Having written some stuff recently that is neither poetry nor an anecdote but that I would like to keep for myself and would also appreciate the opinions of those of you that I have asked to look at my writing in the hope of feedback I am putting on this new page called simply Prose.
A lightning bolt struck my house in Sweden a few of years ago and crashed my computer. Perhaps the Gods are trying to tell me something. I lost in principle almost all the seventeen years of files that I had saved without backup. A recovery program that I ran recovered only a few small fragments of what were the first thirty two chapters of the novel that I was writing at the time. I have still a lot of my research for the book which alone had taken me at least two years to compile. I will in time try to rewrite but for the moment it lies on ice until my many other projects allow me the time and energy to continue. I put what I have managed to save here for your consideration. My prose writing is in a considerably less ostentatious vain than most of my stabs at writing poetry and I would truly appreciate your valued opinions.
A lightning bolt struck my house in Sweden a few of years ago and crashed my computer. Perhaps the Gods are trying to tell me something. I lost in principle almost all the seventeen years of files that I had saved without backup. A recovery program that I ran recovered only a few small fragments of what were the first thirty two chapters of the novel that I was writing at the time. I have still a lot of my research for the book which alone had taken me at least two years to compile. I will in time try to rewrite but for the moment it lies on ice until my many other projects allow me the time and energy to continue. I put what I have managed to save here for your consideration. My prose writing is in a considerably less ostentatious vain than most of my stabs at writing poetry and I would truly appreciate your valued opinions.
Ruby
Ruby was a girl. A beautiful. Fragile. Troubled girl. I say was because she is no more.
Not in a temporal form that I can hold. Comfort, Disappoint. Buy flowers for just because I loved her.
She lives in my memory and in the memories of all of us who dared to love her. A gift for a heartbeat of eternity. A spectre. Haunting.
She as us all had many crosses to bear. One of them ending in a needle point. Not the point that led her to the point of no return. What led her there I will never know. She did not share. Bitch.
She drank two bottles of my brandy. Ate three months’ supply of the sleeping pills that I was keeping for a rainy day that never came. Unwitting supplier. To blame? It was not my fault.
But the burden. A Herculean task. Christian´s "Similitude of a Dream".
I should have seen it coming.
I should have been there to stop her not in a bar without her drinking a drink I did not want. Did not need.
Woolen suited wolf. Hyding.
She was cruel. Did the deed in our bed. Let me come home to find her naked and beautiful as never before.
The preternatural beauty of an angel. Breathtaking. Fragile. Adamantine.
Snow White impervious to the charmed kiss of a would be Prince. Paupered. Robbed. Distraught. Despoiled forever and a day. Blamed. Banned from her funeral. No pilgrimage. No peace. No place of rest.
I would like to believe that death is the first step on a new adventure. Let´s hope that I am right.
In which Heaven? Which Hell? Which Macrocosm? Which Microcosm? Which Time? Elemental? Spiritual? Nothing?
I do not believe in Nothing, Nothing cannot exist. It is beyond the capacity of the human mind to conceive, Nothing is a huge place.
I do not need to know, I do not want to know.
Only the dead can tell and they only speak to me in dreams that I have learned to forget before I wake.
Tales written on the pages of the blackest book hidden on the highest shelf in the darkest recess of the library of my mind.
Bound with bands of steel. Locked. It has to be there. It has to be read.
I am man enough. Crying cleans my crusty soul. Tom Waits. I drink. I cry. Cry goodbye to Ruby´s arms.
Memory is kind. I don´t remember the anniversary of her death. This year it is today, I cry and am cleansed. Confessed. Absolved.
Forgiven? Ah to be a catholic. To believe. Have faith. Too easy. Life is not easy. Death is not easy. Should not be chosen.
Blind justice sees. Karma finds. No place to hide.
Conatus Essendi. Tempus Fugit. Carpe Dium. Omnia Mutantur. Nihil Interit.
Ruby was a girl. A beautiful. Fragile. Troubled girl. I say was because she is no more.
Not in a temporal form that I can hold. Comfort, Disappoint. Buy flowers for just because I loved her.
She lives in my memory and in the memories of all of us who dared to love her. A gift for a heartbeat of eternity. A spectre. Haunting.
She as us all had many crosses to bear. One of them ending in a needle point. Not the point that led her to the point of no return. What led her there I will never know. She did not share. Bitch.
She drank two bottles of my brandy. Ate three months’ supply of the sleeping pills that I was keeping for a rainy day that never came. Unwitting supplier. To blame? It was not my fault.
