By The Horns 1

The early parts of this work were initially published in chapter form. I’ve collated, mildly rewritten, and slightly expanded these, before going on to finish the story. In the process, I also hopefully dealt with the type of inconsistencies that publishing chapters as you complete them can introduce.

🏛️ 🏛️ 🏛️

BY THE HORNS

by Emily Miller

Chapter One - The Sunken Temple

— 1938 —

Juliana Jones clawed desperately at the smooth metal tube, feeling her grip loosen, the asperity breaking down. She knew she had only minutes, maybe seconds. She had to get higher. Closer to it.

She glanced down. Beneath her feet an electric blue maelstrom of plasma and ionized particles roiled. Who knew what future that vortex might hold. She gritted her teeth and tried to clamber further up.

She could see it now, the golden orb almost taunting her. Another few feet. Juliana closed her eyes as a squall of electrostatic turbulence washed over her. She felt her grip loosen and she slipped a couple of feet before arresting her plunge.

‘Come on, girl! Keep it together.’

Juliana tensed her abs and launched her hand upward. Yes! Her grip was secure. She pulled and regained lost height. Again! The next hand. Yes. That was good, she was doing it. Just a few feet more.

Dimly, she was aware of masonry falling, of the roof cracking, of a thunderous sound. But nothing was as important as her goal. And it was close. So close. She could almost feel the throb of its elemental power against her cheeks.

‘Again!’ Her hand gripped the smooth surface, but gained no purchase. Slipping. Sliding. Surrendering gained ground. Fuck! And she was tiring. Her grip less secure, her stomach muscles aching. ‘Keep it together, Juliana!’

She lunged upward once more, but her hand couldn’t grip. The cylinder was too slick, her body too fatigued. The momentum of her mini-fall ripped her other hand from its hold and she was falling.

Falling until… a hand clasped her wrist.

“I’ve got you, angel!”

The whole chamber shuddered, as if the stones themselves were waking from restive sleep. Both of them were now plummeting down, hands entwined, as the space-time whirlpool enveloped them.

And then blackness.

🏛️ 🏛️ 🏛️

— 2025 —

Cara Loft was a little frustrated with her blonde friend. “No, not like that. You’ve got it on backwards.”

Juliana Jones held up the diving equipment and surveyed it with a frown. “They hadn’t invented these in my time. It’s your fault I’m a walking anachronism, not mine! Is there one of those MyTube things I could watch?”

“YouTube, sweetie. And surely there are

some

benefits to your time shift, right?” Cara kissed Juliana, and couldn’t resist stroking the stretchy neoprene encasing her vulva.

The other woman wriggled excitedly, then stepped back. Her cheeks were a little flushed, but she spoke seriously. “Time for that later, help me get this stuff on. We’ll never get to the flooded temple at this rate.”

Cara reflected that you could take the archaeologist out of the 1930s, yet the opposite required patience. Cara wasn’t normally a patient woman, but Juliana was worth it. Christ was she worth it!

She reflected on the strange circumstances surrounding their meeting, back in 1938, and the even stranger ones that had led to Juliana joining her in 2020s England. Maybe she should commit the events to paper - or at least hard disk - for posterity. Loft Manor was old, and always needed maintenance, perhaps a book deal could plug some gaps in the budget. It had to be easier than retrieving priceless artifacts from ancient buildings. Writing was probably rather more legal too.

“Are you going to help or not?” asked a rather irate Juliana.

“Sorry, miles away,” replied Cara sheepishly.

Between the two of them, they finally managed to get Juliana’s scuba gear straight. One wing of the mansion featured an Olympic-sized pool, and Cara, unencumbered by breathing apparatus, back-flipped into it.

Juliana more judiciously entered the water via one of the ladders. “You know, you could just dive like any normal person, Cara. What’s with the acrobatics?”

Cara‘s head had only just reappeared. She shook her dark brown ponytail, sending mini-rivulets sparkling through the air. “What was that, dear? Water in my ears.”

“Nothing,” said Juliana, as patiently as she could manage.

Cara took her friend in hand. She showed her how the dials and regulator worked, then explained safety procedures. She watched closely as Juliana tried submerging for the first time.

Much of the modern world might be a puzzle to the archaeologist, but she was super smart, and a quick learner. Soon enough, Cara was able to strap her own tank on and the pair did several underwater laps together.

Surfacing, Juliana removed her mouthpiece. “Harpoon-gun, you were going to show me the harpoon-gun.”

Cara grinned. “Well that was going to be lesson two, but given you are such a star pupil, OK.”

