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Tears in a Dry Land Ch. 01

By: Ygraine



The girl stood in the shadow of the mud house to watch the rich man's progress through the market place. Her ragged dress could not hide the thickening of her waist. Her head was covered with a heavy veil to keep out dust swirling around on the hot wind from the desert. 

Sometimes, men -- strangers to this place - thought her condition made her an easy target for their desires, but others would soon warn them about the curse. Anyone who lay with her would die. Though some tried, her vacant stare and mindless prattling soon made them seek easier companions.

She often stood here watching crowds jostle around the flimsy stalls, sometimes loading their purchases onto donkeys or haggling with the stallholders for a better price. Today a group of women were berating a small child for dropping a basket of watermelons in the dust. The fruit was well past ripe, the basket too heavy for her to hold. As she stumbled, melons slid to the ground, spilling their juices and fragrances into the dust. No-one would pay money for damaged fruit. 

Already cunning beggar boys were picking them up and disappearing into the maze of alleyways before anyone could stop them. Furious hands struck the child, angry voices scolding her for not holding more tightly to the basket.

The girl did not hear what the rich man said. She heard only the silence which followed. She saw silver being pressed into the young girl's hand. Then another strange thing happened. The rich man raised his head towards her, his dark brown eyes meeting her gaze. He looked tall and thin under his simple robe, only his proud bearing marking him out for who he was. Everyone knew him. Everyone deferred to his command. Everyone, except the watching girl, who knew no-one.

In two quick strides he stood before her. He placed his hand on her belly and for a moment her vacant eyes cleared. It was as if a lightning bolt struck her. She could not tell if she staggered, but suddenly she knew this man fathered her child.

When she looked up, he was gone. Her eyes scanned the crowd, suddenly catching sight of his bare head moving away through the throng of people. At the edge of the square, he turned and looked back at her, seeming to pause for a second. 

There was a meaning in his gaze, saying, "Come with me, if you will, but come now." 

For a moment she looked at him, her face for once, calm and peaceful. Anyone noticing would have remarked on the clarity and beauty of her sea-green eyes, strange to see such beauty in a simple dancing girl driven mad by the drugs fed her by her masters.

He waited, watching her - as though wishing a sense of certainty she would follow. Then he turned away, walking slowly but purposefully out of the market place towards the spacious houses of merchants nestled on the hillside away from the heat and dust of ordinary people.

As if responding to his unspoken command, she walked forward into the throng. As usual, the local people moved aside for her, not wishing to be touched by her fluttering rags or her agitated fingers. Her bare feet left tiny indentations in the dust -- a clear path should anyone wish to follow her.

As he walked along the street, it became clearer that the rich man, Yunan, they called him, had two discreet companions breaking the crowd ahead of him.

She heard people whispering at her side, "She goes to seek alms from Yunan, poor creature. She saw him give silver to the girl in the market, so now she goes to ask him to help her. As if anyone can help her."

The two men followed the customs of the people, wearing headdresses of different sorts. One was dark skinned and heavily bearded, small of stature, but thick set and not be taken lightly. The other was taller and clean shaven. His appearance at first glance making him seem younger than his master, until you looked again and saw the lines of scars etched across his face and arms. Only a skilled warrior would bear such scars and live to tell the tale.

As she drew closer, a subtle hand signal or command caused one of the companions dropped back to walk by her side. The girl looked neither left nor right, only at the man she followed. As they moved away through the crowd, they passed into less crowded streets. The road turned sharply, left then right then left again - twisting in ever narrower streets - finally emerging into a wide, open courtyard - white, high walls surrounding a tinkling fountain.

The rich man walked to the centre of the courtyard, then turned to face her. She stopped moving as he did, standing very still as one who is used to staying in one place, unnoticed for long periods. He was silent for a long, calm, still moment, the only sound the water trickling from one basin to another.

"Why did you follow?"

"I carry your child."

If he was expecting an answer, hers was not one he had considered. The shock flickered through his dark eyes, his thick, black eyebrows narrowing. 

"Mine? You carry my fruit?"

"Yes," the girl's eyes were clear behind her veil, without guile. "I do not know when or how or where, but she is yours."

"You have no memory of our meeting?"

"None." She shrugged, "I have no memory of my life before this morning when you touched me, thus I have come to you to tell you what I know."

The man looked thoughtful. "This is not my home, I borrow it when I visit this city, but come in, be welcome here." He lifted a hand slightly and a retainer stepped forward offering her a silver bowl brimming with fresh water. "Drink, now, and be welcome."

The girl bowed formally towards him in thanks before taking the bowl from the servant. Again his eyes flickered in surprise when she sprinkled a few drops of water on the doorstep of the building before putting the bowl to her lips and drinking steadily as if she had not drunk for many hours, yet the sun had been hot in the market place.

He was already informed of her lowly status by her dress and the curse surrounding her by his companions, but he was accustomed to making his own judgments about people. Her eyes were too clear for one struck by madness. She proved him correct when she handed the bowl back to the servant saying with a clear voice, 

"Blessings upon this house and upon its Master. May there be water here as there is life within and without, above and below."

It was an ancient blessing, not of this place or this people, but one he recognized. Whoever this ragged girl was, she did not belong here.

"Come, let us be out of the heat and dust and be cool and shaded." He held out one lean, but strong hand to her, a calm smile playing around his lips. 

If his companions thought it strange he should offer his protection to one such as her, they said nothing, fading away to attend to their various duties. 

Her touch was light, as a butterfly rests upon a flower, her eyes never leaving his. As he turned to lead her into the house, she saw a burn scar, half --healed, on the side of his neck. 

For a moment, she faltered, seeing a spar of wood falling on him, causing the burn. Her stifled gasp made him look at her, but immediately her eyes became inscrutable once more. He led her into the shade of a covered walkway round the edge of the courtyard and beyond into a high-ceilinged, tiled room. Exquisite rugs covered the floor. He led her to a low seat piled with cushions indicating she should sit.

Yunan was relieved she seemed to trust him. She could not know how long he had been looking for her. Even now, he could not be sure she was the girl he sought, when he touched her in the square and saw she did not know him, he knew that he had to let her follow at her pace, rather than pounce upon her.

The taller of his companions entered the room with a bowl of water for washing the dust from his hands and feet. The girl sprang to life, taking the small ewer from the man and dipping it into the water. Carefully, as if performing an ancient rite, she unlaced Yunan's sandals and poured water over his feet, washing away the grime of his journey with delicate hands. 

Both men could see the heavy bruising on her bare arms, their eyes meeting across her head, asking why a woman with child, should have to defend herself in such a way. Then she poured water over his hands, sitting back on her heels while he dried them on a soft towel brought by this companion. 

An observer could not tell whether they were servants or slaves, but he did not order them around or even speak to them, save a single word, now and then.. They knew each other well, these three men.

Yunan studied her sitting cross-legged on the soft cushion in front of him, "Why did you follow me? I am a stranger to you, am I not?"

The girl did not answer immediately. It was many months since anyone talked to her directly, expecting an answer not elicited by blows or curses. She took several considered breaths before making her reply. 

"The prophets teach us to respect all people, especially strangers, who do not know our ways. I followed you to bring you news which may be to your advantage, but I also bring you warning. It may be harmful to you to welcome one such as me into your house. The dead should not walk amongst the living. But before I speak of these things, may I ask you one question?"

Yunan placed his hands together palm to palm, looking away from her. He nodded, silently. 

"The burn on your neck, was it caused by a burning brand falling from the ceiling in a darkened room amidst much noise?"

His head turned involuntarily, a simple twisting motion as if he was newly reminded of the discomfort from the puckered pink skin showing above the collar of his simple, long tunic. His eyes met hers though he barely turned in her direction. "Yes. When did you see that?"

"It was in a dream - the brand fell towards me. I felt the heat of the flame upon my neck and woke screaming. The old woman who sleeps with me said she could not quiet me for a long time." She bowed her head, her voice hardly more than a whisper. 

Her shoulders hunched as if she expected a blow for every word she uttered, but she could not stay silent. "There have been other dreams since your seed woke in me."

"My seed. My child. You presume to know much." 

Yunan's words were filled with indignation, but his tone was mild, testing her to see how much she really knew.

"I know not how your seed came to be inside me, but I know the plans of those who caused it to be there. They wish you harm."

"Indeed? How can you know this? You know so much, but you know so little. What is the name of this city? What land is this? How did you come to be here?"

The girl looked at him through long, curling lashes. "The dead sometimes hear things spoken by the living. When those who keep me think me sleeping, sometimes they talk together. Sometimes I listen but do not let them know I understand their tongue. That way they would beat me more. Sometimes one of those who wish you ill comes to check I still live and your child grows. He brings money for food which the old woman keeps.

"They call the city, Darfour. Which country this is, I know not. I was brought here in darkness for many days."

He nodded as if encouraging a small child. "Take my counsel on this matter." But she broke across his speech.

"Do you not wish to hear my warning?"

Yunan sighed, looking up once. Both his previous companions were before him instantly. He spoke a few quiet words to them and they moved out of the room to wait in the shadows beyond until they were needed. When they were gone, he leaned back comfortably amongst the cushions. "Now tell me this warning."

"This child I carry - your child - they seek to use it against you. They hope for a son to lead armies to rise up against you, but it will not be a son. This I know. I do not know their plans once they discover the child is not a boy, but by then they will have fed me poison. I was dead from the moment of the child's conception."

The man before her seemed quite still, but there was a tension to him, a tautness in his frame that was not there before. At length he spoke, "So they seek to use the prophecy. These pale-eyed starvelings would turn the long-held words against me."

Unconsciously, she rubbed her swollen belly where the baby kicked. He saw her gesture and looked concerned. 

"Where were you held before I found you in the square? Where and with whom were you living?"

"I stood in front of the walls of the house where I was living. It is small - one room for living and one for sleeping reached from a ladder inside."

"Who lives with you? How many? Guards?"

"There is an old woman and a man who also live there. I am free to come and go as I will. One or other of them comes with me. They will have followed me here."

He looked up, silently. There was a breath of air and no sound , but it was evident one or both of his men left the house. "Why would they leave you so free? They must have thought to trap me, they know I come here."

"I am already dead, why cage me further?" She seemed surprised by his question. "I know no-one, I have no money, I cannot move far or fast like this. If I reach the city walls, I am brought back and beaten. The people of the city have been told I am simple and given to ravings. They smile at me sadly. Some give me food or clothes for the baby."

Finally the tension he was feeling made him get to his feet and pace around the room. "Clothes - castoffs - charity for a child of mine?" He stopped for a moment and touched her lightly on her shoulder. "You are not dead- merely sleeping. Soon, you will awake."

She looked up at him, twisting her dress between her fingers "My one concern is the wet nurse. If they kill me immediately and there is no milk, the child will die. They have made no provision for the wet nurse."

"You are how far along now? Five months it must be...? You cannot ride as hard as we need to..." 

He stoked his neatly trimmed beard, considering, "and yet we must get from here to a place of safety..." He stopped as if realizing her fragile state. His words were only making her more agitated. "No, tonight you must sleep and take your ease. Tomorrow we can make plans."

The girl rose to her feet, "I must get back now I have given you my warning. They will be angry with me and withhold my food if I am not back before nightfall."

Yunan placed a restraining hand upon her arm. "You go nowhere. The old man and..." - he broke off and looked towards the shorter of the companions who appeared like a spirit at their side. "... and the old woman know where you have gone. By evening tomorrow, they will be upon us. There is no going back to sleep now, Sofia. Now you must awake." 

He felt her start when he mentioned her name, but he was sure now this was the girl he sought, the dancing girl who came to him as a gift and who disappeared the night his stronghold went up in flames. 

He saw the panic in her eyes as they darted from him to the door and back again. He took both her hands in his and drew her down with him again onto the cushions. With gentle fingers, he pulled aside her veil and headdress, nodding to himself as her chestnut hair fell down around her shoulders like a thick curtain.

"I must eat," she protested, trying once again to get to her feet, but his arm was now around her waist and she could not move. "For the child's sake, I have to eat."

He nodded, "Yes, you shall eat and bathe and rest. I, myself, have not eaten this day since dawn..."

"Do they starve you too?" Her question was almost rhetorical, words strung together in an effort to beat down her rising panic. Since she heard her name, memories had been throwing themselves at her mind. 

She saw herself being trussed up like a chicken and tied to the back of a camel, blindfold. She felt the burning heat of the day with few rests and little water; the constant sickness caused by the camel's gait, the bitter cold of the dark nights when she was not allowed to even see the stars. 

She felt her captors' heavy hands and harsh ways. She was not to be killed yet, but they laughed every time they saw her retch, speaking of strange prophesies to bring them power and ensure the ruin of the man sitting beside her. Sitting beside her and talking to her in a calm, gentle voice, his long fingers stroking her hand as he would to comfort a child. 

"No, they do not starve me. No-one starves me, no-one makes me prisoner." He smiled at that thought. "None shall make me prisoner. Although they may thank their fate if they only end up imprisoned. But I have an appetite. So we shall all eat. We shall begin by breaking bread, while Surak prepares a meal."

Sophia took hold of one of his hands. "Your hands are warm...kind..." she placed it on her belly. "When you touched me here, I knew."

His smile was grave, but gentle and he looked at her. "Few here would think Yunan would ever be called kind or caring. But few here know me truly. Let us eat. Surak, bring bread and make a memorable meal - one of your best." 

Surak, the shorter man, smiled unexpectedly. Though his teeth were uneven and mottled , there was no doubting the genuine delight there, nor his devotion to his master - the man who had called himself, Yunan.

