Once Upon a Time in the Bronze Age By Merz Ancient history as three strong women might have made it MIGHTY APPOLINA "If she were my daughter, I'd simply put her over my knee and give her a good spanking. That's what the willful pup needs. She forgets her place, and brings trouble to your house when she should be thinking of what's best for the kingdom." Clarius' words came harsh and quick as always. He was an impetuous man, eager to talk of bold action but one who had never carried a spear or bronze sword at the front in battle. Iolean rubbed his brow and held his temper. It was all well and good for Clarius to talk about putting the princess over his knee. He had never tried such a thing and would never be in a position to learn the consequences of such folly. The princess Appolina had long since established herself as the greatest all-around athlete in the realm, accomplished at all tests of strength, speed and skill. Iolean recalled ruefully the last time he had attempted physically to dominate his daughter. It was the night before her fifteenth birthday, seven years ago to the day. Somehow she had goaded her father into a rare display of anger, then pushed him until he actually came to grips with her. He had immediately been astonished at the supple strength of her arms, her quickness, her mastery of wrestling moves he had seen attempted only by veterans of the sport in the annual games. The confrontation ended with Iolean racked across the shoulders of his daughter like a heavy yoke as she bent his spine to the point of snapping before he begged for quarter. He knew she had only improved in the intervening years. Iolean had told himself that in his prime as a warrior such an outcome would have been unthinkable, but he knew he wasn't that far past his best days as a fighter. "She is willful, but she is my daughter and the princess of Vinopolis. And she is no longer a pup. We have reached an . . . agreement. This year she will accept a suitor." "Accept? The impudence of her to think she has a choice in the matter! You should simply name the man, demand the bride money, and set the date. She scandalizes our country and drives down the price anyone would offer to wed her. After last year you should have brought her up short. It was disgusting and an affront to Micosea, our good neighbors who share this island." Clarius remained in hot temper as he recalled the scene in the arena. Iolean winced at the memory as well. The previous spring Stygius of Micosea had offered himself as a prospective groom. Appolina sized him up as a man not particularly bright and notoriously ill mannered. She named a test that would humiliate him in public, unlike some of the contests she had set to qualify - or eliminate, as the case always proved to be - her suitors. This time it would not be horseback riding against the king of a seafaring land, not a running race against a massive prince who would have outmatched her strength. Those men had met their defeat away from onlookers, and could creep off privately in shame. With Stygius she specified wrestling. At the appointed hour she had entered the circle of well-born spectators with the full splendor of her beauty on display. Like male wrestlers she was nude and oiled head to toe. Her muscular body gleamed like hammered bronze, her breasts jutting high and proud above a belly that looked hard as a warrior's shield. Breaking Stygius' spirit and then his body occupied her for a quarter of an hour, and had become a legend throughout all the kingdoms. "Micosea is a nasty land, full of over-proud merchants and deluded philosophers," Iolean replied wearily. "While it might have united our large island, in truth I was pleased not to face the prospect of that boor Stygius as a son-in-law. She has promised. This day she will accept a suitor. You know the feast is already planned for tomorrow. Then she leaves with the chosen man and her attending ladies will either remain here or follow her to a new home." "Bah. She and her attending 'ladies' are a scandal that needs correcting. In your place I would . . . " "Oh good, Lord Clarius. I'm just in time to hear your wisdom. This is my lucky day indeed." The men turned to face the princess Appolina ascending the stairs from her wing of the palace, accompanied by her two particular attendants. "Do go on." As always Iolean was struck first by the resemblance of his daughter's face to his late, beloved wife. The fair, tanned coloring, the high cheekbones and broad forehead, the long streaming golden hair stopped his breathing for a moment each time he beheld her. Her carriage was regal and erect as she stepped up to his level, regal like a panther. She wore a diaphanous tunic that covered but did not conceal the fact that her shoulders were broad, her long arms well muscled, her legs rippled with a runner's strength. Iolean winced to see the flimsy fabric stuck here and there to gleaming sweat that showed the bronzed muscles underneath had again been engaged in the perpetual strenuous exercise that seemed to occupy his daughter's every moment. Clarius gulped and choked on the unfinished sentence. "My lady, um uh this is such an um uh unexpected pleasure. I was just about to take my leave and . . ." "You were just about to make a fool of yourself and test my father's patience still further. Don't test mine as well. As a gift to you on the day before my wedding feast I will offer you an exchange. You may strike me as hard as you wish, wherever you wish, by way of correction. Then I shall strike you in return. Will that provide an acceptable education for us each?" The beautiful face of the princess was a stone mask as she stared down Clarius. Both knew there was little his puny arms could do against her mighty body, and no bone she couldn't crush with a single blow in response. As Clarius gasped and sputtered, King Iolean's gaze moved from his daughter to the figure just behind her: Phaedra Hipolytes, the horsewoman and Appolina's oldest friend. A step below his daughter, her head was at the same level. Phaedra was easily six feet tall and could look eye to eye with the king himself. Her shoulders were even broader than Appolina's, and her robe was pulled aside to display one brawny arm. In