She hauled herself out, picked up the two guns, then rejoined her friend in the water. Juliana was familiar with a range of weapons, albeit most of them from a prior era, but she got the idea pretty quickly. Within merely minutes, the women were trying to outdo each other ‘spearing’ submerged ring targets.

“I think you’re ready, angel,” beamed Cara.

This time it was Juliana who initiated a kiss, a kiss that unsurprisingly led to diving equipment being discarded, and wetsuits being unzipped and thrown on the floor.

🏛️ 🏛️ 🏛️

The side of the pool was tiled, rather too hard for what the girls had in mind. Naked, they rushed to Cara’s bedroom; well Cara had now insisted it was theirs. Still damp from the pool, the pair collapsed onto the bed, tongues entwined, fingers discovering other areas of wetness.

Both were forceful women, and this often led to some light-hearted wrestling to determine who would take the lead. Cara didn’t resist so very much as Juliana, with a cry of triumph, rolled her onto her back. She resisted even less as her lover latched onto her puffy areola in turn, sucking and licking.

Wanting to be more involved, Cara wriggled and maneuvered until the pair ended up on their sides, heads resting on the other’s inner thigh, their tongues flicking and probing. As the heat grew between them, Juliana grasped the back of Cara’s head, pulling her harder onto her flesh, while Cara gripped her friend’s face between her legs.

Cara reached the pinnacle first. She lay shaking and recovering for a few minutes. Then she rolled Juliana onto her back, and attacked her orally with such gusto that her lover - who had grabbed a pillow to mute her yells - ripped it asunder in orgiastic ecstasy, goose feathers filling the air.

Cara thought, ruefully, that she really ought to get the cleaning lady to come in from the village more frequently.

🏛️ 🏛️ 🏛️

With Juliana’s diving apprenticeship completed early, it was time to leave. Each packed, with Cara being in charge of equipment and armaments.

From a local, private airstrip, Cara, Juliana, and their baggage flew to just outside Athens. They then took a boat to Crete. From there, a helicopter belonging to a man called Lukas - one of Cara’s many acquaintances - deposited them on an island twenty miles from shore. It had been Juliana’s first whirlybird trip, and she'd constantly muttered about preferring a UBF-2 Seaplane.

His eyes on the blonde archaeologist, Cara’s friend had offered to remain with them, claiming the seas in that area could be dangerous. She’d politely turned him down, instead twirling her twin 9mms before securing them in their respective holsters. “We’ll be just fine, I think. Besides, I know what a cautious gal Juliana is.” With less ostentation the other woman strapped a Smith & Wesson Mark II around her narrow waist.

Disappointed to miss out on additional time with Juliana, but figuring - rightly - that the pair could look after themselves, Lukas took his leave in a cloud of dust.

“Give me a seaplane any day,” said Juliana, as the copter headed into the distance.

It was getting late. They stowed their kit, set up camp in a limestone cove just above the shore, then prepared a simple meal. Their adventures could wait until morning.

Well most adventures anyway. They had brought a makeshift portable shower, and Juliana suggested that it would be prudent to conserve both water and the pump’s fuel by sharing. Understanding her friend’s true intent immediately, Cara peeled off her travel clothes and beckoned Juliana to join her.

If the island had been inhabited, the local residents’ evenings would have been interrupted by the laughing, then squealing, then moaning, then screaming, of two women who each knew exactly how to give and receive exquisite pleasure.

Not much cleaner than when their ablutions had commenced, Cara and Juliana fell asleep, naked and in each other's arms.

🏛️ 🏛️ 🏛️

Later that night, Cara was roused from her sleep. What had that noise been? She touched Juliana’s shoulder, immediately putting a finger to her lips as she woke. “Outside,” she whispered, “I think I heard something.”

Both women grabbed a side arm, and Cara quietly unzipped their tent. Using her gun to open the flap slightly, she cautiously looked from side to side. Even more cautiously, Cara stepped out, followed by Juliana. Given the potential urgency, neither woman had bothered to dress.

They had left a lamp on in case either had needed the latrine in the night. Its small ring of luminescence was surrounded by a wall of darkness. All seemed quiet, until…

“Hello ladies, I didn’t mean to disturb you. Please don’t shoot.” A man stepped out of the shadows, arms raised.

Cara lowered her gun. “Lukas! What the fuck are you doing back?”

He shrugged. Cara couldn’t help but notice that his gaze was directed behind her, where the lamplight was falling on Juliana’s soft curves.

