“My Adoni, I fear for you. As the war council draws near I sense a growing need for revenge in your heart. You nurse a bitter wrath against that one who cut your throat in the Dark House. I understand that. But tell me one thing - How many lives do you think you have Brata?”
He flinched at her words. She reads me so well.
Her glossy black head resting on his shoulder, she gazed up at his face, closely watching his reaction. Brata’s eyes flickered with barely masked vulnerability.
She saw his pain, his fury. How torn up, how angry he was inside. A dead man brought back to life with no identity, no tribe, no family. A warrior destitute of honor and all that he had earned through hard fought battles.
High priest Koldun had taken everything from him in the Dark House, then walked away without a backward glance. Now Brata hated him with the cold focused venom of a viper coiled to strike.
Sensing the Black Cloak warrior’s tension, Toxaris took his clenched fist and softly opened his fingers, one by one. With her pointer finger she traced a circle in the palm of his hand.
“Listen to me Brata - You hold my heart here, in the palm of your hand. I need you. Sava needs you. Think what it would cost Sava to know that after all his struggles to save your life, that you chose to throw your life away in a mad quest for revenge?”
Not revenge – Justice. Since when has the quest for justice become madness? He thought.
“Please I beg you Brata, stay out of sight during the war council. Pull the hood of your cloak down over your eyes. Be invisible.”
Brata let his head drop back on the edge of the bath. His eyes fastened on the blue sky showing through the oculus high above. With a sardonic smile he visualized one of his favorite revenge scenarios –
I will stalk and trap that cut throat sorcerer Koldun. I will bind him, throw him on my horse and take him miles away to a barren lonely place. There I will throw him down on his worm-ridden belly and…
“Brata…” Toxaris sighed, drawing him out of his bloody reverie. “I can only pray that your better judgment takes over at the war council. Or we could lose each other forever. ”
Nay, I can’t lose you! He squeezed her living, naked flesh against his heated skin.
“There is another thing which has lain much upon my mind Brata. Think you that I am some kind of… Black Widow?” Her voice tremulous, vulnerable.
Of course she had sensed his apprehension concerning her former husbands. He froze, listening.
“I still grieve that my husbands were sacrificed for the sake of our tradition that the queen must rule. I barely knew them. My children have never known their fathers. I would never let such a thing happen to you, Brata. We need not marry. I already have my children, my heirs. You can live with me in Neuria as my Consort.”
Consort or Sex Slave? My fondest dream – to service a queen. He huffed with silent, sardonic laughter
“I vow to treat you as my prize stallion.” Her lips curved in a lascivious smile.
“Hah.” A skeptical grunt and a shake of his black-maned head.
“Brata as my Consort in Neuria, you will live free. You won’t have to hide from anyone. Our lands are remote and well guarded. The Black Cloaks will never know you are there. But as long as you stay with Sava your life will be suspect. Secrets have a way of leaking out. Once they find out you are in Sauromatia, the Black Cloaks will never rest until they drag you back to the Dark House.”
Releasing a deep sigh Brata considered Toxaris’ words. Her points were well taken but the Black Cloak warrior in him refused to deviate from his designated course of honor and revenge. Yet his surging desire for her made those concerns secondary. For now.
Cupping her cheek in the palm of his hand, he pressed his lips over hers in a deep tongue-sucking kiss. His hand slid down to caress her breasts, rolling and pinching the succulent nipples. His other hand slid between her silky thighs to rub and tickle her yoni.
Mmmh…Toxaris purred. “So little time My Heart…” She undulated her ass against his stiff cock. Her hand slithered down to squeeze his stiff arousal.
Ahhh…Releasing a heated growl Brata flexed his hips. His head dropped back against the stone basin, eyes flicking upward as Toxaris’ warm squeezes sent waves of hot delight sweeping through his groin.
The cold fist that perpetually clenched his heart relaxed. But all too soon, he knew, their idyll would come to an end. Toxaris would return to Neuria and he would face his demons. Brata shut his eyes against the thought.
