The Handmaiden's Tale (Wander and Chanti)

[Chanti]

Eighteen year old Sophie stared dismally through the arched tower window at the thousands of campfires flickering outside the city walls.

“Breathe”, she thought silently to herself. “Deep breaths. Don’t let her see your fear or it will anger her.”

Beside her, her mistress prattled on and on, pointing out the campfire where her former lover was at. Sophie remembered the man. A typical Grecian warrior, a favorite of Helen’s lovers. The man could be hard and brutal to those he deemed underneath him, and soft-spoken and deferential to those he deemed above him. Women he wanted in his bed that he outranked had been raped without compunction. Those he deemed over his rank had been seduced with beguiling words and warm smiles.

Sophie’s mistress had fallen for those soft words, and Sophie had only avoided being forced into the man’s bed because of how close she was to her mistress.
“But…”

“No buts, Sophie. I insist. He must be tired of living with that rabble. Offer him whatever he wants. His own room here in the palace. A place of stature in Paris’s armies. Just bring him back with you.”

The hard edge to her mistress’s tone told Sophie there would be no argument. There never was. Helen of Troy had always gotten her way and always would. Ever since they had been children together Sophie had vividly seen the domineering, spoiled, calculating nature of her mistress. She had lasted the longest out of any of Helen’s handmaids, because she always remembered her place in Helen’s eyes. Not a friend. Not a childhood playmate. Not a future ally in the world of politics. A servant, despite her own noble birth. Until Sophie was married to the general Paris had promised her to after this terrible war, Sophie would remain a servant. She could not wait to be free of her conceited mistress.

Perhaps this man, if seduced by Helen over to Paris’s side, could help end the war sooner. The thought brought a brief glimmer of hope into Sophie’s heart, despite the nearly overwhelming panic that came from the idea of going out into that sea of hardened warriors. Even if they were her own countrymen….oh how she missed her Grecian homeland!....it was a terrible, terrible risk to go into that camp, a woman alone.

It wasn’t as if she would be the only one. Even this late at night, women came and went from the camp. Mostly camp whores, but more than a few of them were women from the outlying farms, helping their husbands and fathers bring in supplies. None of the soldiers went after those women, under strict orders from their commanders lest the supplies stop coming in. It could be done, even if the idea of doing it terrified her. It was cruel of Helen to demand this of her. The potential consequences for Sophie were horrific. The only consequence to Helen would be that she could be short one helpful and loyal handmaid.

“Very well.” With a sigh, Sophie gave in. Just as she knew she would have to do when Helen first proposed this bizarre plan to “rescue” her beloved from the army camps. Sophie was certain the man wouldn’t be there if he didn’t want to be. But when she had dared to broach that idea, Helen had brushed it off. The idea of a man not wanting her was unthinkable.

Less than an hour, a terrified Sophie slipped out of the spring entrance underneath the city walls. The one hidden entrance into the city, it was guarded by two warriors – both of them easily distracted by their precious Helen stumbling over her own feet and taking a tumble onto the rough ground. When the men had run to Helen to help her up, Sophie had slipped into the tunnel. It was nearly a mile long, stretching far past the point most would look for an entrance. It had been a long, dark journey filled with frightening skitterings in the damp darkness.

When she emerged in the tall river grasses that hid the entrance, the hem of her dark gray peasant gown was wet. In her arm she carried a large basket of bright purple eggplant. People were starving on the streets of the seiged city of Troy, but Helen sent precious food as part of a disguise to seduce her lover.

To an observant eye, Sophie would never pass for a peasant girl as she intended to. Under the rough thick cloth of her robe her body was slender and delicate, with gentle luscious curves. Her face was a narrow, royal oval shape, with big gray blue eyes and a full pink mouth. But it was her hair that truly set her apart. Not rough, hastily tied hair. But bright thick golden hair, carefully braided, gleaming in the flickering light of the campfires as she passed among them, drawing hungry eyes from the soldiers. None approached her, assuming she was on a protected errand. But they all wanted her. She bore an air of innocence and dignity as out of place in this filthy military camp as a Vestal Virgin in a whorehouse. A fresh spring lamb in a den of ravenous wolves.

Sophie walked quickly, head ducked down, trying to hide the trembling of her hands. She could FEEL their eyes on her, prickling her skin as they mentally undressed her. Sophie may be a virgin, but she was not ignorant of the ways of men. Not with the mistress that she had. Her mouth was dry, and when she tried to swallow she could not. Fear threatened to make her heart explode, and she repeatedly fought back bouts of nausea. The walk amongst the campfires was endless, and she feared she would have nightmares of this for months, even if she escaped with her freedom and virginity intact. She did not look around, and therefore did not see the shape of the giant wooden horse standing afar off, barely out of sight of the city walls.

Then she was there, standing at the fire of her mistress’s ex-lover, staring into his astonished eyes. Of course he recognized her. How many times had she been forced to go and fetch him to Helen’s chambers when her husband was away? How many times had she stood by near the door to intervene if someone tried to come in, standing awkwardly in the same room as the lovers grunted and moaned and sweat on each other? The man stood, looking around at his gaping fellow soldiers – three of them sitting around the campfire. With a snarl, he gestured them away. They sat for a moment, then reluctantly stood and moved off into the night.
“My mistress begs you attend her, and offers you whatever compensation you desire.” Sophie kept her voice soft, soft enough only he would hear her.

He narrowed his dark eyes thoughtfully.
“How did you get out of the city?”

“Forgive me, but I only have permission to take you, not tell you.”

The man spit into the fire. Flames sizzled.

“You will tell, cunt. And I will be well rewarded. That bitch of a mistress of yours is more trouble than she is worth. God help the poor bastards she gets in her claws.” He reached for her. Sophie reacted with pure instinct, flinging the basket of eggplant at him, lifting her thin linen gown with her fingers, and running for her life. The soldier moved to block the eggplant and tumbled onto his ass, showered with the heavy vegetables.

Laughter bellowed around her as Helen’s ex-lover cursed, crude suggestions floating through the air from the surrounding campfires to him.
“Stop the bitch! Stop her!”

She heard him bellowing out the commands, but none moved to obey him. The orders of their commanders were firm, and she looked to be one of the peasant girls regularly coming through the camp selling goods. No man was willing to earn a lashing for touching her and earning the wrath of their commanders. By the time the soldier untangled himself from the eggplant and started after her, she was gone.

___________________________________


“I beg your pardon, mistress. He would not come, and tried to stop me and force me to tell me how to get into the city.”

Sophie prostrated herself on the ground in front of her angry mistress, fully aware of Helen’s displeasure. Not only had Sophie failed to bring back Helen’s desired male prize, but she had stumbled in from the spring entrance in a near panic instead of waiting for the agreed upon time, alerting the guards and earning Helen Paris’s wrath. The man had been furious despite Helen’s lie of sending Sophie out for information on the schemes of their enemy.

“You stupid slut.” Helen snarled, reaching down and slapping Sophie’s reddened cheek. It was not the first slap Sophie had endured since coming back into the city.
“If you had offered him all I told you too…”

“Please, I tried. He did not give me a chance. I swear, he was going to…”

“Shut up! Get out of my sight!” In a fit of dramatic pique, Helen threw up her arms and turned away. “I am surrounded by idiots!”

Sophie made good her escape, rushing from the room under the triumphant gazes of her fellow handmaidens. It was rare that the preferred Sophie earned the all-out rage of their mistress, and they enjoyed seeing it. She had no friends amongst her fellow servants. Instead of going to them, she went to the courtyard in front of the city gate, watching her future husband Alkides walk amongst his soldiers on the wall. Alkides was a square, sturdy, abrupt man. He had little gentleness, no romance at all. But he was her future, and she was glad of it. He was her freedom from the cruel, domineering Helen. While he was not necessarily kind, he was not cruel either. In the few times he had spotted her watching him in the past he had offered her a small, sympathetic smile. As if he knew what she was going through. He would be a good husband for her, she was certain. Sophie crouched against the wall of a house, miserable blue eyes fastened on the man that would be her escape from a life of luxurious bondage.

 

[Wander]

How can defeat be defined? Would it be the absolute rendition of the impossible? Or is the scenario whereupon your side of the board comprises of only pawns while the enemy’s side has a double supply of rooks, knights, and bishops, and queens? Well, for the Grecian army either scenario would be befitting for they were at the doorstep of defeat. They may have on their side the greatest warrior known to mankind, the indestructible Demi-God Achilles. But how does one man make the slightest difference? How many men can he compensate for? 10? 20? 50? Certainly not more than 100. Yet, can he be compensated for the impenetrable walls of the heavily guarded forces of Troy? Definitely not.

With this dilemma, the Grecian army stood upon the seashore. Waves of the ocean lashed against the shore in a mighty uproar as Poseidon displayed his might in full wrath. Water was gushing back and forth and if the Grecian army had not set up their camp at a considerable distance from Poseidon’s vast abode, they would have been sleeping on his salty blanket of moistness.

Pacing back and forth just outside his tenement which was a small hut constructed in make shift pattern using calf skin hide fastened tightly upon four strong stilts of bamboo shoots placed parallel to one another in a perfect square, the temporary abode was ill fitting a commander of his stature.

Much to Herodontus’ displeasure, the sand managed to percolate between his feet and attach itself to his toes. A frown of ill amusement coursed through his countenance for the commander of the Grecian army despised sand and everything to do with the sea. It reminded him of the tragedy that swept his entire existence into dismay and left the warrior nothing more than an empty shell with no remorse or empathy.

“Hero! Hero!” The voice seemed to seep through his spine and send a chill across his entire body. ‘If only....’ Thought he with sigh of dismay, ‘If only I had jumped in that day, but I did not. I shall never forgive myself for it and this war...This ocean repeatedly reminds me of my error. They say that “To Err is human” Yet, my error was so profound that a second opportunity at fixing it seems almost as possible as Reaching down in to the land of Hades and extracting them from the clutches of the evil Lord. Give me strength, Lord Zeus. Give me strength to endure this pain.’

As these thoughts tortured his soul into an impeccable mode of foreboding and self loathing, Herodontus was not absolved from his misery for every moment of that day returned to his memory like nefarious illness that keeps lapsing after repeated medicine.

Herodontus was a young cadet, long golden hair which cascaded down to shoulders in a torrent of curls like a pool of mesmerising lava, handsome features with heart shaped, eyes the hue of which could rival the brightest of emeralds with cheekbones so stiff and rough, one could slice paper on them. He had thin lips and a long and pointed chin upon a colossal stature of herculean proportions. After Achilles, Herodontus was the heartthrob of the women of Greece.

The irony of this scenario is such that this young cadet was now a mere shadow of his old handsome form. Short buzz cut of gray hair was no longer golden, eyes were still green, but now they had become a dark mossy green and gave the one gazing into them an ominous expression of bemusement. Sagging skin had caused the cheekbones to disappear and young Herodontus who never had a single hair on his face during his days of youthful glory, now had a thick beard beyond which the pointed chin had completely dissipated. Yet, the greatest change became of the mark that ran from his left temple across his eye, nose and down to the right side of his chin.
The slash mark earned during a battle with the Macedonians was in fact the greatest prize of his frightfully brave adventures when Herodontus battled seven men at once.

