The Immortal
Chapter 1: The Desert, The Town And The God That Was James

Copyright© 2010 by RicS

Historical Sex Story: Chapter 1: The Desert, The Town And The God That Was James - Imagine waking in the desert over 2,000 years before you were even born. You are healthy, very fit, and seemingly immune from injury. You have no idea how or why you are in this foreign and ancient land? This is to be a very long story, a new chapter hopefully posted each Friday. It starts slowly but builds to scenes of erotica as our hero makes his way through the ancient world. Our hero has a mission but no one bothered to mention this to him.

Caution: This Historical Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   mt/ft   Ma/ft   mt/Fa   Fa/Fa   ft/ft   Fa/ft   Mult   Consensual   Romantic   NonConsensual   Rape   Coercion   Slavery   BiSexual   Heterosexual   Science Fiction   Historical   Incest   MaleDom   Rough   Humiliation   Sadistic   Torture   Group Sex   Orgy   Harem   Polygamy/Polyamory   Interracial   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   Sex Toys   Pregnancy   Exhibitionism   Voyeurism   Violence   Military  

Author's note:

Vampdragon and BarneyR edited this Chapter. Many thanks for their assistance.

This story is a serious attempt at a plotted developed story. I'm currently way too ill to review it well so please consider this a rough draft. A great deal of research still needs to be carried it to ensure historic accuracy. Any expert in the era is welcome to point out any errors or to provide suggestions, criticisms or comments.

Because life includes sex, so does this story and some of it quite graphic and very violent. I make no apologies for this. As far as I am aware the sex is historically accurate as well.

The story starts slow to set the scene. The first sex scene does not even occur until Chapter 3.


He awoke on the hard dusty ground. 'This can't be right' he thought. 'I'm dead, not in purgatory'.

But he didn't feel dead. He didn't feel bad at all. All right, he was groggy and the ground was certainly hard but there was no pain.

'Why was there no pain, ' that made no sense. Ever since he snapped his spine in Afghanistan he had never been without pain. But he wasn't in Afghanistan. It didn't feel right, smell right, nor was the sky the right colour. And he had not been in Afghanistan in years. He had been home in Australia, living his life as best as he could, which was to say, badly.

Fifty-one he was, and in appalling medical condition. His spinal column was collapsing. His kidneys had started to fail. His liver function was shot and his blood sugars made no sense even with the most severe diabetes.

The last he remembered was being prepped for surgery, then nothing until this. He must be dreaming. 'Yeah that's it. They say that under generals you can have vivid hallucinations, ' but the sun was beating down on his naked form and the wind was blowing very fine sand across his body. Even on a good day, his dreams were not that realistic.

He moved. No pain but incredible strength under his skin. His muscles that were finely tuned. He felt a little like this when he ran marathons as a young Naval Cadet but not quite this good. Everything was as if it was perfect. Then he looked down. Something was very wrong. He was bigger. His muscles were very pronounced, even his cock was bigger, not that this was exactly what he was concentrating on at the moment. He was trying to fathom what the hell had happened to him.

He stretched and gingerly rose to his feet. It was then that he found that he was also taller. It was clear he stood just that much further from the ground. Before the injuries he had been about 180cm, or 5-11 in the old language but he had lost height with the collapse of vertebrae. Now he felt several inches taller.

It really was hot and the dust was blasting against his skin. Wherever he was, it was dry, that's for sure. He saw scrub here and there but mostly this was dry desert free of even the most tenacious vegetation and certainly of any other life. Funnily enough, he wasn't sweating. That had been a real problem with his injury: the sweats, the fevers, the constant peaks in temperatures. Here though, wherever the hell 'here' was, in direct sunlight, he estimated near midday in a very hot clime there wasn't even the sheen of perspiration.

How long he stood still he knew not. He was content for the moment feeling the sun on his naked form; feeling the very slight breeze that puffed every few minutes; smelling the slight salt and smell of sand, very ancient sand; listening to the minute sounds of sand scuffing off the dunes as the wind picked up slightly on each edge; hearing the cry of a predator high in the very blue sky so distant that the bird should have been but a speck.