But the burden. A Herculean task. Christian´s "Similitude of a Dream".
I should have seen it coming.
I should have been there to stop her not in a bar without her drinking a drink I did not want. Did not need.
Woolen suited wolf. Hyding.
She was cruel. Did the deed in our bed. Let me come home to find her naked and beautiful as never before.
The preternatural beauty of an angel. Breathtaking. Fragile. Adamantine.
Snow White impervious to the charmed kiss of a would be Prince. Paupered. Robbed. Distraught. Despoiled forever and a day. Blamed. Banned from her funeral. No pilgrimage. No peace. No place of rest.
I would like to believe that death is the first step on a new adventure. Let´s hope that I am right.
In which Heaven? Which Hell? Which Macrocosm? Which Microcosm? Which Time? Elemental? Spiritual? Nothing?
I do not believe in Nothing, Nothing cannot exist. It is beyond the capacity of the human mind to conceive, Nothing is a huge place.
I do not need to know, I do not want to know.
Only the dead can tell and they only speak to me in dreams that I have learned to forget before I wake.
Tales written on the pages of the blackest book hidden on the highest shelf in the darkest recess of the library of my mind.
Bound with bands of steel. Locked. It has to be there. It has to be read.
I am man enough. Crying cleans my crusty soul. Tom Waits. I drink. I cry. Cry goodbye to Ruby´s arms.
Memory is kind. I don´t remember the anniversary of her death. This year it is today, I cry and am cleansed. Confessed. Absolved.
Forgiven? Ah to be a catholic. To believe. Have faith. Too easy. Life is not easy. Death is not easy. Should not be chosen.
Blind justice sees. Karma finds. No place to hide.
Conatus Essendi. Tempus Fugit. Carpe Dium. Omnia Mutantur. Nihil Interit.
Excerpt From ”The Apocalypse” The Final Book in my Trilogy ”Blood Lines”
The Farrier sat and studied the crowd his senses honed to any possible danger; the afternoon sun struck his black armour, a stark contrast to the glistening white coat of Albion the quintessential sentinel.
The voice of Death came to him through his headset “There is disturbing intelligence of what could be a serious threat from within the abbey” he said,” Drummer has the door. I want you to turn and ride, gently, causing as little disturbance as possible, up the steps, through the door and all the way down the nave to take up a defensive position in front of the king. Ignore any complaints from the priests. Leave enough space for Ireland, Scotland and myself to join you, it is imperative that I have eye contact with the king when I arrive, be ready to defend the king from anyone no matter who it might be, we will join you momentarily.”
Farrier obeyed instantly and without question. Feeling it to be the wrong choice of weapon he sheathed his axe and unclipped the bow at his back. As he approached the Great West Door it opened, all eyes turned to meet him as he rode calmly through the portal and into the abbey; Albion strode majestically down the nave as if born for it. In the acoustic genius of the choir the sound of his hooves reached upwards, walking first in the wuthering splendour of the gothic arches high over their heads, then fell back to earth, a regiment of cavalry on the march.
He saw every movement in the crowd and cast his stony gaze over royalty, presidents, prime ministers and general dignitaries alike seeking out a face. He would know immediately who it was, eyes irrefutable mirrors of the soul could tell him no lies.
As he neared the throne the Arch Bishop tried to attract his attention. Unsure if he should proceed with the ceremony his eyes begged for guidance. Farrier ignored him. He and Albion bowed a curt graceful greeting to the king before he turned and sent the full power of his gaze upon the crowd, a figure carved in stone.
The fabric of time shifted seamlessly. The events that were to play out in the next few moments unfolded almost in slow motion with a dreamlike quality not of this world.
Cogadh an equine volcano erupted into the abbey, his blood red mane streaming around him. The effortless power of his motion flowed like molten lava relentlessly pursuing its course. Scotland, his fathers’ heavy claymore in his hand, expression a silent challenge to anyone who would presume to cross their path. Gorta, head high and proud shrouded with his mane of midnight black a grim shadow dancing at their heels. Ireland in his green uniform grew from his back, moss upon a stone. Hooves thundered from every gravestone that paved their way, drummed a march of doom, three beats, hiatus and three beats more. Scotland, responding to the order from his headset roared "Come".
Death made his entrance. All heads turned and stared as one like a many headed beast. All knew instinctively that they stared not at Field Marshal Arthur Wellesley but into the very jaws of Death himself. A universal wave of fear broke upon the sea of faces. Farrier knew in that instant that Death himself was the adversary. How could he have been so blind? How could he not have seen it sooner? He stared into the eyes that mirrored the soul of Death and Farrier was afraid.
