Bookworm Gladiator

The Temple of Baal stood majestically, a giant shadow against the starry sky, with braziers lit along its wall that made the Corinthian columns seem to stretch into the dark heavens. A nymph dressed servant woman with leaves and twigs tied into her braids led me to see Atia.

I'd been summoned to answer for the death of Kano at the city's gates this morning. We entered the archway into the quiet court, and I noticed a line of worshipers at the altar and sacred steps, staring through a gap in the roof that showed the stars above. Around the opening was a circle of engravings and murals. I stared open mouthed at the relief that showed the Gods of Palmyra, trying to understand their names. "Oh Mars, it's..."

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A voice said. It belonged to a Persian woman dressed in a white chiton, with a gold belt fastened tightly under the chest. She carried a palm branch on her belt, no doubt a votive of her Priesthood. I’d seen such symbols used among the Greek Priestesses too—always something to do with dates and branches and olive oil. Though one could accuse my forebears of the same, I’d always been more cognizant of the earth and iron and man’s prowess above all.

“Just the word I was thinking,” I replied, and offered an amicable smile. In a town of strange people and stranger customs, I’d have to keep my thoughts to myself. Besides, she could be a spy for Atia.

“You must be the new biographer of our dear governor,” the woman said, “I’m Layla, in service of Yarhibol.”

Yarhibol? “A pleasure,” I said, “you are Persian, am I correct?”

“Does my hair give it away?” she said, chuckling lightly. She was spot on. Her round face combined with the curly black hair seemed foreign, even for Palmyra; where the local Arameans and mixed folk had dark brown, straight hair that resembled Armenians or Cappadocians. I wasn’t an expert, so it was best I gather as much information as possible.

“I apologize for my frankness,” I said, “but yes, a little.”

“A respectful man in the employ of Atia?” Layla replied with a sudden venomous emphasis on Atia’s name. I was a little taken aback, to be honest, and several inconsistence hammered my thoughts. She named me a biographer of the governor, as was known publicly, but also somehow knew that in his absence, High Priestess Atia was my true master, and I her hapless puppet. Was I speaking to one of her rivals? This could be interesting.

“While I have your ear, could you please explain what I’m looking at?” I said, turning her attention to the Gods of Palmyra that stood above us in the carved relief. There were four of them, in different garb and votives. A couple with halo of what I assumed was the sun atop their heads.

“Of course,” Layla replied, though she still gave me a knowing side-eye before continuing, “there is Yarihibol,” she pointed to one of the figures with the halo, “the Sun God. He is my patron, along with Baalshamin, the Sky God.” The second figure also had a halo and held up a palm branch in his right hand. Both were clean-shaved and their eyes stared across the hall, the hint of a smile on their delicately carved faces.

“And him?” I pointed to the bearded man in the far left, he wore an ancient looking chain-mail with a sword at his hip. He seemed a mix of Zeus and Mars.

“That is Baal,” Layla said evenly, “the Lord of Everything. He is everyone’s patron, even the non-believers, whether they recognize him or not. The High Priestess is the only one that speaks for him, though.”

“You mean Atia?”

Layla nodded slowly, and I couldn’t make out her expression in the dim lighting.

“So Atia’s patron is Baal?”

“Not really,” Layla said, “her true patron is Aglibol, the Moon God.”

I followed the woman’s eyes to the vague, youthful figure in the far right. Partially hidden behind a cypress tree, he peered out and seemed to stare down at us. Stars twinkled above his head.

“Fascinating,” I said, never having seen such a deity before. “So Atia was the Moon God’s Priestess before she rose to the position of High Priestess?”

Layla nodded. She seemed to be deep in thought, having the look of someone trying to grapple with a memory or problem I’d caused her to relive. She must be at odds with Atia. Whether it was local politics, or something in their past, it was something to work with. The grudge might even be due to sectarian reasons.

“Do Persians in Palmyra largely worship the sun god Yarhibol?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me, “Persians like Tiridates?”

“They’re mostly Zoroastrian, but yes, that’s a keen thought,” Layla said, “Local Persians do kneel to Yarhibol.” Before I could follow up with another question, Layla pointed past me, “come, let us join Atia. She’s waiting for me as well, apparently.”

I let her guide me around the grand hall, and we turned into a side corridor that led back outside. I heard laughter and voices around the corner, and some splashing. The nymph servant who’d greeted me earlier, rushed past us balancing a tray of empty goblets.

As I'd expected, there was a nymphaeum behind the temple, a majestic curved structure with engraved nymph creatures flying in all directions, larger than life. But my eyes immediately went to the pool at the foot of the altar, where topless women lounged drinking wine.

One of them was Atia.

