Three
“I’m sick of hearing of it, Lieutenant,” Pilate said. He was flat on his stomach on his massage table, naked and glistening with oil. The man working his shoulder muscles was a barrel-chested Egyptian with braided black hair. The bath chamber was heavy with columns, gilded tiles, draperies. “It was one thing to beat the tax collector for cheating us above the usual amounts: He was an example. The defiant drunkard, too. But a woman with her baby? By the gods, man, we’ll have a mob on our hands. We’ve got enough trouble the way it is.”
These words from a man who loved bearbaiting.
“She was a prostitute, Your Excellency.” I stood at attention above his bald head, my crotch level with his eyes. (I’d heard he liked to carry on with his soldiers, though he’d never summoned me to his chamber.) “The people might have stoned her tomorrow for all we know, and she refused to obey my commands.”
The governor signaled for the Egyptian to stop. The servant did so and brought him a sheet. Pilate wrapped himself in it and strolled to his couch. He stretched out on his side, eyeing the insignia on my tunic. His dark eyes were bold and cunning.
“She did not realize your rank, your position here?”
“Of course the bitch knew.”
“And what did you command her to do?” He didn’t bother trying to hide his curiosity.
“The usual things. I wanted to enter her backside. I wanted her tongue inside me. I wanted to bind her.”
“And she resisted?”
“She tried. I tied her down, forced myself into her, with the brat looking on, bawling in his own shit. I backhanded him.”
“Yes, well you might have spared the child.” He motioned to a ewer of wine on a table and the Egyptian brought him a cup. “The Jews won’t tolerate beating one of their children, even one that belongs to a prostitute. I’ve met with two contingents of their priests today.”
“I’ll restrain myself, Your Excellency.”
“If you’re hungry for blood, I can make you head executioner, Lieutenant.” He eyed me impatiently over his cup.
“I will restrain myself.”
“See to it that you do. I won’t have another riot outside my walls.” He waved me away.
In my dark room in the barracks, I removed my uniform and sandals and stretched out on my cot. The arched window framed a moon round and white as a discus. I knew I had gone too far. But since Joshu had dismissed me, fury had driven me to madness. What Pilate didn’t know was that I’d knocked around other whores, as well as two or three Jew boys who’d tried to guard their circumcised shafts the way witless maidens guard their own treasures.
I had never wanted anyone like I wanted Joshu, a superior specimen of manhood—not just in his taut, athletic physique, but also in his thinking. He challenged not only the inane Jewish laws of ritual purity but, at least in private, elements of Roman civilization—the Emperor’s title of divinity, social classes, the possession of slaves.
I shared his disdain. The difference between us was that I at least pretended to abide by the rules and obey the commands of my superiors. Such adherence had won me my rank, and I believed I was destined for greater things, perhaps direct service under Tiberius himself.
Now, however, my ruthlessness had spiraled out of control. My downfall was imminent if I could not restrain my animal urges.