my adventuring days, the king thought, my arms were as thick. Then I would have bent this proud commoner to my will. It was a fiction he could not maintain for more than a moment, even in his own imagining, but each time he looked at Phaedra his blood raced as it had as a young warrior and adventurer. Appolina had met Phaedra when the princess was but seven and Phaedra five years older, working with her father in the royal stables. Appolina had been delighted to find the young girl carrying a colt in her arms, a feat that seemed even then beyond a child's strength. That strength had inspired the princess and led to her lifelong quest for her own physical perfection. Over the years Phaedra had demonstrated matchless abilities in breeding and training horses, and she rode as if she were a centaur. Her youthful strength had been further developed until hers were the arms of a metal smith, a craft she inherited from her father. Phaedra met his gaze with eyes as gray as the goddess Athena's herself, her oval face framed by curling dark hair pulled severely back in a thick braid down her back. Phaedra gave the king a slight bow, an ironic smile tugging the corner of her strong mouth. "Best greetings of the day, majesty, counselor Clarius." This morning the third woman stretched as tall as the princess because of her singular posture: she had accompanied her friends by walking on her hands, across the hallway and up the stairs. Now she dipped low to the floor and pushed herself back to full extension in an inverted imitation of a curtsy. "Ahem, Muriam." The princess Appolina made a slightly disapproving noise, so Muriam sprang upright and this time dipped low out of respect for the king. Her movements set off a cheery tinkling from the many bracelets and anklets she wore. As she stood upright again Iolean nearly gasped, as usual when the avatar of strength stood before him. Miriam had kept pace with her friends as they walked and climbed the stairs because her arms looked to be as strong as a good man's legs. Her own legs were matchless pillars of muscle. Between shoulders that loomed like the granite peaks of the mountains on his kingdom's eastern border, Muriam's surprisingly pretty face smiled at her king, a triangular face with dark almond eyes above a red, rosebud mouth that begged to be kissed. Iolean had never seen that face far from a smile and her bubbling spirit always buoyed him. Appolina had discovered the teenaged Muriam performing with an island-hopping circus, her acrobatic skills developed from infancy. Now as a grown woman recently past twenty years she had the body of Hercules. If Hercules were only five feet tall. And if Hercules were female. Despite the surging brawn that covered her form, there was never any doubt that Muriam was a woman and proud of the fact. This morning she was dressed in arousingly short breeches and a leather top that just covered her breasts. The tops of those breasts were compressed into a deep cleavage of pectoral muscle and softer tissue, a costume more befitting her circus heritage than her current status as a freed woman and guest in the palace of the king. "Perhaps I could take advantage of the wise counselor's correction as well. No doubt I could benefit in many ways from intercourse with one so wise in the ways of life and love." She smiled up at Clarius, arching her back so her powerful chest thrust forward provocatively and ran hugely muscled arms down to her bulging thighs as she pushed her womanhood forward. Terrified and aroused, Clarius slunk away without answering either of the women. "Good morning to you all," Iolean greeted them, his throat tightening from a curious mixture of emotions when he was left alone with the trio. "I understand you appointed the start of your interviews for the hour after midday, my dear. The suitors will be my guests for the noon meal, and then I will leave them to you. I am sure you will choose wisely and make me very happy." "And I promise not to hurt any of them. I will start my interviews as soon as I'm out of the bath." She stepped forward for an embrace from her father, but made a point of squeezing his ribs until he thought they would snap while the muscles he felt along her body when he tried to return the pressure were unyielding to his best efforts. As Appolina released him and turned away, Iolean was left again struggling with fear, admiration and a parent's love for his daughter. MEETING A PRINCE The three strolled whispering down an arcade toward the bathing room reserved for women in the palace. Absorbed in her conversation Appolina collided with a tall, slender youth hurrying out of a side room. She steadied him when he recoiled from the impact that didn't seem to bother her at all. "Good day to you, Hemachrestos. You look harried already today, with Dawn barely having painted the sky with her rose-colored fingers." "The sun has been up for hours. If you and your . . . friends would bother leaving your chambers when the rest of the household arose, you might have something to show for this half of the day. But then you were doubtless out late idling along the waterfront. I understand a trading fleet has been in town. Sailors are notorious for running riot in decent towns such as ours, so I'm certain you would have sought them out, forgetting your high birth and behaving like a common . . . " The cold look that came to Appolina's eye stopped his tongue. The prince and heir was four years younger than his sister, but taller and finely made like her. Unlike her, he had not devoted himself exclusively to honing his body to be the finest in the land. He was more studious and took seriously his destiny to inherit the crown from his father. As a result his shoulders were slightly rounded, his skin paler, and little of the hard muscle that rippled with every move Appolina made showed itself along his arms or legs. Although not quite twenty, lines of care were starting to crease his brow. "Hema, Hema, Hema. You know better than to accuse us of idleness." Appolina laid her golden arm across his shoulders. The fingers of her right hand bit deeply into his deltoid. Escaping that grip would be like tearing his flesh free from the talons of an eagle. "You know better