He sensed them a very long time before he saw them or even knew what or who they were. He smelt them before he saw them. The stench was overpowering. Camels being led by tribesmen. They had breached a sand dune and were travelling obliquely to where he was standing until one spotted him and the small caravan diverted in his direction. He stood still. The clothes were not familiar. They weren't Afghanis, nor Bedouin, as best as he could tell but they had their faces covered against the sand and were wearing robes wrapped about their body, the cloth looking very rough and very, very dirty. Clearly it wasn't just the camels that he had smelled.

What he couldn't quite understand was that the caravan was at least a mile away from him yet he could make out incredible detail, including the curve and the nicks of the blades carried by the men, the lack of any rifles or anything else even remotely modern for that matter, and the fact that he could smell their approach from such a long distance. Then he realised he could also hear them talk. Pity he understood not a word they were saying. It sounded a little like Arabic but with more of a lilt, almost as if the words were said as part of a song.

He did realise he was thinking in English, so his whole world had not changed. He started thinking and realised he could remember cars, missiles, Presidents, Prime Ministers and a myriad of other facts of modern life that he had lived so he was still James Patterson. Yeah, he got it a lot. No, he was no relation to the writer, although he did read his books, at least the ones he wrote himself without some 'co-author'.

He had no idea what was going on but it was pretty clear he was 'no longer in Kansas', not that he had ever been there anyway. Well he had visited Kansas, Queensland once but he did not think that counted. His physical shape may have been incredible, a body that would not just require hours in a gym but hard physical work. He may have felt more alive and in tune with the world than he even did when he was a very young man but he understood none of it.

Even his body didn't seem to be his age. The hairs on his chest were not grey or as thick. His hands had no scaring, nor did the rest of his body and that was one thing that he had had a great deal of, scars.

Having no other choice or really any explanation of what was going on, he stood still and waited for the caravan to approach. He stood impassive under the hot sun. As the caravan finally reached near to James, they slowed and swords were drawn. 'Abja Beduji' was called by a taller thin man not quite at the front of the caravan but whom James sensed immediately to be the leader. Unfortunately, James had no idea what the language was. He had figured it was a bit like Arabic but not quite but his Arabic sucked anyway. Considering his options were not exactly extensive, he stood there and said nothing.

A stockier man approached, sword held menacingly, looking at this light brown man, with no facial growth, short hair, no clothes, and seemingly no fear. The sword was raised as if to strike but James just stood there impassively. After all, this was a dream or a hallucination anyway. If he were to die, a sword that large would be rather quick. And quite aside from attempting combat unclothed on hot sand, he stood weaponless against a man who seemed quite skilled with the rather wicked looking curved blade brandished at him. Any action that precipitated attacked seemed to be senseless.

The taller man approached and when he neared, the stockier man attempted to have James bow. James refused. He bowed to no man. He did not believe in subservience of that type. He may have saluted some officers he detested but that was an acknowledgement of the rank, not the man. This seemed altogether different. With lightning speed, the blade slashed towards James. Normally it would have severed his head but with equally lightning speed James reacted, stepping into the swing, catching the arm of the man as the heavy blade was swung with enormous force and with the slightest nudge with his open hand shattered the man's elbow. James had no idea what he had done or even how he had done it. He just did.

The taller man stood impassively staring at James before raising has hand. As if waiting for a drum roll that never came the man stayed still for a time then simply dropped his arm. Within moments, archers that had moved around to the side of the three men while James had been staring at the two approaching men, loosed short but very accurate arrows from a distance of only 50 yards or so. James realised that he had sensed the archers' presence but had not considered the implications. He did now, reacting just as fast as with the sword, spinning and actually catching with his hand two arrows that flew almost together. But the third was much lower and he did not even attempt to stop it. He did not quite know why. It struck very low in his abdomen with a sickening thud and ... shattered. The bronze tip seemed to be very sharp. A bodkin design James though idly without even realising he knew the names of arrow points in the first place. But it had just bounced off his skin. No mark. No blood. Nothing.

More arrows rained down and James swatted them away for a time but grew a little tired of doing so and turned back towards the man who was now plainly quite fearful, the look of astonishment blended with fear towards this naked man with apparently the powers of a god. The taller man slowly began backing away.

