To say I felt good would have been an understatement. Even Akbar’s approval of me felt good and dare I say his appraisal as he stepped around me was flattering. I felt far more comfortable with the dress covering me under his gaze than I had naked. Though, even now I felt a sort of heat rise in me as my own self consciousness asserted itself. Since he had picked the dress he would know that there was not a stitch of anything under it. For a moment I wondered if he could see through the dress. The heat grew.

“Why thank you” I smiled and even though he had not been a full gentleman in offering me a seat and some tea and biscuits I was amiable in mind and soul. In a more profound moment I had to remark upon myself how cheaply bought I could be, but that was rude and inconsiderate of my host.

“Why master Akbar, I have given it great thought, and have chosen Shakespeare as the author since our guest of honor is quite fond of him. But a play would not do and so I am left with a sonnet. A tale of treachery and justice. The Rape of Lucrece. “

It was a calculated risk, this piece of literature about the wronging of a good and chaste woman by the king, a man of power, and her men folks vengeance on her behalf.

He had not known what the sonnet entailed never having heard or read it before but given it's title he could guess. He mulled the choice in his mind for a moment then let a grin cross his features slowly before taking a sip of his tea.

"And this sonnet ... Omar would find a morale in it I suppose?" He asked as his darker eyes gazed at her from across the heavy desk between them. But as long as he enjoyed it Akbar had not cared. She could recite the tediousness of her book of Genesis for all he cared as long as Omar enjoyed it he had not cared nor would care.

Had he thought about the dress and their being nothing beneath it? Well yes and no, he knew that this had been the case and while it had infused him with a degree of warmth he knew better to act upon it now. After the party had concluded perhaps ... then again he wasn't much in the mood to be teased again.

There was no hiding my expression from Akbar. I knew I was a terrible liar, which I did not consider a bad trait to have. So I looked down, squirmed as I stood and finally looked upwards once more before answering.

“There is a moral in the story for all I would say, but no different than any other story. Are there not lesson to be learned even if I recited stories from my bible, or your own holy book?” For some reason our conversations I enjoyed far more than the ones I had with my fiancée. Akbar was for the first time asking for my input and accepting it. Even my fiancée had been loath to do much the same. Not for the first time I felt a small physical and emotional thrill.

The quickening of my pulse, the heat upon the air all came as newness in feeling to me. I liked this conversation, even if once more the man had ceased to be a gentleman by taking a seat and leaving me standing. The one good thing was that he now had to look up at me, and that…that could be construed as in improvement.

That fat little toad Omar was going to be short as short could be next to me in these shoes. My god strike him dead when he saw the improvements that Akbar had made of my condition. I would happily rub it in Omar’s pudgy drooling face. Perhaps I did have charms as a woman. Akbar did seem to enjoy looking at me. Even now I was not ignored, more so because I smelled good, was clean, and had a proper dress upon my shoulders.

Those feelings deep inside quickened till heat seemed to swirl in my belly. Strange feelings that made my teats hurt beneath the touch of the fabric. I needed to practice, but I really did not want to leave so long as Akbar was willing to listen. I had to admit, he was a handsome man.

He had not known those thoughts that had rushed through his mind and thus for a moment he let his hand rest upon his chin as he thought about things for a moment. He supposed she had been right in that every story had a moral of some sort. His Koran had been living testimont to that.

Reflecting on the tales therein it his eyes flickered back to Cassie's exotic features as a thin smile broke over his lips though his eyes had been humorless containing none of the mirth that they would normally possess.

"I suppose so," he said as he got to his feet. He made a sweeping gesture towards the door. "Feel free to look around the estate until you are called upon this evening." It had not been as if she could escape anywhere. They had been in a desert after all and thus she would have to find a way to cross it if she were to make any sort of attempt, that wass without the possibility of dying or being recaptured being quite high.

He was likely to send a servant to fetch her when the appoint time came, though of course he had still been concerned about his party, less so now though still concerned.

The moment I left his office I found her beside me. Once again the old woman walked with me as if I was to be chaperoned on my walk. Every so often she would point and say a word. Each time she would repeat it and then make me say it in that strange language of theirs.

I had come to call her mother hen, for she seemed to always be with me. Men might come close and then she would say something fast and furious and they would leave whether servant, slave or guard. It was obvious she carried some sort of clout within the walls of the estate. More so than I had first supposed when another attractive female slave showed up with an umbrella.