On that day, the young cadet was returning to his family after a long day of training in battle. Herodontus was the heart of all women in Greece along with Achilles. But his heart lay with only one woman, the love of his life, his Athena.

“Athena! Heracles!” The sound reverberated within the large house. But there was no reply. The young cadet advanced forward into his room and there was a note placed there. Picking it up, he read it. ‘The son of the brave, wanted his own cave. Take refuge in Poseidon’s shadow; for your destination, there you shall go.’ Herodontus grinned upon reading this verse.

‘Athena and her riddles,’ He thought. ‘She always keeps me on edge.’ With a few moments of deep thought, he had it. ‘Heracles had built his little cave in the sand. Poseidon’s shadow can only mean the sea. They have gone to the sea for a swim.’

With this, the cadet made his way out towards the sea. But when he reached there, the most horrifying sight awaited him. A sentry by the Lord Poseidon himself was looming across the water and making its way towards his family in the water. They waved and he heard his wife’s voice, “Hero! Hero!” She called out. Those were last words he heard for he charged forward and towards the water, but he was stopped by Achilles.

“No!” Exclaimed the warrior of warriors, “There is no hope now.” The sight was one that Herodontus would never forget for the whole water was laid crimson as both his son and daughter were devoured under the bare sharp teeth of the creature that had swam out from the confines of Poseidon’s lair only to chastise him by consuming his family.

“No!” Screamed Herodontus as tears were falling down his eyes like rivers. It had only been five years since the treacherous day, yet it seemed like centuries ago. The handsome man had crumbled. Though he was only thirty, his hair and skin made him look much older. But his body retained the tenacity so innate within the beast of man he was and it grew even more feral.Yes, he grew braver and had harboured a feral instinct that made the cadet grow quicker than Achilles within the ranks and rewarded Agamemnon himself, the man was christened as commander of the strongest platoon in the Grecian army. Herodontus had grown to be a war machine, battling with no fear for his own life, for he had no life or family to return to and only hoped to die in the midst of battle, incessantly raping spoils of war that while gave him only physical pleasure, never gave him any pleasure of the soul in the manner he experienced while making love to his dear Athena.

His reveries were hampered by the sound of footsteps. ‘What is that?’ Thought he and quietly made his way across to the guard post beside the gate. There was a young woman who had entered the major’s tent. “Now that weak bastard is ordering for women! I must tell Lord Odysseus about this. He has stepped far beyond. But he was amused by the sight of the creature falling unto his rear as the girl escaped at blinding speed right before his eyes.

“Don’t you dare follow her!” Exclaimed the commander and all the men and the major were instantly quiet and the gruff general who was humiliated also stood guard.

“The horse is almost ready; you are not going to be a part of it and take your post. I do not want you pursuing women and divulging this deeply kept secret. I trust my lord Odysseus and his plan shall prevail if you carefully follow orders. Let her be, I shall have her and when I am done with her; you can have what is left.”

“Sir!” Exclaimed the humiliated major as he bowed in supplication before his commander and then exiting the tenement, the commander made his way towards the gates of Troy. His long tunic stuck to his body without any armour. Herodontus refused to wear armour for he wanted to die in battle and without armour it would be easier. He merely carried a long sword which had until now been tainted with the blood of numerous adversaries. There he reached and right before him stood the horse.

“My good man, Hero!” Exclaimed the Hero of Greece as Achilles came and bowed before him followed by Odysseus who merely grinned.

“My lord!” Said the commander and genuflected before the wisest man in Greece.

“It is ready, Herodontus, we shall take our place in it immediately.” Said Odysseus.

“But sire, you cou...” Herodontus was cut off by the wave of Odysseus’ arm.

“My plan, it shall be incomplete if I am not a part of it.” Said the Lord.

The Grecian commander nodded and with another genuflect, he came forward and hand climbed on board into the confines of the horse, followed by the Hero Achilles and the cunning Odysseus.

There, the horse stood as Agamemnon had driven the army off the coast of the shore and the fleet escaped the sight of the Trojan’s to a vantage point on the sea.

With the break of Dawn, the gates of Troy opened and from it came the Lord Priam with an expression of flummoxed bewilderment painted across his facade. He was informed of the presence of the horse by one of the gate guards and had come to investigate it.

Grief had enveloped his soul and the gruesome sight of his most beloved son Hector and his body being dragged across the perimeter of his own kingdom filled his soul with utter dismay. Warm tears trickled down his face and then he knew the meaning of this.

“Hector always prayed to the Lord Poseidon!” Exclaimed the king. “His soul has gone down to the Lord Poseidon and now, from the depths of the seashore, my son sends us a gift. He sends us this horse as a sign that he still lives within our hearts and is gratified to have been a Trojan.”

With these words, the Lord of the Trojans turned and walked back into the confines of his impenetrable walls . The men guarding the gates came forward with long ropes as they tied it around colossal wooden horse and heaved with all their strength to pull the unnaturally heavy horse within the confines of their chaste kingdom, inviting their very own doom within their land with an effort of their own hands.

 

[Chanti]

Sophie awoke to the sounds of screams and shouting. She bolted upright in her bed, clammy fear sweat breaking out on her skin. Had the enemy breached the walls?

But almost in that same moment she heard the joy in the screaming and shouting. Sliding out of bed, clad only in her thin linen bedgown, she hurried to the window overlooking the main street in Troy and peered out. It seemed like the entire city was there, dancing and shouting in exultation around a massive wooden horse that towered over the buildings it was dragged past. She stared in bewilderment, her eyes going from the horse to the crowds to the....open city gates.

She was staring, dumbstruck, when the door to her small room burst open and one of her fellow hand maidens stood there. Any trace of enmity was gone, the other girl's face alight with joy.

"The gods have favored us! Our enemy is vanquished! The war is over!"

"Over?" Sophie's voice squeaked, but the girl was already gone.

Sophie dressed quickly and flew down to the street on sandaled feet, anxious to confirm the news. She fought her way through the crowds, hearing them shouting praises to the gods.

Helen was standing by the wooden horse, a bright smile on her face.

"Oh, is it true?" Sophie begged of her mistress.

It seemed in the joy of the moment Sophie was forgiven her earlier transgressions, for Helen hugged her.

"It is true! The Greeks are gone, and in their place this gift of peace." Helen gestured up to the massive horse.

Sophie clapped her hands together in an outburst of joy, and her eyes scanned the crowd looking for her future husband. But when she found him standing in the middle of the road underneath the horse, his face was the only one not overcome with joy. In fact, he looked puzzled as he stared contemplatively at the wooden horse. She looked from Alkides to the horse, trying to decipher the source of his confusion. And then she realized why.

None of it made sense. When she had been in the camp only hours before, there had been no indication the massive army was leaving. There was no reason for them to win. They were slowly but surely winning the seige. Why would they leave?

She slipped to Alkides side, smiling shyly at him. He returned the smile, but as a warrior he could be forgiven if it was a grimmer smile than hers.

"People say the horse is a gift from the gods themselves." His voice was dry and sarcastic.

"Then perhaps we should burn it in sacrifice to them."

Someone in the crowd overheard Sophie's quieter response, and evidently approved. A chant began to sprinkle through the crowd.

"Burn the offering to the gods! Burn the offering to the gods!"

Helen, however, would not hear of it. She tearfully complained to Paris that this wonderous gift should not be burned. As always, Helen got her way.

Wine was brought out from somewhere, despite the starving city. Food was suddenly found in abundance. Sophie knew it was food the nobles had been hiding away from the starving commoners. But celebration was the name of the day, and all day people feasted and danced in the streets. Even Sophie found herself caught up in the triumphant celebration, dancing once with Alkides before he gave her cheek a chaste kiss and vanished in the direction of the barracks.

Later that night Sophie was again the favorite of Helen, forced to stand watch at her door while she and Paris made love on Helen's bed. Finally the two slept tangled in the sweaty linens, but Sophie had not been released from her duty. Finally she too succumbed to exhaustion, sinking down to lie on the floor in front of the closed door.

Outside, revellers in the streets either slept on the street where they fell or stumbled in drunken oblivion to their homes. Even the soldiers were drunken and near useless if not completely passed out. Some soul had still had the sense to close the city gates, but they were left unguarded except for one half asleep soldier. And Alkides, who stood on the wall looking out over the seaside plain where only hours before the Grecian army had camped.

 

[Wander]

The Grecian army could feel themselves moving and from how the rustling had turned into an eased and smooth movement they knew that the plan had worked and that they were indeed being taken inside the impenetrable gates of Troy.

The orders were strict, not a single sound was to be made. They were to wait patiently until the sounds and echoes from outside which were prominent during this hour had died out. Till then, silence was the law which had to be adhered to with utmost discipline.

Herodontus was clammed in between Achilles and Odysseus. This had to be the most uncomfortable position for he had Achilles’ sandal in his face and Odysseus’ arm poking him uncomfortably. But it even amidst this, it was a moment of pride for the commander for e was chosen by his honoured lords as their companion during this treacherous endeavour.

The horse was large, yes, but the number of men was even they wanted inside the walls of Troy was even larger than that and it was absolutely painful to be in this position which made all the soldiers feel like numerous fish caught in the fishers net, aching to escape into the freshness of their natural habitat.

Claustrophobia was something people of those times were unaware of and fortunately none of the soldiers suffered from it otherwise this plan would have failed miserably. But it did not because all the men stay absolutely still, like lions patiently waiting close to their prey, waiting for the right time to strive.

Finally, after several excruciating hours of discomfort, the men could hear the hubbub and the celebration of sounds die out into absolute and peaceful bliss. They could not have discerned whether it was day or night within their confines of their constricted abode.

“It is time.” Whispered Odysseus and manoeuvred himself up towards the latch on the saddle of the horse. Unscrewing the bolts carefully and noiselessly while standing on the shoulder of three men, Odysseus carefully lifted the saddle upwards and saw the sight before him.

It was the dead of the night; the horse was within the town square. It was dilapidated and awry, showing signs of profound celebration which had been undertaken upon this crossroads. Odysseus peered from end to end and spotted only two guards. Both were supine on the ground, probably weary after consuming excessive mead.

‘They indeed took the bait and assumed the horse to be a consolation of supplication from the Greek army.’ Odysseus deduced as he lifted the saddle completely and climbed out of it.

“Come on men," Said the cunning king; “It is time we claim Troy for Greece.” Out came Achilles, and then commander Herodontus.

Presently all fifty men were emancipated from their equestrian penitentiary and then carefully, wordlessly without a single sound they made their way to the sleeping guards.

Slash! Slash! The sound was almost inaudible as Achilles and Herodontus covered the mouth of either guard and slit their throats in one swift movement of their blade.

“Onto the gates, we need to let the rest of the army inside Troy!” Whispered Odysseus as all the fifty men slowly moved forward onto the gates of Troy. Then men stood guard there and in the same, stealth manner of murder which Odysseus had made the men practice the previous three days, all ten men were murdered in a swift and noiseless slash of blades, leaving a bloody heap around the gates of Troy.

Odysseus found the contraption that manoeuvred the gates and quickly learnt how to operate it. Pulling the lever with all his might, he heaved and it gave way.

