From the day that Selene first entered the palace, Queen Iona had resolved that she should not lack playmates of her own age. Accordingly she had selected, from the best families in the land, five little girls to be the Princess’ personal companions. Eight years on, the same girls were still there, only now they showed all the signs of their budding womanhood.

The girls were all delighted at the new addition to their circle. Alexis was the first boy-eunuch that any of them had seen close to: a boy who had had that operation they all knew about: an operation on the boy’s privates, so that he could never “do it” with a girl – could never “get it in” – could never spurt inside her and start a baby. The very thought of it made them dissolve into giggles;

Alexis for his part did not disappoint them by any lack of talent. He loved to dance, and had learned the vigorous style of dancing that was the favourite among the people of the region where he had been born. For this he would discard his tunic and dance naked apart from a gold belt around his waist, to which there were attached minuscule linen aprons front and back. As his flying feet twirled around the floor, the material would lift, affording the delighted girls a view of his enticingly-curved behind, and his neat little penis.

If the girls were thrilled by his dancing, they were entranced beyond measure by the story of how he was made a eunuch – a story they were never tired of hearing, nor Alexis of telling. How in his home village a dirty little girl – a pig-keeper’s daughter – had enticed him into her room (“Alexy, I want to do it so badly!”) and how she had egged him on (“Push harder, Alexy, push harder!”) until he had burst her hymen…….

They had been caught in the act, and the girl’s enraged father had sent for the barber-surgeon, who was Greek, and well practised in castrating boys. He was versed in several methods: crushing between thumb and forefinger; severing the spermatic vessels, and many others, but on seeing Alexis’ chubby sex package, he advised that the best course was to take the boy’s testicles right out. He set out his castrating-tools and heated a small brazier for cauterising the wounds.

Then, while willing hands held Alexis down on a pig-bench (usually used for dismembering slaughtered animals) the barber-surgeon took hold of the boy’s genitals and began to castrate him. The boy’s shrieks could soon be heard all over the village. “Don’t cry so much” the barber growled at him. “Crying won’t make it hurt any less”. A crowd of onlookers gathered: other boys who laughed at Alexis’ humiliation, and the dirty little girl, who hid her embarrassment behind her grubby hand.

Selene’s companions loved to hear this tale. In their imagination they could picture the boy spreadeagled on the bench; they could almost smell the gelding-irons heating; they could hear the boy’s cries and sobs as his testicles were cut out of his scrotum, so that he would never be a man. They could also feel themselves becoming sexually excited and wet between their thighs.

But more than this, the girls all loved Alexis for himself. More than one confided to her best friend that boys were alright really. Perhaps the Queen would allow them some more nice boys to play with – once they’d had those tiresome balls removed! Perhaps they might even be allowed to watch the boys being “done” - having their balls taken out - the thought of it made them start shaking all over.

There was one secret that only Selene knew – and Alexis too. It dated from the first night that Alexis attended the Princess – in her bedchamber. Because Alexis was a eunuch, this was entirely proper. All the Palace was hushed.

“You can take my clothes off now, Alexis” she had told him, and then, when she was naked, “Take yours off too so I can look at you.”. The boy soon overcame his shyness and did as he was told. The Princess ran her eye over the boy’s slim figure. “Your skin is so soft!” she marvelled. “You’re more like a girl!” Her fingers explored the curve of his empty scrotum, fondling his well-shaped little penis.

“Oh, you poor boy!” she murmured as she felt the limp organ that could never go stiff. “Oh Alexis, but it’s sweet” she had exclaimed, and then “Let’s lie on the bed, and then you can kiss mine, and I’ll suck yours”. With gentle fingers she rolled back his foreskin, and lying sprawled on the enormous bed, opened her legs….

And so they played away, throughout the long summer days and nights. They could not see the dark cloud gathering to the west, a cloud with edges of blood and iron, a cloud that shaped itself into a single word: ROME.

……………………….

Out of the west they came, late one autumn day, the sails of their transports black against the evening sky. People along the coast had seen many invading fleets before, and shuddered at what might be in store for them.

But no pirates, these. Whilst the fleet hove-to, a rowing-boat set off for the harbour steps, bringing an officer. This man sought the harbourmaster, and courteously asked permission for the fleet to enter port, and for the amount of the harbour dues. These he paid on the spot, in local coin.

The troops began to disembark, and officers sought billets for the night. Everything provided for the soldiers was paid-for, and in the morning the force moved off.

The country people had seen foreign armies before, from the huge undisciplined hordes of the Medes and Persians shuffling along in no sort of order, to the mincing gait of the Greeks in gilded greaves and short purple tunics that barely covered their private parts. But these were different.