James called out, 'STOP!' and the man did exactly that. James continued, 'Tell your archers to stop shooting those blasted arrows at me or I will start to turn them towards you. I grow tired of this.'

The man looked blankly but still fearfully. James repeated himself louder and angrier but still the man did nothing but stare at James with real terror on his face by this point. James realised that the language was unknown. The blank look that melded with the terror to make an almost comical appearance suggested the language was completely unknown to the man. It should have been obvious but James was in a desert, naked, apparently very fit, immune to arrows, and still hadn't quite worked out what type of dream could be this realistic. So perhaps he could be forgiven for not being all that sharp just at the moment. But having worked out the language difficulties, James portrayed in sign language in no uncertain terms what he wanted. The man immediately called out a series of commands and the archers stopped.

James was thirsty. The day was extremely hot and the very fine dust blowing was parching his throat. Ignoring the man that had ordered the archers or the man on the ground moaning, James reached down, collected the scimitar, the sword that the stocky man had attempted to use, and walked right past the fearful man towards the caravan. The men at the caravan actually cowered behind the camels as James approached. Firstly, James realised that he was much taller than the tallest man there and secondly he was very pale in comparison to their skin colour. He also didn't stink, James thought to himself and chuckled, which seemed to terrify the men even more.

James approached a camel and lifted a bladder from the saddle arm, unstoppered it and sniffed. It wasn't water. It was wine. 'Any port in a storm' James thought and wondered why he managed to dream up wine in this amazing hallucination. He didn't mind the hallucination so much except the fine dust pounding him was a little annoying and he wondered why he had to dream up the stench to go with the rest. James took a large swig and choked. The stuff was nothing like the wine he was used to. This was bitter and very alcoholic. Almost like drinking vinegar fortified.

Ignoring the discomfort of the men with the caravan, James expertly wrapped the rough woven cloth presented to him by very shaky hands around himself to create a cloak and joined the caravan, climbing onto a camel. The men gathered around their leader and the discussion went on for a long time before the caravan gathered itself together and started moving again. The stocky man that had attempted to cut James down had been left where he lay. The caravan moved off.

When the caravan camped James realised that there were three women in the group, one appeared to be young and very attractive but was covered virtually head to foot. James stayed with the caravan of forty odd camels and perhaps fifty men for almost three weeks. He was polite to anyone that came close to him, said, "Thank you' when he was offered drink, but otherwise kept somewhat to himself, watching and listening. At first, the words were gibberish but over only a few days James started to understand the language. The first thing he discovered is just how terrified the men were of him and just how many times it was raised that some attempt should be made on his life, to have it dismissed repeatedly by the tall man that was obviously in charge. Two of the women were treated poorly as if they were servants or even slaves but the young one was not touched by anyone nor required to do anything. James also noticed no one spoke to her.

Eventually James could see in the far horizon, buildings. Without conscious thought or effort, James' eyes zoomed in and he could make out significant details. This phenomena was still was causing James problems. Getting used to such abilities as hearing the scuttling of a scorpion hundreds of feet away or being able to stare directly into the eye of a bird of prey circling many hundreds of feet above the caravan took some considerable doing. While James was offered food, which he took, it did not seem important that he have more than a minimal amount of sustenance or even liquid. He could go all day without drinking. But then again he didn't sweat at all and urinated so infrequently he wondered why he even bothered. Since it was his hallucination why not just not do it. He tried but found that this did not work. Discomfort took a very long time but it did come on and then built up. So hallucination or not, James urinated.

By the time the buildings had come into view, James was convinced that he had either died on the operating table and this was just his brain shutting down or he had lapsed into a coma and this reality was what he had devised to keep himself entertained. He leaned towards the brain shutting down theory. He had been a big fan of 'Ashes to Ashes' and the DI in that story had created a fantasy world that went for months in the time between when she was shot and the time of getting to hospital with a bullet in the front of her brain. He knew the brain took seven minutes to shut down and during that time significant brain activity had been recorded in some patients.

What James had not even considered is perhaps he was actually travelling on a caravan somewhere in North Africa probably not even in modern times. That was just too ridiculous to contemplate. Far more likely that he was in a coma and going through a vivid dream.