Hard, unleavened bread was brought on a huge platter of beaten silver, together with goblets of pomegranate juice sweetened with honey, to soften the bread. The servant laid it before them on a low table, then reappeared shortly afterwards with carafs of wine and camel's milk which he placed within easy reach. 

Forgetting her terrors and her manners, Sophie reached for the caraf and began to gulp down the milk, leaving a white line around her mouth which she wiped away on her sleeve. 

"Today, I bring you a daughter," she whispered, her words so faint he could hardly hear, "the next child will be a son."

Yunan's eyes flickered, but his voice was warm and even. 

"Eat," he encouraged her, breaking off a large chunk of bread and dipping it in the pomegranate juice, then offering it to her. 

For the first time in many months, Sophia took the bread from him and smiled.

Tears in a Dry Land Ch. 02



The journey was not fast, but it was relentless. 

Hours before sunrise, Sofia was roused from deep sleep to dress in boy's clothes, her long hair hidden inside a silk cap and wound around with cloth to protect against the wind and dust. 

Four magnificent horses stood in the courtyard, laden with food bags and bedrolls, but harnessed only with the finest leather and light, racing saddles. 

Once mounted, they left the city as quietly as they could, the small postern gate easily opened and shut behind them. Two days they rode along dusty trails before taking a small ferry across narrow straits leading to a gentler land. They skirted around villages, taking vague trails to avoid being seen. They watered the horses in irrigation ditches where they could, stopping only for brief snatches of sleep. 

Every bone in Sophia's body ached. Many times she fell asleep in her saddle, swaying precariously before being caught by one of the men, who would put her before them, holding her safe with one arm while they managed both their horse and her own with the other.

Yunan would not stop near any town or village. He was convinced someone would recognize him and be able to pass this information on to his pursuers. So far they had seen no signs of others travelling after them, though they cast frequent glances behind and anxiously scoured each skyline for puffs of dust or smoke from a careless cooking fire.

This was a long-settled land, full of cultivated fields and small towns. The further they travelled from the town where she was kept prisoner, the more Sophia was able to look at her surroundings. 

At first everything seems to be covered in mist, but gradually her vision cleared. With his usual tenacity, Yunan spoke little but occasionally he would ask if she recognized this landmark, or that village. 

Once they saw washing hanging to dry on bushes by a stream. Without thinking, Sophia remarked on the colour, mentioning it was a favourite with her sister. Yunan noted what she said, but did not press her further, wanting her to come back to herself in her own time.

As dusk set in around the fifth evening, they begin a long slow climb up a twisting trail which rose from a low-lying valley, over a series of stepped, concealed hills, each one masking the next highest. By the time the plodding, weary horses carried them to the summit; it was dark with stars burning white in a black sky.

Sofia was so tired, she could hardly keep upright on the horse, the only sound the echoing of the hoof beats in her ears. As she became aware of the stars, she remembered seeing them from a high window. Some of the stars hung low in the sky, seeming to form a strange constellation ahead of them hanging, wavering - almost yellow, rather than the blue-white of their peers.

As they draw closer, a darker black shape began to bulk in the blue of the sky, the yellow constellation resolving into bright guard flares and torches set about the battlements of a fortress, tucked back here, all but hidden on this summit, secure in its view of the countryside around, but disguised by another stepped hill rising some small distance behind.

A crack of yellow light appeared in the blackness, etching contours of a gateway. Huge oaken doors, bound in bronze, creaked open, the brightly lit courtyard in the interior, welcoming them.

Yunan turned to her, "Do you remember this place?" He saw the eyes behind her headdress were wide and fearful. He somehow sensed whatever memories were being evoked were still jumbled and confused, but remembered fear surrounded her and she shook her head in answer to his question.

They rode into the courtyard, the iron shoes of the horses chiming on the cobbled stones. They were greeted by many smiling and some grave faces - servants or friends, Sophia could not tell. All of them were dressed in fine clothes, but there was none of the usual clamour that would be expected at such an arrival. 

If these people were surprised to see this group arrive without warning in the dark of night on lathered horses, none spoke of such things aloud. More it seemed a usual occurrence, some stepping forward to hold the horses' heads, while others brought trays of wine and sweetmeats to greet the new arrivals.

Yunan slid down from his horse then helped Sophia to dismount. Her legs felt stiff and wooden. It seemed no effort for him to lift her into his arms and set her on the floor, steadying her when her legs threatened to dissolve under her. 

"Welcome to my stronghold in this country." Sophia heard his words and knew she must make a suitable reply, but her voice was thick with fatigue and she could only whisper. "May the walls sink into the mountain side and the ravens ever call your enemy's confusion."

She heard no other command, but suddenly a group of serving women appeared at her side - dark-eyed and quietly considerate. They invited her to accompany them to her quarters, which was easier said than done, but their arms supported her, almost carrying her into the stronghold.



Tears in a Dry Land Ch. 03



Fear surrounded her. It was women who were responsible for teaching her to dance, who taught her how to please a man, who had been relentless in their efforts to turn her into someone she had never been. They brooked no shirking and whipped her shortcomings until she met their exacting standards. There was no kindness in their world, only a grudging acceptance if she performed well.

Now Sophia faced other terrors. Yunan was a rich man, a powerful man, so must have many wives and concubines within his household. She could not hide her pregnancy from these serving women. She knew his wives would be furious she was carrying his child and might seek to destroy her, but she knew she had no alternative other than go with them. She hoped they would not beat her too hard to make her lose the baby.

The apartments she was shown were not sumptuous. They were well furnished, but not opulent. Gathering what little strength remained, Sophia asked the women if there was somewhere she could bathe and make herself respectable before she paid her respects to Yunan's wives.

She wondered why several of the woman smiled, quickly covering their mirth with their hands or turning away as if to save her embarrassment. A young, very self-possessed attendant inclined her head, explaining a deep bath had been filled with warm water for her ease. A selection of fresh garments would also be made available for her to choose from. She need only ask for anything else she wished.

"Thank you," Sophia murmured, "some oils, if you would be so kind?"

Again the head nodded, gently, "Of course, lady."

Sophia made her way slowly towards the bath, trying to ignore everyone else around her. Always a very private person when she was allowed, she was not used to other people seeing her body since it grew and changed. Painfully, she removed her clothes and folded them neatly in a pile. 

She sensed some of the women moving forward as if to offer help, but an imperceptible shake of the young woman's head stopped them. Sophia remembered a time when she would have stood and let others help her, but that seemed like a lifetime ago.

Almost silently, the serving women withdrew all but one- the very confident girl - who busied herself setting out clothing on a fine lacquered stand nearby, then brought a small silver tray of metal and glass bottles. She watched as Sophia carefully lowered herself down into the bath, feeling the blissful heat of the water on her aching limbs. 

The young woman noted the bruises on Sophia's arms and legs and back - some half healed and some fresh. The Master of the stronghold was not given to rescuing pregnant women from abusive situations and she wondered what story this one had to tell.

"Shall I fetch water to cool or add heat, lady?"

Sophia's closed eyes flew open. She regarded the young woman with some confusion, forcing her to repeat the question, "If you could add heat, I should be grateful, thank you. The last part of the journey was cold and we could not afford the time to stop and wrap ourselves in blankets as we did previous evenings. Your Master was most anxious to reach his destination." 

She lay back in the water, soaking for a while, almost asleep. On the edge of her consciousness, she thought she heard a murmur of voices, but when she opened her eyes, she was alone. With a deep sigh, she remembered her hair must be washed. Slowly and painfully, she unwrapped the coils from her head, then let it lie on the surface. 

The water was noticeably warmer although no one had brought any kettle or cauldron of any kind. Sophia reached out to take handfuls of soft soap from a dish by her side and washed her hair, submerging herself several times to wash the soap away.

As she got to her knees to climb out of the bath, the young woman was immediately at her side to help her climb out, wrapping her hair and her body with soft, light, luxuriant towels. 

"The Master asks," the girl began, taking up a towel and carefully beginning to dry Sophia's feet. "The Master asks if you would join him to dine - if you feel sufficiently refreshed." The girl hesitated, then smiled, "I told him you would join him when you were ready, lady."

Sofia was horrified by such deliberate discourtesy. "Was he not displeased by such an answer?"

"You have travelled a hard journey. It takes more than a bath to be rid of the road. Men do not consider such things. It is as much as one can do to have them bathe sufficiently." Sofia found a smile playing on her lips at the girl's perfect command of the situation, something her companion noticed immediately. "Do not be concerned, the Master understood completely once I explained."

"Thank you."

Once more she was greeted with the quiet smile, the downcast eyes, "It was my pleasure."

Given confidence by the girl's manner, Sophia said, "May I ask for your help with my hair? My back hurts and it is difficult to lift my arms above my head."

"How may I help?" The young woman smiled openly, happy to be able to assist Sophia at last.

"If you could rub my hair until the excess moisture is removed and then wrap it in the towel. I will oil myself, then perhaps you could brush my hair for me, if I could borrow a brush?"

"Certainly. I have laid out a brush and combs - fine and broad, there, beside your clothing."

Sofia moved slowly over to the lacquered table. She picked up one of the combs, studying it closely before returning it. The shape and colour of the tortoiseshell brought back further memories of times when others combed her long hair. She remembered a nurse when she was small, singing to her, songs of her people. Without thinking she hummed a half remembered tune, while the young woman unwrapped the towel and stood behind her, using soft, sure movements to work the towel through her hair.

"Lady, if I may be permitted to say, your hair has such a fine colouring – unusual in these lands."

Sophia smiled, "There are some who say my mother's mother was from a people a long way from here. They would not say openly she was a slave taken as booty during a northern raid, for fear of offending my mother, but it may explain why my colouring is as it is." 

Although the words came readily to her lips, she was surprised by the memory. It was a long time since she had allowed herself to think or even wonder about her mother. She knew her mother was no longer alive yet the initial grief of her passing was already spent. Now more pressing matters filled her mind once more.

"I have to ask," she began, "how many wives does Yusan keep? His children too, they must be many."

The young woman almost dropped the towel, stammering something of an apology. "Lady - I .. may I speak? Although it is not to criticise...?"

Sophia was immediately contrite, "Please do. Forgive me if I have said something I shouldn't. I do not know your customs."

"Who? Where? How did you hear that name, Yunan?"

"Your Master. He said his name was Yunan. The people of the town, Darfour, where I was held, called him by the same title. I presumed it was his name."

"Ah." the girl's relief was evident, "Did he say that his name was Yunan, or that people called him so? You see, 'Yunan' is what they call him - the people here," she blushed a little, " - my people. It is not his name; it just means 'Greek'. They call him 'The Greek'. His name is Kallikrates."

"I see." Sofia searched through the haze of memories, trying to recall what she heard him say or thought she heard him say. She frowned, remembering the sound of that name, Killikrates. 

She remembered a tall, important man visiting her parents when she was a very small child and could run and play and entertain the grownups without rebuke. A man who gave her a comb, who said it went with her hair. A comb of the same style as those laid out for her use now. There had to be a connection.

Sophia stood, staring into space for several minutes, until her companion coughed discretely to draw her attention back to the present.

"Lady, you asked for oils to be brought. Do you need any assistance?"

Sophia looked wistfully at the tray of oils. "I should like to oil my skin. It is stretching so, but I do not think I have the energy."

"May I help, then?" she finished collecting the used towels and folded her hands neatly in front of her. "There are many scented oils here, please choose what would please you."

"I don't want to inconvenience you," Sophia was very conscious of the length of time she was taking to bathe and make herself comfortable, but she had no energy to rush anything. "You must have many other duties."

"This evening I have no other duties. The Master has placed me at your disposal." Her hands opened as she spoke and she smiled freely.

"Your Master is very kind. Do you have any rose geranium?"

The young woman looked through the bottles on the tray, opening some that were opaque or silver to scent the contents, until she lifted a darkly small, coloured, polished, stone bottle, closing her eyes in pleasure as she inhaled. 

"Ah... I think this will please you." She tipped the bottle, cupping her palm to pour a little into her hand. She brought the hand closer to Sofia, smiling encouragingly at her, "Will this serve?"

Sofia nodded, returning her smile. "It is strange how scent takes you back to other places. It reminds me so much of happy times."

The girl nodded in agreement, "It is often so. More than sight or sound, smell can light darkened corners or open locked rooms. Lady, would you care to recline on the couch, so I might soothe your skin and muscles?" 

She drew Sophia onto a soft leather couch, where she sat, still swathed in towels.

"Thank you. I was just thinking of my aunt. It was she who insisted I learn both how to give a massage and to receive them."

Her companion listened as she worked the oil from her cupped palm into her fingers and hands, flexing them, softening her own skin. 

"Have you practised this skill from time to time?" The girl's voice was neutral, but clearly interested. Not waiting for an answer, she gently encouraged Sophia to lie down on her side.

"My aunt taught me many things. How to relax tired muscles, relieve pain for women and girls, help my mother's headaches when she wasn't well. I worked with and blended many oils. My father trusted me to negotiate with the oil sellers when they came to the house." 

"Ah - and oil traders know how to sweeten a bargain."

Sophia sat up, her face suddenly darkened, her breathing thickening as she remembered something she obviously did not wish to recall. 

"Except sometimes....they are not who they say they are."

The girl sensed a change in her, not pressing the point or asking questions but gently encouraging her to lie once more upon her side, spreading out fresh towels across the fabric of the couch. Sophia acquiesced but her whole body tensed as if readying herself for further flight and her fear was palpable. 

"When I apply oil, or free knotted muscles, I usually begin with the neck and shoulders. Would you have me begin there, or would you rather choose another place?"

Her soft words brought Sophia back from her place of fear and she readily agreed, mumbling apologies for her inattention. 

