Back at Meander’s camp, Maciste had slipped away unseen. He’d let himself be taken by the enemy. Stuck in a pigsty, still hoping to surrender to their general as Prince Menander. But first he’d got a problem, with a gang of Parthian thugs taunting him from outside. Planning on toying with his arse. Like hell!
“Come out and play, arsehole.”
Men planning on getting their rocks off mocked him through the door. Sweating in this stink, Maciste had toyed with the idea that the sergeant might have had something between the ears. Maciste had shown them his fighting skills. He could hope the prick of a sergeant might have woken up and realised there might be something in Maciste’s unlikely tale. That they really did have the enemy prince in their hands. At the very least, someone exceptional .. as a fighter. After all, it would be HIM up to his neck in pig-shit if the sergeant missed the trick.
“Shift your arse out here, pig-shit. It’s got work to do.”
Evil-minded voices laughed. But the joke was on their side. Maciste guessed what kind of work they meant. The taunting said they were not aiming to take him to Tiradates. The soldiers had plans on working on his arse.
“You want us to come and get you?”
The soldier’s voice said they’d like nothing better. Come in and kick Maciste around in the pig-shit a bit .. just for the fun of it. Before getting down to the real stuff …….
“Let’s go get him, boys. Get his fucking arse outta there.”
Maciste was up. Fight-ready for them to unbolt the door. The glare of the late afternoon sun burst into the sty. Maciste was blinded, he squinted into the light.
“Get the fuck out here, arsehole.”
Beyond the glare Maciste imagine the eager soldiers sneering. Had a message got through to Tiradates? Or had they only come for their bit of fun?