SLAM! was the sound as the gate fell open. The sound was enough to awake the Trojans but it was too late. The Grecian fleet which was so carefully concealed behind the mountain in the sea had had its way across from it and all the men had docked upon the sandy shores of Troy after Twilight when the Trojans were busy within the merry mirth of celebration.

“ATTACK!" Screamed Odysseus as all the Grecian army charged forward into the gates of Troy.

From that moment on History would be crated and remembered as the greatest carnage in history of mankind. The siege of the impenetrable kingdom of Tory was absolute anarchy. Buildings were being burned downed, fires erupted, and men slashed to mutilated corpses, women being raped repeatedly by different soldiers. Innocent civilians were pulled out of their homes and killed, their wives raped and their children seized for bondage.

It was absolute downfall of humanity and the very depiction of the feral instinct of man who had shown that he may have evolved in terms of intelligence, but he was still the feral conqueror of land and ruthlessly caused pain to his fellow beings trampling them as the stepping stone to his blood soaked conquests.

“To the Palace, men! We need to retrieve Helen!” Shouted Achilles and Herodontus to their respective platoons in unison as a regiment of the best one hundred Grecian soldiers charged towards Priam’s palace.

 

[Chanti]

Once again Sophie woke to the sounds of screams and cries in the street. She sat up against the door, blinking blearily into the moonlight streaming through the window. A faint rustling sound indicated she was not the only one awake, and then she saw the naked male form of Paris moving to the window. This time there were no strains of joy in the sound, and the screams were accompanied by the sounds of the clash of steel. Paris’s bitterly sworn oath confirmed what Sophie suspected. The enemy attacked.

“Paris?” Helen’s voice shook with fear, and Sophie knew why. Helen’s husband would kill her. Everyone knew Helen had gone with Paris willingly, forsaking her husband, her father, and her other former suitors in her lust for the young prince.

“We must flee, my love. The enemy has breached the gates.” Paris hurriedly dressed, flinging a robe at his lover. “Get up, girl.” Paris aimed a kick at Sophie that she swiftly dodged. “Help your mistress ready herself. We must be gone within minutes before they breach the palace.”

“Flee?” Contempt curdled Helen’s normally sweet voice. “My husband comes to steal me away, and you wish only to flee? You will not fight for me?”

Paris barked a short, snarling laugh. “I am no fighter, Helen. You know this. I am a lover. I cannot love you if I am dead, and I cannot fight off the armies of Greek by myself. Dress.”

As Helen and Paris argued, Sophie ran to the window. She stared out into the horror of the streets, uttering a soft cry and clutching at her breast. The vengeance of the long held off Greeks had no bounds. Sophie saw innocent women being dragged from their homes and raped and murdered in the streets. Pools of blood stained the streets of the city she had only recently begun to consider her new home. Trojan husbands fought valiantly, and were butchered in their nightrobes. Flames flickered from many houses, and in the dry air Sophie knew those small house fires would do nothing but grow.

“Sophie!” Helen’s biting voice drew Sophie from the window. She wondered where the other handmaidens were only a brief second before she realized they were already fleeing or hiding. No others would come to attend Helen.

“Sophie, hurry, dress.” Helen's voice was frantic.

Sophie stumbled into the gown she had worn earlier, still smelling of wine and sunshine and joy and freedom.
“Here, hold still.”

Helen pressed something on her head, and Sophie reached up dumbly, feeling the slender gold circlet that Helen wore now resting on her own long golden hair.

“Tell them you are me. They will take you to Menelause and it will give me time to escape with Paris.”

Sophie felt a cold peck on her cheek – a kiss of utter betrayal. Helen was handing her over to her death. There was no way the Greeks would allow her to live wearing Helen’s circlet, whether she was Helen or not.

Cold steel at her throat replaced the kiss on her throat.

“Obey your mistress, Sophie. Or I will come back and take you apart piece by piece. You understand?” Paris’s normal laughing, friendly tone was replaced with a cold hardness that left Sophie trembling in her bare feet. She nodded mutely in the darkness even as a thud from below indicated the palace doors were now breached.

“Give me the dagger.” Helen’s whisper was loud in the silent darkness of the room, and Sophie felt Paris hesitate.

“Give it! I am an unarmed, helpless woman! You would leave me that way even as my husband comes to seek my death?” Helen’s voice was shrill with anger and fear, and Paris sighed and handed over the dagger. They were gone into the hallway before Sophie could even draw a ragged breath.

She stood in the still darkness of the bedroom, despair clutching at her heart. She was going to die tonight. Whether here in this room when they found her wearing her mistress’s circlet, or later when they dragged her before Helen’s husband and he denounced her. But she was a Greek noblewoman. She would not die cowering in fear and shame.

When her door burst open, the incoming men were met with the sight of Sophie standing firm in front of the window, enveloped in moonlight that gleamed on her hair that draped over her shoulders and glittered on the circlet she wore. Her face was hidden in shadows, but the moonlight and flickering of the fires outside illuminated the gentle feminine curves of her body underneath the thin linen gown she wore. The elegant pride in which she stood, with slender shoulders thrown back and her chin lifted in silent defiance, was breath-taking. She shifted, and they all saw the steel dagger in her small hands, the sharp end pressed against her firm breast.
“I am a Grecian noble woman, and I will die before I am taken like an animal by a common soldier.” The calm fury in her voice gave no doubt she meant every word.

 

[Wander]

The siege of Troy was one that was truly horrifying. The sight could send fear down the spine of the weak. It was not easy to witness and entire thriving town which was only celebrating during the day with joy to crumble down in heaps and stripped of all dignity to be treated like a cur. It was despicable, but the Grecian army was relentless in their force and tore town the entire city.

The taking of the palace appeared far worse. From one side, Herondontus’ men had broken into the palace from the gates. From the rear, Achilles and his platoon had infiltrated over the walls of the palace in order to block the entire palace and avoid any chance of escape for Helen or Paris.

Menelaus’ orders were clear as day, “I want Helen, and I want her alive!”

The anarchy grew within the city while inside the Palace Herodontus distributed in two sub-platoons. One of them would enter through the front doors while the other would scout the perimeter of the central structure in search of any exits or secret passages which may be used by Helen in order to escape.

While Herodontus himself accompanied the second sub-platooon, the orders for the first were the same; catch Helen alive and without delay whistle to alert his side of the platoon so that they can come and then carry the whore back to their lord Menelaus.

Through the impenetrable fortress of Troy, entered a massive vehicle heaved by a score of men. Within this manned vehicle sat the two lords, the brothers of destruction – Agamemnon and Menelaus. The soldiers attacking upon the civilians of the great town of Troy moved aside, pausing their endeavours as their king and lord gracefully made his way towards his destination, Priam’s palace.

The front gates of the palace were breached, the sub-platoon of Herodontus’ army dashed in, breaking the mighty door to shreds of wood. To their surprise, they did not have to search too eagerly, Helen was standing right before the men, offering herself to be taken to their lord Menelaus. The men were aghast and could not understand it.

They had doubts of her being a decoy. “How can we trust that she is Hel....” The one at the front speaking, suddenly paused and bit back his own words as he gazed up at the circlet that this young maiden wore. Instantly, there was no doubt in the mind of the soldier that he had struck gold and if he brought Helen back to the Lord Menelaus all by himself, he shall be bestowed with not just praise but maybe also the post of the commander which he had always coveted and been denied because of Herodontus and his bravery.

“Get her, men. We are taking her to Menelaus!” Exclaimed the soldier.

“But sir, our orders...” Retorted the other.


“Take her!” Exclaimed the second commander with fury.

The men genuflected and then saw that the girl held a dagger in her hand. They all laughed vehemently at her futile action.

"You are going to scare us with that? We are a part of Herodontus' platoon, what you hold is our toy, not weapon." Said the one in the front as he pulled out a similar dagger from his tunic and brandished it before tossing it a the girl. It came across as if they were attacking her, but the knife which soared through the sky, struck its mark even before she could make a move and it had hit the knife in her hand and struck it far from her reach.

The men were swift not only with weapons but also with their bodies as she was instantly bound and held captive, being carried back to the gates of the palace where Agamemnon and Menelaus had already arrived.

Meanwhile, Herodontus and his platoon of twenty five men were racing towards the rear of the palace. A loud wail of familiar voices had caught their attention and they knew something serious was at hand.

When they arrived there, the sight was one which Herodontus thought he would never witness in his lifetime. There upon the floor lay Achilles, his eyes were open, but were still and lifeless with not a single sign of the valour that this man projected with his very presence. An arrow was within his heel, piercing the flesh there and jutting out from the other side.

“How did this happen? How did our indestructible lord die?” Demanded the warrior.

One of the men from Achilles’ platoon presented Paris before Herodontus and said, “He attacked the Lord from hiding.”

“Coward!” Exclaimed Herodontus and with a long raise of his sword, decapitated Paris as his limp body fell.

“Nooo!” Screamed Helen as she made her way towards Paris.

“Sir, we found her too.” Said the other man, “The Lord was forcing her to return to Lord Menelaus when he was struck down.”

“Carry her and our Lord’s body. I am sure Lord Menelaus would be pleased with our success and honour the Lord Achilles for his valiant sacrifice.” Said the commander.

Upon the gates of Priam’s palace, the king of Troy was on his knees before Agamemnon and Menelaus, begging for mercy and sobbing.

“Where is she?” Demanded Menelaus in fury.

“I don’t know.” He cried, “Please have mercy upon my people.”

“I have her!” Cried one of the men in the distance as they forced the young girl wearing Helen’s circlet forth and before Menelaus.

The lord Menelaus after studying her features made no effort to hide his fury as with one clean swipe of his sword, he decapitated the sub-commander of Herodontus’ platoon.

“I demand Helen, I want the whore. This is not her!” Exclaimed Menelaus as he raised his sword to kill the young girl and end her existence.

“STOP!” Exclaimed the familiar voice of Herodontus; “I have her, my lord!”

Menelaus gazed up in awe when he saw the sight of Herodontus dragging Helen along the gravel stone, tugging her by her long luscious mane of hair along the rugged path,

“Here she is, she was trying to elope with Paris again. Our Lord Achilles caught her. He died at the hands of Paris who struck him from behind.” Explained the warrior Herodontus.

Menelaus ignored his words, his eyes fixated upon Helen as he picked her up and gazed at her with malicious delight.

“Name your prize, my brave warrior, name your prize!” He exclaimed as he gazed at Herodontus.

“My lord, your honour is all.....” He paused when he witnessed the girl standing beside Menelaus wearing Helen’s circlet and instantly recognised her to be the same girl he had vowed to claim earlier.

The nefarious king grinned at the gaze of the warrior and ordered, “Take this girl and ready Lord Herodontus’ quarters. She shall be his prize tonight.”