"I'm sorry," she explained, "for so long my mind has been dead. Now it's as if a blindfold has been taken off and memories are pouring back. Some are memories to treasure, but others will keep me awake at nights for years to come."

"There is no need to explain to me, lady. I am here for your assistance; to listen should you require attention or to be silent and still should you need calm. The neck and shoulders, then.?"

"Yes, please." Sophia was silent for a moment, then with a sudden burst of confidence she said, "Tell me about your Master. I know him yet I do not know him."

The girl's voice was calm and light. "The Master? I think few know him truly." 

With a dry towel, she lifted Sofia's hair clear of her shoulders and neck, and as she spoke she began to gently apply pressure to the woman's neck and upper shoulders, feeling her begin to relax as she continued her ministrations. 

"He is a man of power and there is wealth, although," her thumbs circled around tight areas of muscle, "he prefers to conceal much of his wealth." She pressed the heels of her palms into the skin above the shoulder blades and worked in twisting motions.

"If there is wealth, then does he have enemies?" Sophia asked.

Her companion poured more oil into her hands and warmed it, the subtle, sweet fragrance filling the air. "I am speaking of matters you could find out by asking anyone and yes, he has enemies."

Sofia shuddered. "It would be safer for him if he killed me now."

The girl seemed untroubled by Sofia's remark, merely asking permission as her hands softly loosened the towel at Sofia's back, slackening it so she could work lower. 

Her hands slipped down, working the delicate oil into the skin, sweeping down and releasing, then slipping down from higher up again, hand following hand. 

"The Master almost never does what people think is best for him," she commented after a while, "and certainly not what his enemies expect."

Tears began to slide silently down Sophia's wind burnt cheeks, "He has been very kind, but I could bring him such harm, such misery. He does not know the extent of their hatred."

The girl's fingers splayed out on Sophia's back, stroking in sure, strong movements, from one side and then the other. 

"He said something once to me," she remarked. "He said, 'Give me an enemy who hates me; that man is half-crippled.'"

Sophia looked at the girl in some surprise, this was not a remark normally made in front of women, let alone directly to them. 

"He must trust you a great deal to make such a remark on your presence."

The girl stopped, as if thinking about this for the first time, then resumed her firm strokes. 

"I have been with him for many years."

"And he has kept you safe?"

"Always."

Sophia sighed. "I hope it is never otherwise for you."

The girl's hands swept round to Sofia's side, moving under the fabric of the loosened towel. 

"He seeks to protect you also."

"Maybe. It is the child who must be protected, I am already lost." 

Her delicate hand passed her eyes as if to wipe away the tears, unnoticed. Once more her companion wondered about the child, but her gentle hands never stopped their movements. Long, languorous, full-handed strokes, make Sophia's skin glisten and glow. This time when Sophia sighed, her whole body relaxed, despite her previous unease.

"Are you warm enough, Lady? I should imagine that the journey on horseback was less than comfortable." She said, freeing the remaining length of the towel from Sofia, to leave her naked, before her hands swept down to gently knead her buttocks seeking the tension, and the soreness that must be there.

"It seemed endless. The hardest part was not being able to leave the men to see to my own needs, even though they turned away. At least they did not bind me as my captors did. Then I thought I would die from shame and their cruel laughter."

"They are good men those three, but men. They are so used to each other's company in every circumstance, they do not think too much about other's sensitivities." 

As she spoke, she worked one hand from the base of Sophia's spine, down and further down to her thighs, lifting the leg and flexing muscles to expose and locate the areas that needed working, causing Sophia to gasp, suppressing cries of pain as her companion found new and more painful knotted muscles.

The girl frowned in concentration. "I will have some words to say to him about this," she muttered under her breath. "He had no right to bring you here in such a manner, and you - how far gone now - five months is it?"

Sophia nodded, "I believe so. I have no memory of the first month, just flashes." She grunted as, with one leg bent at the knee and lifted forward slightly, the girl worked the inner muscles on the leg underneath with subtle careful motions; fingers brushing and smoothing the oil, making the skin shine. 

"I don't know why, but I think it was here it must have happened."

"If you will turn, so you face me, I can work the other side and smooth oil into your abdomen and belly, to ease the stretching." Then as Sophia turned at her request, she asked casually while she refreshed the oil on her hands. "You have a memory of here?"

"When we climbed up the hill and the fortress came into sight I felt fear. I seemed to remember a door opening and loud voices and being pushed by threatening hands into a brightly lit room crowded with people, drums and cymbals pounding through my head, my body jerking in time with them, knowing the whips would strike if my movements were not in time with the rhythms they beat. I wish...I wish I could remember details, but it is all feelings and touch and smells."

The girl turned back toward Sophia, rubbing her hands, smoothing the oil into her palms. She stepped forward, kneeling on the couch close to Sophia, bringing her hands to her throat and upper chest. 

"Lady, you chase your quarry too hard. Stop and rest, sit in wait and what is there will return to you." 

Sofia shook her head, "You misunderstand, I chase nothing for there is nothing in my future. I only speak what I see."

"That is not for you to say."

"It is all I have heard for the past five months. Those who kept me reminded me each day I would only live as long as the child grew within me. Once I gave birth, my life would end. They would show me the dish of poison, telling me it was both odourless and tasteless so I could not refuse to eat or drink for I would never know which meal would be my last."

The girl's eyes flashed. If this woman's captors were still living, she would have words with the Master concerning the manner of their own demise. 

"Not everything told is truth," she commented, "and not all truth is made evident."

Sophia sniffed, wiping her final tears away on the towel beside her. "You are very wise and very kind."

"I have learned much from a wise man."

They shared a companionable silence while the girl's small hands moved delicately across the skin of Sofia's swelling breasts, soothing and softening. Then more oil was palmed, the movements comforting and confident as oil was smoothed into her belly, making the skin softer and more supple.

Sofia gasped, "Did you feel that?"

"The little one kicks."

"She has moved so little these past days."

"She kept still on the horse," the girl explained. "My mother told me she had to ride for many days when she was eight months pregnant with me and I stayed perfectly still all that time. She thought I was lost. 

"All the wise women told her not to ride so far when she was so near her time. They warned her it would make the labour more difficult and if she fell, she would lose me, but she would not stay. She wanted my father to know me from the time of my birth and he was far away, trading spices with nomads. He could not come to her so she went to him."

"How did she manage?"

"I do not know. She was a strong woman who loved horses. She passed that love to me."

"She is no longer here with you?"

"She died. I was eight years old." The girl's face was expressionless, her hands never ceasing their constant journey across Sophia skin.

"I am sorry for your loss. I was sixteen when my mother sailed across the Styx, not long after my two sisters married and moved away. I was left to look after my father and younger brothers. I do not know who cares for them now, but I am glad she was not alive to suffer with me."

The girl lifted Sophia's the right leg, crooking it as she did the left and working the muscles. 

"Lady, you are here now and you are under the protection of the Master. It has been many years since his protection failed anyone." She stopped as Sophia cried out in pain and held on to her right calf. "What is it?"




Tears in a Dry Land Ch. 03



"I do not know. This has pained me every night for the past few months."

"A muscle tear or sprain should not last that long. Has it got worse, or remained the same?"

"Worse, when I stretch it in bed before I sleep it spasms."

The girl frowned, "Let me see what I can do. If it pains you, as I work, tell me, so I can stop. I shall fetch the physician if necessary."

"No, please, no more drugs!"

Her hands first worked slowly over the skin of the calf, assessing, and exploring, then probing firmly to unlock the tendons, muscles and break down trapped toxins. 

She nodded and quietly said, "No, no drugs." 

She watched Sophia's face as she bit her lip but did not cry out with the pain. After several minutes working, the girl stopped kneading and her movements became gentler. "Is it any better?"

Sophia tensed the muscles, then nodded her thanks.

"I will return and work on the muscles in your neck if I may. I observed a certain tension in you just then." 

The girl leaned over, allowing her hands to apply even, but gentle pressure on the side of Sofia's neck. "I was sure you would jump and run from my touch at first, but now you seem much calmer and at ease."

"You have been so kind. You have your Master's confidence and you offered me something I have longed for these many months – someone of my own age I could trust."

The girl smiled at her. "I am pleased to have been able to help you. Is there anything else I may do for you?"

Sophia sat up and looked around. "Could you help me dress?"

The girl cleaned her hands carefully in a bowl of scented water. "Certainly. Have you selected the garments you would like to wear?"

Sophia sat still feeling lost and helpless in her nakedness. 

"I do not know your customs. I would not appear before your Master in clothes which would bring his disapproval."

"I would not have brought you anything inappropriate."

Sophia's eyes were glazing over again as another stream of memories assaulted her, "Not red, I cannot wear red. When I was here before they dressed me in red and gold - a dancer's dress."

There was a long pause as the girl finally realised who Sofia was and whose child she bore. "The dancers...." she murmured to herself, before continuing in a brisker tone, "all clothes here are fit for you to wear." 

She held up a grey silk shift. "I think this one. It drapes so perfectly and is loose enough to leave you unencumbered. These are very loose too - and cool," she indicated a pair of grey silk trousers, gathered at the ankle. Then I think this long coat - it is in a coarser, rough raw silk from the furthest shores of China. The deep violet will complement your hair perfectly."

She helped Sophia dress in the garments she indicated then found a pair of jewelled sandals for her to wear on her calloused feet. Taking a tortoiseshell brush from the stand, she began to brush out Sophia's chestnut hair so it lay curled and free down to her waist. 

"What do you recall about the dancers?" Her question seemed idle conversation, but Sophia immediately frowned, then recounted what she saw as if she were reliving it once more.

"It was dark. There were braziers burning because the night was cold but the dresses were made from the thinnest silk, concealing nothing. First we were to dance for the Master and all his guests, then we served the feast, each one of us serving a pre-determined man. 

"After the food was finished, we danced again - a different dance. One designed to inflame desire in the heart of the man we danced for. We had to touch, to tease, to tempt, so the man would take us with him to his chamber that night. 

"They warned me what would happen if the Master did not choose me. Assassins would be sent to kill not only my father and my brothers, but my sisters and their families as well. I danced for them when the dance began, but by the end of the evening, I danced for him alone because he was all I could see. He was my world."

The girl nodded thoughtfully, "and he chose you, I remember."

Sophia's gaze dropped to the floor, her face aflame.

"No, Sophia..Lady..." Her hands gripped Sophia's shoulders, forcing her to look at her, "There is no shame here for you. You did not seek this, it was forced upon you. Trust in My Lord, he is a good man."

"He did not force me," Sophia whispered, "that much I do remember."

"No, he did not force you, he would not. Even though it was so many years since he had taken any woman."

"I could not speak to him. I could not tell him who I was or what danger I posed to him. His hands were gentle – like yours and soon my body would not let me speak, even if I could. 

"He thought me just another dancer brought for his pleasure. You always think the first time will be for bonding, for binding – not that there might be consequences." She rubbed once more at the shift where the child moved within her.

"Maybe he thought of you as a dancer at first, but he learned a little about you and sought you, but that is for him to tell you and he will."

Sophia looked shocked. "It was not by chance he came there - in the market place?"

"No chance, no hazard. He was there because he had spent much time and much money to find you."

"I had seen him come to me in a dream. I thought myself still asleep, walking into the square, waiting. I did not know who he was, but then he touched me and I knew it was his seed I carried."

"You saw clearly. He will explain more, for he has not told me everything and he will be growing impatient."

"Just one last question, if I may? How should I call you? So I may thank your Master for his kindness."

The girl smiled, her eyes twinkling mischievously. 

"My name is Penelope, not a common name for this land. My father chose it from the legend of his people - the tale of the warrior, Odysseus."

Sophia nodded, "I heard the tale when I was a child."

"We should go now, my father waits," and with her arm supporting Sophia, Penelope led the way down the twisting stone passage ways to the small dining room where Killikrates was waiting for them.



Tears in a Dry Land Ch. 04



At the end of a long corridor lit by flickering wall sconces scented with cedar, two servants stood at a thick, wooden door. As the two women approached, the door was opened for them, light streaming forth into the darkness. 

Penelope guided her into the room, stopping for a moment to take in the seating arrangements and the number of guests. It was a happy accident her father had returned from his quest tonight. Other travellers were also seeking his patronage and advice. She was glad she did not have to make excuses for his absence for longer than a few hours. 

The room they entered bore a high ceiling, vaulted with plain, gleaming, black, alabaster-faced columns. The furnishings were sturdy and well-made, of the highest quality, gathered from many lands, but there was little or no gilding. Many different lamps of brass or bronze filled the room with a soft glow. Several low couches were situated around a collection of tables laden with aromatic dishes, fragrant rice, and sweetmeats. Again, the serving dishes were finely made, but not overly ornate

Sophia's eyes flickered around the room until she found Yunan reclining on a couch in front of a beautiful fresco. Through a painted window covered with overhanging grapes, the scene showed fishing boats about to set sail on an azure sea. It was a scene so reminiscent of Sophia's own home, she almost cried out, but her attention was caught by Yunan. 

Penelope was whispering to him as she greeted her father with a kiss. He rose gracefully to a sitting position, indicating Sophia should seat herself on a vacant couch nearby. A handful of people were seated similarly, two men and two women. Penelope joined a couple sitting to her father's right hand.

Yunan smiled. "Please, be welcome to our table."

For a moment, Sophia remained standing at the entrance to the room, unconsciously drawing all eyes to her. With her chestnut hair hanging down her back and in her new clothes, no-one would have recognised the witless dancing girl Yunan had found just a few days before.

Taking a deep breath, she went and knelt before Yunan, taking his hand, kissing it and reciting a very old and formal blessing of thanks for safe protection under his roof together with good wishes on his family and his ancestors unto the fifth generation. 