Chapter 8 – How Easy to be Lured
Even the brightest gold
Has less effect on a man
Than the delicate tints
Of a woman’s naked body –
Apuleius – The Golden Ass
As the slave girl leaned over to massage his legs, Sava noticed more bruises and red welts crisscrossing her upper thighs. He lifted the back of Dodona’s loin cloth to see welts and bruises on her buttocks.
“Some men who come to the baths like to whip me, then fornicate with me.” She answered his silent question.
“Ah”. How easy to be lured by the luxuries these Agathrysi enjoy. Yet at what cost…He thought.
“My cries give them pleasure. For I am a pleasure slave after all. My pain is their pleasure.”
“And what about you Dodona?” Sava persisted. “Do you get any pleasure from being whipped?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes. It depends. I have learned to tolerate the pain.”
The sight of such abuse so frequently inflicted upon the slave girl’s vibrant spirit bit at Sava’s innate sense of justice. Pleasure at the baths came at a steep price, for Dodona.
Up until now, slaves had just been a part of life for Sava. Invisible. Taken for granted. Like herds of animals, slaves were just part of the landscape.
The Sauromatae kept few slaves. As nomadic herders they did not build nor farm. Because most of the herding was done on horseback, there was little to prevent a slave from just picking his time and riding away.
However Sava was aware that some Skythian tribes were involved in raiding to supply the slave trade to Greece, Rome and other lands. In Rome castration was standard procedure for male slaves.
“Where are you from Dodona? Were you born a slave?”
Nay I am free born. I am Budini.” She straightened her shoulders. “I was stolen from my people when I was but a child of nine summers and sold to slavers. The Bathmaster bought me, but like all palace slaves, I belong to the king. l have been here for eight long summers. But someday… Someday I will find a way back to my people, where I can live free as I was born to be.”
Sensing Sava’s concern, Dodona sought to lighten his mood. “So what is your wish Master? You are a man after all and I am here for you. Use my body to sate your innermost desires. Love me. Punish me. Embrace me. Make my pain your pleasure, hmmm?”
The slave girl’s husky voice coaxed as her warm sensuous hands worked, kneading down the twin muscles of his spine. She was gradually lulling him into a relaxed, semi-erotic state.
“Hmmh…Nice ass…” She hummed, palming his globes. “Spread your legs. Good.”
Her sensitive fingers played down his butt crack to temptingly tickle, then gently squeeze his balls.
“I live to please, my Lord.” She bent and kissed then nipped his ass cheeks as she squeezed his taut globes.
Ah-hhh…He couldn’t help groaning and flexing his hips. The woman was temptation itself.
“Tell me how I can please you my Sauromatian Lord? I await your pleasure. I can use the lash on you if that is your preference. Some men like to be disciplined. Whatever, I know how to make you feel so good…“ She purred to rhythmic squeezes of her magic fingers.
Smack! Thwack! The slave girl emphasized her point by giving his ass two sharp, resounding slaps.
Uh! Sava groaned, arching his back and grinding his swelling throbbing loins into the soft fleece.
“You like that eh Kir?” She slipped a hand under his hips a
nd gave his turgid cock a sensual squeeze.
“Hey! Think you I am some piece of meat that you can paw at will?” He laughed and batted her hand away.
From Dodona’s attempts to lure him into having relations with her, Sava guessed it was the only way the slave girl could earn a few paltry tips. He shivered to think of the dominatrix `poor, abused’ Dodona might become, given the whip hand over a lover.
But the slave girl could be useful to him in other ways. Sitting up on the bench he gazed into her sultry blue eyes, then flashed his proven charismatic smile.
“The Bathmaster is right about your insolence, Slave. Stop trying to seduce me. I have no time for such dalliances. Yet I would have you do me a favor.”
“Name it.”
“Can you dress my hair and skin so that I can pass for an Agathyrsi?”
“Oh aye. I can transform your appearance so that even your friends will have to look twice.” Dodona smiled as she reached for a vessel on a nearby shelf.
“What is that?”
“This is a blue dye from the woad plant. We use it to color our hair.”