 

[Chanti]

Sophie had no expectation of living through this day. The only thing she wanted was to die with dignity. Even that, she bitterly reflected, was denied her.
Disarming her was child plays to the men. She was still focused on their laughter and that bright gleam of the dagger when a sharp pain in her hand accompanied her own dagger flying out of her hand. She was gaping at it in stunned shock when four hardened warriors had her hands bound in front of her with rough, scratchy ropes. She did not resist. What was the point? A warrior she was not, that had been made clear in the last few minutes. To beg for mercy was useless, there was no mercy in those hard, dark eyes. Even when she stumbled and almost fell down the stairs they did nothing but ruthlessly jerk her upright, their fingers biting deep into her soft arm with bruising force. These men did not know her, but Helen’s husband would know she was not Helen in a second, and then she would die or be raped. She prayed silently to the gods for death. Far better to die a noblewoman than to live a slave.

She saw her death in those bitter, furious eyes of Menelaus. HE knew who she was, and knew she was not Helen. She had hoped for some mercy from him at least, for surely he knew she had come reluctantly with Helen, performing her sworn duty. Surely he had seen how Helen treated her servants and handmaids. Surely he would pity a girl who had been left with little choice if she wanted to retain her honor.

But there was no pity to be found from Menelaus, it seemed he hated anything associated with Helen now. Sophie could not find it in her heart to blame the wretched man. When she saw his sword lift, aiming for her neck, she silently raised her neck to make the blow easier for him. Her stance reflected a silent, prideful defiance of her fate. She may die, but damn them all to Hades, she would die with dignity and honor worthy of her bloodline. An overwhelming sadness filled her at her impending death. Not only for herself, but for the terrible waste of life because of one greedy whore and one greedy prince. Thousands dead, because Helen wanted Paris’s cock. She hadn’t even loved the man. If she had, Sophie may have found it in her heart to forgive her. But there had been no love there, just blind lust and selfish greed. Maybe it would be better to die than to live in such a world.

But the lord’s sword was stayed with a shout and she along with everyone else looked to see a tearful, terrified Helen being delivered to her husband’s arms. It was the first time Sophie had seen Helen behave with any semblance of humility and she found herself quietly enjoying the sight, a tiny smile crinkling the corners of her mouth.

Until she heard the pronouncement of her fate by Menelaus.

She whirled then, smile gone in an instant, staring in horror at her mistress’s husband. It would mean slavery for her. Once this stranger had her in his grasp as a prize, she would be his until he released her.

“No! Please, My Lord! You know me! I am no slave, I am a free woman! Please, I did nothing but honor my vows to your wife! Take my life as forfeit, but do not send me into bondage to this or any man!”

She would have dropped to her knees to beg Menelaus, but it was not permitted. No sooner had Menelaus spoke than Sophie was pulled away, dragged off to be prepared for her new master. Now she fought. She struggled, she screamed, she cried. The brutal men who carried her off simply laughed, dragging her whenever she braced her feet against the cool stone floors to try to stop the forward movement. All pretense at dignity was gone. Her face was flushed with outrage, her braided hair mussed, the circlet forced on her by her former mistress hanging askew from her head.
“No! I was to be married! I am a Greek noblewoman! You can’t do this!”
“Lord Menelaus can do what he wants. Be silent, bitch.”
“I bet it was a damned Trojan you were to marry, wasn’t it?” Another man somewhere behind her spoke, and Sophie refused to speak and convict herself in these men’s eyes.

By the time she was delivered to a recently vacated palace bedroom, she was no longer fighting. She was numb with grief over her altered situation, her eyes vacant. They pushed her into a room she recognized as having been a room belonging to one of the former Trojan King’s cousins. Royal, luxurious chambers. One of the men who had brought her here grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.

“No more fighting. You will obey, or Menelaus will give you a slave’s punishment and execution.”

Sophie shuddered in horror at the thought of it. Convinced by her pale face and troubled eyes that she understood what was at stake, the man unfastened her bonds and pushed her abruptly further into the room. She stumbled and fell, tripping over her bare feet and falling to the floor with a painful thud.
“Clean this up for your Master. Food and wine will be delivered for him.”

They left, but Sophie heard one of them standing guard outside the door in case she tried to escape.

She cried. For the first fifteen minutes she just sat there on the floor and sobbed. There was a soft knock on the door, and she heard someone enter, smelled the sweet scent of wine, heard the soft clatter of dishes on the small ornate table near the door. Then the door closed and she was alone again.

Finally, cried out, Sophie brushed the tears away from her face and stood. All was not lost. If she convinced her new Master to not hold her as a slave…she had a chance. Menelaus would not have another thought of her. She would be alone, but free. No family survived in Greece, she was the last of her noble line. But perhaps her name alone would be enough to gain her a kind, genteel husband.

She regretted her behavior when Menelaus had issued his judgement of her. It was lowborn, slavish behavior, with no dignity. But perhaps her new master would be able to overlook that based off her behavior when he came to her.

She straightened the bed that had been left so hastily when the battle commenced this morning. Picked up the rest of the room, hiding evidence of its former occupant. No point in reminding the man he was a conqueror. Then she smoothed her gown and straightened her hair, forming the blond silken locks into an elegant braid wrapped tightly around her brow. Helen’s circlet she discarded, hiding it behind some cushions in a corner of the room. No point in reminding him of her reluctant deceit.

Then it was only a matter of waiting. Stomach roiling nervously as she paced back and forth across the room, constantly reminding herself to act like the dignified noble lady she was. Don’t demand. Don’t cry. Don’t scream. And above all…never, never beg.

 

[Wander]

Within every individual there are two beings present. One is the good while the other is evil. The side in which one traverses is not the action of God. Those who deem that all outcomes are the subservient elements of the grand scheme of actions determined by a transcendental and omnipotent puppeteer who holds the strings to the marionette called man would like to reconsider through this scenario that Herodontus was not inherently evil. God, if he/she/it exists, had devised the Grecian commander as a sane human who did not only posses immense vigour, but profound erudition as well. It is this quality that made him different from the rest of his clan and what helped him ascend within the ranks of the army. He was also a true lover for he loved his wife like no man had ever loved a woman, and was the father every child adored and admired.

Yet, what was it that made such an emotional individual who was the very epitome of love; end up in a scenario where he was left as a callous and stoic beast incapable of any emotion? It was not some divine action by an all knowing super being of altruism. Circumstances ruin the man. No man is born good or evil; it is the circumstances that cause him to be what he is. Then why should one blame Herodontus for what he had become and what he was about to do? Who are we to judge him when we cannot honestly claim to have not done anything wrong in our entire life not because we wanted to, but merely due to the evil of circumstances?

To continue our tale, let us embark upon the moment where we left off. Herodontus had asked for his prize, his virgin. How did he know she was a virgin? For a man as experienced in the art of kinesics which has repeatedly aided the warrior for several battles, he could deduce the contents of a letter merely by a glace upon the envelope containing it. This was the profundity of his ability to foresee and detect. While, he was incapable of any form of love and compassion, the calling of his physical being made him covet copulation, not out of emotional need, but merely a necessity for physiological release of his natural state of human existence. Even within this, he had particular parameters wherein he particularly experienced physical ecstasy upon breaking across the barrier of the hymen and pushing forth into the constricted confines of a virgin to achieve carnal gratification.

Thus, when Sophie was carried away by the men as the trophy which would be readied for the commander, he merely grinned upon the forthcoming ecstasy that awaited him within the luxurious rooms of the palace before him.

‘Tonight shall be my triumph,’ He thought as he stroked his beard. ‘Not only has Troy been vanquished, but I shall have my virgin and I shall be promoted to the rank of Lord Achilles as the general. They have no other person but me for the post now.’

Sure enough, he was indeed promoted, but that is a tale for another day. The future general triumphantly marched onwards to the palace a few minutes later. The Grecians were now rejoicing after Helen had been retrieved and Troy was burning within the all consuming embers of their Lord Hades. Herodontus was advancing up the stairs of the palace. He had taken up a bottle of Priam’s finest mead and was already intoxicated to the brink. The mead had penetrated his person and now consumed the beast turning him into a monster.

Finally, as he reached the door of his assigned room, Herodontus did not bother to knock. Pushing it open, he witnessed the girl standing before him. She was still as beautiful as ever and his gaze was so deeply fixated upon her that he had already devoured her with his penetrating eyes. Handsome as he was, the gaze with which he looked at Sophie was one which no woman wants to be gazed upon by a man, no matter how attractive he maybe. It was as if she was a hunk of meat which was to be traded from hand to hand and finally utilized by the final consumer – Herodontus.

“What are you looking at, little bitch?” He exclaimed as he lifted the bottle all the way up until it was vertically over his face and he had gulped down every last droplet of the nefarious concoction which was indeed the destroyer of conscience. He would have no remorse of his action after that drink. Herodontus threw the bottle aside. It fell to the ground and broke with a loud Clang as he turned around and shut the doors, locking them behind himself.

Kinesics – The art which Herodontus had never managed to learn formally but had a natural knack to apply within his daily life without even noticing it, had already made him realise that this girl would not submit easily.
“It could have been easy, but from the sight of you, I know it wouldn’t be.” Said he and advanced forward towards her.
“But no matter. I like to make a girl scream and squeal. The sound of a woman screaming truly arouses me and I want you to scream on top of your lungs, bitch!” He exclaimed when the warrior stood before her.

Herodontus’ then grabbed his tunic and pulled it off his person completely to reveal a body which was immensely sinewy and from the sight of it would be enough to tear down a bull with his bare hands.

Rape is indeed a painful sight to witness for any being and yet, it has been an inevitable part of the natural order of the system of evolution beyond which man, even with his transcendence into civilization could not shun and carried the imprint of this genetic trait with him into the civilized world, making it an odious act of evil, incomprehensible to the righteous.

But Herodontus was not righteous and therefore, he used his pace to execute his pugnacious action. When Sophie had least expected it, the commander had struck and with his pace, he had pushed her, making her tumble backwards onto the bed.

Being trained in the guerrilla warfare of disabling an enemy bigger than his own herculean stature, laying Sophie down was ads easy for Herodontus as severing a man’s arm.

Presently, the commander was sitting over Sophie, and gazing down upon her. “So you thought you would escape my clutches and that I would have mercy upon you?” He asked with a grin as he slowly loosened the knot upon his bottom. “You know,” Said he with a grin as he moved her arms behind her back and slowly applied more pressure upon her abdomen to trap her arms there. “I have wanted you since the first time I saw you back there when you disgraced one of my generals with you egg plant charade.”

A long finger ran across her lips as he grinned. “I know you are a virgin, I like it that way. I am going to have you tonight and take your virginity for myself;” Warned he as he leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “And I am not going to be gentle about it.” Then, the commander leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, while his hands went to her dress, grabbing it with both hands and he tugged using his strength only to hear the rupturing sound of fabric tearing as he pulled upon it while her dress began to rip in between, slowly exposing her breasts. The commander displayed no intentions of stopping his action until he had completely claimed this virgin as a sacrifice to him.

 

[Chanti]

The soft shuffling sound at the doorway warned her before it was flung open, and she was rather proud of herself for standing straight to greet him, her slender shoulders thrown back, her chin lifted with no small measure of pride. She was the anti-thesis of slavery, a proud Grecian noblewoman.

But she saw instantly that would not help her. With a mistress like Helen, Sophie was wary of men, and quick to decipher their moods. She knew when to make herself invisible around Helen’s lusty lovers, knew when to vanish entirely. And the look her new master had was one that made her want to vanish entirely. But there would be no vanishing permitted, and she knew it with a terrible certainty. There was no mercy to be found here. She would be taken and raped like a common slavegirl, all because of her greedy bitch of a mistress.