No-one could deny how heartfelt her thanks were nor that she would have offered her blessing with or without witnesses. This was her first opportunity to really thank him and to show him how grateful she was. 

Yunan inclined his head, acknowledging her words and actions. 

"That was very graciously said, Sophia. Thank you." Once more his hand waved towards the couch next to his. "Will you sit and dine with us? We should be honoured." 

His courtesy was not forced, it was part of him - part of his essence.

Sophia nodded, closing her eyes in assent; sitting demurely where he indicated. One by one, Yunan introduced her to their dining companions. The first was a tall man, with a shaven head and a full grey beard. His expression was grave with dark, hidden eyes. 

"This is Mordh Kauras - he is - how might I describe you Kauras? He is - let me say -a smuggler." The bald man blinked but said nothing, inclining his head to Sophia. "The lady with him is a very good friend, I think."

Kauras cleared his throat, "This is Limma." The young woman blushed as he spoke her name, but said nothing. Despite the flowing silks of her robes, her young body was curved and voluptuous, echoing the thick, tangled curls of her jet-black hair. Her mouth glistened with syrup from nibbled sweatmeats as she licked sticky fingers, her large black eyes accentuated by the khol she wore. 

Her gaze flickered over Sophia, judging whether of not she would be a rival to her companion's attentions, but soon decided she faced no threat since Sophia's obvious pregnancy put her out of bounds.

Yunan gestured to the man seated on his right. 

"This other gentleman is a countryman of mine named Ikton and his companion is his sister, Herea. This is the Lady Sophia, recently rescued from a dreadful ordeal of which we would rather not talk." He turned to smile at Sophia, "How are you now, Lady?"

"My body is much eased by the kindness of your daughter, my Lord. My mind..."she stopped, looking him full in the face, "....my mind returns."

He smiled, offering her a platter laden with stuffed figs. "Indeed, my Lady - I can often find a long journey leaves me most disoriented - do try one of these." He nodded encouragingly as she took one from the plate, holding it carefully in both hands as she nibbled the delicacy.

The smuggler, Kauras, was gazing at Penelope with an openly interested expression, much to the annoyance of his companion. Penelope was deep in conversation with Herea, the two women sharing points of significant amusement. 

"I see your daughter is here, Kallikrates. I thought she was sent away, since..."

Yunan smoothly picked up the unfinished sentence without missing a beat. "She returned some days ago. I missed her so; it seemed a greater hardship to be without her." He turned to Sophia, his gaze level and meaningful, "So, Lady Sophia, my daughter tells me you remember your last visit here?"

For a moment, Sophia hid behind closed eyes but then opened them to face him. 

"I remember being here, yes - not everything, but enough to know what occurred."

A momentary spasm, like a cloud flickered across his face, but it passed almost unnoticed. "Then we shall exchange reminiscences - later perhaps...?"

"If it pleases, you, my Lord."

Without faltering he became once more the genial host, calling to the servant holding the wine carafe. 

"Where are my manners? Wine for the Lady. You will try some of the local produce?"

Sophia could not remember the last time she drank anything other than water or fruit juice. 

"Nothing too strong, I fear I have no head for it these days." A sudden thought came to her. "I believe you are fond of a fresh white grape." She named a local wine from her father's land.

Yunan sipped from his own goblet thoughtfully. 

"Indeed, yes. It was a favourite of mine, although in recent years, there has been a change in quality, a loss of spirit or flavour. They say a great tragedy befell the family that owned the land. They had no heart for the grape or the craft any more." He looked at her curiously. "How came you to remember that?"

"It was the story of Penelope, told to a small child many, many years ago that I remembered. You had a glass of the wine in your hand as you told the tale."

Yunan did not respond, instead looking into the middle distance seeming to see through walls to something a long way away. 

"There was a girl who said in a very clear voice she would never wait ten years for any man, King of Ithaca or not and that she'd have rattled the suitors' teeth with her spinning weights if she'd been Penelope."

He turned towards Sophia, their shared smiles mirroring one another.

"Small girls do not understand time, my Lord."

"We none of us do. We seek to catch it in an hourglass, or burn it in a candle and yet there is never enough, but always more of it. I have spent months that seemed like years and days that fled like minutes."

She nodded, her eyes never leaving his, "I'm sure that has been true for all of us."

In the quiet silence following their exchange, they became aware Ikton was making inconsequential talk about the weather and building materials. Sophia gained the impression he was an architect of some kind.

"Speaking of time, Kallikrates," he said, "I was astounded you managed to get those repairs done in here so quickly. The damage from the fire was quite severe. I see they have followed my plans to the letter, I hope you are pleased with the results."

Yunan frowned slightly, concerned by the turn of the conversation. He nodded towards Ikton, stealing a glance towards Sophia to see if she heard. She was serving herself from a dish of lamb with saffron rice and dried fruits. He saw her pause, her spoon hanging in midair for a long moment. He spoke clearly and slowly, aiming his remark at her ears, but apparently speaking to Ikton.

"The important thing is we all came through unscathed in the end and the damage has been repaired. I am very pleased with the artist you recommended. His frescos bring me much pleasure."

The talk turned to other things, the meal continuing through several courses until everyone had eaten and drunk their fill. Sophia leant back amongst the cushions letting the conversation wash over her. The softness of her couch soon lulled her tired body into sleep. As her eyelids flickered, she thought herself back in her own home listening to the tales of merchants come to visit her father and haggle over the price of wine.

She hardly noticed when someone picked her up and carried her to her room, nor the gentle hands which unwrapped the clothes from her body, sliding her between silken sheets covering a mattress filled with the softest down. She slept soundly for the next day and night, not waking until the stars were once more high in the sky.



Tears in a Dry Land Ch. 05



Several days later, when the other guests had departed, Sophia received an invitation to join Yunan in his private rooms high up in the fortress. As she entered, he was sitting at a small window open to the night sky, coals burning in a brazier nearby warming the chill from the night breeze. 

Yunan beckoned her over and showed her the many different constellations which could be seen. Sophia was entranced.

"The stars here are so different from those I remember at my father's house."

Yunan nodded. "It is a long way from here -- several days journey on horseback and then a long boat ride along the coast before you come to your homeland. Do your family know you are alive?" 

He seemed to ask the question without any real enquiry, belying the furious argument he had had with Penelope several days earlier. His daughter was convinced messengers should be sent to Sophia's father asking him to visit, but Yunan would not allow it.  

He was still very conscious of the threats posed to Sophia's life by those who had kidnapped her originally - the less people who knew of her whereabouts the better. Ikton and Muras were lifelong friends of his who would not disclose anything they learned during their stay with him. 

Indeed they had both departed with requests to listen for any enquiries into the disappearance of a pregnant dancing girl from a desert town.

Sophia shook her head "I did not remember who I was until I came here. The scents from the oils brought so much back to me."

"I thought it might be that way." Yunan sighed. "I am so angry with myself for not recognising you - knowing you - when you were brought here all those months ago."

"You had not seen me since I was a small child, how could you recognise me?"

"I see the child in you now; that girl you were - you still are."

Sophia smiled, her eyes no longer empty and haunted, but dancing and twinkling like the stars outside in the sky. 

"You have given me back to myself, my Lord. I shall be forever in your debt."

Yunan rose from his seat, approaching her as she sat facing him. 

"My dear Sophia, I have wronged you deeply. You carry my child, through circumstances so abhorrent, I cannot express my regret sufficiently strongly," he knelt before her, his head bowed, "please forgive me."

Sophia's hand reached out to touch his shoulder, feeling once more the pulse of life between them. 

"Hush," she murmured, sliding down onto the floor so she could look into his eyes, "you could not know. We were both pawns in a great game and I fear it may have been my father who gave your enemies their idea."

"Your father?"

"I remember once, as you were leaving, he made a chance remark in the presence of some other guests about the possibility of an alliance between our two houses. I remember the eyes of one man fell upon me and his look frightened me."

Yunan's face contorted with rage, "I will find them," he promised, "all of them or if they come upon me first, they will regret it!"

"Please," Sophia's small hands rested on the backs of his, "none of that was your doing. You have brought me here, made me safe, given me back myself, you have done so much!"

Yunan rose to his feet, drawing her up with him, although she hardly reached his shoulder. "Those days you spent here when you came as part of the dancing troupe - you touched me. I knew there was more to you than simply a ..." he faltered.

"A mindless dancer?"

"Yes. More than anything or anyone I had encountered since Penelope's mother died. Each moment we spent together your beauty and skills took my breath away. I could no more keep my body from yours than I could deny myself a glass of clear water on a summer's day. You made me feel alive, when I had convinced myself that parts of me were content to die with my wife.

"When it was clear they set a fire just to spirit you away after the fourth night, I had to seek you." 

Sophia began to shudder and he drew her closer, his arm tentatively on her shoulders, "You remember something of it?"

"I do not understand how it was. I believe they drugged me more heavily than usual to stop me escaping until we were many days away from here, but over and over I saw the same scene. 

"It seemed as if I were you and I saw the fire through your eyes. I saw the flames consuming the banqueting hall, the chains of servants with buckets. I heard the screams of the women as they were herded into the deepest part of the mountain away from the fire, but you did not leave - you were in the midst of everything. 

"I remember the rug you used to beat out the flames, soaking it in water as you went into the rooms to bring out what you could. I saw the brand which fell on you, which knocked you unconscious? It always went black then and I saw no more."

Yunan cleared his throat, wondering what to make of Sophia's disclosure. 

"There is no need to concern yourself, Sophia. I was dragged to safety after the beam fell on me. It was just a glancing blow, but the fire was enough to concentrate our minds elsewhere and by the time I came to wonder where you might be, all their tracks were cold and long-covered by the sand."

Sophia pointed towards his neck. "May I?" she asked, "I have wanted to assure myself of the extent of your hurt since we first met."

Yunan smiled, sitting down again on the padded window seat so she could sit beside him close enough for her to examine his scar. He pulled the collar of his silk jacket aside so she might inspect it at her leisure. With great care she touched the scar gently with her two index fingers of her left hand. He flinched, but did not pull away.

"The tenderness," he explained, "it is easily confused with pain."

Sophia thought for a moment. For some reason, the treatment of burns was something she knew. She could not remember when or why, but she remembered the plants which were used to aid the healing. 

"There is a cactus - a thick, succulent plant - it is very soothing. If it grows around here and your people know of it, I could make an ointment for you, if you would allow me."

"That would be most welcome. My physician is a skilled man, but he does not know everything."

Emboldened by their growing rapport, Sophia asked leave to bring another matter before him. 

Yunan nodded, "Anything I can do - to make some amends -- you only have to ask."

"This may be too much - I do not know. The child..." she rubbed her belly unconsciously as she spoke. "Do you intend to acknowledge her?"

Yunan laid his hand on top of hers. "I acknowledge this child as mine. Nothing will be wanted for. You shall be cared for and shall be protected under my roof."

Sophia gazed intently at his face, as if wanting to imprint every detail upon her mind, her hand moving to his chin to trace the outline of the bone structure into her fingertips.

"I still fear I am a danger to you."

Yunan's hand moved to softly capture hers, lifting it to his lips. 

"It was me they sought to ensnare. You were the bait. I was always the one in danger. You do not endanger me. I endanger myself because I will not bow to these fools. I will keep you safe and you and our child will keep me sane. Stay with me - say you agree...?"

Sophia's answer was very simple. "I cannot leave you."

Yunan pressed his lips against her hand. "I would not let you - but I would not imprison you."

Sophia brought his hand down once more to rest on the top of her belly. "When you did this in the market place, what did you do?"

"I do not truly know. It is a thing that used to happen sometimes between my brother and I -- very, very seldom. He could lay a hand on me and sense my thoughts. I was never able to do it for him. 

"Then, when my daughter was born - and when she was little - sometimes I could almost sense it in her - almost see through her eyes, but it was foggy and unclear. When I laid my hand on you, it was a shocking sensation, like being plunged into the sea."

Sophia closed her eyes. "You describe how it was for me. I do not know how they held me, how they closed off my mind. Maybe it was drugs, maybe something else, for I remember chanting and drumming and strange smells before I was left on my own in the house where you found me, but there was always swirling."

As Yunan stopped talking, the world s l o w e d. He could feel the powerful, burning energy of new life within her. It was as much as he could do to force words into his mouth. 

"Can - can you feel anything?" he managed at last.

"You are with us both."

His hands moved smoothly over her swelling, caressing carefully, now using both hands, smiling quietly - the smile a strange addition to his normally sombre features.

"There is something else I remember," she began, "even though they sought to gag me. When you entered me and poured your seed into my womb, I felt it. I saw it travelling inside me like an arrow seeking its target. You left part of yourself with me."

Yunan looked into her eyes, searching for something - seeking an answer, seeking the truth. 

"I know that. Somehow I felt it too. I sought you knowing I needed to find what had become of you - not just to solve a mystery, but because you and something you carried would be utterly crucial to me. Now you are here."

"I am here and we are able to share more than they thought to remove from you."

He opened his arms to receive her, enclosing her in a warm embrace. She was home.



Tears in a Dry Land Ch. 06



Despite their new understanding, Sophia saw little of Yunan over the following weeks. She fretted over her restrictions within the women's quarters of the mountain stronghold, longing to walk outside in the fresh air and feel grass under her feet instead of dust or stone.

Each day Penelope massaged her skin with scented oils, hoping to soothe her disquiet with local gossip and intrigue.

"Why can't I walk outside?" Sophia demanded. "This is your father's land, his sworn people. I cannot spend my life inside this maze of tunnels."

"Hush, now," Penelope gently eased Sophia's tunic over her head and helped her lie on warmed towels. A brazier burned in the corner, helping to ward off the chill of the rooms now winter approached. 

