A Grecian Tale (closed)

[saedo]

Closed

General Aracus limped toward his tent, his eyes ablaze with fury. The battle had been won, but the Athenian resistance had included an unexpected squadron of cavalry. The flanking maneuver had caught him by surprise and had turned what should have been a clear victory into something far more pitched.

His servant Tellis looked up from as Aracus entered. "General, you're wounded!"

Aracus glanced down at his left side where his bronze cuirass crumpled and split. Moist rivulets of blood clung wetly to his chestpiece and had soaked into his tunic around his thigh. "Yes, you fool, I'm well aware!" Aracus spat back angrily. "Help me out of this damned thing!"

Tellis nodded obediently and immediately moved to obey. The servant's experienced hands unfastened the breastplate and helped the wounded general extricate himself from its confines. The pain increased as Aracus raised his arms, so he swore a series of violent oaths in the process till he was finally bare-chested.

Tellis knew well enough to provide his master with an amphora of wine immediately thereafter. The alcohol blunted a bite of the pain and mollified the angry warrior's mood. "My lord, this wound cut somewhat deep. You probably need sutures."

Aracus swore violently again. As a seasoned warrior, he had myriad scars from past wounds. The prospect of of being poked by a healer's needle was not unfamiliar, but neither was it welcome.

"Zeus' balls, haven't I been stabbed enough for one day!" he swore before tossing back another swallow of wine. He glared at his manservant with irritation.

Tellis, however, had weathered too many of these tirades to be dissuaded. "Yes, my lord, but if not treated, the wound-."

Aracus swung his arm is a silencing gesture and then winced as the broad movement tugged painfully on his injury. "Yes, yes, I know!" he bellowed. "Get the blasted woman to come tend to it."

Tellis bobbed his head and fled, eager to escape the tent. Aracus settled into a chair with a groan. "Fucking Athenians," he grumbled.

In truth, he was lucky to still be drawing breath. After the cavalry maneuver disrupted his lines, the battle had turned into a chaotic melee. That had resulted in him being charged by an Athenian brute well nearly a head higher and half again as broad as he. The gore-stained two-handed axe he'd wielded had moved far too fast for something that heavy. Aracus had just managed to blunt the swing with his shield, which was likely why the blade hadn't caved in his ribcage. Hurt like hell, though.

Fortunately Aracus had survived this long by knowing not to be distracted by the pain. When the snarling Athenian had yanked the axe back for another swing, Aracus hadn't hesitated. His swift jab caught the brute in the left armpit, slicing muscle and tendons. A swift follow up caught the howling soldier under the chin, silencing his cries in a bloody gurgle.

Still, lucky. Damned lucky.

The entrance to his tent was opened moments later by Tellis. Aracus glanced up, expecting to see the wizened healer woman who had patched him up half a dozen times during this campaign.

His eyes narrowed, though, when he beheld not the gray-haired crone but a brunette maiden brimming with youth's promise. An anxious expression marred her otherwise unlined face. Her plain tunic strained over a pair of breasts so full and firm that he momentarily forgot the ache in his side for one in his groin.

But as the pain flashed again, Aracus concluded that if the goddess of love were to appear before him, it was unlikely that she would appear intimidated by a mere mortal. He glowered at his servant. "Tellis, I spent you for a healer, not a whore," he snarled. "Where by Hades' eyes is the fucking healer woman?!"

Tellis swallowed uncomfortably in the face of the general's displeasure. "Pardon, my lord, but this is the healer woman." He glanced at the young beauty, and amended. "Or rather, the healer woman's new assistant. Pythia was trying to save the leg of one of your men, so since you only had a modest flesh wound, she sent her assistant."

Aracus glared at Tellis a moment, but relented. Stern as the general was, he cared deeply about his men. And it was only a flesh wound.

He shifted his gaze to the girl. "This true?" he barked. "You the healer's assistant? Do you even know how to stitch up a wound?"

