Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.
*****
Author's notes: I wanted to write a short piece in the style of a "bodice ripper" except with a male "heroine" as the main character. Since such works are invariably historical romances this story is too, though I decided to set it in the Bronze Age instead any of the more popular periods just for fun.
Disclaimer: The following is a piece of fiction. Fiction (in case you don't know) means it's made up, not real, a bunch of lies. The characters in the story are all fictional too, meaning they don't exist. While non-existent, if they existed and had an age they would be over 18.
Furthermore, since the characters aren't real they can't possibly be harmed by the stuff they do or that happens to them in the story. This would not be true in reality, meaning you should not think you can do the same things safely, legally, or ethically in real life. Just because bullets bounce off Superman (he's fictional) that doesn't mean they're going to bounce off you, got it? If you believe that the things fictional characters do in a pornographic story are a valid guide to behavior in the real world, then you have much bigger psychological problems than a story could ever cause and you should stop reading this and seek medical help immediately.
Danili wakes with dawn's light playing into the chamber. Rising from bed Danili makes the first obeisance of the day, toward the archway which opens onto the main shrine where the god lives. Danili stretches and pads naked over the tile floor to the door of the other entryway and goes outside to void. After this Danili uses the clyster, the same as every morning. This is not a day when the temple calendar calls for the channel to be clean, but at times the god unexpectedly indicates his desire for such usage and it is better to be prepared.
Danili returns to the bedchamber, goes to the wash-corner and fills the basin there from the pitcher to bathe. Next comes the sharp bronze razor to shave any stray hair that grew overnight. There is not much to deal with for Danili had tweezed just five days before at the new moon, as is customary. The long dark head of hair is combed out with a little oil to make it supple, then twisted it into a braid and wound to the top of the head. The silver wreath that both serves as fillet and marks the wearer as the god's servant goes in.
A light perfume over the body, after which Danili uses the polished metal mirror to apply lip rouge, followed by kohl around the eyes. Only when all these preparation are done does Danili don a summer chiton made of sheerest Coan silk, so thin that it almost floats as it falls to mid-calf length. Some ceremonies call for more elaborate robes, but today chiton and silver wreath will be Danili's sole clothing aside from leather sandals after leaving the temple. Danili is finally ready to enter the presence of the god.
Danili walks through the archway into the central shrine, lights the candles and incense on the altar, and prostrates before the graven image, all the while chanting the morning prayer. When this is done Danili remains face-down, waiting to see if a sign will be vouchsafed. But this morning there is nothing, no inner urge or outer portent indicating the god's desires. Danili rises, bows, and slowly backs out of the shrine.
Besides the bedchamber and the shrine there are only a few other rooms making up the small hilltop temple. Danili goes to the one that serves as both store-room and kitchen for a breakfast of dried figs and yesterday's flatbread. The supply of figs is already running low. Danili sighs because soon all the fruit left will be a few handfuls of raisins and the Egyptian dates. Hopefully the ship from home bringing the necessarily supplies will come earlier than usual this month.
After eating Danili goes to the front door of the temple, takes the silver ewer and steps into sandals. The cistern that supplies Danili's own water is full, but the god's rituals require fresh water from the sacred spring at the foot of the hill each and every day. The weather is already getting hot, so Danili quickly walks away from the temple into the shade of the trees. Not just for comfort but because the god demands pale skin on his servants. Danili cannot remain out in the sun for long or else he might tan.
Danili walks down the wooded slope, picking his way because there are no roads or trails on the island. Nor for that matter are there any structures aside from the temple, nor dwellers aside from Danili. It is too holy a place for ordinary men to live. In addition the isle is quite small and rocky, almost entirely surrounded by reefs which make navigation dangerous, and has no large patches of flat land that might be farmed. Danili barely has a herb garden for his own use, he couldn't possible grow enough food to support himself.
Danili once served the god in the great temple in Ugarit. It was a much different existence, living as part of a community of priests in a bustling city, but it is a signal honor to be the god's sole servant here on his holy island. Danili cannot regret that being chosen, though lately he's felt more and more lonely.
Perhaps it is because Danili is thinking about such things rather than his duty to the god that he stumbles unaware upon the intruders. There is an open space half way to the spring. He steps out of the scrubby woods into the full daylight and sees them. More than a half-dozen, some lounging on the ground, others trying unsuccessfully to start a fire with twirled stick. Most are half-naked, all are unkempt.
Fear that they are marauders shoots through Danili. The crew of the supply ship has told him how renegades, lawbreakers, and escaped slaves have become more frequent in the nearby waters in recent times.
They spot Danili at the same time he sees them. "A woman!" one of them shouts. Immediately they are on their feet, advancing on him.
Danili takes a breath to calm himself and holds his ground. He counts eight of them now, the one in the lead taller than the rest. This one is not so rough-looking as the others and he smiles, flashing white teeth and holding out empty hands to show Danili his peaceful intentions. This is reassuring, though the others still look very roguish.
"Good meeting, priestess," the tall man calls out, coming forward.
"Priest," Danili corrects gently. Their expressions as they look more closely at his white-robed form are rather comical, Danili suppresses a laugh. "I am the priest of Dagon on this, his holy and sacrosanct isle. And who are you?"
"Why, we are poor shipwrecked sailors, looking for help," the tall one says smoothly. "We meant no sacrilege coming here, we were cast ashore by the waves."
Now that they are close the truth to the man's words is obvious. The men wear salt-stained sailor's garb, or the rags of such, and are as gnarled, hairy, and unattractive as Danili has come to expect from men who work the sea.
Their leader looks different. His clothes were once of higher quality, and he is taller and straight-limbed with curly hair and a well-trimmed beard, while his skin is tanned but unblemished. He looks and moves like an athlete, or even one of the old heroic demi-gods. Danili cannot help but feel friendly towards him.
Danili notes too that the sailors are not armed like raiders as he'd first feared. Some but not all wear belt knives, the other things they carry are various ropes and pieces of timber obviously salvaged from the wreck. Only the leader bears a sword, through Danili knows the weapon must have greatly burdened him as he swam away from his sinking ship. Danili imagines him fighting the waves while bravely refusing to part with his blade, it was the way a true hero would act.
Still, Danili has responsibilities and it is prudent question strangers. "It is lucky you were able to reach here at all. The island's reefs are very dangerous and ships rarely sail this route. Where was your craft headed?"
"It's not like we wanted to come this way, we were forced," one of the sailors mutters.
