Diana's Quest part 3 - Rome 
by Diana the Valkyrie, Valkyrie@TheValkyrie.com
Diana doesn't get into a fight in Rome
Update: 30/09/1997 to sagas


If you haven't read parts one and two of the series, I strongly suggest 
you read those first. This one has not much sex, and not much violence, 
either.


I'm sure that Paris and Marseilles aren't representative of France, and 
I'm sure that the low-lives I'd encountered weren't typical Frenchmen, 
but my plan never was to stay in one place for long, and I told Cherie 
I was headed for Italy. specifically for Rome. She stopped brushing my 
hair for a moment and asked in a very small voice "Moi aussi?" "Oui, 
Cherie tu aussi." She went back to brushing my hair. 

If there's one luxury I'd take anywhere, it's a good hairbrush, and 
being brushed by someone is the ultimate pleasure. Well, maybe not the 
ultimate, but pretty high on the list. And Cherie was very good at it, 
using long, slow sweeps of the brush, moving from side to back to side, 
and really concentrating on what she was doing. I thing the love of 
being brushed harks back to our monkey ancestry; that's also why we 
enjoy stroking cats. 

Thinking more about this, maybe the reason why Cherie was so good at 
the main thing she did was the strong focus she had. Somehow I couldn't 
imagine Cherie menu-planning or thinking about clothes while making 
love. And maybe that would also be one of the characteristics of the 
Valkyrus, the object of my Quest. 

There was plenty in the kitty, Cherie was good at her profession. So I 
decided we'd travel under our own power. I found one of the big rental 
agencies, and asked what sports cars they had. The guy behind the desk 
apologised that they only had the Mazda MX5 soft-top, but I reassured 
him that I hadn't really expected him to have a Morgan, and the Mazda 
would do just fine. 

Cherie fell in love with it at once, and christened him "Maxxie". I 
tend to think of cars as male; you press on thing to make them go, 
another thing to make them stop, and they keep running out of juice. 
Maxxie growled as I got him started, and took off like a startled rabbit 
as I floored the accelerator. 

As soon as we got out of the city, I pulled over to the side, and worked 
out how to open the soft top. Then I got my hairbrush out of its bag, 
gave it to Cherie, and enjoyed the sensation of having my hair brushed 
as the wind blew it streaming back behind me. 

The speed limit on the autoroute was 110, but Maxxie didn't like that at 
all, and impatiently stretched his legs until he was bowling along at 
160 (which isn't as bad as it sounds, because it's kilometers not 
miles). Naughty Maxxie. And then we crossed the border into Italy, more 
like a toll booth than you'd expect a border crossing, and started 
cruising down what I seemed to remember was the Appian way. "I don't 
speak Italian, Diana." "Neither do I, but you flash your legs at them, 
and I did Latin at school, we'll get by." 

Eventually, the autostrada reached Rome, and I turned off at the 
cloverleaf. As we went round the twist, I saw this very dishy looking 
bit of trouser hitch-hiking to Milano, and I pointed him out to Cherie. 
"Dinner", I said. She looked at him and wrinkled her nose. "Too small, 
Diana, throw it back." "No, I like them small." So I wove round the 
cloverleaf and pulled up next to him. "Prego", I said, although I'm not 
sure if that's the right word. 

Maxxie's main drawback is that he's a two seater. That's normally just 
right, me in the driving seat and some scrumptious piece of trouser 
sitting next to me. But I didn't want to dump Cherie, she was rather 
fun. So Cherie got out and gestured to blokie to get in, and once he 
was settled, she just sat on his lap, wriggling a bit to get 
comfortable. He moaned a bit, and I looked across to check, but she 
wasn't damaging the goods. Maybe just giving them a taste of the future. 

If you thought Parisians drive like loonies, you haven't been to 
Marseilles. But the Marsellaise were staid and sensible compared with the 
Italians in Rome. The object seemed to be to drive as fast as possible, 
and scream curses at any vehicle that thwarted that plan. I soon got the 
hang of it, and I drove while Cherie cursed and the guy under her 
screamed "Milano, Milano!! No-one's as aggressive as a Valkyrie, plus it 
wasn't my car. 

After dashing about for a bit without any clear plan, I spotted the 
Coliseum, so I knew we must be in the city centre. I found a hotel, 
parked the car, and we all piled out. Well, two of us did, my trouser 
was still sitting in the front seat, his eyes closed and a look if 
extreme terror on his face. I guess he's never been a passenger in a 
Valkyrie-driven car before. "Cherie, could you deal with that" I said, 
and took the bags into the hotel. It's nice having a sidekick to take 
care of details like a terrified entertainment system. 

