"Droit du Signeur 6"( Mf MF 1st hist )[6/7]
Part Six

Esmerelda's Tale:
     I was twelve when I was forced to marry Assan.  Assan only wanted
me because my father was a political rival of his.  Not even a
powerful rival, just an annoying one.  There were fourteen of us in
all, because the only thing that exceeded Assan's lust for power was
his pride.  Having fourteen wives was a symbol not only of his wealth,
but of his virility.  Assan had little taste for women otherwise,
considering us to be unclean creatures, fit only for domestic work and
childbirth.  He preferred young men and boys for his lovers.
     He would not even condescend to treat us like women in bed.  I
was a virgin on my wedding night, and at fifteen, I was still a
virgin.  After his sons were born (by his first and third wives),
Assan took his wives like he took his boy lovers.  My mouth and bottom
were well-used, but my maidenhead remained untouched, except on
occasion to ensure that it was still there.  I knew the law as well as
any man, for there was little I was allowed to do except spend hours
in Cordoba's gardens and libraries.  Until the marriage was
consummated, I was not actually Hassan's wife.  But he was more
powerful even than the Caliph, and if I tried to escape my marriage
that way, I or my father would have been forced to pay a heavy price.
     At times, I plotted ways to be free of Assan, especially
following those nights when he was particularly brutal.  But Assan was
simply too powerful for me to exact my vengeance without certain
retribution.  And the constant watch on me and his other wives
prevented me from conspiring with one or another of his enemies.
     Then, one sunny winter day, Assan himself brought to me my
salvation.

     At the time, I did not recognize my gift as such, however.  Assan
had hired a troop of mercenaries in Cadiz.  They were Christian
warriors fresh from the invasion of Palestine who had no way to get
home.  Assan had even managed to hire them at bargain rates because
many of themn were injured, their commander worst of all.  Assan's
physicians had managed to purge most of the poison from his body, but
he had been sorely ravaged by it for over two months.  By the time he
arrived in Cordoba, he was more skeleton than man.  He did not look
like a savior.
     I was given charge of his care by Assan.  "I promised those
barbarians I would give their leader the best care I could.  I give
him over to you, for I cannot yet risk offending them with kitchen
drudges.  Just keep that smelly, uncivilized brute alive while I break
up his men and bring them into my guard."  Assan was forever playing
people against one another.  He did not even trust his own bodyguard
and would set these Christians against them.  But I was just a pawn,
with not even the power that steel gave his lowest soldier.  I was a
"filthy, unclean woman" of no account to my husband at all.
     For a few days, Heinrich remained in a delirium.  I cleaned and
dressed his wound, and fed him broths, for he could keep nothing else
down, he was so weak. I would read to him -- in Arabic, of course,
since I knew no German.  And I talked to him about pleasant nothings.
And silently I cursed him for binding me down, keeping me away from
the few things in my life that were enjoyable.
     The guards outside his door never gave me more notice than to
leer at me, except for their lieutenant, Lothair.  He came by several
times every day to check on his commander, and we got to know each
other a little.  He told me about the siege at the fortress and their
escape.  The way he described Heinrich -- as a man of honor and worthy
of loyalty -- made me see this infirm infidel in a new light.  I began
to believe that perhaps this man was the answer to my prayers for
deliverance.

     Finally, one day Heinrich awoke.  He came to his senses
immediately.  One moment, he was sleeping peacefully, the next, he was
staring up at me with clear blue eyes.  But his eyes were the eyes of
a man hunted and running, running from something inside himself.
     Then, like a curtain falling, his eyes became calm again.  He
asked a question in German, then repeated it in Arabic.  "Where am I?"
he asked.  "Iberia?"
     I nodded, smiling.  "In the city of Cordoba."
     We introduced ourselves, as though we had met in a doorway on a
rainy day.  He was concerned about his men, of course.  I explained
the circumstances as far as I could.  I did not think it wise to
detail Assan's machinations.  His health had to be his first priority,
and my own.
     The following weeks Heinrich spent slowly regaining strength.  We
taught each other our respective languages.  I had a great deal of
trouble with the gutteral sounds of German, and all he knew of Arabic
were a few phrases to deal with surrendering soldiers and whores.  I
never told him about Assan.  He never told me about the siege.  We
spoke of little pleasantries and his health.