By the time they reached the town, James now understood the language quite well. He had learned that the caravan were slave traders returning from delivering a group of slaves to a mine in what sounded like the edge of hell. He now well understood that the girl was 12 and was a gift to be presented to the owner of the caravan, a wealthy man that was currently staying in the town they were coming to but who normally lived in Rome. He had found out that the galleys that crossed the Mediterranean were dangerous and many lives were lost during violent storms. He also discovered that life was cheap for those in the caravan. They cared little that the man had been left to die from his injury when he had attempted to detached James' head and not a wit for the slaves that it seemed would be worked in the mine until unable to keep going because the workers were constantly getting sick.

The girl, Rebekkah, was the daughter of slaves but her exceptional beauty was such that she had been spared the hard physical labour that was the lot of other slaves and was groomed to be a concubine or plaything of a wealthy man. It just happened that the owner of the caravan had been in the position to help the overseer of the mine and, in repayment he decided Rebekkah was a gift appropriate to the assistance provided.

James was shocked to learn that the owner of the Caravan was known for his exceptional cruelty to girls. He much enjoyed slowly destroying them by impaling them on progressively larger objects until they would be forced to have sex with horses. Many were trampled by the animals. Others died from ruptures to their uterus. The man apparently liked to watch the girls slowly succumb to the larger and larger objects until some permanent damage made them useless and they were then dispatched. James decided that this would not be the fate of Rebbekah although he had not thought of how he would achieve this feat. He figured it was his hallucination and so he could do pretty much anything he liked.

So James kept his thoughts his own and stayed on the camel, entering the portside town in an area that he thought was probably somewhere near modern day El Alemain. His recall of history books had brought up visions of a harbour and a fort like structure that matched the area the caravan came too. But once he entered the town it was very clear that this was not just a little in the past but many centuries in the past. In fact, James started to get the uncomfortable feeling that Christ had not yet even been born, the civilisation was that ancient.

Since Rome had been mentioned and it was clear that it was a major power, James realised at least he was in the era where the Roman Empire was significant although exactly when he did not know. James had always been interested in Rome and on a whim decided that since his hallucination seemed to show no signs of stopping and it had already been a month that he might as well see if he could get to Rome.

The caravan stopped at a corralled area and the tall man, Mustafa, James had learned, grasped Rebekkah by the arm and, very carefully avoiding walking too near James, started to walk away towards the ocean. James decided to follow and did just that, much to Mustafa's discomfort. Mustafa stopped at a large building and was bid enter, the doors shut again before James could reach the arched entrance. Figuring that his hallucination was his to basically control however he wanted, he boldly marched to the entrance, covered he noted by beautifully glazed blue hued mosaic, and pounded on the gateway. A peephole opened for a moment and slammed closed just as quickly. Mustafa obviously had suggested that this strange man should not be welcomed. James had decided that Rebekkah was not going to be left to the fate that the men had discussed, even in a hallucination and so searched for a way into the building. Unknown to him, this was the main house of a very wealthy man. It was virtually a fortress facing outwards, with courtyards, gardens and the like on the inside of the barrier to the rest of the world. Bandits attacked the wealthy in this era and force was respected more than justice was for the most part. Only the religious leaders and the elite rulers could have faith in their protection most of the time. Nevertheless, generally, they did not move around without guards in any case.

There is a big difference between learning history at High School and knowing how people lived 2400 years before you were even born. James' knowledge of history was excellent. He even had a degree in Religious History and was reasonably aware of the major events of history from about the time of Julius Caesar. However, he had almost no understanding of how ancient peoples actually lived. He was used to a society where there were cell phones, 911 to call if you were in trouble, and a Police force that would come to the aid of citizens in time of need. Sure houses might still be robbed but the big difference was the severity of the penalty between the ages and the willingness to kill to get away in the time that he found himself in.

In his day, life had a value. ER teams worked on 90-year-old patients for some time when they suffered a heart attack. A baby could expect hundreds of thousands spent on it if born early and would very likely live. This, however, was not his modern society. A baby born not at full term was discarded. A thief was likely killed but certainly the punishment would be extreme even if that fate was not to behalf him or her. So perhaps it was not the brightest of ideas to attempt to break into a wealthy citizen's main accommodation.