I checked in, using a mixture of French, Latin and gestures, and 
explained that I only had francs, but they didn't mind that. "Salle por 
due, prego." I really must find out what prego actually means. "Oh, no, 
make that three, trey" I said holding up three fingers as I saw Cherie 
leading my hitch-hiker by the hand, a big sloppy grin on his face, I 
guessed she'd explained to him about being the entertainment for the 
evening, probably with some kind of demonstration that left him with no 
memory of the last few hours. 

So the three of us occupied room 418; there was one bed big enough for 
two, and an armchair sort of thing that converted. Cherie had Andre 
nicely calmed down by now, and he even had the strength to leer at me a 
bit. That's good, I like it when a man shows a bit of spunk. 

The next thing to deal with was food. And there I had a specific plan in 
mind, which wasn't just the usual "lots and lots" plan. 

The custom in ancient Rome was, whenever anyone caught a turbot, it was 
a gift to the Emperor. The turbot grew huge in the Tiber, which was the 
river where all the sewage was dumped. Sometimes the Emperor would give 
the turbot to a favourite, sometimes the palace would feast on turbot. 
But I'd never eaten turbot, and I wanted to know what the big deal was. 
And where better to eat turbot than in Rome? 

So the three of us went out in search of a restaurant that had turbot on 
the menu. It wasn't difficult; the first decent place we came to was 
fine. I ordered for the three of us, making sure that Andre ate very 
lightly, but with plenty of sugar for a short-term energy boost (I 
couldn't really see him lasting more than a couple of hours). 

I discovered I didn't like turbot much. 

Then, as we walked back to the hotel, some ruffian grabbed my bag, and 
it all happened so fast, I didn't react until he was several yards down 
the road and moving fast. Valkyries aren't built for speed. 

Andre was though. He was a skinny little creature with no fat and hardly 
any muscle, and he took off after the bag-snatcher like a gazelle. I 
stood and gawped for a few seconds, then realised he might need 
reinforcements, so I let go of Cherie's hand and lumbered off in 
pursuit. 

Old Isaac Newton's second law was my main limitation; acceleration is 
inversely proportional to mass. It takes a Valkyrie a long time to get 
up to full speed, and when she gets there, the Archimedean law of levers 
becomes the problem. You see, your arms and legs work as levers, and 
although I'm perfectly happy at 5'5", I'd be a lot faster if I were, 
say, 12 inches taller. And the other leverage problem is the Valkyrie 
anatomy, my tendons are further from the joints than a Sapiens, which 
means more strength, but less range of movement and less speed. I can't 
kick any higher than a man's testicles, and I'm terrible at throwing 
things. Apart from parties, that is. 

So I galumphed along watching Andre and thief getting further and 
further away, but I think Andre was gaining on him, and then they turned 
a corner, and I tried to accelerate, but I'm a Valkyrie, I can't help 
it. 

Then I reached the same corner and encountered Newton's first law, which 
says that a massive object (for example, a Valkyrie) will continue to 
move in a straight line unless acted on by a force. The feet went round 
the corner, the Valkyrie didn't, and I skidded, went down, hit the 
pavement, bounced, saw stars, and them Cherie flew over me like a 
hurdler, and I dimly realised she was going to help Andre. Still wearing 
those totally ridiculous shoes that I wouldn't be able to walk in, let 
alone run. 

This is ridiculous, I thought. If there's a melee, Andre will get wiped 
out in seconds, Cherie even worse, and the one person the need is lying 
on the pavement trying to get her breath back. And in the distance I 
could see the melee forming, three people struggling, and Cherie running 
towards them, which means Andre was outnumbered two to one and would be 
getting beaten up, probably badly, and by the time Cherie got there, 
Andre would be out of it, and they'd be already to either beat her up, 
or, more likely, rape her. Oh shit. 

You Sapiens don't even realise what a tremendous advantage you have over 
the Valkyrensis subspecies. Speed is more useful than strength, believe 
me, which is probably why there's so many of you and so few of us. 
What's the advantage of being able to break a guy's ribs with a hug, 
when you can't catch him in the first place? 

"Come on, girl" I said to myself, and staggered to my feet (when I go 
down I go down with a thump), and started to move towards the impending 
disaster. Impending? Andre was lying down and they were putting the boot 
in already, Cherie didn't seem to have the least idea that she was 
running into trouble, and although my feet were doing a great job at 
making the pavement shake, progress towards the schwerpunckt was 
lamentably slow. 

"Cherie, NO!!!" I wheezed (I'll explain some other time what running 
does to a Valkyrie's breathing system, let's just say that Valkyries 
don't run for fun) but there's no way she could have heard me, and the 
two guys straightened up from kicking the supine Andre to receive the 
early Christmas present that was almost flying towards them. And they had 
no reason to see me as a threat, either, but by the time I go my hands 
on them and taught them the proper respect and fear to give a Valkyrie, 
Cherie would be dog meat. 