than to accuse me of anything, in fact, or to ever use that tone of voice. You're not king of Vinopolis yet. Let me think, what is a proper repayment for your rudeness? Ah, I have it." The prince's blood chilled as he saw cruel determination set in his sister's face. Too late to run, no point in resisting, no hope of help from outside: he had to accept some ration of humiliation or decide this would be the day he forced his sister to slay him with her bare hands. He waited for her pronouncement. "True, we may have led ourselves late to bed, but we have not been idle. You must satisfy yourself on that point, I insist, lest you go away thinking ill of your older sister. Muriam, give him a whiff." Well, thank the gods it wasn't worse, thought Hemachrestos. No butts to lick, nothing inserted rudely into his royal person. He twisted his neck to look at the diminutive powerhouse at his side, his sister still holding him utterly immovable in her fierce grip. Muriam bestowed one of her wide, room-warming smiles on the prince. She let him study her form, as she knew he could never stop himself from doing. She stood erect, granite shoulders back, rounded chest thrust forward, muscle-columned back arched as she looked up at the prince. A moment passed and then another. Finally she stepped directly in front of the prince, raised her powerful right arm and flexed the impossibly large muscle for the prince to worship. A small whimper escaped him before he could grasp for some self-control. "It is as Appolina said, my prince. We have not been idle but spent the morning in exercise, working up a healthy sweat. I insist you satisfy your doubts about your sister's good character and discipline. I'm sure her royal armpit would be as rank as mine, who is but a common-born woman." Sweat broke out on the young man's forehead as he stared at the mountain of power flexed beneath his face. His knees trembled and his breath came in tiny gasps that left him feeling faint and weak. Surely no mortal could carry such power in her arms, surely this was some sort of spirit or even a goddess walking the earth in human guise. Hemachrestos stood frozen as if enchanted. "Yes, dear brother, I insist you satisfy yourself that we have not been idle. Sniff, and you may even feel to assure yourself my companion is truly warm flesh and not a mere mirage." Appolina released her grip and the young man nearly collapsed on his shaking legs. Hesitantly, slowly, shyly his hand moved toward the offered mound of strength. His fingers grazed the peaked top, hard as stone but warm as warmest woman- flesh. His hand wrapped across the thick top of the muscle and he found he had to lean some of his weight on the immovable limb to stop his whole body from beginning to tremble. Slowly he bent downward, his cheek brushing past the massive biceps flexed for his worship. He closed his eyes and pressed his face below the mighty arm and inhaled deeply of the musky, damp air in Muriam's dark armpit. The odor caused his head to spin and another small sound slipped past his lips. His tongue flicked out once, twice, a third time to taste the salty, earthy flavor deep in the furred recess. "I believe he is becoming satisfied," Muriam's laughing voice penetrated Hemachrestos' fevered mind. He became aware that her powerful left fist gripped his fully erect penis that was tenting the front of his robe. "Once more to prove we have been hard at work rather than idle?" She straightened her arm and flexed it hard again, the muscle beneath his hand stretching to its full length before again coiling itself into a craggy, veined peak. "There we are, fully satisfied!" She released his manhood and the trio skipped laughing away from the prince. He staggered toward a pillar for support, white juice crawling down his leg from under his robe and his eyesight blurring as he fought for some measure of dignity. RELIGION "So, my princess, do you like my birthday gift?" "Oh, Muriam, I think this Priapus cult is my favorite part of religion. I could worship so all day long." "And all night, or so it seemed. Phaedra, did you really break that talkative sailor's ribs? He did carry on so after you released him. I feared his shouting would frighten off the others before we had worked our way through the entire crew." Smiling, Muriam lifted the ten gallon urn, filled with warm water for the tub in the center of the room, and balanced it on her head. She then began carefully to step up on a chair and then onto a serving table before reaching the height of a rope strung taut between two pillars. The rope sagged beneath the weight but with her hands out at her sides she moved along the rope in stately, confident steps, her naked form appearing perfectly comfortable under the load she carried along her precarious path. "I'm afraid I did. He squirmed and slipped about and got himself all out of position at my critical moment. The damage was done before I realized he had put himself in danger. And besides, he was much less durable than our dear princess here. I marvel as much at the stamina of this adamant arm as at the bottomless appetite of her eroticism. In fact, saving only these glorious velvet globes I am constantly amazed that the body I hold here was not forged on Hephaestus' anvil rather than born of woman. It challenges me to squeeze and squeeze to see if one muscle can be made to yield even a fraction to my efforts." "Hold on a moment, I have to change hands. That arm is nearly worn out. Ah, that's better. Trust me, Phaedra, if your glorious thighs can discipline your stallions, crushing the wind from them when they step wrong, my poor ribs would stand not much more chance than that sorry Micosean. Do you suppose the cult of Priapus was started by men or by women?" The bathing chamber was in erotic chaos. The princess Appolina, in all her golden beauty, lay clenched atop the powerful legs and beneath the probing hands of Phaedra. The athlete's incomparable physique was stressed into clear relief, every muscle staining, as she masturbated furiously with a polished stone shaft that extended a foot above its handle. It had been a gift that morning from Muriam, purchased at a shop for religious objects in the temple district of the city