The maiden stood in the doorway, long, golden hair falling about her shoulders. The light in the hall behind her flowed through her flimsy silk gown, silhouetting the abundant curves of her body against an amber glow. "Master," she murmured shyly, demurely looking to the floor.

Reclining lazily upon his bed, he lay naked under a light covering. "You have permission to enter my chamber. Close the door behind you."

"Thank you, Master," she replied, stepping on quiet feet into the dimly lit room. Moonlight streamed through the lattice-covered windows, making diamond patterns upon the floor, the silver light mingling with the flickering gold gleam of oil lamps and candles.

Ornate tapestries in a myriad of strident colors hung from the walls, now muted in the peaceful gloom, and the heady scent of incense was thick in the heavy air. Exotic flowers and intricate geometric designs were woven into the rugs upon the floor. Cushions and pillows lay scattered about the room. Beside the bed stood a tall, delicately wrought golden-globed waterpipe, its unused stems curling lazily about like serpents sunning themselves upon warm rocks.

The maiden closed the door quietly and then turned, looking towards the opulently draped couch. "Does my Master have need of me?" she asked, her voice sweet and pleasing to the ear. Never before had the master summoned her to his chambers.

"Master is most needful of you!" he exclaimed as he looked at her, beholding her beauty as though through a misty haze of incense and poppies. "Have my servants prepared you for my pleasure?"

She nodded. "The maidservants aided my bathing and perfumed me with rose and jasmine, applying creams of honey, beeswax and sesame to my skin and red ochre to my lips. Yet, my Master, I must confess," she admitted, looking more than a bit abashed, "that my flesh still stings from the pumice which was rubbed upon my body, especially that near my..." she looked down and her voice sank to a whisper, "most intimate of areas."

She looked up, a furtive, bashful glance. "I must say..." her blush deepened, aided by the ochre upon her cheeks, "that such customs were never practiced in the Riddermark."

"You will learn many things here that are unknown in the land of your birth and you will find our customs strange at first," he laughed. "The servants have done well, to bathe and bedeck you, using their skill to remove your imperfections. Only the uncivilized share their couches with women who have not been rid of all hair from their necks to their feet! Come closer to me. Move softly and as you do, rid yourself of your garments. Remove them slowly, tantalizingly. I want to see your every movement, every gesture, as you unveil yourself before me!"

"But, Master," she murmured timidly, looking about at the many lights set upon low tables, "the room is far too bright and... I have never disrobed before a man. May I snuff the wicks in the lamps and blow out the candles?"

"No," he answered, his voice rich and deep. "You can see me, can you not? Why would you deny me the pleasure of seeing you? And the lamps, nay, not the lamps, for they are scented with the oil of love," he laughed, a low sound, deep in his throat.

"As you wish." She smiled nervously and then looked down to hide her flushing cheeks.

Her heart pounding, her hands went to her side, where slender fingers began to untie the knot which secured the long, flowing silken wrap which hung low, draped about her hips. As she walked, gently swaying, the cloth slowly slid down the backs of her thighs and then fluttered to the floor, a scarlet mist about bare feet. Raising her head, she looked to him, her kohl-rimmed blue eyes a strange mixture of maidenly anxieties and newly-kindled flames of desire. Silver circles hung from her pierced ears, the reflection of candlelight glittering brightly off the metal rings peaking from beneath the gentle waves of her hair.

"Why do you tarry, maiden? I grow impatient!" he exclaimed eagerly. "Rid yourself of your enveloping garments and let me see what fortune has cast before me!"

Reaching down, she drew the length of her peach-colored silken dress up, up, slowly brushing against the smooth skin of her pumiced legs like the tide receding into the ocean. First scandalous shins, then knees - oh, so daring - and then the fabric brushed lightly over her mound of pleasure, over her thin stomach and then her round globes of desire, and at last over her head, tousling slightly her hair, a hazy mist of sunshine. Her pale, alabaster flesh, hairless and supple, shone with a warm blush, like the light of a rosy dawn upon a white lily.