The morning sun awoke gleams of burnished metal, steel and bronze. It shone on the men’s rust-red capes, each man armed and accoutred exactly like his neighbour. At intervals, flashes of other colours relieved the solid wall of rust-red: the leopardskins of the standard-bearers, the wolf-heads of the trumpeters, the white pellisses of the junior officers, the vivid scarlet cloaks of the generals. In perfect step they passed along, formation after formation, two whole Roman legions.

If they made camp near a village, officers were sent to speak with the village elders to select a spot where no harm would be done to crops, flocks and herds. Before the troops moved out next day, all entrenchments would be tidily filled in and all rubbish burned.

All this discipline and order was due to one man. He might be seen by the roadside, appraising his troops as they passed by. A man of middle age and compact figure, with ascetic, patrician features and fair hair grown thin on top from wearing a military helmet for much of his adult life. His purple cloak edged with gold embroidery, and the bayleaf chaplet he always wore, marked him out as the Commander-in-Chief.

As a child he had been given the simple Latin forename Gaius. But in referring to himself he used only his family name: a name which has travelled down the millenia, and has come, in many languages, to signify supreme rank and status. The name? Caesar.

Caesar was aware that his reputation preceded him, a reputation not only for invincibility but also for ruthlessness. His most recent campaign had been away in the South. Here, the king Gotarzes, a vicious and cruel profligate, had set himself up as a despot, in defiance of Rome. Communities down on the coast, mainly of Greeks but with some Roman citizens also, had been the first target.

All adults had been butchered and their bodies thrown into the sea or left to rot. The children had been rounded up and sent to Oriental slave markets, never to be seen again. Back at his palace Gotarzes had set up a harem with eunuchs – not unusual in Oriental courts, except that in this instance, the eunuchs had been Roman youths of good family…….

In the one-and-only pitched battle, Gotarzes’ ill-disciplined troops were soon mopped up. The king took his own life and his body, when found, was hacked to pieces. The thugs who had carried out his hideous orders were shackled to the palace gates and used by a company of javelin-throwers for target practice. Caesar in his despatch to the Senate said that order had been restored, adding drily that since it lay outside his power to restore life to the murdered or virility to the mutilated, he was withdrawing his army……

Like all truly great men Caesar knew his limitations, not only those of a personal kind, but military ones also. Nowhere was that of greater importance than here in Asia, looking to the eastward. Beyond that horizon, like an evil yellow cloud, lay the huge empire of Parthia, the realm of the dreaded Great King, notorious for his mounted archers who aimed their bows from the saddle, often rearwards, and who never missed their targets.

Parthia stretched immeasurably away to unimaginable regions, where vast rivers like the Oxus and Jaxartes never reached any ocean, but were lost in the desert sands. Further still, according to legend, dwelt a race of men who possessed but a single leg, and who hopped along on one enormous foot; another race had no heads, and their faces were in the middle of their chests…..

All this was interesting, thought Caesar, but it did no alter his conviction that there was no merit in conquest for conquest's sake. Least of all the conquest of Parthia. Some years before, Caesar’s political ally and sometime sponsor, the billionaire Crassus, a banker-turned-politician, had made the mistake of supposing that Parthia would be a soft target. The mistake cost him his life – and those of seventy thousand Roman troops who never came home after the battle of Carrhae.

No; the conquest of Parthia was not on the agenda, not now, not ever. Caesar’s aim was to create a ring of buffer-states between the Roman provinces of Asia and Syria, and the Parthian border away to the east. The rulers of these states would pledge themselves to be friendly to Rome and Rome’s interests. In return their own safety and security would be guaranteed. Rome would not meddle in their internal affairs, but would expect any hostile incursions over the border to be contained and crushed. Several of these buffer-states were already in place. The realms of Queen Iona would be a valuable addition, flattening out an awkward salient.

“We shall see what we shall see” said Caesar to no one in particular. Smiling a little, Caesar spurred his horse and re-joined his staff.

Uncertainty made Caesar restless. That night he indulged a weakness that he seldom gave way to. He clapped his hands for his attendant and said “Bring me a boy”.

Wagons following the army carried – among many other things – bedtime companions for officers, both male and female. Of the two, Caesar found boys less complicated. Boys did not pester him to say how much he loved them or with demands that he should marry them. A small gift of money or jewellery was quite sufficient.

