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 Pillage of Thebe

   Agamemnon stood on the towering cliff looking far out across the calm
sea.  In the distance he could see small fishing boats returning with the
day''s catch.  The day had been good to the fishermen.  Gulls flocked in
grey clouds on flapping wings, soaring behind the boats as they sailed on a
fair wind homeward.  The men aboard the craft were slitting and gutting the
fish, throwing the waste portions over the side.  The gulls were swooping
down to grab the scraps.  Masses of them at a time, diving and hitting the
water in splashy fountains of ocean spray as they fought with pointed
beaks, for a share of the guts.

   Fish.  How he hated fish.  For eight long years he had been feeding his
men on the ocean's meager bounty, small fish and mussels and whatever else
they could catch.  While Hated Troy feasted on the bounty of the rich lands
it stood on, with corn for soft bread and fat cattle and sweet wines.  Troy
mocked him and his always - hungry army's efforts to destroy the rich city
and recover Helen of the fair hair, along with their pride.

   He glanced down the cliff onto the beach at the sixty boats, his raiding
force, propped up on the sand.  With luck and the god's favor, tomorrow at
this time his men would be roasting cattle and drinking fine wines, as well
as enjoying the pleasures of the city's captured women.  Four thousand men
he had with him.  to take this small city, Thebe, an ally of Troy and a
ripe target to pillage, and strip for much - needed supplies for his hungry
army.  He needed such to improve his men's morale.  His army especially
needed women.  His men had been away from home, far too long.

   Tomorrow they would attack and the god's willing, the city would be his.
He raised an arm holding the staff of command and prayed to Zeus, his
patron, for luck and good fortune in battle.  Turning, he faced back
towards the land.  From his height advantage he could see the city below
and small parties of his men moving to surround it.  Most of the farmers
working the rich lands were fleeing with their families, into the city. 
Excellent!

   No one would escape -- they must not think they could; they must despair
and surrender quickly, they must.  He could not linger here, the battle
against Troy was not going well.  His presence and leadership were sorely
needed back at Troy.  His men there were tired, sick at heart of the futile
siege.  A siege that had cost them many lives, with no success.  This raid
and the spoils they would bring back, would give them hope, a full belly
and some pleasure.

   There would be full flagons of sweet wine for his men to swill down
their throats.  They could sit and sing their boastful songs of won battles
and valor, until drunk and stumbling, they staggered off to find women to
quench hot internal fires, long burning.  All of this would renew them, as
men, as warriors and they could defeat the hated men of Praim, destroy Troy
and end this hateful siege.

   He could just make out the shape of a small temple in the heart of the
city.  He must remember to tell his men not to pillage or despoil it.  The
gods were angry enough with him, else he would have been home a hero long,
long before this.  Best not to damage the temple and incur the wrath of any
more of Zeus' children.

   Below, a small group of men slowly climbed up the steep hill towards
him, old men, his advisers.  God, how they prattled on like old women,
thought like old women.  He never imagined leading an army would require so
much thought, so much political skill, so much unwanted, but needed,
advice.

   He longed for the simple pleasure of battle -- the killing, with quick
thrusts of a sharp sword, the stunned look on an enemy''s face as he died,
his hot blood spilling unto the earth as his armored body hit the ground,
with a clatter .

   But his advisors, he spat, robbed him of his honor*.  They forbade him
to enter battle and instead insisted he sit like a child in a chair and
direct his units like a women's parlor game.  What glory in such
foolishness?  His own men thought him a coward and held him in contempt. 
With every passing day that he was not with them, arm in arm in the line of
battle, braving death together.  Their contemptuous arrogance grew worse.
Achilles, he sneered the worst of all.

   Mightiest of Agamemnon's warriors, Achilles was haughty, rude and
disdainful of his leader, the Commander of the Armies.  Achilles sought to
command himself, to rise far above his station.  Something would have to be
done to bring Achilles down a peg.  Agamemnon decided to think on that. 
There was always a solution, if you thought on a problem long enough.

   He started to walk down the hill towards the group approaching him. 
Best to quickly join these old women and get this - battle planning and
scheming over with.  He wanted sleep; he was fighting tomorrow beside his
men; his sword would taste blood.  Let old men fear death, for he feared
nothing except his men''s scorn.

   The gods make fools of men, and foil the plans of all, even their
favorites.  In the morning as his servants belted on his armor, panicked
messengers arrived.  Four of his ships that had straggled behind had
finally landed and their commanders sought instructions on where to place
their soldiers.  Another messenger arriving and told of how one of his
flanking hoplite units had become confused in a dry dusty river bed, and
ended up far down the coast, instead of at their assigned position. 
Another unit's commander had been slain by an arrow -- who should command
them now?  Agamemnon was issuing new orders to a portion of his reserve to
march quickly to fill the gap, when cries of alarm, screams of horses and
the sound of bronze clashing on bronze, told of battle raging nearby.