He moved into a sitting position and then swung his legs over the side of the bed, the light sheet sliding back from his body, baring him to her eyes. He rested his chin on his hand and surveyed her, studying her, looking over every curve, every shadowed crevice, every detail of her face and body.

"Blue Eyes, you may come to me, my little one."

"My master honors me, for he has chosen me above the other women this night," she whispered, her voice filled with quiet joy. She approached the bed and knelt before her master, looking up at him with awe and reverence.

He moved forward and cupped her face in his hands. "You are a lovely maid," he sighed, his voice hoarse, "and your hair! It is as fair and rich as finely spun gold! Never has your like been seen in my land. The other chieftains would pay heavily for you, but no man will ever see your beauty unveiled, save the eunuchs and perhaps," he said, his voice growing even lower, "the sons I have with you!"

"Your sons!" she gasped in wonder, her heart swelling with love. "Oh, my most dear, beloved Master! It brings me great happiness to know that I please you so, to be accounted among one of your favorites!"

Pulling her closer, he licked her lips, his tongue soft and moist. Then he kissed her soft, wet mouth slowly, his lips hungering over hers. His hands ran down her neck and then over her bare shoulders, enjoying the feel of her smooth, even skin. Then, plunging his tongue into her mouth, he groaned as he tasted the lingering savor of honey and apricot.

"See how much you have pleased me already?" He moved his lips away from hers and drew her hand to the throbbing protuberance in his lap. "You will please me even more soon." He gazed into her eyes, which were half-closed, still lost in the delight of his kisses.

"Her eyes are blue, like aquamarines, her skin is pale as sweet milk, and soft, oh, so soft," he thought. "Her hair... there is no word for it! The sun bursting on ripened grain in the field near the Great River of my land. Her beauty is beyond all that I have seen, even among the fair ones in my country. She is a jewel set among women!"

"You have permission to rise and enter my bed," he commanded.

She rose gracefully to her feet and cast a shy glance at her master's unclad form, her blush deepening. An unfamiliar excitement stirred within her and coursed through her veins, causing her to shiver. Soon she was beside him, her perfumed form sinking into the thick cushions, her head resting upon richly embroidered pillows of vivid hues.

He rolled over upon his side, resting his chin upon his hand. "Turn and face me," he commanded in a whisper. As she reached for him, he pulled her into his arms. Their lips met, his hands groping, moving over her breasts, feeling the small berries of her nipples rising with his touch. His fingers caressed her firm stomach and then sought lower.

"You are a virgin, are you not?" he asked, breathing rapidly.

"Yes, Master, I am," she whispered, her voice betraying her fear. She swallowed, trembling slightly, her gaze dropping to the plaits in his braided beard, and then over his strong shoulders. Gentle fingers moved over his muscular chest, the dark forest of hair parting before them. His long, black hair trailed down over one of his collarbones, like a cascade of raven waters. In a feeble attempt to allay her uneasiness, she turned her attentions to playing with the errant strands, coiling them about her fingers and feeling their coarse texture.

"You know this will hurt, but you know also that the pain will be forgotten quickly?" his accented voice was husky.

She raised her head and looked into his eyes. The light of the candles shimmered off the rich brown pools, and her heart leaped and melted within her chest. Waves of affection washed over her, and she felt as though she were drowning, but she did not care.

"I know," she whispered, her voice tender, "but for just one night with you, my beloved master, I would suffer a thousand nights of pain."

"First the pain and then the pleasure, little one. I do not wish to be unkind to my women."

Moving closer to him, she embraced him with trust and devotion, though a part of her was still afraid. His accented voice was like an exotic melody to her ears, calming and soothing, and she breathed in his scent, the spicy aroma of the fragrant oil heavy to her nose. Yes, the other women had shared his couch many times, but this was her night, and she was thrilled that she had been chosen, and prayed that he would summon her often.

With a laugh, he pushed his long, dark unbraided hair back over his shoulder and then he rolled her under him. "Sweet Maid of the North," he muttered before his mouth crushed hers again, a low moan in his throat. He caught her lower lip in his and sucked on it, bruising the bloom of its tenderness.