She stood frozen, fury rising up swiftly, making her breath quicken and her stomach tighten. It was so injust! She had done nothing but what was right and proper, obeying her mistress and keeping her vows. This man KNEW that. He had heard her screaming the truth of things at Menethaus, and he cared not. He had probably had to get drunk to overwhelm his conscious, she thought with jagged contempt. She had been so close to freedom, had it within her sights. And then it was yanked away and she found herself in a worse place than before, no longer a noblewoman serving her lady, but a slave to be used for the pleasure her body could give.

She gave him no answer. Just stood stiffly, unmoving. Until he stripped off his tunic. The sight of that hard naked flesh may have under other, more pleasant circumstances, aroused her. He was not an unhandsome man. But under these painful circumstances the sight of that hard naked male body unleashed the fury raging in her body and she flew at him with a feminine snarl of rage that started even her, her fingers curled to resemble claws. She was not even trying to escape, she wanted to mark the bastard, to draw blood for his contemptuous use of her.

She never even touched him. It was foolish of her to think she, a noblewoman trained only in the gentle arts of womanhood, could draw blood on a hardened, experienced warrior. But she was not expecting to be controlled so easily, as if she were a helpless spitting and hissing kitten in the grip of a man. The world flipped and whirled and before she realized what had happened she was on her back, one arm pinned painfully underneath her body, the other on its way to join it. She lay gasping for breath, the room seeming to spin around her as his heavy body pinned hers to the floor. She could FEEL the hard maleness of him, heavy on her flat belly.
His words drew her eyes up to him, and she swallowed hard. The damned eggplant. Damn Helen to Hades! His finger moved across her lips and she thought about biting at it but it was gone. The damned bastard. He knew she was a virgin, and he was deliberately going to steal it from her…because he could. Her rage boiled up again, so hot it nearly blinded her. The ripping sound of her dress shedding didn’t help. The rush of coolness over her flushed breasts, creamy pink mounds of soft female flesh, thrusting up through the air towards him. Nipples dainty and pink and puffy, clinging to the curving tips precariously. Hot tears rushed to her eyes, pooling in the soft blueness.

His lips met hers, soft and hard at the same time. One small part of her wanted to submit. One tiny part of her wanted to open her mouth, to taste him on her tongue, to lift her body against his and feel his naked flesh on hers. But the rage overwhelmed that desire. Without thought, her white teeth flashed and snapped. If she tasted his blood, she would spit it back into his face. Let HIM play the victim for once. She would pay for it, she was certain. It would be worth it. A tiny, miniscule bit of justice.

 

[Wander]

Lips mashed against lips and nose against nose as the warrior held his virgin prize down within his grasp. Then, almost suddenly, he felt a sharp pang. Blood curdled up on his face as his eyes opened wide. He tried to pull back, but whatever was hurting him was persistent and would not let him go.

Finally, the future general managed to emancipate his face from the bounding presence of the feral actions of the maiden. The commander, now prostrate, was still sitting atop the girl, making any escape impossible for her.

"Aaaahhh!" He exclaimed with a malicious grin towering upon the much more fragile individual; "I see that you are a feisty one. "You know something, you little runt? With this little stunt of yours, you just signed your own bondage agreement. I usually have my virgins and lose interest in them after I've taken their cherished chastity. But you…. You're different."

Herodontus sneered malevolently at the invalid girl before him as blood percolated from the visible mark upon his lip where Sopie had bitten.

Smack! The sound reverberated within the room as the larger man slapped the young woman below him with furry.

"This will teach you to behave, fucking bitch!" He exclaimed as his eyes inflamed with rage and morphed into a crimson hue of pugnacious intent.

Smack, Smack Smack! Thrice he marked her face with immense and large hands. The pale skin of the woman was now marked with the print of his hands across them while her lips bled on either side.
"I never forget, I never forgive. I repay twice with what's given to me," Informed the nefarious commander touching the bleeding point on her lips.

"This is the principal," He touched the other bleeding end of her lips.

"And this is the interest for your actions." He took the finger, now drenched in her blood and moved it into his mouth.

"Mmmm…that's the taste of virgin blood sacrificed to Lord Herodontus." He said.

He spat in her face then, spit and blood mashed together in this collection of liquid tainted Sophie's face, degrading the young woman of royalty and objectifying her as nothing but flesh used for the pleasure of the warrior, the prize he won in battle and not a person with her own free will.

"I was quite sure I would liberate you once I'm done with you tonight. But your defiance truly intrigues me. It gives me pleasure to break a woman's spirit into submission and I will keep you and rape you again and again until you have no choice but to derive sick pleasure from my actions and that is exactly the moment that I will emancipate you to kill your hope exactly when you see it." An evil, malicious laughter accompanied this claim as he grabbed her dress and tugged it so hard that the dress ripped in two and fell in heaps into the bed, leaving her in only her undercloth to cover her chastity.

"What a beautiful body!" Exclaimed the maniac. "It would be such a pleasure to ravage it." Removing her hands from under her, he held them both sprawled across the bed as he made the girl watch when a man first time came close to her breasts only to forcibly bite her nipple hard.

His teeth perfectly hit home as he bit harder and began to suck upon her nipple that only a man lost within a moment of intense lust would do for the girl's breast, sunk into his mouth was being sucked mercilessly to a point where it would be pleasurably painful for a woman.

Tongue poking her nipple, tasting her body only where her beloved should; Herodontus was devouring Sophie. The man truly enjoyed it when a woman protested. Therefore, he knew exactly what he would do. He left her arms free in order for her to hit him, scratch him and try to push him away. How that gave him pleasure.

With his arms free now, Herodontus grabbed her breasts with his hands and squeezed them, biting hard upon the skin, to mark them with his teeth before finally releasing it, tasted and savoured by the beast.

"Mmmm…." Muttered the rapist while rubbing his lips. "The taste of this body is intoxicating. I'm surely going to keep you."

Then, he turned Sophie around, leaving the girl on her back on the bed and once again repeated his action as he tore open her undercloth.

Undoing the knot on his chosen, he pulled it off from his waist and rose to his knees.

While Sophie could not see his actions, she could feel it, something warm and massive was rubbing along her chastity, threatening to steal the one gift the girl had vowed to preserve for her one true love and husband. It's thickness could be felt by her and it was indeed big enough to cause more pain than pleasure within her confined walls unaccustomed to accommodating a man of Herodotus' stature within her, the entry would have to be forced ruthlessly in order to make it possible.

SMACK! The sound was loud and the impact hard as hand collided with the soft flesh upon the young virgin's buttock while the threat loomed, ready to take charge of its price. "You're mine, you little virgin bitch!" Exclaimed the evil lord.

 

[Chanti]

The crisp metallic taste of his blood on her tongue was the sweet taste of victory. That victory shone in her eyes as she glared up at him, reveling in the astonishment reflected in his own eyes. But payment was swift, and her victory was bitterly short-lived. She glared up at him as he loomed over her, his handsome face twisted into a veritable picture of the fury of the gods. Fear lanced her heart at his pronouncement of her fate, and once again tears welled up. Tears she hated, tears she frantically tried to blink away. The last thing she wanted to do was show him how much his words hurt.

Smack!

The crack of his hand against her face was echoed with her soft wounded cry as her head snapped to the side. Her bruised lip curled as she sneered up at him, sharp words edged with anger, contempt, and fear.

“So this is the vaunted honor of Herodontus! The beating and rape of an innocent virgin! A shining example of the honor of our Grecian army!”

It as was if he had not heard her. His hand fell again and again, slamming against her cheek until both of her lips were bruised and broken and swollen, her own blood mixing with the taste of his. Blood trickled from her nose that had caught the edge of one of his slaps. She was dizzy, her head throbbing, her cheeks burning. Her ears roared , and she licked her lips, tasting the warmth of her pain and his anger.

Dear gods, she hated him.

She flinched when he spat on her face, the thick fluid splattering against her face, dribbling down her cheeks as it mixed with her tears.

She hated herself for crying, for letting him see the pain he caused her. Her shriek tore through the bedchamber when he ripped her clothes off her body, her bare breasts jiggling delightfully as her curved body convulsed. His hands held her small wrists, burying her slender limbs in the soft bed-linens.

She screamed again when his teeth sank into her dusky nipple, this time not a scream of outrage but of pure sweet pain. There was no pleasure for her. Not with the swarm of hot emotions rolling in her flat belly. Hatred, contempt, shame, anger, fear, pain….all of it working together to block any hint of pleasure in this brutally cruel rape. It took her a moment to realize her arms were free, his hands busy groping her soft breasts with bruising force. She attacked immediately, viciously.

Fingers clawing at his face, his hair, his bare shoulders. Small futile blows with all the fury of her female body behind them raining down on his head and shoulders. Another vicious little feral snarl of hurt anger – a hissing, spitting kitten that found herself flipped onto her belly before she knew what had happened. Again a victim to his strength and expert control. Like an angry child she balled up her hands into fists and slammed them down into the bed, screaming in anger back up at him as he tore off her under-cloth, baring her perfectly round asscheeks to him. Her entire body thrashed despite being pinned to the bed, giving him the lovely view of her undulating naked back and brief glimpses of the pink fresh looking meat of her virginal pussy.

But it was the feel of that solid column of hot male flesh against her vulnerable flesh that replaced her anger with terror. He was huge. Without being able to see him, he felt as fat as a Corinthian column being rubbed against her. There was no way he would fit in her. He would kill her. Would tear her apart, and she would bleed to death on his cock. In some dark perverse way, she felt more devastatingly feminine now than she had her entire life. Naked and achingly vulnerable underneath hard, cruel male flesh, she felt soft and womanly in the worst possible way.

“No, please!” Gods, she hated herself for begging. But she could not help it. Panic was overwhelming her, roaring in her ears, threatening to steal the very breath from her lungs. “Please, have mercy!” Her voice choked with a guttural sob that tore out of her bruised lips. “Please, I beg you, do not do this to me!”

 

[Wander]

Truly, if there was a more detestable sight then it could not exist within the realms of this universe. Being raped is the lowest form of degradation for a woman and the very peak of chauvinism of man. It is a return of man to his feral ways and a depiction that they are not yet ready for a civilised universe within which they exist. It is a depiction that man has a lot more to learn. Survival and territorial conquest appears to be the only source of existence and that man can never rise towards the solidarity of interdependence working together and not against each other. The hopes for such a future maybe bleak, yet such hopes exist and men like Herodontus who are slaves to the needs of sense gratification are in fact the destroyers of such hope. The true altruist is selfless and hopes to achieve good for not only himself but his fellow being and of mankind as a whole; but the commander had genuflected before his lust and allowed it to tower him, control him, and shape his actions in a manner it deems fit in order to achieve nothing apart from insatiable carnal appeasement.

A malicious guffaw of contentment reverberated within the harrowing home of debauchery. This was the sound of the laughter of the man who had lost all contact with his conscience and the very concept of guilt was as alien to him as water to the deep desert.