   The men of the city Thebe had sallied out, and were making a desperate
attempt to drive Agamemnon's small army into the sea.  Agamemnon''s relaxed
and quiet spoken commands, firmed his men''s courage and quickly
reestablished order.  In a short fierce battle, the day was won and the
enemy was fleeing.  Agamemnon''s men pursued, hacking and killing the
townsmen, right up to and though the open city gates.

   The battle was over, the city his.  Once again, Agamemnon had not drawn
his sword.

   Sick at heart, feeling that his honor remained stained, he ordered his
trusted friend, Odysseus, to select a woman for him.  He would not face his
men, nor their dried, blood - covered arms and contemptuous eyes.  Wine, He
also ordered Odysseus to bring back much wine.  His men would not be the
only ones to be staggering drunk tonight.  He retired to his tent to brood.


   The two guards outside of Agamemnon's tent were distressed.  This was an
unlucky lot for them to have drawn watch duty, while around them gangs of
their comrades sang and drank and wenched.  The cries of anguish of some of
the young women captives were matched by the coarse laughter of soldiers in
sport, and even giggles of delight from many women.  Not all of the
captured women, feared a man's lust, to some it was a missed treasure. 
Some gladly welcomed many soldiers into their arms this night, for as is
known -- A candle holder can burn out many candles and show no signs of
wear.  --

   As the crys echoed though the night, the guards cursed the fact that
they must remain at their post.

   Inside the tent they guarded, Agamemnon was drunk, cursing, raging,
calling on the gods in despair.  They knew not why.  The city had been
taken but their commander acted like the day''s battle was lost.  They
despaired to hear the names of the gods used so freely-- surely nothing
good could come of such.  They also feared that he would turn his distemper
on them and they stood straight to their duty, watchful and nervous.





   After a while Agamemnon's head appeared from the tent, golden hair
tousled, wine in his golden goblet spilling down, dribbling onto his
sandal. His eyes blazed, and the two veteran guards, who had faced Trojan
soldiers a thousand times in battle, trembled in their hearts at the face
of death so close.  "Have my servants send me the woman.  Quickly."

   Both started to run, then one dropped back and resumed his post, wishing
he also could be running fast and far from his commander.  Many soldiers
called Agamemnon a coward but many more feared him.

   Agamemnon staggered back into his tent and was fighting, trying little
success to refill his goblet, when an arm lifted the tent flap and a small
female form was shoved inside and tumbled down on the soft - piled rugs.

   "The woman Sire." He heard, and the arm retired.

   The women rose gracefully to her feet and Eros, at his mother's command,
drove his arrows of love deeply into the chest of the mortal Agamemnon,
whose, goblet fell heedlessly to the ground.

   A vison was before him and the stupor of the wine, his rage, even his
lust, fled before it.  This beauty was not intended for the eyes nor
pleasure of a mere man.  The child before him was a Aphrodite.  Essence
personified of all perfection a man could want a woman to be, but never
expect to see, let alone possess.

   He marveled as he took in her features: the tiny straight nose and full
pouting lips, skin, soft and unblemished, as white as fresh - new fallen
snow, hair dark as midnight in the forest, black , thick and shining,
flowing down almost to her knees.  The garment she wore was silken wispy, a
mere mesh of white linen, draped and molded to her form, but revealing all.
Her breasts were full and firm the nipples fat rings of brown, puffy and
plump.  She had a belly, soft with the merest hint of baby flab but not
fat. Her hips swelled outwards from a narrow waist and wisps of hair,
covering her maiden''s nest were visible.  Legs straight and long ended in
delicate feet ,small enough to hide in a man''s single hand.

   She stood with her head held upright, big round - doe eyes on him.  No
haughtiness showed, just a calm, demure expression which displayed her
pride, but also resignation with her situation.  Eros looked deep into her
heart and saw only emptiness, which displeased and saddened him.  So in
pity,, he selected his finest arrow, foreteller of love everlasting and
sent it flying true, and straight, into the pure heart of the maiden. 
Then, knowing the tragedy he had inflicted upon an enemy of Troy and an
innocent girl, he departed to face his mother's stern chastisement.



   Agamemnon shook his head to collect his thoughts and spoke.

   "Your name child?"

   "Chryseis Sire."

   "Your father?"

   "Chryses, Sire, high priest of Thebe."

   "Of how many summers are you?"

   "Eighteen, Sire.  "

   "And not wed?"

   "Betrothed, Sire.  My future husband is journeying afar, the marriage
delayed now for three years."

   "He is a fool, your young man."

   "No, Sire, he is . . .  a friend of my father, a merchant, wealthy, not
young. . . .He assisted my father in raising our temple to glorious
Apollo."

   "And you were his price for doing so."

   "It is my father's wish, Sire."

   "And your wish?"

   "I am his dutiful daughter, Sire"

   "Your father is a fool, also . . .  he deserves you not.  And for what,
does the daughter wish?" "Only to please her father, Sire."

   "And what would please the daughter?"

   "The same, Sire."

   Agamemnon smiled.  "Well said, young lady.  I fear the wine will not let
me banter words with you in equal skill tonight.  Will you accept a
goblet?"