The trouble is James knew none of this, nor that this was not a hallucination. He was actually in a seaside town very near what became El Alemain, in 402BC. The Romans were well into their siege of Veii, an Etruscan city, although it would be a very long ten years in all before the Romans would defeat the Etruscans. It could be said that the Roman Empire as most understand it to be was just coming into its own. An interesting time to be alive, but certainly not a safe time or a time where life was considered of much value for most people.

James found a stake on the side of a cart that was easily removed. He used that to press into the gate and lever on it. With surprisingly little effort, the gate started to fail and then suddenly shattered, allowing James to enter.

James was not prepared for as more than twenty men armed with either spears or curved swords. Some had bows. He was attacked without warning, although with a start, James realised he had actually sensed the presence of every one of the men as he was attempting to create an opening to enter through. He had simply not understood what he had sensed and so had ignored the information he had at his disposal. Not that it seemed to matter much as the whirl of bodies was impossible to follow but James was moving at a speed defending against attack that even he did not comprehend. He attacked anybody that attacked him, he deflected sword thrusts, spears and arrows and, not really realising his strength, was doing immense damage to the men confronting him. Some died. Some suffered fractured skulls or broken bones. The lucky ones were just bruised.

'Holy Crap' James thought to himself when he stopped countering the attacks. The bodies were piled up around an entrance courtyard. This was not the livestock entrance or for slaves. This entrance was for honoured guests and was paved with mosaic. It contained statuary, fragrant plants and water features. Just at the moment, it contained bodies and the injured, with blood everywhere. The amount of gore was actually making James' stomach queasy even though he was the one responsible for it.

Somehow, a sword had gotten into his left hand but he didn't remember pulling it or even where it came from. He had been aware of a strike on his back when four men had attacked at once and one blow breached his whirling defences. But he felt no pain and had no movement difficulties. He could see no blood on his body although it was a bit hard to check in the middle of his upper back.

The whole episode had lasted less than 20 seconds and in that incredibly short amount of time, James had brought down 23 heavily armed attackers, sustaining only one impact, and that did not seem to have caused any real damage. He was not even breathing hard and still no sweat although this day was very hot. He had some blood on his rough cloth robe but it certainly was not his.

Mustafa came rushing into the courtyard, followed by a very fat man. He skidded to a stop as soon as he realised James was still standing but he was the only one. The fat man, Jacobi, talked softly to Mustafa, his eyes glancing up. Despite the fact that the two men were at least forty feet from James he heard the words clearly and now understood what had been said. Jacobi had said 'Archers' but Mustafa had very slowly shook his head.

Then Mustafa did an amazing thing, he bowed to James. This was not the bow of someone at a dance though. Rather Mustafa prostrated himself before James, kneeling with his arms pressed flat against the courtyard tiles. Jacobi stood looking amazed then Mustafa called harshly, 'Sire, you must do so if you value your life. This is a God or the Devil. I do not know which but he is immune to any weapon and cannot be killed. We attempted to poison him five times and nothing happened. Not even cramps. He truly is someone to be feared.'

Until this point, none of this had been real. It was an interesting hallucination a la "Life on Mars" but other than that it was certainly not real. However, the men lying about him certainly looked real and their groans and bleeding certainly looked real. The coppery distinct smell of blood and the rank odour of bowels that had released certainly smelt real. Despite these smells James could smell the fear emanating from Mustafa, again without conscious effort, as well as sense the anger of some of the archers surrounding the courtyard. He quickly understood that many of the injured where their friends and colleagues and he had done great harm to them. He had crashed through the defences of the building and their friends were simply protecting their master's territory and property. Some had died doing so.

Indeed, one man was so angry that his brother was amongst the dead that he ignored the lack of orders to fire and loosed a very short dart like arrow at the back of the devil within their home. James was aware that the arrow was being drawn back and even that it was being fired but he was not angry. He was actually suddenly overcome with sadness for the death and injuries he had caused and did not blame the archer one bit. However, he did turn slightly and caught the arrow as if it was a slow Frisbee, breaking it over his knee and throwing it to the ground.

Mustafa yelled, 'Kill that archer! DO NOT anger this God.'