“So, someone suddenly lost all the pride and instantly became complacent at the very touch of a man’s phallic strength?” He mocked as a massive arm came forward and seized the long mane of lush golden hair. The crude brutish strength of the commander was displayed in full blow at this action for as he tugged, the young maiden’s cranium was jerked backwards fiercely and now she could see the ceiling above her, her neck arched to painful proportions and her hair tugged so acrimoniously that she could feel them being wrenched at their very root. But the commander was a master at manoeuvre and knew how to manipulate and contort a body by mere might without lasting damage and Sophie was like meat under a crafty butcher’s knife who knew exactly how and where to place his cuts in order to create the right impact with minimal damage to the delicacy within his grasp.

Just above her was the grinning expression of the face she would not forget in her entire life and which would haunt her for eternity like the spectre of terror, haunting a being with fear and threat and never really giving it because it revelled in the consternation of its victim.
But Sophie’s fear was answered when the pain of the tug was blemished by another, much deeper pain.

Smack!

This time it was not a slap, but something far worse. Tremendous phallic virility engulfed her frailty and consumed it. Herodontus did not wait, he did not make a single effort to let her adjust, he plunged with impetuous force, defiling the young maiden and stripping her off her chastity as he struck through her hymen and pulverised her within by sheer girth.

‘Fuck!’ Thought the commander; ‘She is so tight, I am going to have to push with all my force.’ and he did. Tugging the long mane of hair with greater force, the hips thrust forward on and on. The intensity followed through until young girl who was womanized by the beast felt the phallic girth thrust deeper and deeper, forcing its way so deep inside where she would permit no man to go.

Presently the commander penetrated her womb and Sophie could feel his pelvis pressed hard against her buttocks trying to force entry deeper even though he had already traversed the very ebb beyond which her body had no more leeway in order to accommodate him any further.

“FUCK!” Moaned the commander and he felt the warmth of her womanhood, the clenching of her walls around the alien presence against them, as well as the blood trickling down his shaft. He had stolen her prized possession and now he would claim her for his pleasure.

Smack! A slap to her bottom, marking it with the print of his hand announced the oncoming onslaught which would be like a relentless storm, destroying all in its wake.

Back and forth, back and forth, he moved, going all the way out only to slam back inside her with more vicious and violent derision. Pat! Pat! Pat! The sound grew louder with each impact as his body slapped against her buttocks with each ruthless thrust while his hands ran in rhythm to his movements, creating a symphony of accurately played cords, depicting the absolute expertise of the commander in this depraved act as he tugged her hair harder and slapped her bottom harder with each ever growing savage thrust.

 

[Chanti]

Was it possible to feel so much hatred and not die of it? Was it possible to feel such overwhelming shame and fear that she could barely hear over the roaring of the blood in her ears and not melt from it? His mocking laughter was the tipping point, and her shriek of rage turned into a shriek of pain when his fists cruelly twisted in her silken hair, ripping her head back so her scream bounced off the ceiling.

And then he was in her.

The pain was horrific, literally taking her breath away. Sucking the air from her lungs in a choking gasp of misery as his swollen cock tore brutally into her virginal channel. He shred her virginity under his rampaging cock, forced her tiny hole to stretch to its limit and beyond. It was an animalistic howl of sheer agony that tore out of her strained, bent throat as she felt something inside her tear, felt the hot gush of blood that coated his engorged flesh inside her. He was killing her, she was certain of it. Every inch of her body screamed to escape this torture, but the cruel grip on her hair causing her scalp to burn ensured she did not.

She was no longer angry. No longer outraged. No longer fighting. Now she was a trapped female animal impaled on the mighty male cock, splayed out like a bleating, bloody sacrificial lamb before an omniscient and cruel god. What an irony of humanity that her agony could provide her attacker so much pleasure! From her sweat-slicked naked satin skin to her silken hair twisted in his fingers, to the soft firmness of her ass that thumped against his belly…and certainly that hot tight cunt, wet and slick with her blood, wrapping around him and squeezing him each time he slammed into her with a bloody squelch. For each triumphant slap on her ass that reddened into the shape of his handprint, she squealed like the stuck fuck-pig she had been forced to be. Underneath her the soft white sheets were blotched crimson, stained with her salty sweet sweat. She howled, grunted, cried and swore. No longer the dignified noble lady of Greece. Now pretty Sophie was a slave slut, forced to bow to her master’s cock, forced to give him the pleasure he took.

Grecian soldiers walking outside the room heard her howling cries and grinned, content that another Trojan bitch was serving her new Grecian master. But if they had known it was a fellow Grecian woman suffering in that room they would not have cared. The blood of the conqueror ran hot in their male veins, and any woman was a ready victim tonight. Nothing was required of them but to suffer.

And suffer Sophie did. Like she never had before in her life, even when her former mistress had been at her cruelest. Each relentless thrust was a stabbing pain deep into her loins, bruising her from the inside out. She was so tight that her slick walls clung to him when he pulled back, peeling away only reluctantly…welcoming him back with a spasm of agony as he slid back into her bloody, drooling cunt. The red streaks lining her creamy inner thighs and plump pussy lips gloated over her pain. Her agony was so acute she could not even think, could not hear anything said. She could only feel. Feel the burning, aching pain in her scalp. Feel the numb bruising pain in her stretched neck. Feel the hot strokes of bruising pain that thrust into her. Feel his strong possessive hand on her ass, slapping her repeatedly, burning those tight jiggling cheeks. Feel the wobbling of her naked breasts that shook with the power of his thrusts.

She cried for mercy and did not even hear her own pleas. She begged him as she had refused to do before. Begged him not like a noblewoman, but like a miserable, pathetic slave-girl serving her master with her pain. She used words she would never – in her normal mind – admit to knowing. She offered him anything, anything at all, as long as the pain stopped. The small bit of pain other women had spoken of when they first laid with a man was nothing like what she was experiencing. Because this was not love, or even simple lust. This was battle, the age old battle between a man and a woman that had been fought out over centuries. The battle that nearly always left the man the victor. This was not love, this was war. And war is bloody and painful and brutal. The pain does not stop until the battle has been fought and is over.

 

[Wander]

If there is any sight that a true warrior cherishes, it is blood. Blood is what a warrior lives for. There is no greater euphoric experience than to witness the sight of blood that spills out of the neck in large fountain of spurts as a man is mercilessly decapitated with his head and body spilling blood far from one another and in equal quantities. To a warrior, nothing smells better than the odour of rotting flesh and blood upon the crimson carpet of the grounds where his true savage calling claims his soul. This was no different for the warrior within Herodontus. The bed was his battlefield and Sophie, his foe.

The blood that drew from within the woman was the sign of his victory and conquest. The battlefield was tainted with the crimson as he towered over Sophie, triumphantly. She was his conquest; she was the sign of his domination. This was the sight of the male; evolutionarily the protector of the tribe who saved the wife and children from wild creatures was himself the beast who could be the barbaric brute and use the same strength bestowed upon him by nature against the woman he is meant to protect. This was the epitome of that very brutish male tendency.

Sophie was screaming and wailing at the top of her lungs and it was exactly this loud scream and pleas for mercy which made Herodontus bask within the masculine pride of his sinewy strength and phallic prowess. The eyes of the beast were now of the same hue as Sophie’s swollen entrance. This red gleaming passion of insanity said that even after defiling the frailty of the girl beneath him, the beast was not done, the savage was not satisfied. His depravity would extend beyond the realms of causing the girl mere physical pain; he wanted to cause her emotional and psychological pain that would be etched within her memory as a terrible nightmare forever.

“Take this, you bitch!” He exclaimed and pulled back until he was all the way outside her, only his tip remaining slightly within her. Nothing happened then, not a stir. But this was the calm before the massive storm for....

SLAM!

He jabbed into her with such intense force that if she was not within the grasp of the beast by his grip upon her hair, she would be propelled forth by pure force and lurched towards the wall ahead to be rammed into it violently. Yet, that did not happen and the frail girl was being repeatedly subjected to this action. Slowly moving back all the way, as if taking careful aim like an archer with the bow string pulled completely to its ebb, only to release the phallic arrow with such intense pace that it would pierce every inch within the woman, causing greater spurts of blood to emerge out of her and taint her legs, his body and his bestial bed.

“Now where is your pride, bitch? Where is your anger? You wanted to bite me? BITE ME!” He challenged as he grinned devilishly at the tears which welled up in her eyes from the pain he caused her and the manner in which she mortified her.

As if this was not enough, the monster took his actions further when he pulled out of her. But it was not the end. The crimson, blood soaked column of virility was still standing erect, wanting more of the body; it was like a tiger that had tasted human blood and now coveted no other meat.

“So fucking tight. I never had such a woman before. Let’s see how much tighter it is inside your arse.” He exclaimed with a grin.

Even before Sophie could protest, the swift warrior had seized her arms, right above her elbows with such an immense grip, that marks of his fingers would be imprinted upon her flesh. He heaved with all his might as he moved backwards and Sophie was lurched towards the beast.

Presently he stood close to the edge of the bed, with Sophie’s feet touching the ground, but her back bent, not all the way but in a slight uncomfortable angle. With her arms arched behind her within his grip, the girl was completely at his mercy with no volition for free movement.

“You little, cunt! Now you will experience the strength and dominance of a man over you. Now you will know what it is to serve!” He exclaimed.
Without a moment’s loss and not giving the girl a single second to even breathe and adjust, he moved his hips forward, tugging on the arms to make her body unwillingly thrust back towards him.

SLAP!

The sound could almost be heard through the entire room as his body slapped hard with derision upon her buttocks and his male shaft forcefully pierced her unwilling anus, thrusting into her with immense force that only a true brute warrior could muster.

“Oh my fuck...So fucking...tight!” He moaned as his eyes shut closed at the very first thrust that made his male gonads slap against her buttocks and his phallus strike deep within her posterior. Then, like the barbaric brute that he was for whom a woman was merely an impregnating tool, he started to move. This time even harder than when he penetrated her womb for the ‘Slap, slap, slap, slap!’ sound of body against body emanated across the room and outside as he rammed into Sophie with the depraved debauchery so innate within the man.

 

[Chanti]

Even when he was all but outside of her, Sophie still hurt. Her loins throbbed with a deep bruising ache. She caught her breath in a sobbing hiccup as he slid almost all the way out of her, his voice heavy and cruel in her ear, oozing contempt and victory.

“Please, I’m so sorry…” Her whimpering plea turned into another ragged shriek when his fat cock slammed into her body with a violent force that shook her entire body.

“Eeeeee!” Her wail of agony floated in the hallways, joining other cries of captive women being used by the victorious warriors. She was sobbing openly, fat salty tears running down her soft cheeks. Staring blindly up at the ceiling as her master raped her, the power in his body terrifying. There was no part of her body not in pain…or so she thought.

He slid out of her and she sighed in relief….and a queer aching emptiness she did not understand or have the energy to decipher. It was over, finally. He was done….. She slumped onto the bed in relief, her legs still splayed widely to display her gaping well-fucked cunt still oozing blood that was smeared along her inner thighs.

His words struck her and she stiffened even as his biting fingers seized her smaller, softer body and dragged her across the bed. Somehow she found the energy to fight him. Her sore, aching body squirming, her feet kicking wildly as she screamed.