And then she reached them, but as far as I could see, she really was 
flying now, feet first through the air, and there were two thuds and all 
three of them fell to the ground. And stayed there. 

I arrived several minutes later (well, it felt like hours) and there were 
four moaning, groaning people lying there. First I checked the two 
thieves, in case they still had some fight left in them. Each of them 
had a nose totally flattened, splattered over their face, with plenty of 
blood still flowing. Cherie had kicked them both in the face, and it 
was lucky for them that she'd been wearing platforms rather than 
stilettos. It must have felt to them like they'd been hit with a hammer 
on the nose, but at least they were alive. And moving feebly. You read 
about people being kicked several times in the head and still fighting on;
if you believe that, I suggest you get someone to kick you in the face and
see what you do next. So I took the pretty blue ribbon out of my hair, 
made four loops, and tied their four thumbs together, leaving them back 
to back. Then with the danger dealt with I turned to see what the rest 
of the moaning was about. 

Cherie had landed on Andre, which I could understand from her point of 
view, because when you land on your back like that, you don't want to 
hit pavement, you want something soft to land on. Andre was soft enough 
for that, having been softened up previously by the two thugs. 
Unfortunately, Cherie landing on him from a height had destroyed what 
little resistance he had left after the kicking, and as I'd learned 
before, Cherie loves to see a man in pain. So half the moaning was 
coming from Andre who by now I guessed was suffering from broken ribs at 
the very least, and the other half was coming from Cherie who was well 
down the road to orgasm with his face between her legs. 

Well, I really couldn't allow this. It was rape, pure and simple, and 
there was no way that Andre was enjoying being raped. So I pulled her 
off him and told her to leave him alone, but she started making little 
mewing noises and fidgeting a lot, obviously in a state of high 
frustration. "No, Cherie, he's mine, you can have those two." 

Andre flinched as I reached down for him, and whimpered "No, please, no 
more". "Shush, sweetie," I said, "You're safe now, the Valkyrie's got 
her arms round you." And I pulled him onto my lap and rocked him and 
cuddled him till he stopped crying, and I tried to ignore the appalling 
noises coming from behind me. 

"Diana, I'm getting some resistance from this one, could you just crack 
him between your legs for me?" I stood up with Andre in my arms. 
"Cherie, I'm not your nutcracker, do it yourself." "I don't know how" 
So I showed her how a standing head scissors works, how if you get his 
neck, his weakest part, between your thighs, a woman's strongest 
muscles, then it doesn't require Valkyrie to break his will to resist. 

I left Cherie enjoying herself with the two robbers, and carried Andre 
back to the hotel. I got a few strange looks and stares, you always do 
when you carry a grown man around, but poor Andre was in so much pain, I 
didn't want him walking. 

Back at the hotel, I took him up to our room, laid him gently on the bed 
and started undressing him. He whimpered a little while I did it, but he
wasn't about to try to stop me. I checked him over, and I couldn't see 
anything obviously wrong. Oh abrasions, sure, and some technicolour 
bruises, but no bits of bone sticking out. And although his face was a 
bit battered and bloody, he wasn't bleeding internally. And there is 
actually no treatment for cracked or broken ribs, they don't even put a 
plaster on you. So I ran him a nice hot bath, put some salts in, and 
carried him into the bathroom, and lowered him in. 

After a few minutes washing him, I was practically soaked too, so I 
stripped off and joined him in there. The flotation effect of the water 
meant that my weight wasn't hurting him. 

Then I got out, and lifted Andre out, and dried us both off with a big 
fluffy towel. And carried him to the bed and laid him down. Then I 
rooted through the bag that he'd rescued for the sexy silk night-dress 
that I carry in case I get lucky, and slipped it over my head. 

The great thing about silk is the way it clings to your body. No, the 
great thing about silk is the way it feels on your skin. Huh, who am I 
kidding, the great thing about silk is the way that men get turned on by 
a Valkyrie in a silk nightie. So I turned with a flourish and swept 
gracefully to the bed (even a Valkyrie can be graceful in silk), but 
Andre as fast asleep already. 

Poor lamb. He'd been through so much already, what with the beating and 
the attempted rape, I didn't have the heart to wake him up for a romp. 
So I lay down next to him, and wondered how long Cherie would make the 
two robbers last, and Andre turned towards me and whimpered in his 
sleep, so I put my arms round him and pulled his head into my breasts, 
and he snuggled in like a little baby, and I sang "Eleanor Rigby" to him 
and we both fell sleep.