James spoke for the first time since giving up saying thank you after the second day with the caravan. His voice was low but carried a very long distance and its tone was extremely menacing. 'You will do no such thing. Leave the archer be. Let no harm come to him. That is my command.'

That he had said the words in perfect ancient Latin of the end of the 4th century BC, the language that Mustafa spoke to Jacobi, and not Ancient Aramaic, the language of the caravan, didn't even register with James. Somehow James understood the language simply from hearing it spoken by a very few people in the town while he had made his way through it.

This was not the Latin they taught in Eton or Oxford. It was far more ancient than that and was still heavily influenced by Etruscan since Rome was still heavily influenced by that empire that predated theirs by many thousands of years and came right up to 10 miles from the centre of Rome even in the era James found himself in. Nevertheless, the inflection James used was very elitist. He spoke as only the highest of Roman society would speak. James knew none of this of course. He didn't even think he had spoken anything but English.

James suddenly realised two very important things. He was not in a hallucination or if he was it was so detailed and so real that he had no way of distinguishing from reality anyway. Moreover, he suddenly had drawn enormous attention to himself. He realised that this was probably not a good thing. He had no understanding of the culture he was in, the societal rules, had no money, no friends, a single sword and a rough robe. He vaguely calculated that being thought of as a God might raise just a tad too much attention to stick around for however long he was stuck in North Africa, a very long time in the past.

'My servant Mustafa, bring me the finest wine and a seat for my weary body but first of all see to the men in this courtyard and do everything that can be done for their welfare. This I now COMMAND!'

James figured that would have the effect of creating the impression of someone with huge power but maybe not a God, although, just how anyone could explain his actions other than god like even he did not have the faintest idea. But his sadness for the injured men remained.

As people moved into the courtyard to look at the wounded, he carried out triage in his mind on the injured, directing those to the men that could possibly be treated, even indicating in detail how they should be treated, very clearly utilising only the herbs, medicines and tools that would be found in such a manor or by the local physician. Still, his actions, applying common sense and real battle triage of over 2,000 years hence would save four men that would otherwise have died and three more would not suffer infections that would likely have been also fatal.

Jacobi and Mustafa had no idea how to react to James. He had killed many of Jacobi's best bodyguards and now he was ordering care and treatment for the injured that was detailed and in some cases, totally unknown to the time he was in but the tools and equipment were available to do the work, had the actual treatment have been known. None of that made any sense.

A throne like chair had been brought for James and he sat in the shade at the edge of the courtyard, directing medical treatment until those that could be treated were treated. He then very reluctantly but understanding the lack of care and possibly lingering deaths awaiting those that could not be treated, he ordered the slaying of those that could not be helped to the best of James' ability.

Over the next week James partook of the hospitality of Jacobi, arranging for simple but very expensive white clothes, not exactly in the style of the Romans of the time but close enough so that they would not attract enormous attention. They had pockets for instance but well concealed. He also obtained a sword of great artisanship, with a multi folded blade, somewhere between the style of the Arab and of the much later Samurai. There had been a sword maker in the city that had been highly innovative but because the swords he created required a modified fighting style there were not many buyers except those very wealthy that purchased them for their beauty alone.

James had decided that since he was stuck in this world, whatever it was to him, and it appeared that he had some of the characteristics at least of someone immortal, that he would explore it a bit and bade Jacobi to arrange passage for him to Rome on the safest craft then available. He also had Jacobi give Rebekkah to him as a "gift" to ensure his continuing pleasure. The food was very unusual and it took James some getting used to. Quite unexpectedly, the strangest thing was that James missed music. He was used to working with an iPod on or music playing from some source and the noise and rhythms of the city were strange enough without the loss of something that he enjoyed so much.

However, considering, he seemed to be extremely healthy, had strange powers that ensured that he seemed to be able to be unharmed, his mind was operating at a level that he found staggering, all in all, James decided that missing a bit of music was not a huge imposition. Actually, when he thought about it, he could actually have songs play in his head extremely well and so he found that he could entertain himself in the manner in which he was used to in any case and so he gradually settled into life in a very strange land with strange customs, strange languages, and quite offensive smells. Out of all this strangeness, it was the smells that he really was having a hard time getting used to.

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