from a wizened proprietress who gave her the most salacious of winks while handing across the symbol of the god of male fertility and potency. "By men, I should suppose," Phaedra replied. "I can imagine only men would think to pray for greater sexual powers than they could gather by their own talents and training. Surely a woman would be more practical in what she prayed to, or prayed for." "Oh, I am sure it must have been a woman. I can't imagine a man erecting one of those statues in the garden or carving one of these delightful portable shrines just to remind himself of his own shortcomings. And the woman wouldn't have been worshipping the object, but the pleasure it delivered out of her own body. I suspect, Appolina, it would have been a great female athlete such as ourselves who realized the strengthening and invigorating possibilities of pitting our flesh in sexual concourse with objects of hard wood and stone." Muriam paused at the end of her tight rope where it was tied to the farther pillar. She raised her right leg straight before her, toes pointed, and dipped down on her left so the mighty thigh muscles bulged and knotted from the load. All the way down in perfect control then smoothly back up before pivoting for her return walk. "Speaking of which, Phaedra, I claim my right of a rematch. I am sure you caught me on a day of unusual weakness. Surely none of last night's sailors had ever considered strengthening himself by testing his lovemaking against a stone, yet here we are, building muscles the menfolk barely suspect we possess." "Oh by the goods, I must stop. I am lathering all over again and must return to the bath so at some point I can meet my suitors clean and perfumed. I am to select a husband today and want to look my best. Do by all means try the marriage of Priapus and the twins. I marvel at the ingenuity of its carver. I must agree with Muriam. That is a woman's inspiration, or possibly two women living on Lesbos' white shores." Appolina collapsed panting and shuddering with pleasure in her friend's powerful embrace. Phaedra Hipolytes reluctantly loosed her hold and helped the princess to rise. "Very well, but first let me perform my own worship of the bronze idol of the Cyclades Isles. After this hour of orgasmic exertion, let me again see and feel the arms and the back the poets now liken to hammered bronze. Flex for me, princess, I'll let the stone-crushing vulva wait for another day when it's rested a bit. After I teach Muriam a lesson in humility I must be on my way to check my stock and tend my forge." "Yes, save the stone-crushing loins that surrender so easily before the soft siege of the proper tongue," Muriam interjected as she completed her balancing act and easily set the ninety pound vessel back on the floor. She picked up the polished wood shaft with the knob at each end and prepared to contest with Phaedra in a supine tug of war to see which woman could retain her end by vaginal muscles alone as the other tried to extract it. "I should think my early years had taught me more about humility than anyone should know, Phaedra, but I'm always delighted to receive more instruction from your wisdom and experience." TESTING THE SUITORS "That ship from Micosea remains in the harbor, after the rest of the trading fleet have sailed on the afternoon tide. Does it have unfinished business here in Vinopolis, Norecius?" Iolean often gazed on the ships in his busy harbor, dreaming of the day he could again step on board one and leave the petty business of ruling a prosperous city-state behind him. He noticed immediately when routines were altered such as one ship staying longer than expected. "Its business is finished but its crew is undone, by reports from Darius the physician. He says it looks as if the sailors had encountered a pack of wolves, so chewed up and bruised are they. Particularly so below the waist. Several more report the sort of injuries associated with close combat, including a set of crushed ribs, a couple strained backs and an assortment of scratches and bruises. The captain estimates it will be a few days before his men are fit to sit at their oars so he can sail for home. He carries iron in his hold, a metal the Micoseans are learning to work into tools and even weapons." "Ah. Those wolves again. In past cases of such damage I have heard some men never recovered the ability or appetite for manly performance again. Yet none has ever been willing to describe the events leading to the injury. I wonder how many wolves it takes to set upon a shipload of sailors and leave them so overmatched. And how those wolves occupy themselves between the visits of wandering vessels or trading caravans." "Your majesty will excuse me if I don't choose to speculate aloud on such questions while under your roof. At my age allowing my imagination to drift into such strong currents can be dangerous to my heart. But when I was a warrior in my full power you may believe I would have risked hunting for the sort of wolf with the spirit and strength to perform so. By the gods, that would seem a contest worth losing just to fall beneath one so capable." Iolean cocked an eyebrow at his old friend. Though nearly fifty years old Norecius was a leathery veteran of many wars and much adventure alongside the king. "Then our minds run in similar lines as to the nature of these wolves, as does the fierce blood in us that longs to accept a dangerous challenge. Do you suppose it was just the three of them marching through forty sailors in a single night? No, you are correct. Let us not speculate aloud, but save the thought for our private entertainment. As I have told you before, once Appolina is safely betrothed I intend to abdicate my crown in favor of Hemachrestos. Both my children can come into their own on the same day. Then I will be free to hunt one of those wolves as a free and common man." At that moment Appolina, along with Muriam, was greeting the suitors who had fared best during her interviews earlier in the afternoon. The three young men had been led to her private chambers, a departure from decorum that didn't completely surprise them, having heard many rumors of Appolina's unconventional lifestyle within her father's court. Aside