 

[Cum_Inside]

Iris had only been apprenticing for one moon cycle when the war came to the borders of their homeland. Within a tiny village on the coast of Megaris, Iris had seen more soldiers over the last week than she’d had in her eighteen summers prior as they moved in and fortified the borders. The healer had sent a desperate plea to the villagers when it had looked as though conflict was unavoidable and Iris’ mother had volunteered the young woman. It was time that she learn some skills to line her pockets and ensure that she would not be left destitute in the coming seasons.

Her father was working diligently to keep the soldiers in pelts and armours for battle, constantly busy and offering her only a small nod as she bustled past him at market when Healer, Cassiopeia, requested a specific tincture or ingredient to be collected for her supply stock.

Iris had been observing and learning much from the elder but so far had not had to dirty her hands with blood. Now that the battle was reaching a fever-pitch, the horns having blown what felt like days ago but amounted only to mid-morn, Iris hovered, shaky hands used to pass bandages and poultices to her mentor as she worked to triage how much care each wound required based on the small amount of experience gleaned from words and hunting accidents, hoping that she would be enough in these crucial times.

She had just left the side of a fevered man, fabric torn into shreds and tucked over his temple, under his arms and across his chest to calm the raging infection from a stab wound just above his umbilicus, trying to keep him comfortable in his final hours, when a man pushed the fabric of the tent opening wide to look upon the horror within.

This man was brisk when he informed Healer that his Master, General Aracus had been injured as well and required attention. Cassie (as she requested to be called, feeling young for her years despite all that she had seen) only turned her attention for a moment to bark orders at Iris. She could not leave the side of the man whose leg was spitting blood profusely from an arterial wound, holding pressure as best she could below the tourniquet. Cassie knew that to save his life she may have to amputate, and poor Iris was definitely not ready for that. Her apprentice likely would turn pale and end up with blood soaking into her pretty hair when she passed out from the visual shock of it if she was lucky enough not to lose her morning’s rations as well, and Cassie could not have her apprentice be put out of commission now.

“It sounds minor, Iris. Painful, yes, but easily closed. Do as I’ve told you and you’ll be fine. Now go — he does not like to be kept waiting.”

*****

Following hurriedly behind the servant with a basket of supplies clutched to her chest, Iris dreaded what she may find. The horror was not knowing what may come through the camp, having to be constantly on high alert for the next gruesome wound. Realistically, the village had it easy in calmer times and she had never even imagined such wounds as the ones that had been pouring in over the last few hours. Combined with the blank stares and blue lips of the men who had bled out, this was nothing short of a nightmare.

Still, Iris did usually pride herself on her iron stomach. Tanning hides and the chemicals used for such things were rotten scents to live with and she’d grown up knowing how to prevent herself from gagging the moment she stepped into her father’s tannery hovel.

She was no stranger to gore, either; her brother had used to sneak her out into the wilds to hunt ibex with him and Iris had learned quickly how to skin and clean the animal’s hide, burying the entrails far off the path for the predators.

Skinning an animal felt different than seeing a man in such a predicament.

When they reached this General Aracus, Iris was dismayed by his attitude but relieved to see that the wound could definitely be stitched. She’d had practice with that, too, all thanks to the tannery, even if she had only sewn a minor laceration to the back of her uncle’s skull since her apprenticeship began.

A whore she was not.

Although her simple forest green tunic was simple, chosen simply this morning with the idea of going home stained with blood, her hair was twisted carefully into a braided updo that spoke of more class than any heterae she’d met (not many).

“I am Iris, Sir. Although I am only an apprentice here, I am able to close this wound quite easily if you will sit or stand calmly,” she spoke, trying to keep her nerves from her voice. It wouldn’t do if he sensed her anxiety. “I’ve much experience with the needle, if you must know.”

This man was looking at her in such an intense manner, large broad frame imposing and dare she say impressive, even with the crumpled remains of his armour piled at his feet. She did her best not to blush at what she was sure would be considered an exemplary example of pure masculinity at its finest, attempting to inconspicuously admire the delineated grooves of abdominal muscle. If she was to be caught, she would pass it off as inspection for further injury, internal bleeding of some sort.

