《Tales of Teleios》XXVI: The Maiden

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Fire burning fiercely at the temple hallway. The guards gathered, moving more wood to the place to keep the fire alive. They were burning the corpse of the Hydra. When a large sperm whale was washed up dead on their shore, the most appropriate way they did, was to roll it back to the ocean. Sometimes, they dug up the beach area and buried the remains. But the Hydra was killed in the temple hall, too far away from the ocean and the land was hard. It would be a gruesome procedure to settle the rotting dead body.

Getting the idea from the two disgusting idiots who attempted to cook and eat the monster, Arete ordered the guards to burn its remains so that it will be easier and less bloodier to remove it from the temple.

While Arete was busy discussing the Eretrian re-election with the consul members of the city-states, Agave had taken over Pryne’s luxurious large bed after gouging the Hydra to her heart’s content.

With Heracle’s white stallion, Pryne walked out of the temple and went to the stable. Heracle named the horse Pegasus, an extremely pretentious name given to it simply to impress others. It was indeed a beautiful and well trained horse, so she decided to call it Peggy instead.

As She expected when she arrived at the stable, Matea was there trimming Brown’s hoof.

“Could you help me prepare Peggy for the long journey?” she asked, trying to start a conversation. She had felt strange after they left Kataratos, Matea had not talked to her as much as the time when they stayed at the camp.

“Yes, ma’am.” Matea replied with her usual two-words while moving herself to Peggy without looking at Pryne. Noticing that its hooves were perfectly groomed and shoed, the horse had been very well taken care of. Pryne suddenly clung herself towards her.

“You seem quiet lately. What happened?” Said Pryne, with a sultry soft tone, her lips resting on her earlobe. Feeling the sudden tingles rushing into her head, Matea stepped back anxiously. Unhappy with her response, Pryne advanced further, close enough that she could hear her frantic breathing.

“Are you giving up on me? Have I disappointed you? Just because I was a Hetaira, and not an innocent forager?” running her fingertips on her cheek, her gleaming amethyst eyes tried to capture her retaliation.

“No, I…” Unsure about the situation as her mind was dominated by the creeping tingles from the touches, Matea kept stepping back until she was cornered at the wooden wall.

“What’s so great about maidenhood, huh? Has this oath of Parthenos the source of your strength? Is sewing yourself up a kind of practice ordered by your goddess Athena?” Asked Pryne.

“How’d you know it?” The strange question stunned Matea, staring straight at Pryne eye to eye.

“Well, the wolves did bite your thigh…” Recalling the day after they were attacked by the wild animals, Matea fell unconscious after drinking the white flower tea prepared by Pryne.

“I did wear a perizoma!” Matea shouted anxiously as she remembered that day, she woke up with her wounds cleaned and well dressed. Surprised by her raised voice, Pryne backed off a little.

“This… Parthenos shit had nothing to do with strength, not even granted me a freedom as those Vestals! It only pains me further every month through my entire life. I didn’t choose to be like this! I didn’t sew myself up! The stitches down there isn’t some glorious mark! But it’s a torture reminding me that I was simply… A cheap slave that worth nothing but the only price they willing to pay is for a sewn up cunt. Athena? Artemis and those Vestals? Did they sewn themselves up? Did they? Those idiots who believe in a stupid buffoon idea that their virtue depend solely on their maidenhood!” She bursted in anger.

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30 years ago, the Year of Tiberius, the City-state of Sparta, under the reign of Lord Agamemnon.

Deep in the forest, a cloaked man sat under a tree with his horses taking a rest. His wagon was full of children. All of them were tied up and gagged. He was a slave trader. Not all parents appreciate daughters in those days. Especially those who were not born with desirable appearance as Pryne.

A group of horsemen arrived, approaching the cloaked man.

“Are you the one sent by Lord Agamemnon?” The slave trader asked.

“Yes, show me the girl.” The horsemen dropped a small bag containing some silver into the ground. The slave trader walked to his wagon, the children saw him, they tried to scream and cry, but they were all gagged. He grabbed a young girl, about 6 years of age, by her black hair, he pulled her out and dropped her to the ground in front of the horsemen.

“She’s ugly! Our master wants a beautiful girl with fair and smooth skin to replace his daughter on the sacrificial altar! How could you give us an ugly girl!” The horsemen complained.

“Oh you’re wrong, take a closer look…” He raised the girl by pulling her hair. With his other hand, he dragged her face, forcing her eyelids to open.

“Look at her eyes, as beautiful as the moon, her hair as dark as the night sky. She’s the best you can find to replace Lord Agamemnon’s daughter.”

“I guarantee the Goddess Artemis would love to see these beautiful amber eyes.” He added.

The horsemen looked at the girl, they nodded between themselves and replied: “Very well, we will take this girl.”

“Wait a second!” The slave trader stopped the horsemen, and he examined the small bag of silver on the ground.

“Just 30 pieces of silver? Are you kidding me! I am not selling her for this price!”

“30 pieces of silvers are more than enough for a slave girl!” The horsemen replied.

The slave trader raised the girl and removed her cloth and shouted: “LOOK!"

"I am not selling any regular slave girl! I’ve infibulated her to ensure this is a maiden! Worthy of any sacrificial altar!”

The horsemen dropped 3 pieces of gold to the ground. Frantically ran towards the gold pieces, the slave trader unhanded the girl, he smiled and picked up the gold pieced and rub them with care.