from a single stone bench in the middle of the floor and a copper stand off to one side they found the main room stark, resembling not the apartment of a princess but a storehouse with an assortment of vases and stones lying about, chains and ropes strung here and there. They did not realize these were the tools Appolina had used to develop her strength and endurance during hours of private exercise and exertion. The princess herself entered from a farther room, accompanied by Muriam. Each was wrapped in a long robe that dragged the ground behind. "Gentlemen, as I explained when I spoke and played with each of you, this is where I make my final selection of a husband. I have assured my father that I will accept one of you, and I believe you will all agree to my decision without argument or appeal. Two of the suitors were either incapable of carrying on a logical, interesting conversation or were hopeless at the Persian game of chess. I didn't require that you be able to beat me in the game, just that you show an ability to learn its principles and to think ahead on my likely response to your moves. My king must employ some strategy in his rule rather than just react to events. Those two could not manage that. Now you three remain to become more aware of what marriage to me will entail. My good friend Muriam will assist in your education, because my husband will also have to take on some of the duties of being my friend that Muriam has performed so well. Please begin, dear one" With a sparkling eye, her small mouth resisting the impulse to laugh at the three men before her, Muriam dropped her robe and stood naked before the suitors. This was their first glimpse of her, the shock of seeing the combination of mighty body and feminine breasts above alluring sex electrified the men. She picked up a bowl of oil from the stand nearby and stood waiting. "The rest of your test will be done without clothing," Appolina informed the stunned men. "Please swear to me and to each other that nothing you see here today will be so much as hinted at or whispered. If you agree and promise not to leave without my permission, then kindly disrobe." The princess matched her own actions to her words and put aside her own robe. The golden body she revealed had been laboriously massaged to work out the vascular bulges her earlier exercising had made of her muscles. The suitors stared in awe at a sleek, smoothly muscled athlete, beautiful by any standard but barely hinting of the power she had packed into her body. One by one the men pulled off their own fine garments. In their age nakedness among men was a commonplace, and all had had plenty of experience in intimate association with women of every class. The request seemed no more than eccentric to them, and they had heard tales before of this eccentric princess they had come to court. Muriam began applying the oil to her mistress' long arms, fine legs, corded stomach, rippling back. Muriam's extreme physique made a contrast with Appolina's finer form that disguised the thickness of the golden arms, width of her back, animal strength of her thighs. By the time her entire body was gleaming under its oil coating, Appolina's sensuous movements under Muriam's hands had left the watching trio distinctly aroused. She surreptitiously appraised the three erections she had provoked. Now it was time for the first test. Moving briskly she stooped to grab a pair of earthen pots with short cords from which they could hang. She faced the men and began alternately raising and lowering each, the weight dangling from her tensed fists. The exercise, curling up thirty pounds in each hand, excited her chiseled biceps. The muscles strained beneath her skin, thick veins thrust upward to pulse just beneath her thin golden skin. Now the suitors were seeing the true form of the princess and the sight again stunned them as her body was transformed from a thing of beauty to one of amazingly ripped muscularity. "As a child, I devised this exercise to strengthen my arms. I was able to move from smaller to larger pots as my muscles developed, and then I began filling the vessels with water and now with sand. I have dozens of such exercises I do many times each day. This is the way I worship my body. It is a religion I will not give up for a mere husband." She spoke casually as the weights continued their smooth rise and fall, pumping her arms up incredibly. At last she set the weights down and struck a double biceps pose to emphasize the results of her twenty repetitions on her upper body. "Perhaps you have seen a more powerful hero. Perhaps there is a swifter runner. I know Muriam here overmatches my arms and my friend Phaedra can outrace me horseback over any course. If I entered the great games I might not be crowned champion of a single event. But I promise you this. Tested against any man you may name, in ten events I would win eight. I would be content to be swifter than Hercules and stronger than Hermes because the combination is more rare than to stand out in one category." She continued flexing one muscle group after another to the amazement of her audience. "Hector of Lucrita, your manhood has fallen slack and useless. Whether through fear or lack of interest, your loss of attention disqualifies you. My husband must be able to face the reality of my strength and my pleasure in demonstrating it. Dress and go." The embarrassed olive skinned man picked up his tunic and walked toward the door, shaking his head in disbelief as he began dressing himself. "Muriam, let us proceed to the second test," Appolina directed with no further ceremony. Again Muriam picked up an object from the copper stand. The remaining young men exchanged glances with each other as they saw it was a copper tube shaped like a penis of impressive size, smooth but figured with intricate etched designs. The metal apparatus was attached to a leather harness, also artistically decorated. Close examination would have shown the figuring on both the metal and leather to be depictions of men, women, and wild creatures in various sexual combinations. Muriam plunged the metal tube into her mouth, taking it deeper than the watchers would have believed possible, then extracting it with