struck her again. 'We cannot allow such
unclean women into our camp.'
Sappho hung
her head in shame. Chryseis walked in front of her and looked up,
but when one of the soldiers spat on her she dropped her head again
and fixed her eyes to the ground.
They were
driven into a clear area of smooth yellow sand. It reflected the
heat of the sun from its surface. Large wooden boats towered above
them on each side. Banners, flags and armour hung from their black
sides and soldiers lined up in four rows to form a square.
Sappho felt
the heat of the sand on the soles of her feet. She screwed up her
toes to try and reduce the burning, but as she was pushed forward
she lost her balance and fell. She dropped heavily on the collar
around her neck, hanging on the short chains which led in front and
behind her. She gasped and fought to get back to her feet, but as
she was dragged along by the other women it was impossible to stand
up. She heard the soldiers laughing at her, and felt a sharp stick
poking in her side. She twisted on the collar, coughing and
choking, falling backwards and being hauled along by the neck with
her heels trailing in the sand. She looked up at the hot sun as
with her mouth wide open, but unable to breathe, she felt her eyes
rolling up and the warmth of unconsciousness sweeping over her. The
men's laughter turned into distant echoes. The collar around her
throat felt so heavy she thought she would be dragged beneath the
earth. She felt hands around her ankles, lifting, suspending her by
the neck on the collar. She felt herself swaying from side to side.
The sun flickered in front of her eyes. Suddenly she was back on
her feet, running, struggling to keep up, as the women were driven
inside the square of men.
They were all
made to run. Sappho, barely conscious, found it impossible to keep
up. The collar grabbed painfully at her neck. She was pulled
forward and back, jerking with every snatch, her stomach churning
with anxiety, her body reeling with pain. She tried to look around
but it was a flashing blur. All she could see was jeering men, some
holding their stiff cocks in their hands, some urinating, some
scooping up dust and throwing it at the captive, frightened
women.
Suddenly the
movement stopped. The women were lined up in the square. Several
men ran behind them, flicking captives with canes, making them
stand straight. Sappho felt the sharp sting of a cane across her
buttocks. It made her rear back. Her nipples were achingly hard.
They throbbed with pain; with uncontrollable, hidden, ridiculous
excitement. She breathed deeply, hoping her nipples would soften,
would stop throbbing, but her concentration on them only made them
worse. She looked around in fear of the men. Her robe was wrapped
around her waist and hung to her side across one of her hips. She
felt so vulnerable, so defenceless. Men pointed at her, threw dust
at her, spat at her. She felt her nipples hardening even more as
she realised her helpless exposure to the men's mockery and
taunting.
'Look at that
one there,' shouted one. 'Her nipples are so hard I could hang off
them!'
'And that
one,' shouted another, pointing at Chryseis. 'Her rosy cunt could
take us all. And she's a temple maiden too. Dark-haired and lusty,
like them all.'
Sappho glanced
at Chryseis. Her face was covered with dirt. Her pale skin daubed
with the sweat-drenched dust, her naked body striped with the harsh
marks of the searching canes. She looked fearful and cowed, as if
she could not suffer any more.
'I wonder how
long she could stand that,' a soldier shouted back, and they all
joined in, chanting and laughing at their powerless victims.
'Let's put
them to the test!' another shouted, running forward from the line
and standing in front of Chryseis. 'Here, I will take the first
turn. We will see how these Trojan women can stand the passion of
Greek men. I need two assistants!' Two men ran to his side. 'Lift
this one. Just enough for her to feel the collar. High enough
unclean women into our camp.'
Sappho hung
her head in shame. Chryseis walked in front of her and looked up,
but when one of the soldiers spat on her she dropped her head again
and fixed her eyes to the ground.
They were
driven into a clear area of smooth yellow sand. It reflected the
heat of the sun from its surface. Large wooden boats towered above
them on each side. Banners, flags and armour hung from their black
sides and soldiers lined up in four rows to form a square.
Sappho felt
the heat of the sand on the soles of her feet. She screwed up her
toes to try and reduce the burning, but as she was pushed forward
she lost her balance and fell. She dropped heavily on the collar
around her neck, hanging on the short chains which led in front and
behind her. She gasped and fought to get back to her feet, but as
she was dragged along by the other women it was impossible to stand
up. She heard the soldiers laughing at her, and felt a sharp stick
poking in her side. She twisted on the collar, coughing and
choking, falling backwards and being hauled along by the neck with
her heels trailing in the sand. She looked up at the hot sun as
with her mouth wide open, but unable to breathe, she felt her eyes
rolling up and the warmth of unconsciousness sweeping over her. The
men's laughter turned into distant echoes. The collar around her
throat felt so heavy she thought she would be dragged beneath the
earth. She felt hands around her ankles, lifting, suspending her by
the neck on the collar. She felt herself swaying from side to side.
The sun flickered in front of her eyes. Suddenly she was back on
her feet, running, struggling to keep up, as the women were driven
inside the square of men.
They were all
made to run. Sappho, barely conscious, found it impossible to keep
up. The collar grabbed painfully at her neck. She was pulled
forward and back, jerking with every snatch, her stomach churning
with anxiety, her body reeling with pain. She tried to look around
but it was a flashing blur. All she could see was jeering men, some
holding their stiff cocks in their hands, some urinating, some
scooping up dust and throwing it at the captive, frightened
women.
Suddenly the
movement stopped. The women were lined up in the square. Several
men ran behind them, flicking captives with canes, making them
stand straight. Sappho felt the sharp sting of a cane across her
buttocks. It made her rear back. Her nipples were achingly hard.
They throbbed with pain; with uncontrollable, hidden, ridiculous
excitement. She breathed deeply, hoping her nipples would soften,
would stop throbbing, but her concentration on them only made them
worse. She looked around in fear of the men. Her robe was wrapped
around her waist and hung to her side across one of her hips. She
felt so vulnerable, so defenceless. Men pointed at her, threw dust
at her, spat at her. She felt her nipples hardening even more as
she realised her helpless exposure to the men's mockery and
taunting.
'Look at that
one there,' shouted one. 'Her nipples are so hard I could hang off
them!'
'And that
one,' shouted another, pointing at Chryseis. 'Her rosy cunt could
take us all. And she's a temple maiden too. Dark-haired and lusty,
like them all.'
Sappho glanced
at Chryseis. Her face was covered with dirt. Her pale skin daubed
with the sweat-drenched dust, her naked body striped with the harsh
marks of the searching canes. She looked fearful and cowed, as if
she could not suffer any more.
'I wonder how
long she could stand that,' a soldier shouted back, and they all
joined in, chanting and laughing at their powerless victims.
'Let's put
them to the test!' another shouted, running forward from the line
and standing in front of Chryseis. 'Here, I will take the first
turn. We will see how these Trojan women can stand the passion of
Greek men. I need two assistants!' Two men ran to his side. 'Lift
this one. Just enough for her to feel the collar. High enough
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