Cara pushed her chest out, not that her ample breasts really required additional emphasis. “Well?”

Still looking at the archaeologist, Lukas answered, “I got a message. A message I thought you’d need to hear. One about… competition.”

“So fucking text me!” said Cara with some feeling.

“I thought it safer, more discreet, to speak in person, and… well, I haven’t told you who the competition is yet.”

Juliana spoke up. “The Frenchwoman?”

Lukas nodded. “Renée Clochette herself. You knew her grandfather I believe.”

Juliana frowned. “Not directly, but I’ve heard the stories many times.”

“I know her too,” said Cara. “We’ve crossed swords more than once. Not that I have a…”

Lukas finally dragged his eyes from the blonde to the brunette standing closer to him. “Yes, as I see,” he grinned.

“So, Lukas,” said Cara sternly, arms akimbo, “you know you have this app on your mobile?”

“Not secure, kardia mou,” he smiled.

“Of course. And your wife thought you should deliver the message in person, right?”

“Naturally, moraki mou. And anyway, the scenery at home is not so…. captivating.” His eyes had swiveled back to Juliana.

“Enough of the ‘moraki,’ Lukas. I’m taller than you, and stronger, I wager. And it’s

Baroness

Loft, if you please. Time for you to be heading back, I think.” Cara drew herself up to her imposing 5’9”.

“But, with Clochette and her people potentially nearby, who will look after the camp while you dive, glykiá mou?” Lukas bore the smile of a man who knew he was going to win at cards.

“He has a point,” said Juliana, putting her hand around the taller woman’s waist. “And you are kinda sweet as well, glykiá mou!”

Cara rolled her eyes. “OK, I’m not going to argue. Stay if you like. We are going back to bed, but maybe with pyjamas this time.”

🏛️ 🏛️ 🏛️

Given their disturbed night, it was a miracle that the women woke when they did. Then both were keen to get on with their task. Lukas had at least made himself useful, and breakfast was ready.

Cara hadn’t anticipated company and her nighttime attire was thus somewhat limited. All she had been able to find was a pair of boxers that had been left at Loft Manor by a male visitor, and a strappy, teal top that seemed to make her breasts look even bigger. Both were less than ideal.

“God save the King,” said Lukas as she emerged - Cara’s shorts were adorned with little Union Flags.

She scowled and snatched a plate from him rather impolitely.

“Got any coffee?” inquired Juliana. She looked like a bee in her faded, black and gold hooped jersey. It was long on her and she hadn’t bothered with any other clothes.

“British fashion? Alexander McQueen?” asked Lukas, his brow crinkled.

“Who? No,

she’s

the Limey,

I’m

from Pennsylvania. It’s a Steelers jersey,” replied Juliana, a little disgruntled.

“Stealers? Ah, for - how you say? - home invasions, right? Do you have a mask as well?”

Cara guffawed. “The Pittsburgh Steelers - no ‘a’ - are an American Football team, quite a famous one. That’s a replica of the 1930s shirt, right?”

Juliana looked even more indignant. “It’s not a replica, it belonged to ‘Whizzer’ White. He was a… friend of mine.”

Cara boggled. “You mean Byron White, the Supreme Court judge?”

“Yeah, I heard he’d come up in the world from when I knew him. He’s dead now, of course.”

Juliana looked suddenly sad. Cara put an arm around her. “Cheer up. Diving today, OK?”

Juliana nodded, then also took a plate from Lukas. For a while they ate and said nothing.

🏛️ 🏛️ 🏛️

After food, the women got into their diving equipment. Lukas seemed ill-at-ease.

“Feeling - how would you put it, Juliana? - antsy?” quipped Cara.

Lukas ignored Cara’s levity. “I was up early. I walked to the top of that rise. Wanted to get a look around.”

“Well, you clearly need the exercise,” laughed Cara.

“Hush,” said Juliana, “let him speak.”

Lukas nodded his thanks, then continued. “The morning sun was bright, and it was far off, but I thought maybe, just maybe, I saw movement. It could have been an animal, or nothing, but it could have been her.”

Cara’s tone changed. “Maybe we should postpone the dive and do a sweep instead.”

Juliana pondered this. “If they are on the other side of the island, it will take them hours to reach us. I say let’s dive now and get it done quickly.”

Cara was undecided, then Lukas interjected. “I know for a fact you packed a L96A1. I could go back to the rise and monitor things. I’d still be able to watch the camp, and the cove.”

That settled it. Cara showed Lukas where the sniper rifle was located. He headed off again, and the two women recommenced changing.