"If it were truly safe, we would all be outside carrying out our daily duties, but these are difficult times. A runner came from the village last night with tales of bandits in the hills not twenty leagues away. A good harvest in the valleys often bring down the hill folk to raid those more fortunate than themselves before snow seals the passes. 

"My father is gone to speak with the village chiefs to see what can be done and whether his riders must seek retribution from those who steal. He will be back tonight if everything goes well." 

With the oil warmed in her hands, she began to stroke Sophia's hunched shoulders, working her fingers into tight muscles until the girl was forced to relax or suffer further discomfort from her companion.

"It's not fair," Sophia grumbled. "He tells you everything, yet I am to make do with snippets of conversation, as if this were none of my business."

"He wishes you to rest, not to be troubled by such incidents. You have the baby to think about."

"What if I tell you I do not wish to think about my child? Soon I will go into labour. We do not find childbirth easy in my family. Each time my mother was brought to bed with my brothers, her women despaired. 

"My nurse was supposed to keep me away with my sisters, but they could not stop my ears from hearing her screams. Hour upon hour the silent house was rent with her cries of pain until all was done. Each time I never knew whether my mother lived or died for several days. Each birth left her weaker until she faded before our eyes.

"When I think of giving birth, I think of death."

Penelope tutted behind her. "To have such thoughts in your mind helps neither you nor your child. Tell me your greatest fear about the birth and perhaps we can assuage it."

"To lie down on a bed and be too exhausted to push the baby out."

Penelope gently gripped her shoulders. "In this land, our women to not lie to give birth, they sit -- on a stool. It is much more comfortable than lying down and easier for the baby too."

"How do you know these things?"

"The woman who cared for me after my mother died was a midwife. I learned from her how to attend a woman in labour, how to make her time easier." She clapped her hands and a serving woman was instantly in attendance. 

"Marta will fetch the stool and you can try it out. Better to be at ease with it now, than wait until you need it."

The woman returned with a low, wooden stool made from dark, polished wood. In the centre was a small backrest and the seat itself was in the shape of a horseshoe. At Penelope's suggestion, Sophia tried to seat herself on the birthing stool, but the towels in which she was swathed made it uncomfortable. With a little encouragement, Penelope was able to unwrap the slender girl, exposing her beautiful swollen breasts and rounded belly.

Sophia sat back, resting herself against the serving woman's ample body while Penelope arranged her legs so she could feel the support of the stool beneath her. She sat cross-legged on the floor, gently massaging Sophia's toes, talking to her in a calm, relaxed manner.

"Many women are surprised by the noises they make whilst giving birth. They are so similar to those during the act of love. Maybe the Gods chose to make them similar to remind us how each child comes into the world."

Penelope looked up, catching Sophia's glance, noticing the blush on the young woman's cheek before she looked away. After a long pause, Sophia confided, "I ... do not cry out...when ... when I... come to that point."

Penelope smiled, "I can help you with that, if you wish."

Sophia shifted her position on the seat, a hesitant expression playing on her face. "I have always been silent."

Penelope's strong fingers began to massage Sophia's legs, moving upwards towards her knee. 

"That is no longer necessary, these stone walls are thick. No-one would hear your joy."

Sophia leaned forwards, placing her hands over Penelope's as they stroked and kneaded her calves. "It frightens me - the thought of releasing myself, of being that free."

"Hush, there is no need to fear now. We are here to hold your fear for you."

As if moving by themselves, Sophia hands slid over the backs of Penelope's, onto Penelope's forearms, stroking the soft skin she found beneath her fingertips before leaning backwards once again into the supporting fullness of the serving woman.

"Make yourself comfortable, Sophia, and we will oil your wonderful belly together." Penelope held the bottle of massage oil so two trickling streams fell on to her breasts and from there down to her lower body. She watched as Sophia relaxed her arms, allowing them to fall by her sides, subtly shifting her feet so her knees swung outwards. A sensuous groan escaped her as she felt the slow, viscous trickle of oil on her skin.

Penelope stroked the oil into her breasts, her fingers firmly coating and pulling out the long, dark nipples. With practiced ease she held each breast in turn, smoothing downwards until clear drops gathered on the nipple tips, her thumb rubbing this new fluid back until she reached the areola. 

She complimented Sophia on the shape of her breasts and the ease with which she released the very beginnings of her milk. Each time her finger touched a new area of skin, Sophia's nipple hardened and soft moans of pleasure came from her throat.

With a glance at the serving woman, Penelope lifted Sophia's hand and placed them on her belly, covering them with her own hands. Together they began the long, gentle, sweeping motions over the areas of swollen skin, following the ripples as the unborn child moved and kicked underneath them.

Sophia did not seem to notice as another pair of hands continued the loving massage of her breasts, squeezing and rolling in a continuing circle.Penelope's voice was very soft and low as her hands continued underneath the mound, down towards the soft hair of her mons.

"Tell me how you like to be touched, my little dove."

A small noise escaped from somewhere in Sophia's throat as she struggled to reply. She opened her eyes wide, gazing directly at Penelope as she guided one hand down and down before sweeping their joined fingers up the inside of one thigh and down the other- fluttering strokes glancing at her cleft.

Penelope's eyes followed their hands, her smile widening as she saw where they were leading. She leaned in to blow gently around her swollen lips, soft kisses soon replacing the warm air of her breath.

Sophia's reaction was violent as she gasped, curling forwards, almost convulsing, before she laughed nervously.

"Don't tell me you didn't seek comfort from your fellow dancers,"

"They watched us - we stole a touch here and there when the tension became too much, but never openly, as you do."

Penelope continued to intersperse her words with kisses, "Here we steal nothing. We give, we gift to each other as I gift to you."

Sophia shuddered, pressing Penelope's hand hard against her opening, squeezing her thighs together on their joined fingers as she rocked her body backwards and forwards on the stool. Penelope trailed a finger down Sophia's cleft gathering moisture, then licking her finger. 

"Has anyone told you how sweet you taste?"

Sophia shook her head slowly from side to side, watching Penelope with her lips parted. Her hand floated upwards to touch the fingers of the serving woman, slick with oil.

Penelope bent her head, her mouth seeking Sophia's opening, tongue curling inwards, fingers following where her tongue's lead. 

Sophia's hand seized the girl's fingers, groaning as her knees parted, leaning back and tilting her pelvis towards Penelope, who hummed into her cleft as her tongue forged a sticky trail upwards while two fingers easing gently inside the heated cavern. As her fingers buried themselves, her tongue found the nub of Sophia's clit, licking around and either side.

Her back arching, Sophia twisted on the stool, her feet brushing on the cool tiled floor, a gentle, high whine sighing from her. She swept her hands over her breasts, pressing them down, flattening them; her teeth set together as if striving to prevent her growing, passionate cries. 

Deep inside her, Penelope's fingers began an in and out motion, at one point almost leaving their soft, warm bed, then sliding deeper inside every time. Sophia felt Penelope's mouth now close around her clit; licking and sucking as she lost herself in the overwhelming sensations she was offered. 

She let her hands continue to sweep over her glossy stomach, pressing down into her groin either side of Penelope's head. Palm against each thigh, she pulled herself open as wide as she could, her hands rubbing and pressing as she pushed herself at Penelope. Her whining grew to a constant groan as her hips urgently rose and fell. It had been so long since her body submitted to such glorious sensual abandon, she wanted more, she wanted it all, she craved completion.

As Sophia leaned back against her soft resting place, the serving woman's hands resumed their task, cupping each of Sophia's breasts and pulling firmly on each turgid, purple nipple. Down below, Penelope did not falter in her double actions - the gentle in and out strokes of her fingers while her mouth suctioned the engorged clit. She waited to feel the tension in Sophia's thighs - a sign to increase the speed of her thrusts and move her teeth onto the clit.

A wailing cry rose from Sophia's open mouth, just as Penelope moved her thumb over Sophia's tiny rosebud, pressing lightly against the crinkled skin. She was rewarded with a rasping scream followed by low panting grunts.

Penelope pressed further, fingers now curling inside the sopping cavern to find the familiar sponge-like spot which grew under her touch. Sophia's wail rose in pitch once more as her thighs gripped Penelope's head. At the loudest scream, her whole body began to convulse and it was as much as the two women could do to hold her in place atop the birthing stool.

Like a single wolf baying his freedom to the moon, Sophia screamed her release to her Master's stronghold. The sound echoed off the ancient stones, rising into the rafters until finally dispersing amongst the painted clouds of the stone ceiling.

The spasm eased for a few moments as Penelope's tongue now licked and soothed the tender features, but it soon returned as shuddering aftershocks, each one accompanied by whimpers until gradually the vicelike grip eased and she subsided into a languid heap of limbs, trembling and jerking as she softly wept.

Penelope moved towards her, easing her forwards to rest her head on her shoulder, her arms around Sophia as she rocked her, until her sobbing eased.

"Hush now, it is always worse after a long absence."

Sophia's voice was little more than a whisper, "I cried out - did I cry out?" 

"Yes, little dove, we heard you," Penelope smiled, "You are a woman now."

Sophia returned her smiles weakly then began to laugh. "A woman among women."

Penelope's kiss was soft against her lips, "A lover amongst friends. Thank you for your gift. Next time it will not be so hard for you."

"Thank you," Sophia blushed, "and soon - if you will allow me - I will offer you a gift in return."

Penelope's brown eyes twinkled at her, "Gifts are always welcome," she said, wrapping Sophia in a soft silk robe as she and Marta helped her back to the relative comfort of the couch.

High up above the bath chamber, Yunan lay back on his own couch and allowed Sarak to finish his massage. The journey to the small village hidden in the mountain folds had gone well, allowing him to return much earlier than expected, but his muscles were weary after many hours in the saddle. He had almost forgotten the small viewing window down into the women's quarters, until he heard the growing sounds of Sophia's arousal.

The sight which met his eyes was so arresting, he could not move, almost forgetting to breath as he watched his daughter languorously make love to the woman who bore his child.

Hardly aware of Sarak's strong hands kneading and pulling, his eyes drank in the sweeping movements of the women's fingers upon each other. As Sophia's arousal grew, so did his own. Although his daughter was actively moving to bring her to climax, through her Yunan could feel his own hands and mouth worshipping at the altar of fecundity.

Yunan could almost taste Sophia's juices and feel her pulses throb under his own tongue. He wanted the young woman so much his manhood strained and wept before him. He did not know why he had been so captivated by her when she came to his stronghold with the troupe of dancers. There was something about her which spoke to his soul. 

Now, since her rescue and safe return to his stronghold and despite their earlier conversation, something held him back from claiming her as his own. He told himself it was the child, but he knew deep in his heart he was afraid of her ultimate rejection. She was so young, so fragile, so beautiful -- even more so now he could feast his eyes on her naked glory without the swathes of silk she always wore in his presence.

His glistening shaft ached. Without thinking, he closed his hand around the bulbous head and stroked. Slowly, sensuously, he followed the thrusts of Penelope's hand and when Sophia screamed, he watched rope after rope of his seed splatter against the limewashed wall as he grunted helplessly in release. 

Gasping, he lay down while Sarak cleaned him with a soft cloth, then began once more to ease his Master into a peaceful sleep.



Tears in a Dry Land Ch. 07



Despite their growing intimacy, Sophia could not consider Penelope her only love. Yunan called her in so many ways. She wanted his touch, his voice, his approval. She wanted him to stroke her skin and tell her he loved her despite her size. Every night she prepared herself for his summons, but it never came. 

Not matter how elegantly she served him during their evening meal, nor how sweet the songs she sang him, accompanying herself on the simple lap harp, his thanks were always profound and polite, but once the meal was over, he did not stay. 

He would take his leave regretfully, wielding excuses like a handful of sugar plums to an indulged child. She could have born it if he were indeed engaged in managing his many business affairs or planning strategies for their safety with his warrior companions, but one night he called for Aysel, the dark-haired serving woman. 

She stayed in his rooms until the pink light of dawn crept along the mountain tops. Three nights he called her and each morning Sophia heard her soft footfall as she made her way to the servants quarters down below. Even though Sophia asked her what service she performed for her master, the woman said nothing.

"The Master called and I attended," was all she would say, her dark eyes fixed on the floor beside Sophia's feet. 

The girl did not like to press her further, even though the thought of Yunan taking a serving girl to his bed instead of the mother of his child made her want to scream.

It would have been easier if she could be angry with him, but there was no opportunity. She could not return his gifts, for he sent none. To refuse to talk to him would seem churlish during the short times they spent together, so she swallowed her feelings and tried to forget them. 

Yunan enjoyed entertaining. Their evenings were often spent in the company of local dignitaries and their partners. Sophia noted how Penelope fell instinctively into the role of hostess, effectively complementing her father's hospitality. 

In some ways, Sophia felt her presence must be an embarrassment to them and often left early, feigning tiredness. One night, though, she stayed. 

Yunan arranged for a well-known, celebrated singer to entertain them. A small group of musicians played while they dined. The music was like nothing Sophia had heard before -- unworldly, ethereal. Very different from the music she used to dance to even when she used to dance as a small child before her family. It touched her in a way she could not explain, leaving her raw and open.

The singer sang them many tales -- of quests amongst the hills, ancient tales in a tongue most had forgotten, yet their meaning wove its way into their hearts. She told of living amongst the harsh landscape of the hills and of love, full and unrequited. Sophia wept. 

When the singer at last pleaded fatigue and left with rich presents, the guests and Penelope also took their leave. Only the musicians stayed, playing soft melodies as Sophia and Yunan sat and looked at each other. Their eyes spoke volumes, yet still he did not take her to his bed. 