The curtains rattled and a doe-eyed little Greek stood before him, wearing a wide smile and nothing else. He was, essentially, like every other little Greek that Caesar had ever encountered, and if asked, his story would have been much the same as that of all the others. While playing on the beach he had become separated from his companions, and abducted by men who had been lurking among the rocks. They had taken him to their hide-out on a remote island. There, being just the right age, he had been gelded, and taught how to please men.

He proved to be a versatile little boy, and Caesar was feeling his age when, an hour later, he felt he had had enough of the boy’s tricks, entrancing though they were, and called for his attendant to give the boy a piece of silver and show him out. As he composed himself for sleep, Caesar reflected, not for the first time, that if a boy’s insides were like a girl’s, he might have had a male heir long ago.

Three days later a travelling-carriage drew up at the palace gates. The three men it had carried wore the simple purple-edged togas of Roman senators, for this was a diplomatic and not a military visit. Caesar had sent a messenger ahead to request an audience with the Queen – not that he seriously expected to be refused.

His two companions were his divisional commanders (“legates”): Titus Labienus and Lucius Cotta. Both had been Caesar’s comrades-in-arms on many campaigns. Both were big men, taller than Caesar by a head. But there was no doubt who it was who dominated the trio.

Attendants led them through cloisters and courtyards, where flowers bloomed and fountains played. At one point they encountered a group of teenage girls who scampered away, giggling. Caesar noticed, amongst the girls, a very good-looking fair-haired boy, and made a mental note.

The Queen received them graciously in her state apartments. They greeted each other formally: “Majesty” and “Lord Caesar”. Wine was brought in jewelled flasks, crystallised fruits on gold plates. Platitudes were exchanged. When Caesar felt this had gone on long enough he began to speak. He spoke at great length, but the atmosphere remained unpropitious.

“I take it, Majesty” Caesar said at last “that you find my proposals unattractive?”

Queen Iona permitted herself a faint smile. “I am too old, Lord Caesar, for changes as great as these. All my life I have been ruler of an independent kingdom, and my fathers before me. For all those years we have felt no threat from Parthia: my little land is hardly worthy of the Great King’s notice. But if I declared myself openly to be a friend to Rome, who knows what the Great King might do? And can you, lord Caesar, actually see me at the head of my troops, marching out to resist him?

“I understand” replied Caesar, and paused. Continuing, “I take it you do not accept my suggestions” he said, in a quiet voice. (He avoided the word “terms”.)

“And if I refuse, lord Caesar, what is my fate?” inquired the Queen in level tones. “Will you take me in chains to Rome, and have me dragged behind your chariot wheels?”

“Majesty, you do me wrong!” rejoined Caesar. “I did not bring two legions here to conquer your country. I came merely to seek your support and friendship. But if you are unwilling to grant me this, I have to look to the security of the Senate and People of Rome in some other way. May I suggest….”

The Queen broke in “Would you have me go into exile?”

Now we are getting somewhere, Caesar thought. “Do not call it exile, Majesty, but rather, honourable retirement, in a way that befits your dignity as a Queen. There are many magnificent villas in my gift, some on the shores of the Mediterranean and Aegean, and some around the Euxine. You would be able to take whatever household you see fit, and the Senate would meet all expenses”.

There was another, much longer pause. The Queen might have been thinking of the fifteen thousand Roman troops camped outside the city walls. Then at last “I accept” she said.

Caesar nodded. “And of course, Majesty, your place must be taken by another”.

The Queen said nothing.

“You have no son, I know. But men say you have a daughter”.

“My daughter is illegitimate” said the Queen in a matter-of-fact voice. “And her father was not of the royal line. His family, and mine, were at odds for generations. The people would never accept her”.

“And are there no other relatives?” pursued Caesar. “Nephews, perhaps, or nieces, or cousins? I observed a very handsome boy just before I met you. “You are not, I hope, going to tell me he is a slave?”

“No, he is not a slave” replied the Queen. “He is free-born, although of no relationship to my family”.

“In that case, Majesty, might you consider adopting him, as I have done with lord Octavian? And if, in addition to that, he and your daughter were betrothed…..”

“The boy is a eunuch” interrupted the Queen.

Titus Labienus, on Caesar’s left, spluttered into his wine-cup. Lucius Cotta hid his face behind his napkin. Caesar alone remained impassive.

“I think, Majesty, that we all need a little more time to think matters over” he said, in a calm voice. “Will you please excuse us?” He bowed, and the three men withdrew.

Later, the three sat together in Caesar’s tent, finishing a simple meal. The Commander-in-Chief ‘s chef was not noted for elaborate field cookery.

The mind of Titus Labienus was already made up. “Caesar, you cannot appoint a eunuch as ruler. It’s - it’s grotesque! It’s as if….”