     When he could move about, we went into the gardens.  We were
watched, I know.  When in his room, Heinrich was guarded by his own
men.  Lothair was no fool; he knew that Assan was trying to bribe some
of his soldiers away from the troop, and that for Heinrich to succumb
to his illness would facilitate its dissolution.  Heinrich was in no
danger in the gardens, but there were eyes everywhere, so I dared not
broach the subject of escaping Assan's power.  I did not worry about
Assan punishing me for spending so much time with Heinrich.  As long
as I was waiting for him on the nights it was "my turn," he could not
care less how I conducted myself.  I was no threat to him, I was mere
property.  More valuable than other properties, perhaps, but with no
more volition.
     Weeks I spent vacillating.  Can I ask his help, dare I ask his
help?  No, I cannot.  But I must.  I could not -- even when Assan
bruised my back because he was too drunk for his manhood to function.
Once I took that step, begging for Sir Heinrich's help, there would be
no turning back.  It would be success or death, no half measures, no
backing out.  I was too weak: As horrid as my life was, I feared
losing it.  The very thought of it paralyzed me.
     But when I was with Heinrich, the fear fell away from me.  For a
few hours, I could love life as life was meant to be loved.  I could
look into his eyes and see the hardness there.  I knew what he had
gone through, the summits of living and the depths of dying, and I
could live vicariously by staring into those eyes over a chessboard or
a volume of poetry.

     When Heinrich could hold his great sword for ten minutes without
trembling, he began training, retraining weakened muscles and a
ravaged body.  His body was beautiful as it moved through the forms,
striking out at invisible opponents, defending against phantom swords.
As weak as his body was, it seemed to move effortlessly, for a few
minutes at least.  He dueled shadows until he literally staggered and
sweat dripped from him like rain.  His was a singularity of purpose I
did not have, but longed to.
     One day I mentioned to him that I had heard his nightmares.  How
could he bring himself to brandish his sword again, I asked.
     He stopped his swings and parries and turned to me.  He held the
sword perfectly parallel to the floor, as he considered his answer.
"Were it my choice," he said at last, "I would let it rust away to
nothing."  He held it before his face and stared at the edge.  "I
loathe it. But I swore an oath to my men.  They depend on me.  I would
do anything for them."  Then he turned his back to me to fight his
unseen enemies.
     I think that was when I began to fall in love with him.  I had
seen strength and determination in him.  I had seen tenderness and
humor.  Now I had seen sacrifice.  True nobility.

     Over the next days, our conversations became more personal -- or
at least I thought they were.  Heinrich's eyes seemed to linger on me
when we talked or played chess, and he chose more love poems for me to
read during his Arabic lessons.  Was it my imagination?  I was not
sure, but I could not afford to be unsure.  If he was not in love with
me, I could not stand being rejected.
     One night, I found out for certain.
     I was enjoying the moonlight and the scent of the orange blossoms
in one of the gardens.  The man in the moon reminded me of Heinrich,
but lately everything had reminded me of Heinrich.
     I could hear him on the other side of the garden wall, in a small
courtyard, striking at a wooden post with a double-weight practice
sword.  We were the only people out and about.  A head appeared over
the wall that separated Assan's house from the countryside.  Assassin!
Assan had many enemies, none of whom could afford to strike out
openly.  Assassins were a constant threat.  The shortest route to
Assan's quarters would have been through the courtyard that held
Heinrich.  Hoping to avoid one witness, the assassin had stumbled into
another.
     The assassin hesitated for a brief moment.  I could read his
thoughts: abandon the mission and lose the opportunity for months, or
kill this girl?   He made his decision, and leapt the rest of the way
over the wall.  I wanted to tell him to go ahead and kill Assan, but I
couldn't speak.  Not a whisper.  He came at me with a long dagger and
murder in his eyes.  I ran around the other side of a fountain, and he
pursued me.  I have never been so incredibly terrified in my life.
     Finally, I was able to scream.  Actually, it was more like a
squeak.  No one could have heard me.  I managed to increase the
distance between myself and my pursuer, only to find myself trapped in
a corner of the garden.  The assassin's teeth gleamed as he advanced
upon me, dagger held for a killing stroke.  And still I could not
scream.
      Then the assassin grunted and fell to the ground.  Before me
stood Heinrich, wearing only a loincloth and holding his practice
sword, a wooden staff with a lead core.  He glanced at me, to be
certain I was unharmed, then turned to his opponent, who had rolled to
his feet.  They circled each other warily, each testing the other with
a lunge here and a swipe there.  Heinrich attempted an overhead
stroke, an attempt to crush the assassin's skull.  But the killer
crouched down and swept his blade upward.  He severed Heinrich's
loincloth and sliced open his side.