Death and Gwaid reared, framed by the Great West Door. For an eternity of seconds they held the perfect levade, posing shamelessly for all to see. Death looked directly at the king and his sadness was terible to behold, the regret of legions of tormented soul’s clammered behind his eyes reaching for salvation.
At the back of his saddle hung a great helm, black as Hades and crested with a human skull, Farrier had never seen it before, he felt its disquieting aura and he did not like it, he did not like it at all.
Without warning Gwaid galloped directly toward the king. In the blinking of an eye Farrier had an arrow to his bow but not fast enough, Death was amongst them. Gwaid stopped dead, inches from the king. A lesser horseman would have been catapulted from the saddle, not Death. He spoke to the king in a clear voice reaching out not only to the assembled dignitaries of the world but also to the masses watching them by satalite.
“This day has been a long time in coming and from this day forward I will not call you or any man my king, I am here to take that which is mine to take. My linage will be proven and the lines of my blood flow both deep and long. I make no claim to England nor to Scotland or Ireland, that is for others to do, but Wales is mine by right and I will have her. I hereby issue fomal challenge for the kingdom of Wales, to be taken up by the king or by his champion.” The silence in abbey was tangible.” I pray that you and your government will see fit to give her up to me peacefully but make no mistake I will take her by any means I must. She will be mine. Do not trust my love for yourself or for Farrier, he is Englands´finest, a formidable champion who would follow you as a lamb unto the slaughter and God forbid that you should bring Dymoke into this, it is not for him.” Death sighed,”I beg you to acceed, I will not willingly take your life nor the life of any champion you would throw at me but no man may raise his arm to me and be allowed to keep it, I can testify to the inconvenience of living life without one. The outcome cannot be not changed, things will be as they must be and the balance will be restored. No one will challenge you for the throne of England, it is yours by right but the rest of your kingdom is not yours to keep and there is no shame in returning to those who have the claim of blood that which is rightly thiers.”
The young man that was to be His Majesty King William the fifth, by the Grace of God, of Great Britain, Ireland and the British Dominions beyond the Seas, King Defender of the Faith looked at Death with an expression of disbelief. ” Field Marshal you cannot be serious.” His voice could not disguise the hurt and anger he was feeling, nor could it disguise his fear.” The Dukes of Wellington have no claim to the crown. My linage is undisputable.” he looked around in search of support from the Arch Bishops and Cardinals at his side. They were silent.
“It is not my intention to belittle your linage boy but your history cannot be traced back for more than a few short centuries, a drop in the ocean of time. Nor am I the man you think me to be, I am not nor have I ever been a Wellesley, I am a wolf in sheep’s clothing, an impostor.” Death grew perceptibly in the saddle.” My name is Artur Ddanytos ap Gwrlais , Tywysog Cymru High King of Wales and of the Britton’s, I am the direct descendant of Solor the first king of Glywysing and Vortigen the first High King. My ancestors have kept records of our bloodline since the birth of the written word. When writing was still considered to be a magic art their scribes meticulously catalogued the great wealth of history preserved in the oral traditions of the Dryw and the bards. We were the kings of Glywysing and we were chieftains among the Silures, the blood in my veins flows back to the chieftain and hunter called by us “Brenin Coch”, the red king who was laid to rest thirty thousand long years ago in a cave of limestone. He is now mistakenly called the” Red Lady” and his bones lie naked for all to see at the University of Oxford and if there is a scrap of DNA to be found in his ancient body it is shared by me and if that is not enough there lies in me a single drop of blood that will forever bind us all to that which simply is, was and ever shall be beyond the realms of time.
The entire hall was silent, not quite able to grasp the full implication of his words.
Cogadh strode forward and the voice of Scotland took its turn to ring out amongst them.” I am Malcolm Craig Weir and I am Scotland. I issue formal challenge for the throne of Scotland. It is mine by right and my proof will not be found wanting. My bloodline is pure and can be traced back without question to the very first king of Scotland and before that to the great chieftains of the Picts.” He raised his sword above his head. “I also beg that you give her to me without violence, but know that I will crush any man who dares to stand before me.”
Gorta cast his hoof upon the stone breaking the silence with a menacing thud. Gorta stepped forward and the voice of Ireland took its turn to fill the silence. “I am Donald O´Brian and I am Ireland. You have my formal challenge for that part of Ireland you claim as yours. All Ireland is mine and my roots are deeper than the very sea that holds us apart.
