were throwing the dregs of their wine at it. So far no one had succeeded in knocking it off and breaking it.

Sabinianus took a large coin from his belt. He sent it spinning across the room. It hit with a loud clink. The cup wobbled, then fell, smashing into dozens of shards.

‘Set up another,’ Sabinianus called.

A big soldier with a scar down his face bulked over. He set his knuckles on the table. ‘A slave should not wait for his master’s hand.’

Sabinianus laughed. ‘An ass does not become a horse if you slit its nostrils …’

‘Where did you steal the money, whipling?’

‘… not if you bore its jaw, put a curb-chain between its teeth; it will still bray like an ass.’

The legionary grabbed Sabinianus by the front of his tunic, hauled him out of his seat, halfway across the table.

Gordian hit the soldier hard in the stomach. Everything moved very fast. The table went over. A chair splintered. Gordian was on the floor. The big legionary had him by the throat, was banging the back of his head on the boards. The other two soldiers were on Sabinianus.

Gordian’s hood slipped off as he writhed to break free. The big legionary punched him in the face. The taste of blood in his mouth, like brass coins. The fist drew back to hit him again.

‘Get off your Imperator!’

At Sabinianus’ shout, the soldier paused, then brought his scarred face close to Gordian.

‘Fuck me, is it really you?’

‘As the fates made me. You were down at the harbour.’

‘Gods below, I had no idea.’ The legionary helped him up. ‘Hercules’ hairy arse, Imperator, I am sorry. What are you doing here?’

Gordian spat blood on the floor. ‘Not looking to reap this harvest of blows.’

‘Are you hurt, Imperator? I did not know.’

‘Nothing that a few drinks will not mend. The imperial fiscus should be good for them, and for the breakages.’

‘Fuck me, you really are one of us. Make way there. Get a chair for our Emperor.’

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