Free Watson, Ian - Novel 16 by Whores of Babylon (v1.1) Page A

much from the
gateway, where two spearmen stood guard: one facing the courtyard, one with his
back to it; both impassive. At this still early hour only a couple of men were
treading the gangways, assessing the women who waited politely, patiently,
never ogling or flashing smiles, neither dropping their gaze nor deploying it
enticingly; so far as Alex could see from where he stood.
                 After
a while one of the men shrugged, tossed down a coin, and said something. The
woman before him rose. Together they headed for the temple hall, side by side.
The other man completed his circuit - dubiously, by no means as eager as the
sparrows which hopped anxiously about - and made his way towards the gate just
as Alex finally strayed inside.
                 Encountering
Alex, the man drawled in Greek, ‘A homely dumpling. A horse. A mouse. A slut.
An urchin. A grandmother. Someone who looks just like my sister. Acne. A pox of
freckles. And three whom I already know! Oh dear. I wish there was a temple
with boys. Last night my friend told me he had seen a girl just like a boy
arrive as they were closing for the night. He was lying, japing me! Or else he
meant that urchin. Maybe he did mean her. Her nose is runny. I’m sure I’d catch
a rheum.’
                 The
fellow reeked of patchouli. His eyes looked drugged, the pupils dilated. His
hair was dandified, oiled and waved. His nose was somewhat crooked, as though
it had once been broken. He was as smoothly clean-shaven as a woman; which made
Alex conscious of his own two-day growth.
                 The
soldier who faced inward began to pay attention. ‘Here, you,’ he said, or
something equivalent in Babylonian.
                 Alex
hastened to put a couple more paces between himself and the presumed pederast.
                 The
man continued speaking Greek: ‘What is it, my bold bullyboy?’ He minced nearer
to the soldier till finally he reached out a finger and softly tapped the spear
point; then he ran his fingertip down the blade.
                The soldier rapped out a string of
Babylonian.
                 In
mock alarm the fellow darted back, and clutched Alex’s arm. ‘My dear, he tells
me I can’t leave until I’ve chosen! Or else he’ll tickle my ribs with that
sharp tool of his.’
                 Alex
shook himself free. He felt oppressed - not naively disgusted so much as
threatened. On the other hand, here was someone who seemed able to play the
system and get away with it.
                 Unless,
in addition to all else, the fellow was an exhibitionist and a masochist;
albeit a cautious masochist, perhaps, who came early to the temple when male
visitors of more straightforward tastes were less likely to gang up on him.
                 Suddenly
inspired, Alex said, ‘You’d like to be sitting on one of those mats, wouldn’t
you?’
                 Whether
this was accurate or not, the dandy growled quite venomously, ‘Oh, my dear!’ He swiftly recovered his
composure. ‘Heigh-ho, it’ll have to be the urchin, then. I’m sure I’ll sneeze
in a rag for a fortnight.’
                 Back
he went, to cast a coin and say something. The skinny figure who arose at his
bidding hardly came up to his chest.
                 It
occurred to Alex that presumably he also couldn’t leave the courtyard till he
had made a choice. So he walked around the gangways slowly, though his heart
beat fast. What if Deborah emerged from the temple hall? What if she only just
now arrived at the gateway? He felt
nakedly exposed, which was ridiculous, considering his role and the women’s -
wasn’t it?
                 Most
of the women had put their hair up in tight buns, fastened by hairpins of
silver or copper or plain bone - depending upon their social status, no doubt,
otherwise it might have been hard to tell a high lady from an