An eerie voice amongst them proclaimed: "A quart of wheat for a day's wages, and three quarts of barley for a day's wages, and do not damage the oil and the wine".
"A regiment of soldiers stands just outside these doors and within this holy place there are strategically placed men armed and ready to shoot at me on your order, some of whom will and all of whom should. It is one thing to shoot and another to kill, the resulting blood and chaos could never be washed from your hands."
Again the eerie voice rang out."Quoniam populus sanctus es Domino Deo tuo et te elegit ut sis ei in populum peculiarem de cunctis gentibus quae sunt super terram."
For you are a people holy to the Lord your God. Out of all the peoples on the face of the earth, the Lord has chosen you to be his treasured possession. Since holy lord god your chosen people are the first nation on earth.
Field Marshal Duke Arthur Wellesley, ”Wales” (Death)
The Pale Horse Gwaid (The Black Horse)
When the Lamb broke the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying, “Come.” I looked, and behold, an ashen horse; and he who sat on it had the name Death; and Hades was following with him. Authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by the wild beasts of the earth.
Revelation 6:7-8
The fourth and final horseman is named Death. Known as "Θάνατος/Thanatos", of all the riders, he is the only one to whom the text itself explicitly gives a name. Unlike the other three, he is not described carrying a weapon or other object; instead he is followed by Hades the resting place of the dead.
The color of Death's horse is written as khlōros χλωρός in the original Koine Greek, which can mean either green/greenish-yellow or pale/pallid. The color is often translated as pale, though ashen, pale green, and yellowish green are other possible interpretations. The Greek word is the root for chlorophyll and chlorine. Based on uses of the word in ancient Greek medical literature, several scholars suggest that the color reflects the sickly pallor of a corpse.
The verse beginning "they were given power over a fourth of the earth" is generally taken as referring to Death and Hades, although some commentators see it as applying to all four horsemen.
General Albert Smith, The Farrier (Conquest)
The White Horse Albion (The Black Horse)
The first horseman as depicted in the Bamberg Apocalypse (1000-1020)
I watched as the Lamb opened the first of the seven seals. Then I heard one of the four living creatures say in a voice like thunder, "Come!" I looked, and there before me was a white horse Its rider held a bow, he was given a crown, and he rode out as a conqueror bent on conquest.
Albion (Greek: Ἀλβιών) is the oldest known name of the island of Great Britain. It is thought to derive from the white cliffs of Dover. Today it is still sometimes used poetically to refer to the island or England in particular.
Gallo-Latin Albiōn (Middle Irish Albbu) derives from the proto-celtic alb-ien, sharing the same stem as Welsh elfydd - earth/world, together with other toponyms such as alpes. The Latin word alba is the feminine singular form of the adjective albus - white. French aube, Spanish and Italian alba.
Then I saw when the Lamb broke one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures saying as with a voice of thunder, “Come.” I looked, and behold, a white horse, and he who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer.
Revelation 6:1-2 New American Standard Bible (NASB)
Based on the above passage a common translation into English is that the white rider is generally referred to as Conquest. The name could also be construed as Victory, as in the translation found in the Jerusalem Bible. The Greek words are derived from the verb νικάω - to conquer or vanquish. He carries a bow, and wears a victor's crown.
The rider has also been called "Pestilence", particularly in popular culture.
Irenaeus, an influential Christian theologian of the 2nd century, was among the first to interpret this horseman as Christ himself, his white horse representing the successful spread of the gospel. Various scholars have since supported this notion, citing the later appearance, in Revelation 19, of Christ mounted on a white horse, appearing as The Word of God. Furthermore, earlier in the New Testament, the Book of Mark indicates that the advance of the gospel may indeed precede and foretell the apocalypse. The color white also tends to represent righteousness in the Bible, and Christ is in other instances portrayed as a conqueror.
However, opposing interpretations argue that the first of the four horsemen is probably not the horseman of Revelation 19. They are described in significantly different ways, and Christ's role as the Lamb who opens the seven seals makes it unlikely that he would also be one of the forces released by the seals.
Besides Christ, the horseman could represent the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit was understood to have come upon the Apostles at Pentecost after Jesus' departure from Earth. The appearance of the Lion in Revelation 5 shows the triumphant arrival of Jesus in Heaven, and the white horseman could represent the sending of the Holy Spirit by Jesus and the advance of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Other interpretations relying on comparative religious research ascribe the first horseman as guiding for "the right path"; Mahabharata Lord Krishna was a charioteer to Arjuna by riding on white horses, while Arjuna himself was an archer.