a wicked gleam in her eye as she leered at them and licked her lips. Quickly she passed the harness around her waist and knotted it tightly behind, then turned to face Appolina. The princess approached, eyes locked on the shorter woman, and placed her hands on Muriam's broad shoulders. Her arms and shoulders swelling with their power Muriam lifted her partner at the hips and Appolina wrapped long golden legs around the muscled waist. The lubricated tube sank home and Muriam carried her royal burden to the bench in the middle of the room where she slowly and smoothly stretched out with Appolina beneath her. After five minutes of powerful thrusting and counter thrusting, muscular arms and legs entangling and powerful backs rippling in passion Appolina halted the demonstration and looked over at the remaining suitors. "Phillip of Mima, the sight of Muriam and me so intimately engaged appears to have repulsed you. Our game is innocent and has sanction in the literature of great Sappho herself. You spurn us, so I spurn you. Dress and go." The dismissed mainland prince was hasty in complying with her command, wondering if he might find a way to ignore his vow of silence about the proceedings he had just witnessed. "Now Muriam, the final demonstration, to see if Sagicious, our remaining suitor, can be found acceptable. Ouch, extract slowly, dear one, and let us see what we have done." Muscles rippled along Muriam's magnificent chest and back as she arched slowly up and away, drawing out the metal implement of pleasure. Appolina chuckled as it passed through her fingers in its retreat. "Oh, well done!" She quickly reached around Muriam's waist and unfastened the knot holding the device in place and held up the gleaming metal for Sagicious' incredulous examination. Where it had gone in smooth and sleek, it now showed dents and bends in its bright surface, showing hard treatment and cruel abuse. She held it out for his closer inspection, then made her own survey. "Muriam, your service is at an end. It looks like Sagicious is every bit as well armed as at the beginning of our interview. A woman's muscles excite him, he finds a woman's pleasures acceptable, and he shows no fear of a woman's hidden power: my fist of Aphrodite. Sagicious, I accept you for my husband. Now quickly plant that rigid sword in my waiting sheath lest the opportunity go to waste. I am sure failing to honor such a proud display would anger the god Priapus, and I mean our marriage to include much celebration of his special gifts. Don't worry, I can be as gentle as any blushing virgin when I choose and will do nothing to make you regret our mutual choice." PURSUING A PRINCE The caped figure moved along the shadows of the palace walls, avoiding the few servants and retainers still about so late into the night. Where the tower loomed four floors high the figure paused and looked upward, running a small, thick hand over the roughly quarried and mortared blocks. A final glance about to assure there were no observers and Muriam pushed aside her cloak and prepared for her ascent. At the top of the tower was the apartment of Hemachrestos. The thought of him up there in the darkness, possibly asleep, possibly gazing over the harbor in the moonlight sent a thrill through her powerful body. The man in himself was unimpressive, but he was the prince and the next day would be pronounced king by his abdicating father, or so the gossip in the palace said. Born a slave and having lived by her wits and the sufferance of Appolina, the idea of that kind of power held an irresistible attraction for Muriam. Just this morning she had again shown that she had the power to turn this man into a stammering, helpless child. With Appolina poised to depart for Arborea with Sagicious, she wanted another patron in the royal household. Hemachrestos was the obvious candidate. Muriam was a thief. She lived in a small apartment in the palace, but it had always been understood she had no duties except to give friendship to the princess. In this she had been faithful, but the rewards were entirely at the whim of Appolina. Muriam had always managed a purse separate from the royal handouts because no house in the city could keep her out. On a night when the princess retired early or was otherwise occupied she could scale any wall and slip as easily along a tethering line to an anchored ship as an honest citizen might walk along the street. If a resident or servant surprised her while she collected a few coins or a small salable bauble, she could easily overpower him with no lasting damage and small danger of being seen clearly. Now she prepared to steal something more valuable and promising greater security for her future. She folded the cloak and set it aside, then stepped out of her sandals. With a last look around for hidden observers she began to climb. Most people would have seen no place where a hand or foot could grip the blank wall, but most people lacked the strength of Muriam. She scaled up by the smallest indentations and cracks as if they were rungs on a ladder. Her arms bulged and strained as they carried her upward, past window after window. She moved so smoothly her jewelry made hardly a sound. Her fingers and toes began cramping a bit as she neared her goal, but if anything the discomfort fed the excitement burning in her breast. Reaching the window to the prince's chamber she paused on the sill to survey the interior. The prince sat at a table with his back to the window, studying figures by the light of an oil lamp. Smiling to herself Muriam stood and stretched her arms and legs so she filled the window opening and gave a soft whistle. With the moon behind her as it sank toward the sea she knew she would make a startling appearance to the unsuspecting heir. "What? Who is there?" Hemachrestos spun, blinked at the shadows, froze in astonishment. "My lady Muriam? How have you come here?" "I have been borne upward on my two strong wings, my prince. I saw your light and thought I must fly to your chamber to be sure all was well." She stepped lightly down from the windowsill, rubbing her powerful arms as she crossed the chamber to stand by the prince. "Tomorrow you are to be named king and your father will step