Dark Passion Play
Sahara
The Aurelia juddered as she docked, sending tremors along the deck. It would have knocked any normal man flying, but her crew were well used to it from the thousands of leagues they had travelled on her. In fact, most of the men had sailed with her nearly their whole lives, having left behind their families at a very young age, and never settling down. Except the occasional whore when they docked in foreign, exotic ports, the Aurelia was the only woman for them.
...
Marcus Julius Natalis strolled off the ship onto the docks. The sun burned down onto his wizened skin, the heat waves rolling like the sea, and gold coins jangled in his money bag, which swung back and forth on his belt
“Hey, Marco! Try not to get mugged by a baker, this time!” A rough looking sailor by the name of Dave called mockingly. Marcus ignored the comment and whistled a jaunty tune as he walked, happy that he was in a new port and had just been paid. Wine merchants and beautiful women awaited him, and it was all his. The glories of money! He sighed in contentment and headed off to find a cheaper, if not as high quality, wine stall than the ones on the main street. The calls of the traders rebounded around him as he passed through a noisy marketplace, full of travellers from distant lands, talking animatedly to each other in a multitude of languages. Pausing by a stall covered in papyrus sea charts, he glanced over the wares, closely watched by the eager man behind it.
“Interested in buying, aye? At one gold coin per chart, it’s a bargain, I tell ye!”
“Not at the moment, I’m just looking, thank you. Maybe later.” Marcus wandered away from the trader, who now looked disappointed at not having sold anything. Chancing upon a small backstreet, he spied an old, wooden sign hanging outside a shop with the universal symbol of a bunch of grapes.
“At last!” He thought, as he entered the dimly lit building. Looking around him, he saw shelves and shelves filled with dusty jars and urns, all with the familiar grapes printed on them. A cough alerted him to the presence of the shopkeeper, so he asked politely, “Can I have two bottles of your finest wine, please?” The shopkeeper rubbed his hands together in glee. He knew this man’s type: not the brightest, easy to fool, willing to spend, and in a hurry to get drunk. It was the perfect opportunity to extort money.
“We’re having a sale at the moment, so it’s only seven coins for both bottles, or three bottles for ten coins. Are you sure you still only want two?”
“Oh go on then, I’ll have three, but only because I’m celebrating tonight.” Marcus replied, grudgingly. The shop owner grinned to himself; the man in front of him was so stupid. Did he not know he could get a bottle of wine for a coin on the high street? He handed over the bottles and Marcus immediately pulled the plug off one and drank deeply. He’d not had a drink for quite some time now, and sailing was thirsty work. As dusk was beginning to descend, he decided to find a woman of a certain profession to share the night, and his wine with.
...
The next morning, Marcus awoke to find himself alone, laid in a murky alleyway. He smiled at the memory of the night before; the whore he found was a lively wench; he hadn’t had sex that good in a long while. He reached down to his belt for his last flagon of wine, but sat up suddenly when he found nothing there. He moved his hands around, patting all his pockets, trying to find the whereabouts of his belongings. Jumping up, he scanned the ground around him and swore. There was nothing there. The prostitute must have stolen his wine and his money.
“Fucking bitch!” He yelled, as his stomach growled loudly, echoing his mood. Giving up on his losses, he stalked off to find some food. If all else failed, he could beg on the streets with the rest of the low life scum.
...
Several hours later, he had resorted to catching a stray animal. He skulked around in the slums, searching for something to sustain himself with. The rats were too fast, and all the other animals he’d seen were under the watchful eye of their owner. So when he almost trod on a feral cat sunning itself, he pounced without hesitation. His hands hot out and wrung its neck before it had a chance to react. Without warning, the sky turned black and rain poured down. Ignoring the weather, he pulled out his knife, the only thing the whore had left him, and slit it open. The knife could have been used to steal some food, but despite appearances, he wasn’t a thief. Expertly skinning it, his mouth watered. As he took a huge bite, the blood dribbled down his chin, and back onto the remains of the cat, which were in a pile at his feet. This was the scene the Pharaoh’s soldiers were confronted with when they rounded the corner on their patrol of the area. Their faces turned stony, and then to fear. The wrath of the Gods was sure to come down on this man. Here he was, just a few streets away from the Temple of Anubis, gorging himself on a holy animal. Seeing the Pharaoh’s men, his hope flew away like a red balloon. Realisation dawned upon him, the trouble that his meal would bring. Marcus turned on his heel and sprinted away as fast as he could because he’d just remembered the first rule of visiting Egypt - whatever you do, respect the sacred cat…
...