Suddenly, Cara had an idea. “Just a mo.”

She went back to her mini arsenal and returned carrying two machine pistols. She handed one to Juliana. “Know how to use one of these?”

“Is it an Oh-zee?” asked the archaeologist, wide-eyed.

“Uzi! You mean Uzi. And no, it’s a MAC-11. I used to love its predecessor. And don’t worry, a lot of people confuse them.”

She showed Juliana how to hold the weapon. “Use both hands. Only movies and video games have people fire them one handed.”

“What’s a video game?” asked Juliana.

“Nothing to worry about right now, angel.”

Juliana lined the gun up and briefly sprayed the undergrowth with lead. “I like this thing,” she said, clearly impressed.

“Good. Let’s hide them nearby, just in case the camp is compromised.”

They found a small hollow and covered their secret cache with branches. Juliana ran back to the tent, and returned holding her whip, which she placed next to the MAC-11s.

“Right,” said Cara, “diving time. And I think we’ll take the harpoon-guns.”

🏛️ 🏛️ 🏛️

The two women inflated their dinghy, and Cara rowed it out to the map location. The anchor read 28m when it hit bottom. The sea around them was empty. Cara and Juliana each gave the other a thumbs up, then plunged into the water.

It was clear at first, but soon - at a depth of only 10m - the light lessened. Their target was closer to 30m down, less than ideal for an inexperienced diver like Juliana. Then Cara had learned to try not to impose limits on her friend. And she knew that she too hated being patronized. They shouldn’t be at depth for very long, so hopefully DCS wouldn’t be a risk. Still, she kept a close eye on her partner.

As things became more gloomy, they switched on their headlamps. The narrow beams danced and swivelled as they looked around. Juliana tapped Cara’s arm and pointed ahead. Classical columns rose from the seabed; some toppled, the remaining ones supporting an impressive pediment. The ancient limestone was weathered, but the shape of a bull’s head could just be made out.

More astonishing were the letters below, still legible centuries after they had been carved. As the beams of Cara and Juliana’s lamps criss-crossed the stone, they could discern the inscription:

ΜΙΝΏΤΑΥΡΟΣ

The friends looked at each other and nodded.

In Cara’s experience, it was often far from straightforward to locate the entrance of a temple, let alone a sunken one. But here she could make out a simple doorway on the stylobate, which sat atop a crumbled, three-tiered crepidoma. The portal was set back from the pillars, but its purpose was clear. Cara gesticulated at Juliana, and the pair swam toward the dark rectangle.

The interior was even darker, but Juliana’s lamp picked out a hole in the floor. Exchanging a look, they both headed for it. Three meters down, the passage turned horizontal, and they swam along a drowned corridor. Ahead a blue luminescence began to appear. Columns of light filtered down where the passage again turned upward ninety degrees.

First Cara, then Juliana, ascended the column of water, breaking its surface in a cavernous room. Stone braziers occupied arched recesses on all sides, their eldritch fires fitfully illuminating richly painted walls. Each tableau featured a man with a bull’s head. Many of them seemed to be exercises in Greek erotica, and the male figure was clearly supernaturally endowed.

Cara looked at Juliana questioningly. Cautiously, each removed their breathing apparatus and imbibed the surprisingly fresh air. They clambered out and removed their tanks. Each brandishing a harpoon-gun, the two women made for a grand entrance in the far wall. It was flanked by humano-taurine statues.

🏛️ 🏛️ 🏛️

As Cara and Juliana stood on the threshold of the inner sanctum, a low throbbing met their ears, and they could feel the floor vibrate under their feet. Cara looked at the statue next to her uneasily.

“What are we waiting for?” asked Juliana. “You’re not afraid of the boogie man are you?”

“When you’ve seen what I’ve seen…” replied Cara as if she wasn’t entirely focused on the here and now, “...but, OK, let’s get going.”

The corridor behind the entrance was less impressive, narrowing so that the women barely had room to walk side by side. Cara threw her spear-gun over her back and unsealed a dry bag. From it, she took a Walther Q5. She handed it to Juliana before taking the second gun herself. Rather ruefully, Cara wished that she had brought a shotgun, but the bag was not capacious enough for anything beyond the two sidearms.

The humming reached a crescendo as they arrived at a second doorway. The pair peeped into the room ahead. It was lit from above by some unseen source, and unadorned, save for a three meter, golden statue in the center. A statue once more with a bull’s head, two bull’s legs, but a man’s torso, complete with erect phallus. Not that any man had such an organ, it was longer than Cara’s forearm.