"Master Cicero," Atia cried, raising her goblet, "please join us!". Her breasts lifted above the water for a moment, dark nipples glistening in the candlelight.

I stood frozen. With everything that had happened, I expected her to be disappointed, even furious. Anything but this.

"I think his head is draining of blood," one of the women chuckled; a Latin woman with curly hair wet against her chest.

“Layla, dear,” Atia said as the Persian priestess approached the edge of the pool, and offered a curt bow. There was a deafening silence that followed as the two woman considered each other. Atia, leaning back against the marble steps of the pool, and Layla, somehow managing to appear both proud yet amicable.

The silence continued, until Layla finally spoke, “You called for me?”

“Hah!” Atia laughed, and took a moment to sip her wine, “Called for her, she says!” Several other Priestesses smiled nervously. “Dear daughter, I want you to join us! You’ve deserved it.”

Whatever this was, I wanted to be anywhere but here. Either Atia was playing with Layla, testing her, or some other convoluted display of ego. But as disturbing as it was, I couldn’t help but feel a kinship towards the Persian priestess. It was comforting to see I wasn’t alone in possibly taking the brunt of Atia’s cruel plans. Although, I didn’t have the strength to interrupt the exchange, being wholly glad the High Priestess’ attention was not on me for once.

“As you wish,” Layla said, her head still bowed. With royal grace, Layla lifted her dress and slipped out of her sandals. But just as she dipped her toes into the moonlit water, Atia smacked her lips.

“No, silly, not like that,” Atia cried with flushed cheeks and exaggerated movements that sent wine splashing into the pool. “strip down!”

Layla paused, and glanced around nervously. Our eyes met and—it hurt me to be so helpless—but I tore away from her gaze and instead counted my toes. Coward! A voice screamed in my head, and I pictured a man in gray robes cowering in the corner of his dark room.

“I don’t think that is appropriate for a lady of my—“

“You’re not in Parthia anymore, Priestess, and you will follow our customs,” Atia snapped in a stark moment of clarity and directness. She still held her goblet, and held it steady, waiting for Layla to do as she commanded.

Layla took a deep breath, and my cheeks reddened thinking she would actually go through with it. “Of course, High Priestess,” she replied, “but I am also at that time of the month, and would not want to sully your time here tonight.”

“Is that so?” Atia replied, regaining some of her playful demeanor. I dared not imagine what cruel idea could be forming in her mind now as she judged her victim up and down. Perhaps this was the perfect time for me to retreat.

“Bah! You’re no fun, are you?” Atia said, “Go sit in that corner.” She waved her hand dismissively and just like that, Layla ceased to exist in front of Atia. I could feel my mouth dry up as the High Priestess turned her eyes on me.

Atia gestured me forward and my feet followed her command. I took off my sandals and tested the water before stepping in; pleasantly warm and clean. A mistress and her puppet.

"So what is this I hear of this morning?" Atia said, tracing her goblet with her long nails. "Come closer," she snapped as I awkwardly settled down beside her, the water rising up to my chest. "Closer," she said again and her friends laughed.

"So?" she continued, taking a sip of her wine.

"I... it's unfortunate, my lady," I began, "but Kano is... was... a temperamental man."

Atia broke into a colorful chuckle, "oh Cicero, you don't have to defend yourself. Tell us how it happened."

"How who did what?"

"How you killed Kano, of course," Atia said, her smile fading and my heart raced to say something to keep her in a good mood.

"Yes, yes, it was... marvelous," I replied and instantly bit my lip.

"Marvelous?" Atia said flatly, "Come on, you can do better. We heard his guts were all over the road."

"You're not angry?" I asked. "The people are furious with all the damage it caused—"

Atia brushed it off, "Oh the people have the memory of an elephant. They'll forget everything once the games begin."

I was pretty confident that elephants had an incredible memory but I dared not correct her. "We murdered a competitor out on the street," I said carefully.

"I truly underestimated you, Master Cicero," Atia said, "the games have hardly begun and you're out there lopping heads. One less idiot in our way, nay?"

"True," I said, finally relaxing back into the bench we sat on. I realized Atia had also taken off her earrings and the rubies. Her earlobes hung free, dripping...

"You can touch them, if you want," Atia said suddenly, setting her goblet down.

"W-what?"

"Consider it a reward," she said.

"You don't just have to look, my dear scholar," Atia continued smiling, clearly having a little fun but my heart quickened and I found my hand drifting, slowly, up to her face and my fingers gently clasped her earlobe.

"What are you doing!" Atia slapped my hand away from her ear.

"I... you just said that I could..."

"I meant these," she replied, holding up her breasts above the water. Her friends roared with laughter, filling the pool with their spilled wine.