Iris had seen men swimming and sparring about the village without tunics, but she was still quite pure and had never dreamed of a sight like this. She hadn’t known it was possible for a even a man to be so fit as though he were carved from the same marble of any statue protecting the temples and tombs dotting the countryside.

Still, she did not see any bruises blossoming across his skin when she snapped out of her daze, only the broken and bloody skin from the wound on his left side just under his ribs. He’d be lucky if his spleen hadn’t been damaged, but Iris saw nothing to suggest so on a quick scan. She moved forward boldly, small hands pressing at the flesh surrounding the wound, tapping on her fingertips to determine if the echo sounded as though blood may be leaking internally or his spleen really had been damaged.

Everything sounded fine, so Iris cleansed both the periwound skin and the injury itself with damp rags soaked in alcohol and reached for her needle and thread as she knelt in the dirt before him.

“This will hurt but I will be swift,” she warned him. True to her word she was efficient as she sewed, line of sutures neat and tight. The final count was twelve loops to hold the skin together. Finally, Iris rubbed a paste of mandragora leaves with the cooling touch of mint around the wound to soothe the pain of it.

Standing to her full but measly height in front of this man who towered like a mountain, Iris inspected her work.

She was proud of herself and she hoped that Cassie would be too.

“Keep it cleansed over the next several days and dress it daily with clean bandages, or when soiled. Limit activity as much as possible but if your stitches break please come back immediately. I’m sure you’re aware of the signs of infection,” she rattled off, securing clean bandages with a knot tight enough to hold but not put excess pressure against the inflamed skin.

Her eyes were fierce when she looked up at him, refusing to cower. They were glittering like obsidian in flickering light of the torches around his pallet.

“A whore I may not be, but I hope this service pleases you so. I assure you that I am fully capable of performing my duties well, Master General. Now if you will, I’m sure there are many injuries to tend, some of which are not modest flesh wounds,” she commented blithely in recollection of the servant’s words, bowing at the waist and stepping away. Her words were sharp but her tone sweet, appearing nothing but an innocent maiden.

She left some of the poultice for the morrow’s dressing in the basket of supplies on his chest of personal effects, turning on her heel to leave them be.

She had only reached the edges of the thick bear pelt under her sandalled feet when she glanced over her shoulder at him, eyes a bit softer now as if she’d had a change of heart.

“Please. Please take my advice and return if infection develops or the sutures break. We thank you for your service, too, General. We owe much to the soldiers. Now if you will please excuse me.”

And then she was gone.

 

[saedo]

Aracus glared at the girl for a moment, but relented. Part of him wanted to bellow his displeasure, but he had sense enough to recognize that the dark-haired nymph was not the object of his ire. He was angry about the battle and the wound in his side, neither of which he could do anything about. Tellis and the girl were convenient but undeserving targets.

His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply to calm himself. "Fine," he said grimly, his anger partially reined in. "Do what is required."

Aracus raised his arm out of the the way to let the girl worked. She slipped in beneath it easily, her head not even level with his shoulder. Standing so close meant his own body blocked a direct view of her face. He could only see her left shoulder and the swell of the accompanying breast below.

Delicate fingers probed the edge of his injury as she cleaned the area. He grunted as he felt the needle piece his flesh, tugging the wound closed. He'd endured this procedure before, but familiarity did little to make it less unpleasant.

At least her hands moved with a surety that belied her youth. The healer woman was no doubt a grandmother, so entrusting his injuries to a child half his age had seemed unwise. But though he could not see her work, the feel of it suggested competence.

This one's beauty was an additional distraction. Aracus always found his lust heightened after a battle. No doubt something about risking one's flesh made one crave the pleasures it provided. Consequently, her presence inches away was all the more palpable to his senses. The scent of her -- a mix of citrus and lilac -- tugged at his nose. The curve of her bosom nearly brushing against his ribs hovered at the periphery of his vision. The hunger in his belly intensified.

