A Tale of Ties and Binds - Chapter 22

Chapter 22. A Queen of Cretans

Another storm had caught them ten days after leaving Syrakousai. They were well-provisioned from the Greek colony's stores, well-rested after their encounter with Polyphamorous, well-wealthy after stealing all his hidden gold and cheap wine, and well-sore after being tossed and hurled about by the winds that seemed to last a thousand days. Perhaps they'd invoked the wrath of a goddess who saw fit to punish them with a tempest, or perhaps they'd just lengthened their string of misfortune.

Ellisia had been navigating as best she could, but even she found it impossible to follow the stars when the sky had turned black and wet. After the storm, The Mermaid's Revenge realigned itself east, but there was no guarantee they hadn't drifted north or south.

As the Fates would have it, they had drifted south. Far to the south. While the plan had been to land in Lacedaemonia to seek audience with the Spartan queen and petition her for assistance or asylum (depending in the laconic will to fight), the ship had instead made land in Crete. They'd missed mainland Greece completely and ended up in the southern Aegean Sea.

The Cretans were a prickly bunch. Theirs was a civilisation that predated all of Greece, and yet all they had to show for it was a long stretch of island at the arse end of the Aegean. If the tales were true, and they seldom were, Queen Adrianne of Crete was once visited by Hera in the queen's bedchambers. With her, the deity brought her phallic god slave, Zeus, who took the form of a bull in honour of Adrianne's household sigil. Hera gifted the queen her phallic slave for one night and the queen gave birth to a bull-headed son nine moons later. Penelope had been doubtful of such mythical beasts for most her life, especially since the queen was said to keep Her son hidden away in a fortified labyrinth. But her encounter with Polyphamorous seemed to leave her open to the possibility, however implausible it might be.

Docking at the port of Crete's capital, Knossos, Penelope elected to find a wine seller. The Spartans were more likely to accept a plea for assistance if they were drunk. Ellisia and her four remaining Hera's Daughters would see to it that the ship was elsewise restocked and repairs were made where needed. Daphne chose to stay behind and guard the ship while Serena had no option. The golden-haired teen was still a hostage, after all, and needed to be kept bound aboard the vessel. Her bondage was not as strict as it could have been - her feet were shackled with a long chain to the mast and her hands bound with soft leather behind her back. She wasn't gagged. Daphne had insisted they had much to discuss after the blonde had saved her life back on the Three-Cornered Land. After many apologies and promises, they'd find other uses for their tongues that didn't involve as much talking.

Penelope walked the wide streets of Knossos looking for her merchant. There were hundreds of slaves, in varying states of undress, with varying strictnesses of bondage from recycled leather to fresh-forged iron chains. They shuffled this way and that, carrying goods in their hands if possible, clenching them in their mouths if ungagged, or dragging them along in a cart if neither their hands nor lips were available to them. It reminded Penelope of Thessaly's bustling capital, Larissa. I'm almost home, she said to herself.

She was busy considering a quick stop at a whorehouse when she was tapped on the shoulder. Before her stood a young brunette in a purple chiton, arms hidden from view and no doubt chained behind her back, one small breast exposed and the fabric covering the other bearing the sigil of the Cretan royal household - a bull's head with its two horns being ridden by a pair of collared and chained slave girls. The flesh and blood girl in the chiton was obviously an envoy of sorts. Around her neck was tied a thick linen rag with which to gag her if her charges felt annoyed at anything she said. It was considered bad form to take a messenger captive, but that didn't mean they had to be heard.

Penelope hadn't expected a royal greeting. "Hello?"

"Good morning, traveller. Her Grace saw your ship arriving from the palace and requested you join Her in the throne room. She so enjoys hearing tales of distant lands and would be honoured if you could share with Her your adventures."

It's not surprising, Penelope thought. Queen Adrianne was a renowned recluse. War after war, request after request, no Cretan sigils had flown over a field of battle since Adrianne ascended Her throne. "The pleasure would be mine," she informed the messenger. The queen no doubt had a wonderful wine collection and might feel generous enough to lend an amphora or two.

The envoy led the way through the softly curving streets, slowly making their way towards the palace. At one junction, Penelope stopped to witness a troupe of performing slaves. There were twelve phallic slaves aligned in a circle, lying on their backs atop knee-high benches. They were chained hand and foot, though there was little reason to resist their female slave partner. She was an agile young thing, lithe and lean and flexible as a snake's tongue. She cartwheeled between the phallics in such a precise way that whenever her two feet were grounded, there was a phallic slave's meat up between her legs, then she'd wheel around and impale herself on the next one across. Around and around she went, summoning a slightly tenser grunt with each circuit. The crowd burst into applause as the performance reached its peak when each phallic slave shot their seed into the air in turn, following like a wave just behind the nimble female acrobat. Penelope found herself tossing a gold coin into the centre of the ring where the slaves' mistress scooped it up among the rest of her many tokens.