As dawn broke, Sophia heard Aysel pass her door. This was intolerable! Sophia determined to make her feelings clear to Yunan, even if it meant risking his anger. She knew he often went to the rooftop gardens in the early morning, enjoying their peace and serenity before the heat of the day rose to make being indoors preferable.

She approached the garden along a sandstone stair case leading to tiled pathways where shrubs and scented bushes grew in tubs and long broad planters. In the centre was a fountain, gently burbling with clear, fresh water. She saw Yunan standing at the walled edge looking out across the hills.

She hesitated, reluctant to spoil his peace with her presence. The fluttering of her clothes must have caught his attention, for he turned and waved her over to join him.

"Come and see this view, Sophia."

She stood by his side, awed by the landscape in front of her. "The dawn always makes you think you can see until the ends of the earth."

"Sometimes I think this is the end of the earth."

They stood together in companionable silence for several minutes until Sophia asked, "Has this been your home for long?"

"It's not home." Yunan corrected her, "Not really - I can never relax here. There are too many hard memories, too many enemies." His eyes softened as he looked at her, "and too few friends."

Sophia could not meet his gaze. She was restless, ill at ease, not wanting to blurt out what was on her mind. "Did you sleep well, my Lord?"

"I sleep better these days. Now you are safe and here."

"Presumably you sleep better because you have your women here as well."

Yunan's smile did not falter. "Penelope said you were curious about my women." His finger touched her cheek. "I understand why you asked."

"Do you?"

"When I lay with you... it was ... you may think that .. I was accustomed to behaving that way."

"I have not thought anything about that time." Sophia interrupted.

"There are female servants here, but they do not serve me."

"Do they not? Forgive me if I find your remark somewhat strange given that you have asked for one to attend you several times this last week. I realise I am just the brood mare...but I...".she turned away from him, not wanted him to see the anger in her eyes. Somehow she kept her voice steady. "Forgive me, it is not my place."

Yunan sighed. He should have known he would have to explain himself to her at some point. He wished he knew himself why he had not yet confirmed her place with him. He knew he wanted her, wanted her too much sometimes, but something always held him back.  

Despite the colour of her hair and her pale skin, she reminded him too much of his daughter. It was bad enough she now carried his child. He should have protected her instead of giving in to his weakness, his overwhelming need to join with her. He could not let her down again.

"Do you know the girl who has attended me these past nights?"

"No. I know her name, but she tells me nothing, only that she is one of your household."

"Speak to her. She will tell you how she serves me. She may even sing to you or perhaps recite you some poetry if you ask her nicely."

Sophia stiffened, "I am sure she is extremely skilled and well suited to the role of Scheherazade, whilst I, plainly, am not."

Yunan frowned, he wondered what he could say to dispel her jealousy, "Sophia, she sings to me and recites poetry. It helps me sleep. It is a weakness, but I cannot always be strong."

Sophia felt her voice catch in her throat. She stared out across the hillsides seeing nothing. 

"I thought you found my voice pleasing. I studied with several accomplished teachers. I would have gladly come to you...if you had asked."

"I thought you had better things to be doing, like sleeping, than indulging my foolishness."

Sophia's words were but a breath upon the wind. "As you wish, my Lord."

She did not move as Yunan walked past her to a stone bench set against the wall. He clasped a delicate jug, pouring liquid into a goblet. 

"Some fruit juice, will you take some?"

Sophia shook her head, still refusing to look at him. Her throat was too tight to swallow. Once more he held out the goblet towards her. 

"Please, will you take a sip? I would ask that you allow me to begin again. We have few opportunities to truly spoken openly since you arrived here. It is time we did so." 

Reluctantly, Sophia extended her hand. She could not be sure whether the shaking was due to her fading anger or her fear what such a discussion might lead to. 

"Come, walk with me, please?"

Sophia gripped the goblet with both hands. "Am I to walk or am I to drink, Killikrates? I do not know where I stand with you."

Yunan raised his own goblet to his lips, smiling as the bittersweet juice brought hope of new life to his tastebuds. "Someone as accomplished as you, who has studied the gentle arts, surely you can walk and sip at the same time?"

This time, she did look at him, her green eyes flashing a warning, but his gaze showed no evidence of sarcasm, just gentle amusement.

"Come, please," he slipped his arm through hers, 

"I like to walk when I talk." 

He led her slowly along the terracotta paths, stopping to point out a particular shrub or shape or smell which pleased him. His gentle voice and the soothing scents of the plants soon dissipated Sophia's anger as she sipped the fruit juice, little by little until her goblet was empty and they were standing once more before the stone bench.

"Please tell me how it is, that someone to whom I owe my life can also cause me so much anger and frustration?"

Yunan smiled as he refilled her goblet. "It's the way of life that those to whom we are most closely bound may please us and anger us most deeply."

"I should be grateful for the drink you give me. Without gratitude we are but as the beasts in the field, taking without thought and due reverence"

"No need to be grateful - it is only a drink. You honour me by accepting. From my point of view, I have caused you great pain. You would never have been in danger or distress if it had not been for me."

Yunan cast his gaze out to the west - away from the rising sun, his thoughts once more turning to his enemies. He knew they were gathering beyond the far hills. His spies brought daily news of their movements. He knew they would strike once the child was born, but he could not distress Sophia with such knowledge.

Sophia reached out to touch his arm, her fingers on the cloth of his tunic so light, she did not know whether or not he would notice. "Have you not thought," she murmured, "it could also have come about - were it not for you - that I would be married to another or lost to the world in childbirth or famine or vagabonds?"

She felt warmth as his hand covered her fingers. "They kidnapped you to reach me and then I behaved as they felt I would, when they brought you here."

Sophia nodded, "Not just to reach you, but for your seed to be used as a figurehead against you. You had no choice. We were taught so a pillar of salt could not have resisted our charms. It was an interesting education now I come to think of it."

"Choices..." Yunan let the word rumble into the fresh morning air. "We all have choices, but your 'education' was not one you would have chosen if you had been given the choice."

Sophia gave a half smile, "You talk of choice, Killkrates, but as the daughter of my father, I would have gone to whomever he picked for me. Even if the sight of such a one caused bile to rise up in my throat, I could not have refused."

"Duty must be done," he nodded.

"My father did have thoughts of our alliance, I know he did."

Yunan's hand gently squeezed her fingers. "It is true. He did speak to me during my last visit. He felt our households could benefit from such an alliance. I'm afraid I told him I was too old to care for such a precious child as you, forgetting how soon you would grow into a woman. Now here we stand, you and I, already allied unwittingly."

"But not together." Sophia let the words burst from her.

Yunan turned towards her. "Could we be? Could we be allies? Could there be more than an allience between us? I hope there can..."

"You know there is more. It gets stronger and more painful every day we are here."

Yunan brought both her hands to his lips, pressing them against her, "There should not be any pain. I want to spend all the time I can with you."

"How do you think I came to be up here at this time?"

"And I?" he countered, "Why do you think I am here? Because it pains me to be ill at ease with you."

Sophia's fingers fluttered against his skin like a tiny bird seeking to fly, "You are a fool, Killikrates, an old fool, but a fool nonetheless. Do you not think I wake when you wake? When you cannot sleep, I toss and turn. You keep me from you and my temper would do justice to any fishwife - as your daughter will tell you."

"I have not kept you from me." Yunan's voice was pained.

"You have not asked for me."

"Stop this now! Can you please try to hear what I have said? If you will not listen then you will not. Why would I think you would want any more to do with me? Me, the man who endangered your life and was the cause of so much distress.

"I need you, but have not dared to ask for you." 

He stopped her outburst with a look. "Yes, the powerful and rich Yunan, the mighty Kallikrates fears the word of a woman and you think I do not care?"

"I think," she said very softly, "we have both been blind." 

She took his hand and placed it on her swollen belly, "This is yours." Then she took his other hand and placed it on her heart, "and this is yours." Then she moved his hand to her lips, "and this is yours," then moved it to her brow, "and this is yours."

Yunan looked up into her eyes. His face was sombre. "I thought I had found you - only to lose you once you were safe."

"And I thought, because of the child, you did not find me pleasing."

His eyes opened wide, his gaze softening. "Pleasing? Not pleasing?" He cupped her face in his hands, gently bringing her face to his so his lips brushed against hers. Then he leaned back, looking at her, "You please me more than I can tell you."

Two large tears trickled down Sophia's cheeks and she buried her head in his chest. His strong arms encircled her, comforting her, stroking her back through the fine fabric of her gown.

"You have no idea how beautiful you are." Sophia let her hands rest against his beating heart. "I have wanted so much to be able to touch you, to be part of you."

"As I have wanted nothing else since I found you, since before then."

Sophia drew away, shaking her head before meeting his gaze. "So why have we been torturing ourselves?"

"Because we did not understand the other. We thought we did, but blinded ourselves in our thoughts instead of talking."

"Please," Sophia began to stroke his arm. "In future can we talk?"

"Talk... yes...and perhaps more?" Yunan's smile was open now, his eyes full of hope and yearning. 

Sopia blushed, "I fear the training they gave me has left a legacy." She paused, considering how to frame her next words. "They taught us to communicate with our entire body. I cannot be the demure woman most men wish to bring to their beds." 

The rose bloom on her cheeks deepened as she recalled their first time together. Despite his passion, Yunan had been a thoughtful and compassionate lover, until her frenzied need drove him to greater heights then he ever scaled before. He still bore the tiny marks of her teeth where she bit into his flesh at her moment of ecstasy.

Yunan took her hand, bringing it to his cheek. He wondered if he would ever be able to admit how he watched her with his daughter. How much he wanted to be with her, to be part of their time together. 

His eyes met hers, "I hope, in time, you can tell me anything. The people who taught you were skilled and it is an ancient art. It is no wonder you learned well, drawing upon both their teaching and your own desires. You say most men wish a demure woman in their bed. I am not most men. I do not place such a high value on modesty as most men do. I would rather my lover be true to themselves than restrict their body to a false view of what is 'acceptable'."

Yunan drew her down so she sat next to him on the bench. His arm curled around her body, drawing her close to him. Sophia took his hand, beginning to massage each finger in turn, noting how the joints sat together and working the fleshy pad under the thumb. She felt him making a conscious effort to relax his muscles and allow her to work on his hand. She realised how hard it must be for him to let her into the physical space he had kept so private for so many years. 

"Do your women not massage you, Killikrates?" She thought she felt a jolt pass through his body, but when she looked up at his face, he was only musing.

"When I was younger, that hand used to have such heavy calluses. When Penelope's mother first came to me, she told me it was not seemly for a man in my position to wear such thickened skin on his hands, so she set to work to soften them for me. It took her many months but she succeeded. Now, I'm wary of allowing anyone too close, except my companions." 

He wondered if he would ever be able to tell her how his companions tended his body's needs. Maybe one day she would discover for herself how close they were, how much he valued their friendship and their service. He could not imagine life without them. They had been his salvation in so many different ways, both on the battle field and closer to home. He could not have survived his grief when Yolanda died if they had not been there to console him.

Sophia smiled, rubbing the kicking child in her womb. "It is hard to get too close to you now and will become more challenging, but I think we will find ways."

"Until you came to me, I had not been truly intimate with a woman for a long time. There had been necessary... interludes but none close to home."

Sophia raised her eyes to meet his, "You must have felt very alone."

Yunan felt a pressure around his heart dissolve, her simple words showed an understanding of his needs and he smiled, 

"At times - it helped ..."

He lifted his hand to place it alongside hers, on the swelling at her middle. His eyes brightened, growing wider, "Such kicks from one so small!"

"She does not approve of me staying still, so she seeks to chastise me. May I ask - have there been other children from those interludes? If your enemies are seeking your issue...they may look elsewhere."

"I do not know." His hand moved gently, very gently - as if to reassure the child within, to soothe her within her enforced stillness, "The women were well-paid and I never saw the same girl twice. My enemies may seek, but I do not think my partners would have known who I was. 

"That was what was different with you - they brought you here to me. It was a deliberate joining to obtain my issue, to force the ancient prophecy fulfilled rather than letting fate decide the moment for itself."

Sophia watched as the subtle pressure of his fingers followed the movements underneath her skin.

"You mentioned the prophecy before, my Lord, while we were still within Darfour. Can you tell me what it says?"

Yunan wound his fingers around her chestnut locks and brought the shining hair to his face to breathe in the soft perfume.

"It is not something with which you should concern yourself, my dear. It is a very ancient tale, given to my forefathers when the world was much younger than it is now. It speaks of a son with auburn hair born to a dancing girl out of the loins of my house. There are so many versions, it is hard to know which holds the true words of the Sybil."

Once more Yunan's eyes danced as he studied her face, "Besides, my dear, you are convinced you carry my daughter, not a son, so the prophecy cannot be fulfilled." He leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

"By the time you give me a son, we shall be wed and your dancing will be for me alone. Come," he stood up and took her hand, "it is time we re-acquainted our bodies with each other now our minds are clear."



Tears in a Dry Land Ch. 08



Sophia expected him to lead her downstairs to his bedchamber, but instead, she found herself guided towards the far end of the roof garden. A coarse, whitewashed wall, about twice the height of a man rose up over that corner of the fortress. It had the look of a watch tower, or a guard room with a heavy wooden studded door set in the wall. 

For a split second, she wondered if she had pushed too hard. Was he going to punish her for her outburst, incarcerate and leave her there until she learned her lesson? Her disquiet must have communicated itself to Yunan, because he stopped and looked at her.

"It is not a sleeping chamber." Yunan moved a brick set back in the wall and retrieved and a very heavy iron key which he set into the door. It needed both his hands to turn the key in the lock and push the door open wide.

"Come," he beckoned her. 