Marcus Julius Natalis strolled off the ship onto the docks. The sun burned down onto his wizened skin, the heat waves rolling like the sea, and gold coins jangled in his money bag, which swung back and forth on his belt
“Hey, Marco! Try not to get mugged by a baker, this time!” A rough looking sailor by the name of Dave called mockingly. Marcus ignored the comment and whistled a jaunty tune as he walked, happy that he was in a new port and had just been paid. Wine merchants and beautiful women awaited him, and it was all his. The glories of money! He sighed in contentment and headed off to find a cheaper, if not as high quality, wine stall than the ones on the main street. The calls of the traders rebounded around him as he passed through a noisy marketplace, full of travellers from distant lands, talking animatedly to each other in a multitude of languages. Pausing by a stall covered in papyrus sea charts, he glanced over the wares, closely watched by the eager man behind it.
“Interested in buying, aye? At one gold coin per chart, it’s a bargain, I tell ye!”
“Not at the moment, I’m just looking, thank you. Maybe later.” Marcus wandered away from the trader, who now looked disappointed at not having sold anything. Chancing upon a small backstreet, he spied an old, wooden sign hanging outside a shop with the universal symbol of a bunch of grapes.
“At last!” He thought, as he entered the dimly lit building. Looking around him, he saw shelves and shelves filled with dusty jars and urns, all with the familiar grapes printed on them. A cough alerted him to the presence of the shopkeeper, so he asked politely, “Can I have two bottles of your finest wine, please?” The shopkeeper rubbed his hands together in glee. He knew this man’s type: not the brightest, easy to fool, willing to spend, and in a hurry to get drunk. It was the perfect opportunity to extort money.
“We’re having a sale at the moment, so it’s only seven coins for both bottles, or three bottles for ten coins. Are you sure you still only want two?”
“Oh go on then, I’ll have three, but only because I’m celebrating tonight.” Marcus replied, grudgingly. The shop owner grinned to himself; the man in front of him was so stupid. Did he not know he could get a bottle of wine for a coin on the high street? He handed over the bottles and Marcus immediately pulled the plug off one and drank deeply. He’d not had a drink for quite some time now, and sailing was thirsty work. As dusk was beginning to descend, he decided to find a woman of a certain profession to share the night, and his wine with.
...
The next morning, Marcus awoke to find himself alone, laid in a murky alleyway. He smiled at the memory of the night before; the whore he found was a lively wench; he hadn’t had sex that good in a long while. He reached down to his belt for his last flagon of wine, but sat up suddenly when he found nothing there. He moved his hands around, patting all his pockets, trying to find the whereabouts of his belongings. Jumping up, he scanned the ground around him and swore. There was nothing there. The prostitute must have stolen his wine and his money.
“Fucking bitch!” He yelled, as his stomach growled loudly, echoing his mood. Giving up on his losses, he stalked off to find some food. If all else failed, he could beg on the streets with the rest of the low life scum.
...
Several hours later, he had resorted to catching a stray animal. He skulked around in the slums, searching for something to sustain himself with. The rats were too fast, and all the other animals he’d seen were under the watchful eye of their owner. So when he almost trod on a feral cat sunning itself, he pounced without hesitation. His hands hot out and wrung its neck before it had a chance to react. Without warning, the sky turned black and rain poured down. Ignoring the weather, he pulled out his knife, the only thing the whore had left him, and slit it open. The knife could have been used to steal some food, but despite appearances, he wasn’t a thief. Expertly skinning it, his mouth watered. As he took a huge bite, the blood dribbled down his chin, and back onto the remains of the cat, which were in a pile at his feet. This was the scene the Pharaoh’s soldiers were confronted with when they rounded the corner on their patrol of the area. Their faces turned stony, and then to fear. The wrath of the Gods was sure to come down on this man. Here he was, just a few streets away from the Temple of Anubis, gorging himself on a holy animal. Seeing the Pharaoh’s men, his hope flew away like a red balloon. Realisation dawned upon him, the trouble that his meal would bring. Marcus turned on his heel and sprinted away as fast as he could because he’d just remembered the first rule of visiting Egypt - whatever you do, respect the sacred cat…
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