down to seek other adventures. I worried that our prank this morning might have embarrassed you just when you should be preparing to assume a crown. I am willing to submit myself to whatever punishment you think my disrespect deserves. Perhaps a lash across my back?" She turned from him and flicked the fastening on her leather top, letting it drop to the floor. "You see that I am slow to learn. There are marks from previous lessons, before I was granted my freedom. You may need to look closely to see them. Do tell me if they still show." Hemachrestos rose without consciously willing it and stood stupefied by the V- shaped back Muriam displayed for him. She rolled her shoulders to put the many muscles in motion and he found his hand on her skin, feeling the warmth and the complex dancing of her flesh. Muriam could judge the prince's nervousness from just the touch of his fingertips. She had him, she knew, and carried on her scheme to truly possess her man. The brief leather breeches needed a firm push to slide them down her mighty thighs to pool at her feet. Then she turned to face Hemachrestos, giving him his own first nude view of her spectacular physique, made even more surreal by the shadows thrown from the few oil lamps placed about the room. His hands were on her breasts when she turned to face him, and she smiled her pleasure up at him. When she reached to grip the neck of his robe he shifted to feel her shoulders and upper arms as they swelled with the effort of ripping his garment from top to bottom, stripping him as bare as she was. Surely a goddess, he thought, as he accepted her caresses and allowed her to lead him toward his bed. No good could come of resisting the wishes of a goddess. DEPARTURES The shop door in the back street opened at his first tap. Phaedra Hipolytes quickly drew Iolean inside and closed the door against observers. He stammered to find the words he had practiced, but she held up a strong, callused hand to still his speech. "We are adults, sire, or perhaps I should call you simply citizen now that you are giving up the throne. I have an adult's experience interpreting the glances of menfolk and reading their dreams in their eyes. My door is open to you because I have my own dream that can be helped along if it is yoked with yours. I plan to sail tomorrow, just as my friend Appolina does after her wedding feast, both to claim a throne we cannot sit on ourselves. We are each taking steps to protect ourselves." "I had not heard that you were going with her," Iolean tried to recover some of his usual poise. "I'm not, and neither is Muriam. Appolina is our friend, and she is a princess. It's like those are two separate people. We wish our friend happiness with the husband she has chosen in her new home, but we worry that the princess will take actions that will unsettle our own happiness on this island." Abruptly Phaedra reached out and gripped Iolean's arm, appraising its size and firmness before she continued. "To now, we three have lived under the protection of the palace and exercised some discretion to show we respect our king. Despite marketplace gossip, we haven't earned public denunciation for any escapades. But now Appolina comes into her own, and from tonight onward two palaces will be living according to our female dictates. It's too late for you to change your mind about crowning Hemachrestos, everyone knows about it already. You have seen that Hemachrestos is charmed by Muriam, and tonight he will fall completely under her domination. Even now she will have climbed the tower to his rooms and will have her way with him. Muriam is, shall we say, exuberant and uncontrolled when excited. She won't kill him, but in her joy at her strength and her sexual prowess she has broken stronger men than him. Whether Hemachrestos will be able to father an heir either with Muriam or with any woman when she finishes tonight is open to doubt, but one night with her will spoil him for any other woman. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about here. Those gorgeous muscles of hers will keep him entertained, responsive and worshipful until dawn. She is so strong she will even convince him he was able to contribute something to the performance - that is her real gift. Regardless of other outcomes, Muriam will dominate your son in mind and spirit from this night onward. That isn't necessarily a bad thing, but will interfere with any wisdom he will bring to ruling the country." "I have heard the three of you likened to wolves in our city, a comparison I took mostly as a jest. It sounds as if there was more truth than I suspected." Iolean resisted the impulse to reach out his own hand to touch the tall woman before him as familiarly as she had done to him. "Much more. You know about two thrones now. Your coming here tonight puts you in my power and opens the way to add a third palace to that set." Phaedra led Iolean into her cramped living quarters and poured out two beakers of wine from a jug, handing one to her astonished visitor. "Appolina has chosen a husband based on his wits and the prospects that she will be able to shape him to her purposes. That is a dangerous combination. She is willful but she is also ambitious. The will that forged her incomparable body would rather have been bent to becoming ruler of this land, but she knew the people would not easily accept rule by a queen over a male heir, even a queen as good as she could be. She couldn't inherit the throne, so she will take it, through her husband." "It is like this." Phaedra set down her cup and lifted a hammered bar of bronze from a shelf. "This is the stuff we and our neighbors now make into swords. Show me how you can bend it with your manly arms. Better, throw off your robe as you hoped to do in coming to me and show off the vigor of your years." Iolean stared at her for a moment, then defiantly cast aside his tunic and seized the bar of metal. His arms tensed and strained as he bent the bronze into a bow. He handed it back and stood proudly awaiting her praise. Instead she chuckled and put aside her own robes. Iolean had long known this frequent guest in his house was a woman of strength and power, her arms thick and capable. But he was unprepared