Reader beware.
In addition to not having a happy ending, I wrote this story to be read as 'playfully reluctant', but for some it may stray into areas of dubious consent, or non-consent.
Special thanks to LindsayMurray and a little ox.
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Mercury forged these chains long before the tree of life had its roots—before then even, when the first winds had yet to stir the yellow sands of Africa, and the crust of the earth still rippled and churned, yet unmade in fire. Then came I, ten thousand moons later, and these manacles were stamped upon me roughshod for daring to steal from him, the god of thieves. He called that justice, and they called me Thief of Thieves.
When I was young, I carved the fat wide flanks of oxtail and laid them on the plates of my betters, and so they called me butcher. And then, when there were no more
lire
in that olive groved place that birthed me and the clay walls of my abattoir were rotted and collapsing, I took to cart and road and trudged from Roman town to Roman town until they called me robber.
I did steal, of that I am guilty, but I did it well, pardoned by the privilege of my cunning and the slash of my knife. I stole jewels with a thousand brilliant faces and gold bars stamped in the seal of every little hill and fief—and I stole the life of every man who ever tried to stop me, and the heart of every woman who ever saw me. When I was older, they called me butcher still, but from hide to hollow they feared me.
It was a hot summer when I stumbled into that winding creek, a patrician's jewels in my pocket, his blood on my knife. Knee-deep, I waded as the round blue stones clacked and the cold water splashed, and all along the shore the lank grass waved to me. I breathed deep and washed myself clean of blood and shame and counted the spoils of my good day's work. It came to me then, from beyond the yielding yellow stalks, a song that hummed on the breeze. It was the sound of a woman, lighter than the note any bird had ever sung, and for the length of a single moment it held me spellbound as river and song ran around me.
Up the stream I pushed, stones shuffling and rolling beneath me as the water burbled against my knees. I rounded the winding bank and, in the shallows, a young woman stood undressed except for a blue gossamer behind her shoulders. Her nude pink skin reflected in the cool water, and her hair was thick and fell like leaves to her hips as she teased it. As she hummed, her song vibrated through me until my charmed heart dared not beat.
She smiled, continuing her song until I was upon her. Then her notes crested and playfully ceased.
"These are dangerous parts," I said lowly. "And here are alarming men."
With timid fingers in her hair, she stepped towards me, then her hands touched my chest. I snatched her wrists, holding the small squares of her hands against me.
"What game is this?" I smiled and spun her so that she pressed against me. Over her shoulder she looked back, her hips rolling and gibing as a weak purr escaped her. I held her hands across her chest, breathing deep as she satisfied me with the warmth and touch of her bare body. But as my thoughts slowed in anticipation, she slipped from my hands and ran from the river.
The water splashed in high arcs as she high-stepped and surged up the stony shore and, as she ran, she looked back to me, giggling gleefully. Smiling, I growled and gave chase as her bare feet padded into the woods.
Beneath me, branches snapped and leaves rustled, and I stalked after her with ever greater need.
"Where are you, my river stone?" I called. Her giggles echoed through the woods like the song of birds. Around me, the greenery was dark and chilled and above a trunk of cold cloud moved across the sky. I spun hither and thither looking for her, but she was lost in those shaded woods.
I cut my way to a field of ferns atop a hill and brushed through them. There, I found her thin blue gossamer, and I smiled at its warmth as I took in the smell of her. These were the tantalizing games of young women, and oh, how I loved to play. Down the hill I trudged, hopeful for what awaited me.
I crossed into another copse where the trees spread their fingers, threatening to catch me in their dark-webbed canopies. With each step, hope lagged behind me until at last I broke into a clearing. A field of yellow and green grass spread out before me, a small cottage in its center, where smoke lifted from its chimney and its thatch roof lay bleached in the sun. Like a hunter upon his prey, I followed the trail of her bare steps through the windswept grass, and as I did, a heavy weight grew between my legs.
Through a window, I peered in. On the edge of her wooden bed, she sat, her body as bare and beautiful as the blue skies of Thessalonica, and I could not wait to be near to her.
I pitched through the door, breathing ragged as I looked upon her.
She smiled. Her legs uncrossed and then closed once more. She leaned back on the mattress where the stems and vanes of feathers poked through the mattress's seams. A taunt?
In the hearth, a small fire burned and smelt of rich wood. Bushels of herbs hung above and between us from the exposed roof beams, and other clay jars laid about the cottage, filled with seed and grain. But there was only one table and one chair, and in all her those wooden features there were no signs of a husband or father.
It was only her and me in the solitude of the woods.
I shut the door, standing far from her. Her eyes fluttered, dark makeup around them. "Do you think it's safe to be here alone?" I asked.
The pink blips of her nipples had hardened and the sight of her wobbling knees stirred my loins. An amused grimace crossed my face as I looked upon her body. How could such a thing of beauty be so close? I pulled off my half-wet tunic and dropped it to the floor with burdened breath. Across my scarred chest, her eyes wandered with carnal curiosity and my nostrils flared in approval as she took me in.
"Out here alone like this," I said, "you must be lonely." Her eyes were playful. Eager. She glanced between face and figure. With patience, her knees wobbled with the rhythm of a lazy cat's tail. Oh, how they begged to be spread and devoured.
Closer I stepped, shoving aside the chair. I stepped again. Her lip folded under her small white teeth. The creaking on the boards grew beneath us as I neared, and the tempo of her knees painfully slowed.
"What is your name, maiden?" Another step.
She smiled and shook her head.
"You won't tell me?"