Caesar waved him to silence with the chicken-leg he was chewing on. “Aristotle wouldn’t have agreed with you.”

“Aristotle, Caesar?”

“The man himself”. Caesar took a draught of wine before continuing. (The wine, by contrast, was very good Falernian, and Caesar never campaigned without a supply). He settled himself back on his couch.

“Aristotle travelled in these parts, as a young man, before setting up as a teacher. In one of these seaboard countries the ruler – the absolute ruler, mind, not just a client-king – was called Hermeias, and he had been a eunuch since boyhood. Aristotle married his niece”.

“His – niece, Caesar?” It was Lucius Cotta who spoke. Cotta, on the battlefield, was accounted the bravest of the brave, but was sometimes slow on the uptake.

“Quite simple, my dear Lucius” Caesar replied. “Hermeias had an intact brother. The two boys were sold into slavery as youngsters and bought by the same master. Hermeias was the good-looking one, and no doubt could sing and dance prettily, so he became the man’s favourite. When he showed signs of becoming a big boy, his master sent him to have his balls cut off, to preserve his good looks. Meanwhile the plain one had been assigned to household chores, and kept his bits”.

“So, Caesar, we would have a precedent, if we wanted?”

“Exactly so, Cotta”.

“And at least, Caesar, he won’t be able to found a new dynasty” added Titus Labienus, with a leer.

“Titus, you are a master of stating the obvious” replied Caesar. He drained the last of his wine. “So now, if we’ve decided that this is the way we’re going – and I think we have- I’m going to bed”.

(The following morning)

When Caesar had made up his mind, things always moved quickly. A fortnight later, the roads out of the city were cleared to allow the passage of a huge train of camels, bullock carts, travelling carriages and litters. Queen Iona was going into retirement, at Trebizond, a pleasant seaside town on the Euxine. Princess Selene and her ccompanions were among the Queen’s entourage. They had no place in Caesar’s scheme of things.

Before she left, Caesar had made the Queen sign a parchment, adopting Alexis into the royal family. This done, Caesar arranged a piece of stage management. All the townspeople were made to assemble in the main square. Trumpets were blown, banners were raised, and a herald proclaimed “Citizens! I present to you Alexis, your undoubted King, the friend of Rome. Shall he enter the city and dwell there?”

A large body of men, selected by Caesar for their powerful voices, responded with “Yea!” at the top of their lungs, and most of the crowd also shouted “Yea!” because it seemed to be expected of them. The trumpets blew again, and Alexis withdrew into the opulence of the royal apartments. This done, Caesar sent for his chief-of-staff. “Strike camp!” he ordered. “We march at first light”.

Time went by.

Caesar’s agents kept the young king on a tight rein and a short budget. With no money for public works, the various schemes begun by Queen Iona fell silent. The half-finished temple of Diana was used by townspeople as a stone-quarry for building their own homes. At the palace the gardens became overgrown and the fountains ran dry, the haunt of lizards and cicadas.

Within the palace there were no longer heard the merry shouts and laughter of young people. Discovering that Alexis had had little or no education Caesar sent him an elderly Greek tutor, Sophron, with orders to give the king a grounding in Graeco-Roman philosophy. The drone of his discourse used to go on for hours.

The leading citizens did not like what they saw. Their country had been humiliated, their splendid cities falling into decline, their queen banished, replaced by a Roman puppet who was neither man nor woman, his condition no better than that of the pampered slave-boys they kept for their own sex-pleasure. Their hearts hardened, and some, inspired by visions of an idealised past, prepared to fight.

Half the Roman world away, Alexis’ protector was also running risks. With advancing age Caesar’s manner was growing ever more haughty and aloof. He had begun to appear in public wearing a purple robe, a diadem and high-heeled red boots, such as had been worn by the hated kings of Rome, expelled five centuries earlier. Here too, in Rome, there were heard murmurs of Peace, Freedom and Liberty.

EPILOGUE

For most mortal men, a thick curtain divides the present from the future. For a very few, the curtain is thinner, transparent, with perhaps a few holes in it.

Alexis was one of the few. One night when all was still, he awoke, sweating and terrified, from a dream. On a marble floor lay the body of a man, killed by a dozen sword-thrusts. He had been dressed in the garb of a Roman senator, but a fold of the toga had been pulled up, hiding his face.

The murder of Julius Caesar on the steps of the senate-house was quick to travel, and Alexis was not the first, nor the only one to hear of it. Not many nights afterwards, as he lay sleeping, his whole world seemed to turn red – then black. Only this was no dream, and there was to be no awakening.

FINIS