   "If you command, Sire"

   "I command thousands.  I ask you, will you accept some of this delicious
wine, from your own city, that I fear I have ravished?"

   "Not the least of what is ravished this night, Sire."

   "Fear not child, not in this tent will such be done, nor commanded to be
done by a king, nor forced upon one by a warrior."

   "You are noble Sire, your wife must lie in pain, awaiting your return."

   "My wife is skilled in lying, although I doubt that she lies alone.  A
soldier''s camp has not the comforts, nor diversions of a royal court and
my wife has a true fondness for . . .diversions."

   "Am I a diversion, my Lord?"

   "Only if you wish to be, fair child.  , I seem to have little success
lately in fighting, only negotiating."

   "Are we negotiating Sire?."

   "I have little to offer you, lovely maiden, except these battle scarred
arms and the warm bed of a warrior.  One who is hated and despised by your
people."

   "You are a poor negotiator, my Lord.  You forget to mention that I could
walk the halls of a king's court, my hand on your arm.  Spend my nights in
his bed, wrapped in the arms of a mighty king and hold his attention and
his ear for my schemes and dreams.  You forget that a warm-- and I think
not warm, but hot bed of a warrior.  May be preferable to this maiden than
the cold bed of a fat old merchant."

   "So the daughter does have wishes of her own."

   "In this camp, Sire, your wishes prevail over all, including my
father's. What is your wish, Sire?"

   "I think our wishes have the same intentions.  Shall we attempt to see
how warm a bed can be." "As the sun Sire -- pray make it as hot as the
sun."





   Chryseis flowed to him on feet as light as mist.  Her arms lifted and
softly ran across his broad chest, nestling behind his head, as on tip-toe
her lips sought to reach his.  Gently, he held her and drew her slender
form to him.  Her body was on fire, Eros arrow burned passion into her soul
for this warrior king, favored of the gods, her captor, her owner, her
lover.  His hands slid down her flanks, gently caressing, heating her
aching body that had for too long desired such, but had never known the joy
of a man's powerful hands on her body.  Like a kitten, she arched into the
touch of his hands, thrilled as his lips on hers blanked her mind to all
but sensation and joy.

   Together, locked in an embrace as snakes intertwined, they slid down
onto his pallet, and his lips craved a trail of fire into her flesh from
throat to her thighs.  She experienced wondrous delight that the tongue of
a king could work magic with more than mere words.  Softness places between
her thighs were probed and caressed by love's words, spoken silently by his
teasing lips.  His rough, callused hands, gentle as rabbit fur on her skin,
drifted over her skin making her breasts swell in their passage as they
traveled a journey of discovery, down to her navel, tickling the scar given
to her by her mother at birth, the little button of life owned by mortals,
one and all.

   Her legs quivered and parted, as his hands slid down to caress her tiny
feet.  Feet that hid together - huddled, one upon the other, in feinted
delightful fear as they were stoked and tickled.  Then he moved his mighty
hand upward until it rested on her source.  He paused, bent his head and
kissed her softly, then placed the heel of his other hand to her mouth and
told her to bite him.  Puzzled in her mind, she did and he slid a finger
gently but firmly into her source, and destroyed the armor of her
maidenhood with little pain to her.  Withdrawing his hand, he showed the
perfect circles left by her perfect teeth, and he smiled, as did she.

   His entering of her was slow, tentative, giving her body time to receive
and adjust to his manhood.  He pushed until she was filled with his spear
of flesh .  Below him, her eyes opened wide in wonder, blinking in
enraptured delight of sensations in unknown places within her.  No movement
he made, no weight of him was on her small body; he held himself on elbows
and knees allowing her body to accept him.  When movement finally started,
it was her body's, testing his strength, wiggling on his pole.

   He smiled down at her motions and started moving within her.  Showing
her the strength of his fleshy rod of iron as he taught her the rocking,
rolling eternal rhythm of love and its pleasures, like waves washing on a
beach, then receding, endlessly repeating, the ebb and flow of life.  He
showed her all he knew of the act of love, used all the skills learned in
the arms of countless other un-named women, as he gave her pleasure beyond
her young maiden''s dreams and held back his own release until her body
told him that she was reaching the summit of joy.  He drove himself deeply
into her.  Spilling his seed within her womanhood, as she cried and wept in
pleasure.  And his warrior's heart melted in her tears, and he prayed that
his spending would give them a son to fuse their love, forever.



   As she slept, cradled in the crook of his mighty arm.  Agamemnon thought
of Odysseus, his faithful friend, who had selected for him this small
wonder child, woman, lover.  He offered silent prayers to the gods to grant
Odysseus, a long life, honor and a safe voyage home to his own loved ones.

   And the gods listened, and smiled at the folly of mere men; but still,
granted the wish as asked.

   End

   (C)(C) SafeWord 2004

   Copyright and all rights reserved by the author.

   Edited by Tammy



   Author's Notes:

   aristeria - untranslatable - close is warriors code, personal honor from
honors achieved in battle and feats accomplished

   Thebe: also known as Thebes (which is contradictory as other stories
record that Thebes
   contributed ships to the battle against Troy?)