The slave girl applied the blue paste to his hair, then waited awhile and rinsed it out. Using her fingers and a lotion scented with a musky perfume, she carefully braided and waved his hair and beard into ringlets.
“Ahh what a noble Agathrysi you are become. Your blue hair brings out the blue-green of your eyes. She dipped a stylus into the woad paste, “I cannot tattoo you but I can get almost the same effect with this.”
She carefully drew spiraling ram’s horns on the nomad’s forehead. Writhing serpents coiled up his arms and around his navel. On Sava’s broad chest she styled a stag’s head with extravagant spiraling blue antlers.
She dressed him in soft black linen trousers that hugged his narrow hips. A blue cape embroidered with golden gryphons was draped over his bare shoulders and clasped at his throat with a gold lion’s head. When it was done she handed him a highly polished silver mirror.
“Now you can pass for one of us. But don’t get wet or the tattoos will run.”
Is that me? Sava could not help preening in front of the mirror. “I will reward you well Dodona.” He leaned over and spoke in her ear. “What do you know about the Dionysia?”
Dodona looked both ways before answering in a low voice –
“I am one of them sire. Dionysos is Eleutherios – Liberator. In His sight we are all the same. Man or woman, rich or poor, freeman and slave, all are treated alike. Dionysos comes into us. He gives us divine powers. We can perform miracles. Prophesies spill from our lips.”
“Come to me after we dine tonight. I want to learn more about the practices of the wine god’s priests and their Dionysia.”
The slave girl rested a warm palm on his forearm and stood on tip toes to whisper in his ear. “You are in luck. The spring Dionysia will be held in the sacred grove tonight.”
“Can I come? I want to see the Mysteries.”
“Nay My Lord. It is strictly forbidden for the uninitiated to see the Mysteries. If you are caught, the priests will put a goat’s head on you and lay its skin over your shoulders. They will tell the Bacchae that you are a goat and command them to dismember you and eat you alive!” She hissed in his ear.
Refreshed, relaxed, hair and body oiled, styled and painted, a new, BLUE Sava emerged from the alcove with Dodona. He glanced over to see that everyone was gone except for the lyre singer and Brata and Toxaris, who were reclining in a bath. Brata made as if to rise and come with him but Sava waved him back.
“Relax my friend. Enjoy basking with the queen. Such moments don’t come often in this life.”
Chapter 9 – Gods at War
Dionysos cut off the Titans’ heads
With their viper tresses
Their severed necks danced in the dust
From the slain Titans
Ran ever flowing rivers of blood…
Swarms of snakes ran wild with fear
Before viper-wreathed Dionysos –
Euripedes, Bacchae c. 450 BC
“What did you do with my friend Sava?” Borna asked when Sava rejoined the Neuri in their quarters.
“That crude Barbari? He is no more. I am Agathyrsi now.” Sava flicked a hand in feigned royal dismissal as he showed off his elaborate blue tattoos and blue hair.
A low rhythmic drumming accompanied by a duduk and a goatskin bagpipe fueled their pace as Sava and his companions swept into the great hall. The Agathyrsi dined in the Greek style, reclining on couches and supported by luxurious pillows.
Sava sat on Spargapeithes’ right with Brata next to him. Toxaris was seated between Spargapeithes and Queen Barkida. The Archiboukolos, Komkiza reclined on the queen’s left.
Steaming dishes of tasty meats, vegetables with aromatic sauces and bowls of ripe fruits were set before their famished eyes. At each place was an ornate drinking goblet of silver and gold. Each guest had their own personal servant to fill their vessels and see to their every whim.
A number of ranking noblemen were among the guests, but with the exception of Barkida and Toxaris, the women did not sit at table with the men. All the Agathyrsi women were seated separately.
“Why don't your men’s wives sit with us?” Sava asked King Spargapeithes.
“Wives? What wives?” Spargapeithes winked at him. “Our women are available to anyone. Only the king has a wife to keep the royal line intact. In Agathrysia we keep all our women in common. Any man can have any woman he wishes. In this way there is less jealousy between the men.”
“Then how do you know who the father is?”
“Wealth and family name are passed through the mother line. So the father’s identity is not as important to us.”