General Malcolm Craig Weir, ”Scotland” (War)
The Red Horse Cogadh (The Scots Dragoon Guards)
When the Lamb opened the second seal, I heard the second living creature say, "Come!" Then another horse came out, a fiery red one. Its rider was given power to take peace from the earth and to make men slay each other. To him was given a large sword.
Revelation 6:3-4
The rider of the second horse is often taken to represent War, he is often pictured holding a sword upwards as though ready for battle or mass slaughter. His horse's colour is red πυρρός, from πῦρ, fire and in some translations the colour is specifically a "fiery" red. The colour red as well as the rider's possession of a great sword, suggests blood that is to be spilled. The sword held upward by the second horseman may represent war or a declaration of war as seen in heraldry. In military symbolism swords held upward especially crossed swords held upward signify war and entering into battle. See for example the historical and modern images as well as the coat of arms of Jeanne of Arc.
The second horseman may represent civil war as opposed to the war of conquest that the first horseman is sometimes said to bring. Other commentators have suggested that it might also represent the persecution of Christians.
From the Celtic cog -gn - ag. -adh - fight/war.
The Red Horse Cogadh (The Scots Dragoon Guards)
When the Lamb opened the second seal, I heard the second living creature say, "Come!" Then another horse came out, a fiery red one. Its rider was given power to take peace from the earth and to make men slay each other. To him was given a large sword.
Revelation 6:3-4
The rider of the second horse is often taken to represent War, he is often pictured holding a sword upwards as though ready for battle or mass slaughter. His horse's colour is red πυρρός, from πῦρ, fire and in some translations the colour is specifically a "fiery" red. The colour red as well as the rider's possession of a great sword, suggests blood that is to be spilled. The sword held upward by the second horseman may represent war or a declaration of war as seen in heraldry. In military symbolism swords held upward especially crossed swords held upward signify war and entering into battle. See for example the historical and modern images as well as the coat of arms of Jeanne of Arc.
The second horseman may represent civil war as opposed to the war of conquest that the first horseman is sometimes said to bring. Other commentators have suggested that it might also represent the persecution of Christians.
From the Celtic cog -gn - ag. -adh - fight/war.
General Donald O´Brian, “Ireland” (Famine)
The Black Horse Gorta (Royal Dragoon Guards)
When He broke the third seal, I heard the third living creature saying “Come”. I looked and behold a black horse and he who sat on it had a pair of scales in his hand, and I heard something like a voice in the center of the four living creatures saying “A quart of wheat for a denarius and three quarts of barley for a denarius, but do not damage the oil and the wine”.
Revelation 6:5-6
The third horseman rides a black horse and is popularly understood to be Famine as the horseman carries a pair of balances or weighing scales indicating the way that bread would have been weighed during a famine. Other authors interpret the third horseman as the Lord as a Law-Giver holding Scales of Justice. In the passage it is read that the indicated price of grain is about ten times normal, thus the popular interpretation famine, with an entire day's wages (a denarius) buying enough wheat for only one person or enough of the less nutritious barley for three so that workers would struggle to feed their families.
Of the four horsemen, the black horse and its rider are the only ones whose appearance is accompanied by a vocal pronunciation. John hears a voice, unidentified but coming from among the four living creatures, that speaks of the prices of wheat and barley, also saying "and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine". This suggests that famine is to drive up the price of grain but leave oil and wine supplies unaffected though out of reach of the ordinary worker. One explanation for this is that grain crops would have been more naturally susceptible to famine years or locust plagues than olive trees and grapevines which root more deeply. The statement might also suggest a continuing abundance of luxuries for the wealthy while staples such as bread are scarce though not totally depleted Such selective scarcity may result from injustice and the deliberate production of luxury crops for the wealthy over grain as would have happened during the time Revelation was written. Alternatively the preservation of oil and wine could symbolize the preservation of the Christian faithful who used oil and wine in their sacraments.
The Black Horse Gorta (Royal Dragoon Guards)
When He broke the third seal, I heard the third living creature saying “Come”. I looked and behold a black horse and he who sat on it had a pair of scales in his hand, and I heard something like a voice in the center of the four living creatures saying “A quart of wheat for a denarius and three quarts of barley for a denarius, but do not damage the oil and the wine”.