Releasing a long breath, Sophia followed him through the door. Inside, the room was lit by bright morning sunshine. Stairs grew out of the cool, tiled floor, hugging the plain, lime-washed walls. As her gaze followed the walls, she realised there was no roof above them, only a canvas sail which shaded the room from direct sunlight, casting huge shadows against the walls.

In the middle of the circular room stood two soft couches piled with so many cushions, they formed a tower which toppled onto the floor as they approached. Sophia's head was whirling. Her master came here often and from the number of couches, he did not come alone. 

"This is my observatory." Yunan's deep voice cut through her thoughts, quietening them. "I come here to watch the stars and the different phases of the moon. Sometimes others come with me, to lie and watch the wonders of the night sky. Up there I have tools for marking the process of the moon and the stars. Here, at night, I mark and watch, study and muse and no-one disturbs me unless they come as my guest."

He led her over to a pallet and helped her to lie at ease, piling cushions to support her back. The baby had grown so much over the past few weeks; she could no longer lie flat with any degree of comfort.

"You spoke of ways of getting closer," Yunan reminded her. "We have known each other and yet do not know each other. It seems strange to talk of discovering such things when we have..." he smoothed his hand gently across her belly, "... the result of that knowledge here in front of us, but there is much we must learn."

Settled amongst the cushions, Sophia relaxed as Yunan knelt beside her, conscious of the warmth from his body, the spiced scents from his shaving oil and the soft breeze blowing into the rooftop room. She felt Yunan begin to stroke her hand, his thumb adding extra pressure as he smoothed the skin. 

"Penelope tells me you enjoy her massages. You have a very open and sensual nature." He smiled as Sophia dropped her gaze, "I'm afraid I have indulged her. As a result, she is very direct with her comments."

Sophia blushed. "Your daughter has very skilled hands and the scents she used brought back much of my memories. It reminded me a little of the training we were given as dancers, which taught us to be aware of every muscle, every sinew in our body. We leaned to notice how each breath or lack of breath changed our flexibility, our posture – it was very thorough."

"That is good training - for any person," was Yunan's only comment, but he could sense how little she told him about how those skills were obtained; only the tension in her slender fingers beneath his own betrayed memories too painful to acknowledge.

"Even afterwards, when my mind was captive, I could still use my training to be aware of my body and the child within and sometimes – you."

"As a memory or as a presence?"

"I'm not sure." Sophia's eyes took on a distant view as she dove back into those memories again. "I would remember how you unwrapped the dancer's silks from my body. How your body was draped over the couch as you did so. Sometimes I would see you lying in a similar position and know whether you lay at ease or with stiffness in your body. Sometimes you lay on the ground and I saw only stars around you. I thought I must be dreaming.

"In my mind I would sing the songs I sang to you during our time together - not the ones they taught me to sing to you, to entice you, but songs I brought from my father's house, whose words brought the tang of the salt spray upon your brow or drizzled sweet grape juice down our dry throats."

As she spoke, Yunan's hand moved slowly upwards, the fingertips trailing softly against her breast.

"I recall very well uncoiling those silks from you. How defiantly you stood, how challengingly you stared back at me."

"Did I?"

He lifted his eyes to meet hers, "Ah yes, such fire in your eyes. Of course it enflamed me even more."

"I cannot defy you now," she whispered, "Does that remove the challenge for you?"

"The challenge is not to take you now, the challenge is to know you and to let you in to find and know me."

Sophia watched as his hand cupped her heavy breast, softly moulding to its curve

"They have grown so much," she murmured, "The old women say I shall grow larger yet when the babe is born and my milk comes in. Shall you mind?

Yunan's mouth twitched into a smile, "You should listen to the old women, Sophia. Once they were young and they have long memories and much wisdom. As for your breasts, I love them as they are yours. It will not matter to me whether they are large or small."

His fingers stole to her throat - not encircling it, just brushing there, then whispering along the side of her neck. Soon his head dipped to follow them, his lips subtle and soft, delicate open-lipped cupping against her skin while his tongue darted between breaths to tentatively taste her skin. He felt her shiver, sensing the tremor of emotions pulsing through this woman who carried his child, his lover whose secrets were yet to be fully revealed, fully exposed to his barely restrained passion.

As he lifted his head to gaze upon her beauty, he saw her eyes close, her breathing now more peaceful as she welcomed his touch. He ventured a kiss upon her cheek and then her mouth, gentle to begin with but growing more sure. He leaned into her, his tongue sweeping her lips until they parted for him, allowing him entry into the soft, warm darkness of her mouth. He touched her tongue, only to find it swirling around his, locking them together in a spiral dance until he felt they must both faint from lack of breath.

Reluctantly he broke the kiss, moving back to sit on the couch by her side. Sophia stroked his arms before twining her fingers with his. He saw uncertainty still lingering in her eyes.

"Kallikrates, you are a powerful man. Most men in your position would have many wives and many more concubines dancing on their needs. I still find it strange you have not."

"There are no men in my position, Sophia, and I have not found any women - save two - in my life who could reach me."

"Do you prefer the company of men?" 

There, it was said; the thought which troubled her the most. Over the months of her stay in the fortress, she was forever conscious of the presence of Yunan's two companions. Unless he expressly sent them away, one of them was always at his side. 

They were never forward in any way, often standing or crouching in shadows for hours at end until he had need of them. They rarely spoke except in hushed tones for their Master's ears alone yet they appeared to respond to his requests or needs almost before he could mention what they might be. Even though she and Yunan were inside the observatory, she imagined the companions standing outside, waiting for a sign or for someone to emerge.

She noticed the three of them communicate in sign language, as if they might be mute, but she knew this was not the case. The shorter one, Surak, was a skilled lute player, entertaining them when the family were without guests and Penelope teased him sufficiently to play bawdy soldiers' songs which brought tears of laughter to Yunan's face.

If Penelope preferred women, maybe her father preferred men.

"By no means, "Yunan was quick to respond to her question. "Although I was born and raised in Hellas, I have never enjoyed that ancient preference of my countrymen." His hands reached for a hem of her clothes, "I would like to disrobe you now, if you have no objections."

Sophia inclined her head, her eyes not leaving his. "I have changed since you last saw me."

Yunan smiled "As have I." His hand went to his neck, then stopped.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. This scar from the burning, I forget about it and then it reminds me."

"Are you sure there is no pain? I have not seen it since I made the ointment for you from the cactus. Did it help with the discomfort?"

"I would hide nothing from you, Sophia, especially after your kindness in making me the ointment. It eased the soreness a great deal." He sat closer to her, drawing his tunic over his head so she could see the full extent of the scar along his neck.

She leaned forward to touch it gently with a finger tip, then placed delicate kisses over the puckered skin. As she sat back, she was aware of his fingers deftly unpinning the brooch at her shoulder, allowing fabric to fall away, before pushing the soft, yielding silk back and off her arms. 

"So much you bear because of me," she whispered, her eyes darting from his fingers to his face and back again.

"Yet you have the heavier burden," he teased, inclining his head and kissing her, feeling his beard brush her skin as her arms entwine themselves carefully around his neck.

Once more his lips sought hers, opening, firm but yielding to become surprisingly soft and sensitive. Again, she opened to him, offering her lips as a gateway to herself. For a brief, yet eternal second, he hesitated then crossed the threshold, seeking her. The kiss became more powerful, his tongue entering her, dancing with hers - a caress, a slow learning.

Sophia's breathing slowed as she closed her eyes, drawing images to her mind with her other senses, her fingers circling in his hair then moving down to brush the soft spot behind his ear lobes before rubbing the lobe between thumb and forefinger.

Yunan's gasps were deep and ragged, blood rushing into his ears as he carefully withdrew from her. "I want to see you...."

He took the gown he had slid down her back, opening it and undoing the last of the ties concealing her from him, allowing it to fall away. With his hand on her arm, he helped her stand, so the robe slid to the floor in a silent swirl. 

"I am who you see - neither more nor less."

"Such beauty." Yunan's face was touched with awe as he beheld her. He stood, neither breathing nor moving until Sophia's fingers touched his cheek.

"I am real, Kallikrates. I live and breathe while my heart pumps blood around two bodies - see..." She took both his hands, placing one on her heart and one on the baby. Yunan leaned closer to her, his cheek next to the hand she placed on the baby.

"Your mother," he whispered, "is very beautiful. I think you should sleep now, little one. Your mother and I have things to discuss that are not for little ears to hear."

He sat down once more upon the couch, looking up at her, then took her hand to draw her down beside him.

"Should she not learn what it is to love and be loved?"

Yunan smiled, "I think she may know what it is already, but like most children, she will not want to think over much about her parents being intimate. We must try not to wake her."

With her eyes on him watching every move of every muscle, Yunan stood to complete his own disrobing. The loose trousers he wore were soon removed. He stood naked beside her, his manhood not fully erect, but swollen, stirring.

Sophia reached for his hand, drawing him down to half sit, half lie beside her.

"This is how it should be," she murmured, "nothing hidden, everything to discover and learn." She ran her fingers down his chest before brushing him lightly with the back of her hand, marvelling at the smoothness of his skin, the taut power of hidden muscles poised and ready to spring into action. This was no soft ruler, indulging himself in food, drink or pleasure. He was a man of action, moving amongst his people, working with them, protecting them as he protected her, wanted her. She felt him shiver at her touch, his hands ranging over her body as she explored his.

"So much to learn," he sighed. "Sight and taste and touch."

Sophia studied his face, "My Lord," she whispered, "for this first time, may I serve you with my hands?"

Yunan felt both his fingers and his shaft twitch at her words. He wondered what it was she wished. Her eyes were deep pools and he felt himself drowning in them.

"Yes," he breathed. "Do as you wish, my love, my light, my one desire."

Gracefully, she slid to the floor; kneeling between his open legs as if she found a place she could call her own. From a hidden pocket in her discarded robe, she retrieved a small vial. Removing the stopper, she placed the vial on the cold marble beside her, waiting with head bowed until the powerful scent of the oil began to permeate the room.

Yunan's nostrils flared, his head lifting as he inhaled the perfume. This was not what he expected from their time together, it was something arousing, provocative and yet deeply seductive. He leaned back against the pile of cushions, his eyes closed as he made himself relax so that she might do whatever she wished with him. He owed her this much, if not more.

Sophia tipped the vial to coats her fingers with oil, then carefully lifted his right foot onto her lap. Her strong fingers stroked the top of his foot from the ankle downwards, paying special attention to each toe and to the back of his heel. When the foot was massaged to her satisfaction, she again coated her hands and began stroking from his right knee down to the ankle - long, firm strokes, paying particular attention to his calf muscles.

As she stroked, her eyes darted to Yunan's face, his demeanour relaxed, as was his manhood - not fully erect, but rather quiescent, though it slowly moved as it gradually filled.

Once the lower leg was stretched, she raised herself, her hands moving confidently to his upper thigh, one hand either side as she penetrated each muscle with long, firm strokes. She heard his breathing falter momentarily, but only for an instant. It was rather the slight jerking pulse in his thigh as muscles jumped where she touched, that betrayed any emotional response from him- such close proximity causing him to become fully filled, his shaft leaning to one side at an angle.

When she was satisfied she had done as much as she could for his right leg, she moved her attention to his left foot, her face a model of concentration as she pulled, straightened and stretched each toe, pressing on the ball of his foot, to address any tension. The heel was also attended to before she helped herself to more oil and moved upwards to his lower leg and calf, aware that Yunan's right foot was flexing on the floor.

This time when she reached the top of his thigh, the backs of her hands - slippery with oil - brushed past his length, causing his manhood to lift, bobbing at her proximity. With strong fingers, she placed his foot on her knee – the better to stroke the underside of his thigh. She heard an audible catch in Yunan's breath, his hands gripping the edges of the couch before relaxing spontaneously.

As she oiled her hands one final time, Sophia began to address his manhood in words almost too soft to make out. She finished by laying her hand underneath his length and bringing it close to her lips so she could plant a single kiss on the glistening tip. Then her hands moved to the base, stroking him downwards with both hands, one after another.

She was so engrossed in her adoration of his shaft, she did not see Yunan's eyes were fully open, as muscles in his buttocks became taut, then released of their own accord. It took all his self control not to allow his seed to spray against her face and breasts at her first touch, but he wanted to prolong the intense pleasure she offered him.

Once his shaft was well coated, she grasped it in her left hand and encircled it with her fingers, beginning to slide it up and down through her palm, while the other hand began its own examination of his balls. As she moved, she felt his sphincter tighten, lifting his shaft, and sending a surge of blood into the hardness. 

Her motion was smooth and collected - timed to perfection like a piece of music - so many beats up and so many down. At the same time, her other hand was stroking and gently tugging his balls before coming to the aid of the other so they slid one after the other, up and down, up and down.

Yunan's mouth opened, his tongue appearing to wet dry lips. In time with her strokes, his hips gently twisted, not violently, but in minute movements while a deep groan rumbled through his chest. He watched her face, such a perfect study of concentration, watching the movement of her hands and the changing colour of the tip of his shaft.

It was almost too much to feel her bring one hand curling over the head, pressing lightly, twisting around it, then rubbing the tip with her thumb and forefinger, finding the sensitive place underneath the crown before she squeezed. Her reward was a gleaming drop of clear fluid which she rubbed around the head.

Yunan moaned as he writhed, pressing both feet down on the floor, his hips slightly

lifting, his head slowly turning, constantly looking back to her, watching her face, her hands, worshiping him. On the floor, one foot prepared to rise, only the flexed toes pressing down on the floor, as he growled his desire – the deep notes echoing against the mud walls, ringing out into the bright sunshine of the day.