Apparently not. Sava thought.
King Spargapeithes raised a gold and silver rhyton, its handle styled as a man riding a horse. He poured a little wine on the table as a libation to the gods, then said:
“Drink! Drink deep to Skythia! May our people live forever. Back to Back - Arkatash!”
Sava smiled to himself. These Agathyrsi are rich indeed to pour out their wine so. Good drink is too rare to share with `the gods’ in Sauromatia. Our devotion has its limits.
“To Skythia! Arkatash!” Everyone responded, raising their goblets.
Queen Barkida lifted her gold and silver rhyton with the handle fashioned in a wreath of grape clusters. She also tipped it to drop some wine on the table saying –
“To Dionysos, we pray for a bountiful grape harvest!”
“To Dionysos - the God Below!”
Sava sensed a challenge in Barkida's toast. It was followed by one from Spargapeithes -
“To Sabazius – the Great Horseman who crushes the demon serpents!”
“To Sabazius!” Those loyal to the king roared in full-throated support.
The followers of the wine god made their displeasure known with a half-hearted response. The tension in the room thickened.
Barkida raised her rhyton – “To Dionysos who afflicts with madness those who refuse to see his light!”
“To Dionysos!” The wine god’s devotees cheered in ringing approval.
Sava gazed at his goblet. Speaking of madness - is there something in this wine?
Agathyrsi wine was the most potent drink the nomad had ever tasted. Not that he had tasted much wine. Already his senses were floating. After Barkida’s pointed toast, Sava only touched his lips to his goblet. He was sure the Neuri were also nursing their wine. No one could afford to lose their edge in this volatile environment. A fight could break out at any moment.
Forcing his increasingly wine-sodden senses to focus, he watched the latent tension, the intense rivalry between the two royals grow as the evening progressed. Between toasts the Archiboukolos, Komkizo, whispered in Barkida’s ear. At the same time King Spargapeithes shot contemptuous glares at the soothsayer. It appeared Komkizo was instigating the queen to rebel against her husband in an effort to undermine the `Old God’ Sabazi
us.
“Noble Spargapeithes, who is Sabazius? I heard Sabazius is one of the old Skythian gods. Sava asked.
Spargapeithes’ hand paused in the act of lifting his rhyton. He released a sigh, as if the mention of Sabazius eased a deep-seated frustration. The king leaned toward Sava and spoke close to his ear –
“Sabazius - Who Battles the Demon Serpents - was originally a Phyrgian god. The Egyptians say the Phyrgians are the oldest of all peoples; so the age of Sabazius is beyond reckoning.”
“Once we Agathyrsi all worshipped Sabazius,” the king continued in low tones. “We were simple, honorable horseman of the plains. We knew little of the passions and mad frenzy of drugs and the juice of the vine. But then this `wine god’ arrived and now these boukolos, `cattle herders’, as they call themselves, are trying to take over. As if we are no more than cattle to be prodded and herded at their command.”
“You heard my wife threaten that Dionysos punishes Unbelievers by striking them with madness. But I am still in my right mind – I think.” Spargapeithes gave a wry smile but his eyes held a conflicted sadness.
“My marriage and my kingdom are under assault by demons of stealth and deceit. And I am powerless to stop it. In truth, it is the followers of Dionysos who are mad. Their secret rites are sick and degenerate beyond all comprehension.” The king shook his head in weary frustration.
“What do the boukolos do in their secret rites?”
“Spargamos. Omophagia.”
“What is that?”
The king's eyes flashed shut as if visualizing horrific images.
“Spargamos and omophagia are pure barking madness. If the boukolos can make their followers commit such acts they can make them do anything. Every year, many thousands from Greece and Rome, from Ionia, Syria, Thrakia, Agathyrsia and beyond all go to the sacred groves and caves to be initiated into the wine god’s `Mysteries’. My wife Barkida has been sucked into this sick cult. Even my first born son Prince Carnos has been drawn into that viper’s nest. Carnos is not here with us now because he is preparing for the Dionysia tonight.”
Wine God's Sorcery: The Horse Lords Page 5