when the full reality of her body was revealed. Not so dramatic as the much shorter Muriam, but clearly more than a match for proud Appolina; much more than a match for him. She made straightening the metal rod again look like child's play, her chest expanding and lifting her breasts proudly on thick muscles, her shoulders swelling like ripe melons. "You and your bronze swords are too weak for the future that is coming to our islands. Something stronger is needed to preserve the way of life we enjoy here." Putting aside the bronze, she picked up a rod of gray metal. Her muscles heaved and strained as she slowly bent it between her hands. Given his chance Iolean found he could make little progress to undo the work of Phaedra's mighty arms. "That is called steel, made from precious iron. That is the future. They don't work it even in Arborea yet, but in another generation it will be everywhere." "Sagicious will be like a javelin in Appolina's strong hands," she continued, approaching the man who had been her king. "She will cast him far and precisely. Muriam is stronger, but her vision is less focused, her aim is less steady. She is a wolf that may lose the scent of its proper prey. And frankly Hemachrestos is not a missile as straight and true as Sagicious. To match Appolina's ambition there is only me and there is you if you wish to join me. In nine months, mark my words, Appolina will have her first child, possibly her heir to the throne of Arborea. She won't move until she has that detail taken care of. But at any time afterward she may strike. Not Vinopolis at first, but this is her target." Iolean backed away as she advanced, something in the steady gray eyes sapping his courage, peeling away the layers of strength and resolve he had accumulated in his travels and adventures. He had come this night thinking to seduce a woman not many years older than his daughter, thinking he had to be careful not to overawe a common woman barely half his age with his kingly presence. Now he felt like he was a child confronted by someone wiser, stronger, more capable than he could hope to be. Phaedra's first craft had been imposing her will on untrained animals. Iolean knew her ability was proving just as effective on him. "I have it from a Micosean sailor that the old king who rules the eastern half of our island is feeble and failing. Don't ask how I persuaded him to tell me everything. His son Stygius' body recovered from wrestling with Appolina last year, but his spirit was mortally broken. He lives his life in the bottom of a wine bowl now. Micosea is waiting to be snapped up whenever Appolina makes her cast. Or when some other wolf moves first. Armies can march quickly over the plains, from Micosopolis to the mountain passes leading here. Neither our spearmen nor Micosea's could match the numbers Arborea can land on the beaches from their black ships. But the right band on horseback on those open plains east of the mountains can ride rings around them, and mounted archers more nimble than charioteers will cut their shield wall to pieces. Armed with iron arrow points and iron swords each of our fighters will be worth ten with bronze swords. We will cut through their bronze armor like a scythe through the wheat, then burn their ships. That is my proposition." Phaedra had him backed against a cool plaster wall. She placed her hands on either side of his head and leaned close, her face nearly touching his, her full breasts grazing his chest. The scent of the powerful woman, the feel of her hot breath, the flashing of her gray eyes were now arousing Iolean, just when he though his first desire for the horsewoman had been frightened out of him. He felt his sexual powers start to rise. "From shops and quarries and stables I have recruited a band of thirty or forty women made strong by their labors and fierce by being held subservient to men in matters of law and business in your kingdom. Stronger than the boys who make up your army, I know because I have tested both groups." Phaedra reached a hand around the back of Iolean's neck and pulled him away from the wall as she stepped back, his resistance meaning nothing against her strength. Iolean felt she could snap his neck with one hand. "We can take the Micosean ship sitting in harbor. It holds a cargo of iron, according to that same helpful sailor, may his ribs heal quickly. Tomorrow night we can leave here with a small band and take the throne of Micosea. Afterwards I will train their horses to carry our light riders directly on their backs, and I will forge the weapons we will need to keep Appolina in the land she has chosen for a while longer. You know her spirit. She is a wolf who won't be kept penned for long, but we might persuade her to look inland for easier prey than she will find here in the islands." Still holding him at the neck Phaedra slipped her other arm beneath Iolean's butt and lifted him easily, crushing him against her. "I want two things from you: this royal ass to sit on the throne with my hand on your neck, and your experience as a soldier to direct the troops to best effect. I know the general concept but am not a warrior myself You need an heir in addition to Hemachrestos, lest his encounter with Muriam leave him incapable of producing one of his own or of ruling in a competent manner. I offer my body, hard as you feel it to be. Hard enough to have broken younger men than you who tried to hammer on me. If you are up to your part, I can be the anvil and furnace to forge children, possibly a son who might unite the island after us and keep it away from Arborea, or a daughter to truly rule it all after me." Held like a child in arms as hard as a statue's but that pulsed with hot blood in thick veins across the bulging muscles, Iolean felt his erect manhood crushed into a defined groove running up the middle of Phaedra's chiseled abdomen. He had been dreaming of leaving behind his dull duties and again facing dangers, exploring unknown places, daring great deeds. Now those things looked up at him through gray eyes. He bent to accept the greatest challenge of his life, wondering if he was man enough to survive until dawn when he could give up his crown and sail off on his greatest adventure.