As his breathing became more laboured with every touch, Sophia seemed to lose herself in meditation. Each breathe she took was long and deep. Each exhalation a sigh wafting against his exposed flesh, providing small moments of blissful cool before her hands brought back warmth and motion once again.

Sensing his need, the pace of her strokes began to increase; little fingers on both hands hardly touching the inner portions of his thighs - sweeping underneath to touch and tease other sensitive areas. His breathing was audible now and fractured, his thighs parting and opening to her as she held his sack in one hand, a finger pressing behind, rubbing the tightly ridged skin before pressing down with greater force as if to massage his inner gland from above.

While his senses were reeling from her loving assault, there was suddenly a void. Both hands left his manhood, to quickly brush from his inner knees to his balls, causing Yunan to shake violently. Before he could recover, her fingers returned once more to their positions, touching, pulling and pressing him. Then she added a new torture, reaching down to tickle the instep of his right foot as she stroked his shaft with measured upward strokes.

Yunan trembled, his body movements uncoordinated and spasmodic. His face was flushed, eyes half-lidded, almost glaring at Sophia as his left hand made a fist, clenching and unclenching. He felt her hand return to his sack, checking the tension of the skin, her fingers soft, but firmly coaxing as if she spoke to each individual seed within, readying them to shoot forth, to end this exquisite torment once and for all.

The fisted hand rose into the air before almost dropping back down, hanging in the air, suspended. The motion on his shaft slowed each palm conscious of its throbbing. Yunan lowered his head, emitting a low, growling rumble. Sophia's eyes fixed on his face as the stroking resumed. His eyelids slowly opened until he met her gaze, lifting his hips towards her, balls tightening as he knew he could withhold no longer.




Tears in a Dry Land Ch. 08



His release was explosive, matched by a cry from his hoarse throat. Heavy threads of seed jetted from him, thrown across his belly and his chest, thick, slow flows running down his length. He jerked again, droplets of spend spattering her face.

Sophia held him steady, feeling the warmth of his remaining spend on her hands. Carefully, she bent over him, her eyes shining as she drew him inside her mouth to gently lick and clean him as he softened.

With difficulty, Yunan began to recover his poise, smiling with his more accustomed control, his eyes bright with genuine affection and gratitude. Sophia did not look at him, until he reached one fingertip to lift a stray droplet from her cheek, proffering the finger to her parted lips. Blushing, her tongue snaked out, sucking the droplet quickly from his finger.

Clapping his hands, two serving women soon entered the room bearing a tray with a bowl of warm water and a towel and another with bread, cheese and fruit and a large jug of chilled pomegranate juice. Sophia began to protest as one woman cleaned Yunan while the other came to help her off the floor and back onto the couch where she could rest more comfortably.

"Hush, my dove." Yunan touched her lips with a single finger. "Your skills have brought me such pleasure, it is only right you should rest. Take but a moment to refresh yourself and taste the bounty of the season and then I shall see to your own pleasure, as you to did for mine."

Sophia blushed, hiding her face in her goblet. The sharp tang of the juice sliding down her throat made her realise her thirst and she drank, grateful of her Lord's thoughtfulness at such a time.

As the women departed, Yunan came to sit beside her on the couch. He dropped a grape into her mouth and as she chewed, took another in his own, holding it crushed between his teeth so the juice dripped a fragrant path down the deep valley between her breasts. Lowering his head, he followed the path with his tongue, licking and kissing as he removed all traces of the trail.

He could hear Sophia's breathing deepen as his hands began circling and looping across her. In a moment she rested her hands on his arms, as if to prevent their travelling.

"Are you fearful of me, little dove?" Yunan asked, his head moving to lick her neck, "I will be gentle with you, I promise. Your skills have quietened the savage beast within me. I seek only to bring you pleasure as you brought mine."

Sophia whimpered. "I do not fear you, Kallikrates, perhaps I fear myself at this time. It is hard to lose myself in the pleasure you offer me. There has been no other man beside you who has loved me."

"Then let me remind you how this man loves you in so many different ways."

Yunan lowered his head once more to gently nibble the flesh on her breast while his hands tenderly cupped and explored them. He returned frequently to kiss her mouth before descending once more, nuzzling into the crook of her neck and shoulder to taste and kiss. Sophia's breathing was ragged as his lips opened to enclose her nipple, his tongue brushing around it before latching on to suck the engorged pebble, squeezing it against the roof of his mouth until he tasted the drops of sweetness which gathered at the tip.

The skin on her belly grew taut as his hand brushed downwards towards her silken mound. He stroked the soft hairs, sensing the moisture building in her cleft, a single finger brushing over the petals of her hidden flower. Easing himself upwards, he moved against her, almost moulding his body around hers. Like a parched man, he sought her fragrant mouth, then lowered his head to her neck again, his mouth eager against her, his fingers sweeping against her sides, down the soft underside of her arms, against her armpits then on down her sides before returning to her lips for further sustenance. 

Moving downwards, he let the side of his face rub softly on her breast, suckling momentarily, before lifting his mouth to her ear, his tongue flickering into the tiny cavern, a warm, wet, squirming presence.

He whispered into her ear, "When land is dry..." his tongue dove in once more, "...it may need water."

He grasped the flagon of juice and poured a tiny rivulet from the top of her belly so it flowed like a mountain stream into the valley below. His tongue followed the trail, darting around her protruding navel, over her mound, kissing at her groin – gathering sweetness at the nook there with long sweeping licks

As he knelt on the floor before her, his face was against her now, his tongue flat and lapping with long upward strokes followed by shorter downward strokes - swinging from side to side. In the heavy, noonday silence, he heard her mumbling incoherently as her legs spread wide to allow him greater access to her hidden places.

His fingertips rested on the inside of her thighs, his bearded cheeks brushing against her legs. His head nodded as he sought to push himself into her, long strokes upward leading him to her clit. He sucked softly, hearing her whimper and groan, rapidly flicking his tongue up and down, then side to side, his head vibrating to send tremors through her.

Lost in his love, Yunan's lips and tongue caressed and tugged, swirling and circling, again and again.

"My Lord," Sophia cried, the words tore from her, her hips arching towards him.

Yunan sensed her urgency, his mouth working her bud relentlessly. He felt her stiffen as her legs pushed against the floor, her mind lost in the cloud of sensations threatening to overwhelm her. He renewed his attentions, stroking her vigorously, catching her fluttering hands and gripping it tightly as her legs began to shake and her body convulsed around him.

With his face buried deep in her Yunan swallowed her flowing juices, relishing the taste of her. As she spasmed, her thighs gripped him tightly, causing his attentions to ease, waiting for her convulsions to subside. As her body began to shudder with aftershocks, he slowed, simply holding himself where he was until he could ease himself upwards, moulding himself around her back and holding her to him.

She turned towards him as best she could and he kissed her brow, murmuring endearments into her hair. He was very aware of his painfully swollen shaft rubbing against the heat of her groin. He did not intend to enter her, but his manhood moved of its own volition to bury itself in her welcoming cavern. 

Her cry of joy spurred him on to place one foot upon the floor so he could control the force of his penetration. Even with such a shallow entrance, his need for her was so great he thrust inside her again and again until his seed brought soothing moisture to them both.

They lay, panting, in each other's arms until Yunan felt the muscles across Sophia's belly tighten again. This time she cried out with pain, curling herself around her womb until the moment passed.

"Rest, my love," Yunan held her tightly in his arms. "You have done so much, our child is but making her presence felt. Lie back and rest until you feel well enough to return downstairs."

Sophia closed her eyes, feeling a soft cover placed around her. Yunan was right, she was so very tired. She had done what she craved. She had shown her Lord how much she loved him and he had honoured her beyond her wildest dreams.

It was dark when she awoke, brought to her senses by returning pain. It came as a wave builds up to pound against a rock, subsiding only when the rock is fully saturated with salted spray. 

Saturated. Sophia moved herself across the couch. The cushion underneath her was soaking wet. 

"What have I done!" she cried, her breath caught up with sobs as the pain began to grow once more. 

Yunan, too, was drugged with sleep, but when he heard her voice he leapt from his couch, fumbling for tinder to light a lamp and bellowing for Penelope and her women to attend with all speed.

It took some time to help the distraught Sophia climb down the stairs to the women's quarters. When pain ravaged her body, all she could do was stand where she was, clinging to Yunan's shoulder, her fingernails digging into his flesh as if he were the only thing keeping her from screaming into the night. 

He longed to pick her up in his arms, to shorten the journey for her, to ease her torture, but he did not dare. If he should fall at any time, his precious cargo could die. It was not a risk he could take. So step by slow step they descended the rooftop stairway, Memnon in front to catch them if they fell and Surak behind, down into the very heart of the mountain.

Penelope was waiting for her in the birthing room. To the left lay a shallow pool fed by warm springs bubbling up through the rock itself to ease her pain. To the right stood the birthing stool, no longer associated with fear and in the corner was a crib filled with the softest blankets, swaddling bands set ready on a table to wrap the baby as soon as she arrived.

At first, Sophia was reluctant to release Yunan from her grasp, but Penelope patiently explained how much better she would feel if she let the women tend her. They understood her pain, her fear, her distress. Hers was not the first birth in this room. They would care for her, allowing Yunan to fulfil his role in making sure everywhere was safe for the baby to be born.

"It is too soon," Sophia sobbed, leaning against her friend's strong arm.

"Nonsense," Penelope wiped her sweating brow. "It is the perfect time. It is often said a father's seed will lead a child out of her confining womb. Come now, we have everything prepared. All will be well."

Despite Penelope's words, the next few hours were amongst the most harrowing in her life. Sophia was indeed about to give birth – not the slow, extended labouring of a mother with her first baby, where a day or more can pass before her womb fully opens, but a savage quickening with pain rolling on after pain as if the child could not wait to make her entry into the world, insisting her mother help her in the shortest possible time. 

So it was, just four hours after Sophia awoke, in the darkest part of the night, her womb opened and the child was born. It was, as she predicted, a girl. 

As the women wrapped the tiny, screaming bundle in her swaddling bands, Sophia began to push again. Penelope thought it must be the afterbirth appearing, but to everyone's surprise, a second child thrust itself into her waiting arms. It was a boy, a perfect boy, with hair a deeper auburn than his mother's and eyes as blue as a cloudless sky. 

As Penelope laid him down on Sophia's belly, so she could tie the chord, she felt a shiver pass over her. The prophecy was fulfilled.

When mother and babes were all settled, the father congratulated and a wet nurse summoned from the village to help Sophia feed the twins, Penelope climbed wearily up to the roof gardens to catch a first glimpse of the waking sun.

As she sat looking out over the valley, the enemy cooking fires just visible on the horizon, she felt Yunan's hand touch her shoulder.

"You are a skilled midwife, daughter." His voice was filled with emotion. "Without you, they could all have been lost."

Penelope reached up to clasp his hand with hers, leaning against him as if his very presence gave her strength. 

"It was no skill, Papa; it was the Mother Goddess herself looking after Sophia and your children. Only she knew Sophia's womb hid two within its depths. I had no idea, yet I was the one looking after her since she arrived here."

"I suspected something," Yunan admitted, "When I listened to the heartbeats yesterday in the observatory, I heard an echo – at least I thought it was an echo. Now I know it was another heart beating as strongly as the first."

He stood, watching the horizon in silent contemplation.

"Will they attack?" Penelope asked. 

"They may, but they will not succeed. They could never succeed because they only know one half of the prophecy. The whole has been guarded from generation to generation until the time to speak it aloud should arrive."

"How shall we tell them?"

Yunan looked down at her and smiled. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

"Just before the rains come. When the skies darken, we shall present my children to the people and you will speak the whole prophecy to the world."

So it was. Over the following weeks, Sophia recovered from her ordeal. Cherished by her family, she blossomed into the beautiful women she was always meant to be. Both children suckled vigorously, each day bringing a new change, a new wonder to their sheltered world. 

When they were three months old, Yunan set the date for their naming and acknowledgement. Without telling Sophia, he sent word to her father and both he and her brothers and sisters arrived to join in the festivities. To roars of approval, the children were named Alexander and Ruth. Despite all the noise, they lay in their mother's arms, contentedly watching clouds gathering above them.

As Yunan raised his arm for their attention, the crowd in the courtyard fell silent. Light was fading and the first drops of rain fell on upturned faces. Penelope stepped forward, dressed in the pure white robes of a seer of the Mother Goddess, a role fulfilled by the eldest daughter of the Household since time began.

In her hand she held a parchment tied around with golden thread. Those close enough to see the ancient lettering were in no doubt this was a momentous occasion.

Penelope stood, feeling the long line of oracles speaking to her across the generations. As she opened her mouth, her clear voice carried down into the villages and onto the plain so all people bound to Kallikrates would know the truth. The prophecy was fulfilled.

"Let all people hear the words of the Sibyl.

"On the seventh night of the seventh month, a golden moon will rise in the sign of the ram. On this day shall a son be born to the House of Kallikrates. His hair will be the colour of the moon and his eyes the colour of the sky. He shall grow straight as the tallest tree and his arm will be as strong as the mountains. His heart will be as brave as the lion and all the people of the valleys will fall to his sword. Great will be the glory of his name.

"At the same time, a daughter will be born to the House of Kallikrates, her beauty as a shadow of her birthmoon. Where there is sorrow, she will bring joy, where there is fear she will bring hope and all will come to seek her wisdom. She shall be the peacemaker come amongst us and her name will be honoured forever.

"Thus is it so."

As the last syllable echoed against the mountain, lightning flashed across the sky followed by thunder crashing to herald the arrival of the storm. Sheets of water fell onto parched earth. Soon the dry land would be watered and flowers blossom where once there was only dust. The drought was gone.