“No! No, please! You will kill me, you cannot! Nooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!” The last was a shriek of overwhelming panic so sharp she could taste it on her tongue like blood….no that WAS her blood. She had bitten her already bleeding lip in her panic.

“Please, you win! I’m sorry, I won’t fight you! I won’t fight you! Please don’t do this!”

Despite her panic driven efforts she soon found herself bent meekly over like the bitch he treated her as, unable to kick anymore lest she lose her balance and fall. Unable to strike out at him, his hands held behind her bent back in the infuriatingly effortless grasp of one strong male hand holding both her wrists together.

“Nooooo! I will serve! I will serve! Please don’t!!!”

Her pitiful pleas were useless.

Her screams reached a new level. The pain had been terrible before, now it was horrendous. His cock tore into her virgin ass in a white hot agony of blood and flesh and shame. Soft tissue tore beneath the relentless pressure of his invading fleshly weapon, giving way to the vicious assault. Blood oozed out of her torn asshole from around his cock, dripping down over her already bloody pussylips.

"AAAAIIIIEEEEE!!!!” Her voice was hoarse from screams, but the agony in the sound was vibrantly real. Her soft body shuddered with the barbaric pain. She gagged, her knees buckling. She barely held herself up under the assault, barely bit back the rush of the acidic contents of her stomach. Black spots danced before her eyes, but somehow she stayed conscious.

But she wished she did not. She wished she would die. Anything to stop this horrific stabbing pain that thrust into her bowels repeatedly, using her in the most cruelly shameful manner a woman can be used. Slender sinewy limbs quivered against his hard body, threatening to collapse under his attack. Strands of silken blond hair clung to her sweaty, tear-streaked face. All traces of that proud woman from before were gone, and in her place was a beaten, raped slave woman impaled on his cock, bleeding for his pleasure.

 

[Wander]

Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth; like a relentless, undying, and utterly ruthless in his manner, Herodontus was like the mighty ocean lashing against the shores. No matter how much the sand or the stone try to push it back towards its barriers, the ocean returns with a vengeance. He kept returning and thumping into her like a hammer, with his hammer. The screams and shrieks of pain which escaped her lips were like the wails of a creature in pain and begging for the mercy of death which it was repeatedly refused. Oh, how he cherished making her scream like that and moan.

There was a mad desire that overcame his mind. His eyes were bulging, like a man possessed with a demonic entity, his veins pulsating. It was then that Herodontus realised that it was not his veins which were pulsating, it was his phallus. It was throbbing vehemently like a violent and vicious serpent oscillating before the final sting. His final sting was close and he knew it.

It was not like being close made the beast any slower. In fact, it only made him more vicious. The ferociousness grew and the commander let go of the young maiden’s arms. The repeated pounding of her arse and the blood that he drew from within her hand painted the bloody picture of the crimson hue down his thighs. The commander manoeuvred his arms to wrap them around Sophie’s thigh and with one large heave, he lurched. He had stopped moving, but he was moving Sophie with such merciless tugs that her body kept slamming into his, his shaft going deeper and deeper down her bowels with each tug.

“Fuck!” Slam! “Fuck!” Slam! Fuck! SLAM! He was moaning as each time as he thrust his massive form into her. The screams were like music to his ears the likes of which were unmatched by Beethoven’s symphonies or Mozart’s serenade. Only a grotesque min such as that of General Herodontus could experience more pleasure in the shrieks of a woman than in the actual intercourse.

Presently he moaned, “Fuck! FUCK! I am going to....” He did not say any further and knew Sophie had probably assumed what was to come next. Yet, what she did not know was what was the extent of the debauchery which he was going to take her.

PLOP! was the sound as his shaft disconnected from her bowels and he grinned. “From one night you went from the defiant bitch to a weeping whore.” He exclaimed and turned her around as he pushed her like a ragdoll onto the bed, pressing his massive palms on her shoulders until she was sitting on the edge of the bed.

SLAP! was the sound as the general moved his hips and slapped her face with the massive pole of flesh, marking her cheek. Yet another slap on the other cheek. But after that he sneered maliciously.

“Now, you will taste the seed of a real man, you bitch.” He exclaimed and then gaunt fingers clutched her chin and yanked. The chin dropped down as her mouth was pulled open.

“Take this!” Screamed the general as he positioned the phallic tip close to her gaping mouth.

“Oh fuck!” He moaned and like a bullet escaping a gun a t rapid pace, hot male seed shot out of him and marked her face as well as entered her mouth. On and one he continued to ejaculate for more than a minute until her mouth was full and her face and hair smeared within a greasy white curtain as he grinned and moved back, panting and perspiring. With a light push, Sophie was sprawled on her back on the bed, marked, bloodied and tainted by the Lord as the conquistador of this young virgin stood towering triumphantly over her.

 

[Chanti]

Sophie would kill him. She decided this as she stared up at him with hate-filled eyes, His cruel fingers forcing her jaw open, his hot sticky seed splattering on her tongue. Yes, she would kill him. It may take time. She would have to catch him unawares. But he would die by her hand. She swore this silently, bitterly to herself. No matter what he did, no matter how long it took, she would kill him. Yes, she would die for it. A slave who rose her hand against her master was guaranteed a terrible death. It would be worth it. She was not born a slave, and had not the meek nature bred and instilled into a slave from childhood.
When he was done with her and she lay weakly on the bed, bleeding from her mouth, her cunt, and her ass, she proved she was not precisely beaten. He was the victor here, there was little doubt of that. He had taken out the full force of his wrath on her soft body, and she bore the marks of it. Darkening bruises and splotches of blood littered her body.

“And do you think you would do better?” She sneered up at him from the bed, her voice ragged and horse from her screams. “If you were taken down in battle by those stronger than you and bent over and a cock shoved up your ass, do you think you would not scream and beg?”

She spat up at him. It was a deliberate act, her hot eyes meeting his as she did so. It was a futile act though, her body too weak to carry through with the threat. Not one speck of her bloody spittle reached him.

“I swear to the gods themselves, I will kill you for this one day if I live.”

It was a sacred vow, one taken rarely by men, much less a woman. The dead earnestness in her eyes when she uttered the vow left no doubt of her intentions. Perhaps it was foolish to tell him of it, but it was the only way she had right now of striking out at him. It mattered not if this was a drunken rage and he was a good man otherwise. She had heard tales of his honor before, and had thought him a man worthy of respect. None of it mattered. Blood lust, drunkenness, it mattered not. The weight of the insult he had delivered to her could not be borne without the intent of revenge. She would have her revenge if it was ever within her power to do so. This she swore – both aloud and to herself. It was a small comfort indeed, but it WAS a comfort to her delicate sense of justice. No man should be permitted to do what he had done to an innocent noblewoman. The fact the very kings of her people not only permitted but encouraged it mattered not.

She was too weak, in too much pain to move. She could only glare up at him, her bloody thighs still spread wide. Her entire body aching. But far, far stronger than the pain that pulsed in her body was the hatred that pulsed in her heart.

 

[Wander]

If there was anything more dangerous in life than facing a dragon, then it was being defiant to a self indulgent sadistic despot. A dragon would be merciful to burn the victim to cinders in one blow and end their existence. But the despot would not do that. He would cause pain, misery, suffering to such an extent that even the victim’s soul would experience it even after his/her death which would be very slow and eventual to the point where the victim would be begging for it and would be repeatedly denied. Sophie had chosen the latter path and had invited further pain and torture in her life by being bitter with her master.

A loud derisive cackle erupted from the general’s lips upon Sophie’s defiance. “Silly girl,” He said with a grin. “What you speak of are warriors. We would much rather kill ourselves with our own swords than be captive to our enemies. I would happily give up my life than be held slave by my enemies. But you are no soldier, you are an object, a prize I won for my endeavours and I shall use you as I please and when I please. And if you dare defy me again, then what I just did would appear child’s play before what I can do with you.”

But the defiant woman who still held her nobility showed relentless defiance by spitting. Another loud chuckle made it clear that the general was amused by his efforts. “Suddenly when the rider is off its back, the horse thinks he is free. But he is still bound and the rider can ride him anytime. Next time you won’t just beg you will be unconscious, of yes; I have done that to woman before. I just did not fuck you that hard to take it to that level because I was enjoying your screams.” Reaching into the armoire, the general; put on one of his night robes.

Then came forward and smirked diabolically, “Oh? You think you can kill me? How cute. I want to see you try it. Let me see how a slave handmaiden...yes I know who you are and how you served that slut. Let us see how a slave handmaiden kills the undefeated general of the Grecian army. And I was going to release you, but I have decided now that I will keep you until I break this horse and its defiance.”

Herodontus came forward and inhaled deeply. When he exhaled a large clamp of slimy saliva escaped his lips and smeared Sophie’s face. “This is how you spit, you whining bitch.” He said and then glared at her.

“I was going to give you some clothes,” He added. “But your defiance has earned you the prize of going naked from here all the way back to Greece for all the army to see their General’s prize as he brandishes her.” With this the General looked at her, raising his eyes...

“What are you doing still on my bed?” He asked, “Get up, your place is on the floor, slaves don’t sleep on beds, you grotesque bitch.” With a massive foot up that landed on the maiden’s abdomen, Herodontus kicked her and the force made her topple backwards and fall upon the floor.

Mounting his bed, the general rested his bed upon the pillow, leaving her without clothes or a blanket upon the cold floor within the frosty night. “Get some sleep, whore;” Said he. “We have a long way to travel back to Greece tomorrow and I don’t want my prize pleasure waning because of lack of sleep or nourishment, I need you healthy to devour you.” With this, the general closed his eyes and drifted into a peaceful confine of sleep after his insidious defiling of an innocent virgin.

 

[Chanti]

Sophie would have defended herself, explained she was never a slave but had granted her service to Helen to fulfill her father’s debt to Helen’s father. She was, in truth, a companion. Helen had never treated her as such, had always treated her as a servant. But the truth was still the truth. Sophie had been free to leave Helen’s side anytime she wanted, at the expense of her father’s vows. But she had kept those vows, and this was her reward now. No, he cared nothing for the truth. He surely knew the truth, knew the name of her honored, deceased father. If she tried to defend herself, he would use her words against her. As he did with everything. She remained silent, allowing the venom flashing in her eyes to speak for her.

His next words left her with a sick feeling of horror that showed on her suddenly white face and large eyes. Naked! All the way back to Greece? No, it could not be borne. She would die first.

The sudden rush of violence was unexpected, though really, what else could she expect of him? The breath rushed out of her in a gasp as she fell off the bed, her body folding in on itself as she fought for air. And then she was alone. Curled up on the floor, naked, shivering, bruised to the bone. Completely destroyed. Staring up at the candle lit ceiling and considering her next step.

She had sworn a vow. Perhaps she had spoken to soon. Sophie was a practical girl at heart, that practicality had helped her survive the ten years she had served the capricious Helen. As bitter as it was to admit, he was right to laugh at her vow. Who was she, to think she could fell one of the mightiest of the warriors of Greece? To do so she would have to resort to trickery and deceit. Would the gods honor a vow fulfilled in such a manner? Would it not be better to honorably kill herself? Either way, one of them at least must die. If she killed him, she would die as well at the hands of his army. If she died…well…he would live on. But she, at least, would be released from the bondage he inflicted on her. He would lose. And really, was not that a kind of death? To be cheated out of what he considered to be his property, by a mere slave girl? A death to his pride, a death to what little honor he had. Yes, a death.