The horsemen tied the girl on a horse and covered her in rugs and they left the scene.

Artemis, the Pantheon Goddess of Sparta. She was known as the guardian of maidens. The city-state had flourished under her protection. The Lords and Elders of Sparta built Her a large and extravagant temple that no other nation was able to compete with.

However, under the reign of the Mycenaean king, Lord Agamemnon, the city-state had gradually fallen apart. Desperate for his own survival, Agamemnon sought the advice of the Three Elders, those who possessed the ancient knowledge of the gods and goddesses.

“You need the blessings of other more powerful gods!” they added.

“But it is totally outrageous to sacrifice a maiden to Artemis, the Goddess is the protector of maidens!” Lord Agamemnon questioned the Three.

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“The sacrifice is just a show, on the altar of Artemis, but it is to be offered by the sword of Ares and be burnt by the fire of Hades.” One of the Three answered.

“This is insane! It’s a blasphemous act to do that! We Spartans used to be loyal towards Artemis. Such a ritual might anger the Goddess!” Agamemnon shouted.

“Artemis alone is too weak. She was just a nymph!" The elder with femine voice raised her tone against Agamemnon.

“How dare you! How dare you insult our pantheon Goddess!” Angered by the woman, he was about to pull out a sword from his scabbard, but the third Elder held his arm, instantly stunned him. Agamemnon felt a strange power that had locked every muscle of his body, unable to move other than breathing.

“Hear us out, my lord.” The third Elder calmly lay his hand to Agamemnon’s hand, gently guiding his hand to place the sword back to his scabbard.

“Your people, your soldiers, they need your assurance of determination.” His words pierced into Agamenon’s mind, striking the core of his thoughts.

“You need to show your people that you care, you are willing to sacrifice for them, to raise their spirit so that they may rise and fight their very best for your kingdom! To show your leadership, your sincerity and your deep inclination! For the people! Show them! Show them you are willing to sacrifice your one and only precious daughter to achieve the greatness you had promised them!”

Agamemnon was stunned, he knew his soldiers had been in low spirit after numerous losses in their previous battles. The Mycenaean empire had shrunken down continuously as Sparta left as his final fortress he needed to defend to the very end. Rumours about him being incapable had been spreading among the people, and he feared most, were the revolt of his own people against him.

But in Agamemnon’s mind, the Three Elders were a bunch of extremists. Sacrificing his own daughter for the sake of raising the spirit of his people? To him, this was just a political show, performed to please the public. A show he has to perform, to tell people that he was willing to sacrifice his most loved daughter by virtue of his citizens.

But he refused to do exactly what he was told to do. The easiest way for him to keep the Three Elders and the people happy was to buy a slave girl to replace his daughter on the altar.

The crowds gathered at the grand temple of Artemis, in front of the altar. They were all waiting for the appearance of their lord. The soldiers were ready to go for their battle against Rome.

“Sacrificing a maiden for Artemis? That’s ridiculous! Why are the priestess not making any objection?”

“Well, since when have those temple leaders ever practiced what they preach?”

The common men gossiped.

The temple maidens tied the slave girl on the altar, she cried but the gag prevented her from making a sound. Agamemnon looked at the girl, her eyes wide open and the tears flowing. He felt a chill, intimidated by her stares, he shut his own eyes and stabbed the sword on her, then he pulled out the sword and shouted...

"To the Goddess Artemis! The victory shall belong to Sparta!"

The crowd shouted with him in heightened spirit. He then set the fire on her. All done as according to what the Three Elders instructed him to do. He walked away and went to the battlefield with his chariot.

The servant wrapped the girl’s body with a cloth. The temple maidens never sacrificed a human before, they refused to touch the corpse. Thus, they ordered some servants to handle the body. They dumped her into a wagon full of other dead bodies.

The wagon traveled north, it was winter and the light snow kept the pile of corpses fresh. After three days of journey, the bodies were delivered to a place and dumped into the lions’ den.

“Fresh meat!” the person in charge of the den shouted.

“Let them remember the tasty human flesh, they will be fierce enough to fight the gladiators!”

“Sick bloody Roman’s entertainment…”

The lions devoured the bodies, when it was about to reach the girl, the gates opened…

“Now, enough with the appetizers! Time for your main course!”

The lions ran out of the cage to the battle ring. Where the slaves fight the animals with the cheering crowds. The den keeper did that with a purpose to reduce the hunger of the lions. Not only did he introduce the animal with the taste of human flesh, also to make sure the lions kill their victims slowly. The big cats won’t immediately devour their prey if they were not fully hungry, they will torture and play with them until the death of them. The spectators love such a brutal show. The bloodier the merrier.

Agamemnon did everything simply as a show, as he did not perform the ritual properly. The girl crawled weakly, with a wound that missed her heart, and her shallowly burned skin, but she was in intense pain all over her body. She was rejected by Hades, from the underworld, and she came back to another living hell, as she found other slaves gathered in a corner, the noxiis. She dragged herself out of the lions' den, until the den keeper noticed the struggling little body.

"What a surprise, the appetizer is still alive!"

“Kill and fight, or you will be killed.” he slided a short sword to her.

“The rule in the gladiator ring is to fight. Entertain the audience, and you shall have freedom.”

“The spectators love to see blood and violence. The more gruesome it is, the happier they are.”

With her tiny shaking hand, she grabbed the handle of the sword.

To be continued…

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