Arriving at the palace gates, Penelope stifled a giggle at the armour of the Cretan royal guards. Their bronze helms had been beaten into the shape of a cow while their breastplates depicted the four-nippled bovine udders. They looked ridiculous. If their tactic was to make their foes fall to the ground in laughter, it nearly worked. Their queen's sigil is a bull's head, and they're prancing around begging to be milked.

She waited until an unguarded hallway to let it out. The envoy gave her a curious look but didn't ask. Probably for the best, Penelope thought.

The envoy shouldered her way through the iron-studded doors which opened up into the throne room. It was a long hall paved with rich red carpets. The walls between the windows had alternated between holding an alight torch or shelving a bull's head bust. Large pairs of horns were hanging from hooks along the ceiling, some wide enough that they would take two paces to walk from one sharp tip to the other.

Queen Adrianne sat a wooden throne on the far end of the hall. Her hair was a dirty blonde, borderline brown, tied in a messy bun behind Her head. She had bright hazel eyes which matched the cowskin pelt wrapped around Her shoulders. Underneath She wore a thin white chiton which hemlined above Her waist, showing the blonde-brown fuzz between Her legs, and was belted far too tight, causing Her breasts to spill out around the sides. Other than that, Queen Adrianne was naked, though there was not much she left to the imagination.

The slave girl heralded her monarch, "Queen Adrianne of Crete, Grand Matriarch of the Minoan Three, Mother of Demigods and Keeper of the Peace."

Keeper of the Peace was just a politer way of saying coward, Penelope guessed. The envoy asked Penelope to introduce herself to the court. "Alexis the Binder," Penelope lied, "Glorious Winner of the Games and Taker of Trojans." She wanted to keep her true identity hidden. Her enemies could have spies even here. And she was only here for the wine.

"Alexis the Binder?" the queen asked. "What a lovely name."

"Your Grace does me great honour," Penelope said with a polite bow. "I hope to please You with any and all of my tales." Then ask You for some wine.

"Please, Alexis the Binder, start from the beginning."

So Penelope lied. After the defeat at Mytilene on Lesbos, she chose to take the scenic route back to Thessaly, passing through Attica, Lacedaemonia, Ithaca, Messapia and Syrakousai (from which she'd now arrived), having seen many wonders, heard many stories and learned many lessons in the beds of foreign girls. No whorehouse did not know her custom, no bedslave ignorant to her skills, no pirates left unscathed by her ropes and no songs left in her wake that did not include her name. She spoke of whores so flexible they could lick the base of their backs, strange foreign gods with four tits and of a Cyclops who ate teenage girls (because every lie contains specks of truth).

By the end, Queen Adrianne sat on the edge of Her throne. Her royal fingers had drifted down between Her thighs to stroke at the blonde-brown fuzz at some point after Athens and before Sparta. She'd climaxed twice in mainland Greece, thrice in the colonies and again just on the street hearing of those cartwheeling slave performers. She tidied up Her clothes and leaned even closer forward. "Alexis the Binder, your tales have most pleased Me. May I confide in you of My secret?"

Penelope bowed. "If it please Your Grace."

"I've always wondered what it would be like to be a bedslave. I never enjoyed being bound, even as a child. I always thought ropes were too rough and chains were too heavy. Such coarse harshness and burdensome weight are best borne by slaves, not princesses. Wouldn't you agree? And yet this curiosity has haunted Me." Adrianne wiped herself off with a rag. "Is it a silly question to ask if you've ever been taken captive?"

"Not silly at all, Your Grace. I was once taken captive during the Messapian War." That much was true. "I was briefly held as a hostage... before being liberated after four days of bondage by a team of my compatriots." Also true. The Celt had been among those compatriots and had never let Penelope forget it.

"Fascinating," Adrianne said with a dainty clap and a wide grin. "Absolutely fascinating. I'd so love to know what that felt like, just for a few moments, and then someone can remove My chains." She looked away ponderously. "Could I... could I ask you to do this for Me?"

A strange request, Penelope thought. But this is a strange queen. "If it please Your Grace. I am but a humble guest in Your queendom."

Adrianne squealed like a little girl with excitement and motioned for one of Her cow-imitating royal guards to hand Her a pair of conveniently close iron manacles. She held them thoughtfully in Her hands, fondling the cold iron with childish curiosity. "Could you be so kind?"

Penelope bowed and approached the queen on Her throne, taking the small iron key and the manacles. She unlocked them, unfolded them, and placed them carefully around the queen's outstretched arms. They slammed shut with a loud clap and were locked tight.