It would be enough. She moved for the first time an hour after he was slumbering away. Fighting back a whimper of pain as her blood crusted thighs moved. Somehow she got to her feet. She stood on trembling, weak legs. Half bent over from the deep throbbing agony in her lower body. Stumbling across the cold stone floor to the first sharp edge she saw. A dagger, lying on the small table beside the door. Was it his? Better it were so. To steal his slave from him with his own dagger. The justice soothed her heart. She stumbled, still just out of reach of the dagger. Almost fell. A rush of feverish heat flooded her body. Her gasp was loud in the room as a flare of sharp pain shot through her loins. She caught herself though, lurching forward, feeling her hand close around the handle with a rush of bitter sweet victory.

That she would have come to this! She, the proud daughter of a prouder noble Greek family! A slave, raped by her master and thrown like so much trash onto the floor. No, it would not be borne. She would regain the lost honor of herself and her family with this move.

She stood, turning to the bed, knowing he was awake before she even laid eyes on him.

“You are right. It would be foolish to think I could kill you. Not without doing so dishonorably. So I will do the next best thing. I will kill myself, and regain my honor while destroying any honor you have left to you.”

The blade turned inward, aimed to her heart.

 

[Wander]

If there is any article which man should shun from ever forming a part of his being, it is alcohol. It turns man into the beast that he is not and makes him a beast which would otherwise be a man when not in the intoxicated state. Yet, man relentlessly consumes this nefarious liquid and succumbs himself to the evils of this tyrant which engulfs the soul and destroys the conscience. Considering this, the only hell within the universe would be the W3(OH) region which is a few thousand light years away from our home planet to be the true hell which contains nothing apart from this malignant liquor. Returning to the tale from which we digressed, let us understand Herodontus. It has been observed that the man was seldom sober. He could not when in his right mind do any form of activity which the conscience would deny. Only alcohol gave him the courage to fade the barricade between good and evil and to embrace either side depending upon his preference. It was mostly the latter. Thus while it was going for battle or for claiming the spoils f war as his prize, he had to drink in order to make his move.

However, it had been considerable time since his last drink. Being a man of sturdy flesh to which digestion of bricks seemed a menial task; draining alcohol was not a challenging act. He had already begun to sober and while he could not sleep (He had not slept for more than an hour or two since the day his family died) he thought.

‘I did wrong to that poor girl. She is no slave woman; she is a nice girl and I defiled her. Why did I do that? What would Sofia think of me when I ultimately met my demise? How would I face my son when I meet him in heaven? As a murderer, a rapist?’ Then it dawned upon him and he realized it.

‘I would never go to heaven. I am going to rot in hell for eternity. Sinners like me have no place in heaven. I shall never see them again.’ Tears streaked his cheek at this painful revelation and he felt an ominous sense of foreboding which could not be fathomed by mere repent.

‘Redemption!’ He realized. ‘I must redeem myself, purge myself of these sins and follow the path of perdition towards ultimate penance. Maybe then the burden on my soul could be lightened.’ The hope of some form of penance from the guilt that raked his soul from the sins he had committed under the dismal loss of his family and the odious influence of alcohol made him slightly calm.

‘I must release her. I shall beg for forgiveness and release her to be a free woman the first thing in the morning. Shall repay her father’s debt to Menelaus. I know it is not enough, but it is the least I can do. ‘

His thoughts were hampered by the sound of something falling on the ground within his chamber and the general rose to his feet, lighting the lamps. “What? Who is there?” He asked, his voice a high threatening pitch.

Then he saw it, and he was shocked beyond his wits. Sophie stood there, dagger in hand and raised overhead. Eyes bulging, he could not believe the sight before him and screamed, “Noooo!”

It all happened within the time frame of a second. The dagger descended as the swift feet of the general bounded forward like a rabbit hopping at top pace, carrying him forth towards the scene onto the scene in less than a moment. The General was an adept at reflex reaction, it had saved his life at countless instances during battle. But for the first time, it had saved the life of another and his skills followed a more altruistic purpose of life. The hand instantly caught the knife just before it made contact with the girl’s body. Blood trickled down the General’s sliced palm as he held the blade in place and yanked it away from Sophie’s grasp.

“No!” He exhaled and then tossed the knife away. Pain burned within his palm and seared in a burn through his flesh, but he ignored it, letting his blood flow freely and drip onto the ground. The General then advanced towards the armoire within the corner, and from it , he exhumed a dress and a towel which appeared to be of the maiden that happened to be the former occupant of this room.

“Here, wear this.” Advised the general, his voice a soft an affectionate whisper, antonymous to the beast that had raped Sophie. His eyes looked down in order to not view the naked flesh and bruised, battered and bloodied body of the he maiden.

“I …I am sorry.” He whispered again as he handed her the towel. “You should have a bath and spend the night here>.I shall release you in the morning and your father’s debt….consider it paid. You shall be a free woman when you are back in Greece.” With this the General turned, still unable to meet her gaze for the guilt was too much to bear and he was unable to meet her gaze or look at her naked body. He lay down on the ground where she lay and closed his eyes, leaving the bed vacant for the young maiden to accommodate while he purged himself through suffering and guilt.

 

[Chanti]

She hadn’t expected such a big man to move so fast. But fast he did move, and before Sophie could complete the deed the strength of his hand prevented it.

“Nooooo!” It was a cry of fear and frustration, and she jerked the knife, not even realizing for a moment that the blade was caught in his fist. If she had realized it, she would have jerked it even harder, trying to saw the flesh from his bones. But then the knife was torn from her grasp, and she crossed her arms around her naked breasts in an almost unconscious defensive gesture, cringing backward and closing her eyes in anticipation of another beating.

It did not come. She blinked her eyes open, startled to see him fetching her a clean white gown. Even more startled when he gave it back to her with apologetic eyes and regret lacing his voice. She took it with numb fingers, holding it up to her body to cover herself. She stared in shocked silence as he turned away from her, going to the blood splotched floor where she had lain only moments before and lying down.

Another frozen moment, and then she dressed as quickly as she could with her sore, aching body. She felt less a slave when she was clothed. Protected, even. Never before had she realized just how much being decently covered meant to her pride and dignity. With a final hard glance his way, she opened the door next to her and limped out, slamming it behind her. Perhaps he would think she had went to bathe as instructed. Sophie had no intention of ever coming back. She would recover from the vicious attack, go back home to Greek, and plot her revenge. His sudden inexplicable change of heart mattered not. She would see him dead. Or herself. It mattered not.

The wide hallways of the palace were lit by flickering torches. For just a brief moment, Sophie wondered who had remembered to light the torches in the face of the brutal assault by the Greeks. Life goes on, she considered bitterly.

She barely made it three steps.

From a curtain covered alcove a naked drunken soldier reeled out, stumbling into her. She would have fallen, but he grabbed her and pushed her against the wall.

“Is the hero of the day done with you, slut? Well I am just getting started.”

His mouth moved in for a kiss. Sophie met him with bared teeth and flashing eyes. From the hands of one monster straight into the hands of another. But still fighting, still full of pride.

“Argh!” He let out a roar of rage and pain, rearing back and striking out with his hand.

She let out a whimpering cry, her head slamming back against the wall. She was dazed, stunned as the man tore at her dress. Once again, the sound of linen shredding in the night. Once again, cool air on her breasts.

“Let me go! You have no right!” Rage thickened her voice and made it tremble.

“I have every right, bitch. You are a slave, and I am a Grecian warrior.” The man snarled, his fingers twisting in her hair.

In a fit of impotent fury Sophie lashed out. Like the monster in the bedroom that had raped her, this warrior simply laughed at her, dodging her little fists and slamming her head against the stone wall.

Blackness crashed in on her, and Sophie slumped limply into the warrior’s arms.

 

[Wander]

It was wet, his clothes were drenched, and he could hear the dispersal of the liquid as he advanced forward into it.
“Come, come, come!” The feminine voiced chimed in repeatedly from the distance. The water within which he was grew higher and warmer as he advanced towards the source of the source if the sound.
“I am coming!” He exclaimed and heard his voice reverberated and echoed within the open sea. What was happening? Why was he in the sea? What was this place?
He felt thirsty and needed to drink, there was water around, he could quench it. Taking a handful into his palm, he sipped it. Instantly he spat it out, coughing heavily.
“Blood? I am in a sea of blood?” He could not understand what was going on, his mind was blank and thoughts having no meaning.
“Come, Hero, please come.” Then he realised who it was. Only his wife Athena called him Hero.
“I am coming Athena!” He exclaimed and began to swim at rapid pace. Then, he saw it; there was a man upon the lagoon with his wife who was calling out to him. He was lurking behind her like a beast scouting its prey. “Look, behind, Athena, look behind! He exclaimed but he was too late. The man was upon her and had already begun to tear her clothes open. Even before he could reach in to save her, the man was already inside her and was raping his wife.
“Aaaagh!” She screamed and Hero reached the lagoon and grabbed the beast raping his wife by the shoulder and lifted him off. He was struck with horror at the sight of the beast. The great general Herodontus was staring into his own face.

He rose; sweat coursing his forehead as he began to breathe heavy, his heart pounding. Getting up, he gazed at the bathroom door within his room. It was empty.
That is odd. I thought she was gone for a shower. Rising to his feet, the general decided it was best if he investigate.
The place is full is full of drunk soldiers, she may be in the wrong hands. His fears indeed did materialise as he heard the sound of struggling from the distance and he could not forget that whimpering voice. He had heard it far too often just an hour ago and he knew he could not forget it all his life.
“No!” Exclaimed the general and began to bound forward.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Shut up, bitch t or I will cut your tongue out with my knife!” Warned the Grecian soldier as he planted his large hand upon her mouth.
“If the commander had not demanded you, I would have claimed you as my prize.” He confessed as he leaned in and bit her neck, the teeth sinking into the tender flesh and sending pain across her body. One strong hand grabbed the maiden’s exposed breast and squeezed it mercilessly as if it were not a part of a woman’s body but a toy at the mercy of the user’s whims. Another hand ran downward and before Sophie could even protest, long dextrous fingers had penetrated her already defiled womanhood and began to move back and forth with intense vigour and dexterity.
“Yes, bitch! Enjoy that! Show how much of a whore you are!” Exclaimed the soldier as he released her bleeding neck from his teeth.

Slash! The sight was bloody and gruesome. The General was upon the scene and his long sharp sword had severed both arms of the soldier in one precise and well calculated strike causing them to fall off Sophie’s body in bloody heaps as the soldier, who did not even scream, fell limp and unconscious upon the floor out of sheer pain and shock. Leaving Sophie’s body and face bloodstained.

The fury in Herodontus’ eyes was one of mortal anger and he said, “Let this be a reminder to you and all my men. If you dare even look at her, I will not take your hands; I will take off your virility and leave you eunuchs. Don’t ever touch her, or else!”