Revelation 6:5-6
The third horseman rides a black horse and is popularly understood to be Famine as the horseman carries a pair of balances or weighing scales indicating the way that bread would have been weighed during a famine. Other authors interpret the third horseman as the Lord as a Law-Giver holding Scales of Justice. In the passage it is read that the indicated price of grain is about ten times normal, thus the popular interpretation famine, with an entire day's wages (a denarius) buying enough wheat for only one person or enough of the less nutritious barley for three so that workers would struggle to feed their families.
Of the four horsemen, the black horse and its rider are the only ones whose appearance is accompanied by a vocal pronunciation. John hears a voice, unidentified but coming from among the four living creatures, that speaks of the prices of wheat and barley, also saying "and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine". This suggests that famine is to drive up the price of grain but leave oil and wine supplies unaffected though out of reach of the ordinary worker. One explanation for this is that grain crops would have been more naturally susceptible to famine years or locust plagues than olive trees and grapevines which root more deeply. The statement might also suggest a continuing abundance of luxuries for the wealthy while staples such as bread are scarce though not totally depleted Such selective scarcity may result from injustice and the deliberate production of luxury crops for the wealthy over grain as would have happened during the time Revelation was written. Alternatively the preservation of oil and wine could symbolize the preservation of the Christian faithful who used oil and wine in their sacraments.
Mirah
Mirah was a very beautiful woman. She stood naked, head held high. The flickering torchlight reflecting from her lightly oiled skin illuminated her taught lightly muscled stomach and the gentle curvature of her ample breasts, nipples a shade darker than her smooth flawless ebony skin. When excited they stood long and proud, now they did not. Her face a sculpture of a true master; high brow, soft full lips pouting over strong jaw, dazzling white eyes a dramatic contrast to her black heavy brows, dark alluring irises black holes that sucked in all who dared to look at her. The lips of her vagina revealed a shocking glimpse of pink below a clitoris that refused to swell under the careless toying of the stubby pallid fingers of the hand of Al Ahkbar. She knew her taste to be exceptional and the fingers that prodded deep into her seeking the juices he prized like a fine wine were sniffed and sucked from his fingers by the fat ugly corpse white connoisseur.
The girl that kneeled at his side gently sucking his small ill formed penis was probably no more than ten years old. Raven haired, her breasts mere buds in the first stage of puberty, pubic hair as yet not grown. Mirah felt sorry for the child despite careful washing and the use of the finest aromatic oils his penis still had an unpleasant astringent taste and odour that made her want to vomit. The child appeared to be pleasing Al Ahkbar for the moment and she was glad for that. He valued a girl who could please him with her mouth and tongue. She made a mental note to teach the girl some of the unpleasant techniques that might help her live to be a woman.
Al Ahkbar was not always satisfied with the gentle ministrations of his poor servants, he was prone to unspeakable acts of depravity that could easily result in permanent damage or death for those girls he appreciated less in the bedchamber.
Mirah cast a glance at the guard behind her; a tall handsome man not of her own tribe but nonetheless a strong well muscled man that she did not find unattractive. On the contrary she took pleasure in teasing him with her eyes and licked her lips provocatively allowing her eyes to look down at the tempting protrusion that stood out against his tunic. A real penis, she had never seen but she could see that it was long and she phantasised on how it would look if she could take it in her hand and please him. She could never do it of course; she was guarded night and day in the women's tent when she was not actively in service but her little phantasies were an important tool that allowed her to provide Al Ahkbar with the juice that kept her alive.
She looked around the tent. It was large and lined with the finest Chinese silk that money could buy, black, everything black,
Al Ahbar’s favourite colour. She looked at the man at the door; he had been standing there patiently waiting for some time clearly wanting audience but she was distracted by Al Ahkbar`s feeble orgasm. Once again she felt sorry for the child who now had to carefully lick up every drop and feed it back to her despicable master. She knew that it tasted vile and she could see by the girl's expression that she did not like it any more than she did herself. He called for wine and was served by another poor naked child hardly old enough to bear the heavy golden goblet. He drank deeply wiped his mouth with her hair and indicated to the man at the door to approach. The man lifted the basket at his side, carried it to Al Ahkbar and prostrated himself behind it. “The head of Bazir my lord” he said simply. “Open it up and let me see”. The man took off the lid of the basket and raised the head of Bazir by the hair. Al Ahkbar smiled broadly. “You don’t look so importent any more old friend” he said, “Dig out the brain, the eyes and the tongue, give them to my cook and pole the rest outside my tent. I’m feeling a little tired for the moment and must rest, I’ll have him for breakfast”.