      Heinrich, in obvious pain, dropped his sword.  It fell on the
assassin's foot and tangled his legs.  Again the assassin went down.
Heinrich leapt upon him and took his head in his hands.  Over and over
he lifted the man's head and slammed it back down on the stone
walkway.  I heard a sickening crunch, and Heinrich slumped over the
assassin's corpse, exhausted.
      He stood and examined his side. He shrugged to himself, as
though it were spilled wine running down his side rather than his own
blood.  "Are you all right, Esmerelda?" he asked.  "Are you hurt?"
      "No, I mean yes.  I'm fine."  I stared at his body.  He had an
enormous erection.  I could actually see it throbbing in the
moonlight, jerking rhythmically.
      Heinrich looked down and saw that he was naked.  He blushed, but
his erection did not shrink.  He picked up the tatters of his
loincloth and covered himself as best he could.  "i'm sorry,
Esmerelda.  I hate it, but the excitement just takes over me."
      I ran to him and wrapped my arms around him, as though seeking
comfort.  That was true, but I did have an ulterior motive.  I pushed
my arms between his arms and his torso.  As he put his arms about me,
he was forced to uncover himself completely.  I felt his beautiful
manhood poking into my stomach.  I buried my head in his chest and
sobbed out the fear that was pent up inside me.  He caressed my back,
comfortingly, but I felt him get even harder.  His blood was hot on my
arm, and his skin warm under my hands.  To me, his sweat was sweeter
than any perfume, more luxurious than any oil.  I reached up and
pulled his face down to mine.
      "Oh, Esmerelda," he whispered as our faces neared each other.
"I love you, have loved you since first I saw you." Our lips met and
we devoured each other.  I ran my fingers through his matted hair,
pulling him tighter against me.  I felt his hot breath against my
cheek as he panted from his pain and passion.  Then, sweet Allah, I
felt his hands fumbling at the hooks of my gown.  His hands were
trembling too much and anyway were too callused to make much progress.
He took the fabric in his fists and ripped it away and the thin shift
beneath it.
      I stood against him, bared to the waist.  For the first time in
my life, I was naked before a man who really appreciated a woman.  I
reached behind me to untie the belt that kept my gown at my waist.  It
fell to my feet.  I stepped out of the dress and slipped off my
slippers.  The stones were cold against my soles.  The body of the
assassin lay a few feet away, but it might have not existed so far as
I was concerned.  I took Heinrich's hand and pulled him into the
shrubbery, off the walkway and onto the soft grass.
      Heinrich stared at my body, taking in the sight of me, the parts
and the whole, as though he would never see me again.  "Come to me," I
whispered.  "Take me."
      He put his hands to my flesh once more.  They were so hard but
tender, so unlike Assan's, which were soft and cruel.  I stood there,
beneath the pale moon, surrounded by greenery and budding blossoms, as
those hands, which had minutes ago taken a man's life, brought me back
to life after three years of dormancy.
      His hands roamed over my body, exploring me.  He seemed
fascinated by my smooth skin.  "So soft," he murmured as he stroked
and caressed my arms and shoulders, my neck and breasts.  Oh, my
breasts. As he at last touched them, I gasped for breath, like I was
stepping into an icy lake.  Every nerve seemed to be sensitized.  When
I threw my head back, I could feel each strand of hair flick across my
buttocks.  I could feel every stray breeze across my flesh, each ridge
of Heinrich's fingertips on my nipples.  I swear I actually felt the
moonlight on my body.
      Lower, lower, Heinrich's hands moved.  Along the undersides of
my breast, across my taut stomach and down to my pelvis.  "Why don't
you have any hair?" he asked, puzzled.
      I wasn't sure I heard him correctly.  "What?"
      "You have no hair on your..."  He knew no Arabic term, and I did
not know the German.  "You have no hair down there."
      "No woman of status in the Caliphate does.  I have a cream that
keeps my body hair from growing.  Don't German noblewomen do the
same?"
      "No, never."  He ran his fingers across the area where hair
should have been, utterly fascinated.  How could German women stand
it?  Had they no concept of hygiene?  And the itching under their
arms.  I shuddered inwardly at the thought.
      By now, I was frantic.  I had to have him inside me. I pulled
him to the ground and laid him on his back.  His rod stood stiffly
above his hips.  I took it into my mouth and ran my tongue all around
it.  My mouth had been watering at the thought of tasting him, and in
no time he was almost as wet as I was.  I wet my fingers in my
dripping slit and thrust them into my back opening.  Remember, Assan
had me checked on occasion to be certain I had no lovers and was still
a virgin.  My bottom was the only place I could risk having Heinrich
enter.  And while my skin crawled at the thought of Assan back there,
it tingled when I imagined Heinrich plunging into me.