Then he rose over her, towering above her, his long hair now a curtain of darkness. Unprepared, she gasped as he parted her thighs. He groaned again. "You are so small... you will be most sore tomorrow," he chuckled deeply, "and so will I."

He entered her quickly before she had time to dwell upon the fear, and he felt her tremble and heard her cry of surprise as he began to move slowly inside of her. Her feet slid against the cool sheets and her hands tightly gripped his back as she gasped and whimpered. She arched her back, making soft sounds in her own language, her mind barely comprehending what was happening. He slid his hands beneath her, holding the small of her back, his mouth swooping down to lick over one of her breasts. She moaned and shuddered, her hands sliding up to his shoulders. Her body on fire, she clung to him as he deepened his thrusts and rocked slowly back and forth.

"I hurt you, I know," he whispered, "and I am sorry." He hung there suspended inside her before he pushed into her again. His desire had been overwhelming and he knew he could not withhold himself for long. "She lies under me, like a frightened doe, but someday," he thought and licked his lips in anticipation, "my caresses will turn her into a lioness!"

Her warm, secret place pulsed about him, exciting him, driving him to move faster. She began to move under him, trying to match his movements. "Innocent!" he thought to himself, but her attempts urged him to move faster and he rushed towards his release.

Sweat streamed from his forehead, his hair damp against his face and neck as his passion roared to its climax. He eased down upon her, flattening her breasts against him, his arms holding her in a tight lock as his passion crested into a wave. A last powerful thrust, a cascading rush, and the warm seed streamed into her. He howled in his own language, strange words, guttural, primitive.

"Little one," he whispered. "My little one."

Their mingled moisture enveloped him as he withdrew from her warm cave, and he moaned. He felt the blanket beneath him drenched in wetness. He moaned again and awoke to the sound of male voices laughing and the sodden blanket tangled under his body.

"Damn!" Sergeant Daungha exclaimed and, after rolling to his side, he rose to his feet. "Damn," he cursed again. "Nothing but a dream and an illusion in the mind!"

He undid the knot which tied his breeches. When they had fallen to his ankles, he kicked them aside, cursing in his own tongue. Giving a warning glance to his nearby comrades, who still lay, laughing, in their bedrolls, he walked to his saddlebag and took out a fresh pair of breeches and angrily stuffed the soiled ones back in the bag. He went to his waterskin and took a handful of water and cleaned himself off as best he could.

The trumpet sounded the call to get up. He cursed once again as he pulled on his breeches and then drew on his boots. Hastily, he braided his hair, one lock on either side of his face, and affixed the metal tips to the ends. He took a small mirror from his kit, and, looking at his reflection, he applied kohl to his eyelids, the style of a warrior, fierce and fell.

Later, he drank his tea and ate his hard bread in silence, scarcely looking around him. When his horse handler brought him his steed, he took the reins and swung into the saddle. Mechanically he gave the order to his men to mount up. Then his company formed a column, the other companies falling in the rows behind him as Captain Kourosh rode to the front of the column. After wheeling into the Road, they were on their way. They passed the slave camp, which was astir with the early morning rising. Sergeant Daungha turned his head and his eyes sought for a gleam of gold among the feeble light. And then he saw her!

"Blue Eyes!" his mind cried out.

"Elffled daughter of Eadbald," he thought to himself, "if fortune ever brings you across my path again, I swear by the Highest of the High Lords that I will find your master and buy you from him! I shall make you my first wife! For wedding gifts, I will give you necklaces and rings, headdresses with great, long strands of tinkling silver coins. A house will I build for you near the banks of the River where the ruins of Olden Days lie, and it will be strong, safe, and secure. Fine rugs will be upon the floors and I will give to you of my flocks and herds. Many children will we have, and we shall dwell together in happiness and joy. Damn you, fair maiden of the North! I have fallen in love with you, and may I be cursed forever for it!"

He smiled and then he rode on.

NOTES

The picture at the top is a section of the painting "King Candaules" by Jean-Leon Gérôme.