His arm was just beginning to ache when she stepped back and pronounced herself finished. Aracus craned his head to get a look at her efforts. He had to admit that her stitches appeared to be smooth and even. "Not bad," he acknowledged. "Thank you."

The pretty brunette advised him to rest and keep the area clean as she gathered her materials. "I'll bring her by again to check on the healing of your wound, my Lord," Tellis offered as he guided her out of the tent.

Arcadus didn't bother with a response. He settled back in his chair with his wine.

~~~~~~~~
"How the blazes did the scouts miss those cavalry?!" Aracus declared angrily from behind his campaign table. He smacked the map before him, making the miniature units on it jump. He looked around at his lieutenants for an answer.

Tellis winced slightly as he silently set fresh wine before his master. The sun was a few hours above the horizon, so the general had fed, slept, and bathed. That plus the clean attire mollified his mood from yesterday. Still, Tellis wished he'd been able to find a suitable heterae; a mere camp whore would hardly do for the general, but some form of libidinous relief would clearly have soothed his master's temperament.

After an uncomfortable pause, Mateo spoke up. "There is some indication that they concealed their forces at one of the nearby farms, hiding their horses the day before the attack. The village does have a few horse ranches that would have served well for that purpose."

Aracus' eyes narrowed. "One of the village farms? Which one?"

"I don't know," Mateo replied.

"Find out. Take a platoon and search all of them for evidence. When you find the culprits, bring them here." Aracus tapped the table with a forefinger. "I warned these people that we would leave them alone provided they stayed out of our way. Collaboration with the Athenians is not part of the arrangement. Go."

The general jabbed at the door to dismiss his lieutenants, but winced slightly. The wound had ceased to throb painfully. The discomfort had subsided to a dull, low ache unless he moved suddenly.

 

[Cum_Inside]

Iris and Cassie had worked tirelessly through the night to robotically clean, mend and dress whatever wounds they did not feel would ultimately take the lives of the men sporting them. The gentleman who had required the amputation slept fitfully, brow dotted with sweat and pain but alive - Iris had changed his bandages every hour overnight, forcing a bite plate of smooth leather into his mouth to prevent him from waking the village. She was exhausted whence finally the sun rose, rising to her feet and taking stock of what was left. Several had still succumbed to their injuries overnight, but the colour was returning to others, more energy now as the medicines to staunch infection, pain and fever wore off. One farmer circled the tent to provide any who could eat with fresh bread and a slice of warmed goat with cheese.

Iris nodded at him, old man Helios, before she begged of her leave to relieve herself for the first time all night.

Her hair was limp and falling from her braids, fingers shaking with the need to sleep when Cassie finally tugged her into her arms and whispered the words that somehow made all of this okay. “You did well, Iris. Your mother will be proud of the work you have done. Many soldiers live because of your efforts, but I’m afeared that if you do not sleep you may soon perish from exhaustion,” she teased. Her wizened face became serious again. “There will be many nights like this. Take the rest while you are able, child.”

*****

She was only able to close her eyes for a short while, those faces firmed in death, pupils fixed and dilated to the Gods always tugging at the edges of her mind.

When her brother Kale tugged her from her bedroll for a quick dinner and then whisked her off to the forest with him to hunt fresh game, Iris was happy for the distraction. Her brother wasn’t much for a talker but he always seemed to know just what his sister needed (in this case, a distraction). It made her heart warm.

Their trek led them to the fringes of town. They’d been tracking a deer for miles when they stumbled upon its carcass to close to the borders of Hamon’s farm, freshly killed with several different sized paw prints surrounding the animal.

Kale clucked his tongue in concern.

“The smell of blood draws them closer to the village. We have no choice, Iris. These wolves will take a child if we do nothing.”

She knew that. Six summers ago one of the fisherman’s children had been snatched from the wheat fields. The villagers had never found out what had drawn the pack closer to town but a handful had hunted them down and eliminated the threat. The mood was sour and it had taken a while for life to move on as usual. Especially now, with the battlefield only a mile off from here, Iris was well aware of the threat of predators scenting blood.