      I straddled him and carefully placed the head of his prick
against my anus.  Gently, I pushed down on it.  He was much bigger
than I was used to, but I persevered.  I made myself bounce slowly up
and down.  Gradually, I felt the head enter me.  I pushed harder and
harder still.  Then, suddenly, my sphincter muscles were clamped
around the neck of his prick.  I let gravity take over and sank slowly
down until I felt his testicles nestled between my buttocks.
      "Ahhh," we both said.
      For a few moments, I just sat there astride his hips, letting my
passage grow accustomed to his girth.  I clamped my muscles against
him and felt him flex inside me in response.  I smiled down at him and
raised my hips an inch or two, then dropped back down.  His face went
into contortions of pleasure such as I had never seen.  I supposed it
was his first time buggering a girl.
      I took his beard between my fingers and pulled his upper body up
to me.  Heinrich leaned back on stiffened arms, but was sitting up
enough for me to be able to lean down and kiss him and still be fully
penetrated.  He tried to thrust up into me awkwardly.  Concerned about
his wound, and worried that he might hurt me in his inexperience, I
pushed down on his hips.  "Let me do all the work," I told him.  He
nodded, jaw clenched and eyes squeezed shut.
      I leaned in and kissed him.  I nibbled his cheek and tugged on
his beard with my teeth.  I kissed him.  We held our lips pressed
together as I rode him, tongues dancing in each other's mouth.  We
broke away, panting.  I was nearing orgasm.  My strokes on Heinrich's
staff were become longer and faster.  I bit my lip to keep from
screaming in passion, as I knew I surely must.  Heinrich's eyes rolled
back in his head and he groaned, softly and deep in his chest.  I felt
a new warmth flood my bowels as he emptied himself in me.  It drove me
over the edge.  I bit his neck where it met his shoulder and screamed
into his flesh.
      I fell back along his legs in a daze.  Heinrich remained hard
inside me.  He eased his prick out and slid out from underneath me.  I
just wanted to lie beside him for the rest of the night.  I felt
completely drained.  After all, this was the first time I had ever
made *love* to a man, and my emotions had overwhelmed me.  But
Heinrich was insistent.  He crawled between my spread thighs.  In one
smooth motion, he placed the tip of his prick against the mouth of my
slit and slid inside.  I imagine he didn't even feel my maidenhead, so
great was his need.  All I felt was sick with fear.  When Assan
learned I was no longer virgin, there was no predicting what he would
do, or how cruel he would be.
      But after a few strokes, I no longer cared.  All that mattered
was that Heinrich lay on top of me, taking what was rightfully his as
the only man I had ever loved.  Now I was glad that Assan had always
had me like a boy, because now a real man was making me a real woman.
      I wrapped my legs around his waist, wanting him inside me
forever.  I felt him stretching me, invading unexplored territory.  I
was in pain and the pain was sweet.  Let the future happen, the
present was everything.  Heinrich assumed that, since I was married, I
was used to this kind of love.  He moved inside me with certainty,
unaware of my pain because he wanted to give me pleasure.  The pain
wore away quickly though, and I learned just what pleasure Heinrich
could give me.  Pleasure radiated from my womb, making my fingers and
toes and scalp tingle.  It built up inside me, demanding release.  I
let go and it flowed through my body like a torrent.  I was lost in
pleasure, in love for Heinrich.  The two were intertwined, I thought,
for there could not be one without the other.
      My orgasm rushed upon me quickly.  It was of an intensity I had
never felt, and I am sorry to say I remember little of what happened
after it began.
      Heinrich awoke me from a light doze.  "Wake up, my love.  Wake
up.  You have to go back to your rooms, and I have to hide the body.
It's cold now and people would otherwise wonder why I didn't report
it."
      I came to my senses.  In more ways than one.  I was discovered.
It was only a matter of time before Assan would learn that my
maidenhood was no more.
      Heinrich was still talking.  He was leaving tomorrow.  The
entire troop would be gone, making the rounds of Assan's properties,
collecting rents and ensuring that none of his administrators were
taking bribes to under count the crops.  He would think of me every
day, and when he returned, it would be like he had never left.
      But all I could think of was my lost virginity and Assan's
anger.  You have killed me, my love.