The Grand Matriarch of the Minoan Three, Mother of Demigods and Keeper of the Peace jingled in Her manacles playfully, pulling Her arms apart and stretching the five-link chain taut. Her girlish giggle broke off suddenly when She looked curiously at the manacle on Her left wrist. "There's something odd about this one. It's heavier than the other. Remove them now, Alexis the Binder."

Penelope followed the request, using the small key to unchain the monarch, and weighed them herself. Faulty manacles were unfit for a queen's palace. But she felt no difference. They seemed exactly the same.

"No, no, no," Queen Adrianne tut-tutted, "You'll never notice it that way. Here, give Me the key and lock them on yourself."

A hint of suspicion flashed across Penelope's mind, but was soon forgotten. The woman before her was a queen and Her word was law throughout the Isle of Crete. Penelope handed back the key and locked the first manacle onto her wrist, followed by the second. The final click echoed in the long throne room. She jingled her wrists, feeling the cold steel against her warm skin, but still not sensing a weight difference. "I don't feel it, Your Grace."

Queen Adrianne nestled back into Her throne. "Odd," was all She said.

Suspicion returned, joined by paranoia. "Could I be unchained, if it please Your Grace?"

"It would not please Me. It would not please Me at all."

Curses, Penelope thought. She got an awful feeling that she'd fallen into a trap as the queen looked down at her like an insolent child.

Adrianne crossed one leg over another. "Are you aware that My counterpart in Thessaly has been usurped? Queen Astrid, Matriarch of the Thessalian Families, Binder of Rivals and Slaver of Sisters... usurped. They used to say she was the most sought-after captive in all of Greece, perhaps even the known world. And now one woman knows the pleasure of which so many have only dreamed."

It was bitter news delivered in unwelcome circumstances. "The Celt? Titania of the Celtic Knot?" Penelope asked, though it seemed less a question than a confirmation of her fears.

"Quite right," Queen Adrianne smiled cunningly.

It all became clear, like the reflection of the torchlight in the Celt's iron-trimmed armour. "You knew perfectly well who I was and where I've been this past year, didn't You."

"Right again, Penelope of the Household of the Scylla. Had I not already known who you are, your deception would have been most convincing. I'd say you were clever, but you seem to have accidentally locked your wrists in those manacles while neglecting to keep hold of the key."

Not like this. I've come so far! "The Celt is a cruel woman! Whatever she's told You-"

"A cruel woman Titania may be, but a cruel woman with a large army and many powerful allies would not be an inaccurate description either." Several of Adrianne's royal guards took a few steps inwards, unclipping their whips from their belts. "Crete refused to join the Messapian War and our little isle stayed small while other states plundered, enslaved and expanded. I was asked to join the Greeks in the war against Troy. I declined - a decision I've come to regret. The Trojan-Thracian alliance that has emerged could sweep through Greece like a randy sailor through a whorehouse. I will not allow this to be another Messapian War for Crete. We will carve ourselves a slice of mainland Greece. We will ally ourselves with Troy, with the Thracian tribal leaders, and with Queen Titania of Thessaly."

Coward! "You're making a mistake!"

Queen Adrianne snarled. "The mistake was yours, Penelope of the Scylla, when you assumed I was ignorant of who you were and what you are now - an escaped slave. And one of Queen Titania's at that. I'm sure she'd look on My diplomatic request rather favourably when I deliver it inscribed on an iron collar around your neck."

I've been played for a fool and so have You. "Titania cannot be trusted. She betrayed Queen Astrid! She wants nothing but power for power's sake." Penelope wished she'd held onto the key.

"Titania's a queen now. She has that right. Do you think I don't want power? Do you think Astrid didn't want power? You're even more foolish than I thought. You're not even the first to come to me asking for help in this matter."

Penelope wished she'd never even come to the palace. "Your Grace, if there's anything I can do, anything I can say to sway you mind and release these chains-"

"There isn't and I won't. I've heard enough of your begging, Penelope of the Scylla, and I've grown bored of your voice." She pointed at Her guest. "Guards, gag her!"

"Please! Your Gr-mmph!!" She was silenced by a white linen rag.

"Silence!" The queen rose from her throne, fuming, the hem of her chiton brushing the top of her thighs. "It is customary in My queendom that escaped slaves should be punished. You may have heard the tale of how Hera blessed Me with a son - half-phallic, half-beast. He gets awfully lonely, awfully restless. He has so few guests. And he enjoys nothing more than the challenge of finding the toys lost in his labyrinth."

"Hmmr Grmmph!" Surely not. Surely not!

"Perhaps you'll make a more challenging plaything for My son than you did an opponent for your enemies."

Continued in Chapter 23

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