He looked down the rectangular room, catching a glimpse of an impressive stone frieze fully six feet high and the same in width. The two-inch-thick slab of marble was sculpted with the familiar image of Mithras slaying the bull in the cave into which he had carried it at the end of his long hunt, the main scene surrounded by lavish carvings of the images associated with each of the religion’s seven grades. Scaurus turned as Arminius and Marcus reached his side, and, as was always the case in temple, clasped the two men’s arms as equals, any hint of their formal relationship put aside in the worship of their god. Scaurus’s brow was decorated with the laurel wreath befitting his status as a Lion, the fourth most senior of the religion’s ranks. Prefect Caninus echoed the gesture of greeting with both men, his smile of welcome reassuring amid the congregation’s obvious hostility.
‘You’re just in time, my brothers. The priest is about to start the ceremony. Here, we’ve saved you both a space.’
Marcus looked about him, realising that most of the worshippers were either men in late middle age or boys barely old enough to shave. He leaned closer to Scaurus, not wanting his remark to be overheard.
‘A different congregation to that I’d expected.’
The tribune nodded, his reply equally subtle in tone.
‘Our colleague Caninus tells me that the city has been somewhat underdeveloped in commercial terms ever since the plague killed a third of its inhabitants. Any bright young lad that wants to get on tends to head west to Beech Forest, or east to the fortresses on the Rhenus. What you see here are the men that have managed to build successful business, and their sons, plus a few senior people from the municipal authorities. First Minervia have their own temple, of course, which is why these men are all looking at us like men who’ve trodden barefoot on cold dog faeces. They’re not happy to be worshipping alongside the men who’re bleeding their city white, even if we are brothers in Our Lord, and despite the fact that we’re here for their protection. Ah, there’s our good friend Procurator Albanus, and the stone-faced character to his right is Petrus, his assistant. I’m still working out which one of them is the real-’
‘Gentlemen, please take your places! The ritual is about to begin!’
The temple’s pater stood in front of the magnificent stone frieze with his arms outstretched to either side, while his acolytes moved out into the room to darken the chamber, as demanded by the ritual. The worshippers settled down onto the stone benches that lined both long sides of the temple, reclining horizontally and propping themselves up on their elbows as the pater watched his assistants take the torches down from their iron wall loops and walk them away up the temple’s steps, the light receding up the stairs in bright haloes until the only remaining source of illumination was a single small lamp which an acolyte, almost invisible in his dark red garments, placed reverently in the priest’s hands. After a moment of utter silence, the only sound that of his congregation breathing in the darkness, the pater raised the pinpoint of flame to illuminate his face, his eyes closed against the flame’s brightness. He blew out the lamp, and the temple chamber was plunged into complete darkness. Marcus’s keen ears picked up a faint rustle from behind the frieze, and then a soft halo of light appeared to surround the marble slab. A point of light rose into view; it came from a small lamp carried by an acolyte, and as he deposited it before the frieze the tiny flame breathed gentle life into the picture it portrayed. The temple’s pater spoke again, still invisible in the darkness.
‘Beloved brothers, and welcome visitors from beyond our city’s walls, we now join in the ritual of our beloved Lord, Mithras the Unconquered, who spilled the eternal blood of the bull at the command of Sol, God of the Sun, to save us all. Let us pray that he looks down on us from his place in the heavens with the Sun God, and give thanks for all the wonders he has given us.’
‘You took a big chance coming here, Centurion. It’s a good thing I suspected you’d appear at our door sometime soon, and persuaded my business partner’s men to go easy on you if you did. Or would you have taken them on with your bare hands and that stick?’
Annia nodded to Julius’s vine stick, laid carefully on the table before him, and the big man smiled ruefully.
‘Probably not, given the size of them.’
He tipped his head to Slap, standing in the room’s corner and carefully positioned to be within listening distance whilst giving the illusion of some privacy, and the big man smirked back at him. Annia shook her head at him with a gentle smile.
‘Exactly. Although you never were a man for thinking through the consequences of your actions, were you? But you’re here, so let’s see if we can’t entertain you. Girls!’ She snapped her fingers with the manner of a woman who was used to having her commands obeyed, and a line of five women emerged from behind a curtain where they had clearly been waiting for the evening’s customers. Eyeing them appreciatively, Julius found himself hardening despite having no intention of sampling the brothel’s wares. Annia smiled knowingly, leaning forward to stroke his erect manhood through the tunic’s fine wool. ‘Well, some things never change. If anything I’d say that’s got a little bigger. Clearly some things do improve with age. Will you partake of a little enjoyment, Centurion, on the house, of course? It must be a long time since you’ve had the opportunity to ride anything quite as soft and eager to please as my girls.’
Julius surveyed the line of women for a moment, noting with a smile how neatly any and every taste was catered for. From a skinny girl scarcely old enough to be considered fit for her role, her apple-sized breasts barely hidden beneath a skimpy shift, to a mature woman in the last flush of her beauty, ripe and sultry with heavy breasts and a face that promised a lifetime’s experience, any age of female company a man might desire was paraded before him. He swallowed, painfully aware of both his own arousal and the woman’s cool, amused eyes upon him.
‘I came to talk, Annia, not to…’
‘Not to fuck? You’re a collector’s item, Centurion, an outright rarity. We have the occasional men that pay simply to have the company of a pretty girl, but they tend to be the older men whose cocks have lost their bounce, not fighting bulls like you with their pricks standing at attention. I’ll bet you wouldn’t last thirty seconds in the hands of Helvia there.’ She gestured to the oldest of the women, who winked on cue and slid a finger down into her vagina’s hairy cleft with a winsome smile. Julius’s face must have been a picture, for Annia burst into a peal of uncontrollable laughter. For a moment he was fifteen years old again, with that same laugh thrilling him as she climbed on top of him in one of their hiding places. She reached out and squeezed his penis again, and watched with a smile as he fought to retain control. ‘See. You very nearly released yourself into that nice tunic, and all you’ve had so far is a wink and a gentle squeeze. So..?’