The thought of hunting a pack was daunting, but her brother had much experience with it - just two moons ago he’d brought them bear meat from his latest foray into the wilderness, and many called on him to guide them. Both Iris and Kale were excellent at scaling trees, and if worst came to worst they might be able to pick the wolves off from the branches of trees on the outside of the property if they had to.

Kale waded through the long grass to the path to old Hamon’s farmhouse, wondering at the lack of men working the fields. Iris was close at hand, following deftly along behind. She leaned against the broken wagon just inside the gate while her brother pounded on the door multiple times. With the heat of the sun beading her brow, Iris was beginning to get agitated.

Shortly she would have to return to the healing tent to check up on Lady Cassie. She had hoped to be able to bathe and fill her belly before the sun dropped too low in the sky but that did not seem feasible now.

“Kale, he is not here. If he is, he is too cowardly to answer the door. Maybe he already knows of the wolves, hiding out inside?” She commented, glancing headlong over her shoulder at her brother. “Let us go. It’s getting too late in the day now. We’ll return in the morning with assistance for the pack.”

There was something vibrating on the edges of her senses that reminded her of hoofbeats, and soon enough from around the corner of Itimene hill there was a herd of horses with soldiers on their backs who appeared on the road. Iris straightened up curiously. They were moving too quickly to be on the ride to Hamon’s and the only other homestead out this far was young Talos’, trying to build a life from himself on the only ground fruitful enough for cotton.

Just what was he up to now? Iris wondered, for he had a reputation of getting himself in trouble. He was a good guy, but it didn’t mean that he wasn’t always looking for another way to make a spare bit of coin. Breeding and selling horses was also a staple of his, the horseman owning a fairly lucrative stable that supplied horses for settlements what seemed like up to twenty leagues.

Iris shrugged. That was not her problem, and she knew the value of keeping her nose out of where it didn’t belong.

Their journey home, this time on the worn road, carried them past the soldier’s camp just outside the natural spring water lake that was always a sight for sore eyes upon any weary traveller or visitor. Iris admitted she had lazed about in the cool water in none but her underthings once or twice in the dark, always paranoid of spying eyes but never enough so that it prevented her from her enjoyment.

The siblings laughed and joked as they passed the camp, pushing and rough-housing a bit on the way, even if Kale did take it easy on his sweet, tiny sister. She was resourceful but not even close to strong enough to overtake him (unless he let her win). She was willowy and thin, body fit from hunting and exploring but small, still, both lean and short in stature. She had never dreamed of hurting a fly unless it fed her family or threatened her village.

Her laugh was loud and tinkling, boisterously happy evening in these sad times.

Their father fixed her with a raised brow as they bumbled past in their sweaty clothing, shooing them off with “I knew I smelled something foul - ‘‘twas only my hellions, in need of a bath!”

That sent Iris cackling all over again at the joke, pleased to see some light-hearted humour in her father for once, the first time in ages.

“Yes father, I promise I shall clean up as though I was the finest Athenian socialite you ever did see,” she curtsied with a wink. “But I fear there is no saving Kale!”

*****

Bathed and dressed in a fresh skirt of lavender colouring, a small woven leather belt around her waist to provide some form to the shapeless dress, Iris ducked inside the healing tent to provide some further aid for Cassie overnight. These soldiers would require much care over several days to mend. Her hair was damp and tied up only in one single braid that fell over her left shoulder, thick hair long enough to rest beneath her breasts on a good day. It was quick and easy to manage it this way, requiring hours of attention to bind and brush and wash it properly. This would kill two birds with one stone and leave it in beautiful loose curls until next wash day, but the braid would be helpful in the morn during the hunt for the predators stalking the village, as well.