The lessons continued. Too many words, so many names from palm trees to shoes. I feared I might never learn any of them as the words tumbled about in my mind in a giant jumble.

As the sun set the servant came. It was time to perform.

One could say that the woman had been a matriarch, a slave in Akbar's services for so long that she felt it responsible to take others under her wing and teach them what they needed to know in order to make their transition as smooth as possible.

By the time a servant came to fetch Cassie guests had been at the estate for awhile now. People mulled about, guards had been in the estate serving same bodyguards to their masters. Amongst the guards were the familiar faces of Ali, Rahja and Hassan. Omar had been present to adorned in his best attire.

He had been adorned in red silks munching on an h'ouredere in one hand, a drink clutched in the other. Due to the numbers of well dressed men and number of guards each possessed as well as servants it had been apparent that they were big wigs of some sort. Akbar had been amongst them in a circle talking to a group of them in that strange tongue of his before everyone broke out in a mirthful fit of laughter, apparently Akbar had told a joke in that tongue of his.

Seeing Cassie he waved her over.

There was a festival like feel to the house this evening. The men wore so many splendid costumes. Which of course brought to mind what was missing; the woman folk. Oh there were scantily clad young slaves of both sexes, but not a man in the room had brought a wife or daughter to this little shing ding.

The men’s club sat upon big silk cushions in the middle of the room eating and drinking while the slaves performed their collective tricks of fetch. Occasionally one of the female slaves might yelp in feigned delight as a hand went places men’s hands should not. The spectacle sickened me. Eat, drink, and be merry. The debauchery of this culture still amazed me now that I could see it from the inside out.

Still they were Akbar’s guests and so I would treat them in a civilized and proper manner. Even that fat pig Omar who’s fat folds jiggled with each outbreak of laughter. Much like the bout of laughter just finishing on his fat face as Akbar motions me over.

In a swirl of the hem about my ankles I come. Towering over the men in the heels, happy I have not tripped over my own feet in the loose boots. Like a proper lady of the house I curtsy to the men and lifting my head I smile brightly at them.

“My pleasure to have been summoned to this esteemed circle of men” All eyes are upon me like a pack of hungry wolves. I must remind myself that these are not gentleman; Omar chief amongst them is but a dog to the fine men of England. Steeling myself I do not whither under their gaze but instead choose to flower and make light of it. Twirling slowly like a lamb before these wolves I show them I am unafraid. I am here to deliver an oral story that should make them think.

“I take it that I meet with your pleasure. Master Akbar has said that you would like a story and that you Omar are partial to the tales of Shakespeare. I have prepared to deliver one of his sonnets, a story I am sure has much to say.” Casting my eyes to Akbar I await only his decision, do I sit with the men and tell the tale or do I stand and move among them while I spin this story from my world.

Akbar served as a translator for those that had not understood her tongue. He made a gesture as he said something, some of the men departed some stayed Omar being one of them. Another gesture and Akbar pointed to a closed door that a young boy sprinted towards and held opened for the men and
cassie.

"This way."

The room had been furnished with cushions of all sorts, ritzy looking things. A servant poured wine from a pitcher for the men while a musician played a rather bizarre stringed instrument with great skill and ease. He had been sitting towards a corner as he played sitting down cross legged on a cushion as he did so. His eyes closed as if absorbed into the music as he played and nothing else.

Akbar gestured to the cushions that his guests moved towards as they sat, their body guards filtering into the room to silent stand against one of the walls, Hassan being familiar as he served as Omar's bodyguard for the evening.

"Sit unless you prefer to stand." Akbar told her before sitting down himself.

To be honest I had not expected to leave the comforts of one room only to enter another. Yet the smaller room was vastly more intimate. I followed Akbar’s six guests and their personal guard into the adjoining room, the solid doors closing behind with a dull thud.

Smoke curled upwards from the incense burners in each corner as the soft strains of a melody were plucked from the strange stringed instrument. The serving girl moved like a ghost in her gauzy dress unseen by all. A remarkable trait, and yet one that even our servants soon mastered. A servant was meant to be invisible.

The seven sat among the puffy pillows in a circle. One slot remained open, and Akbar kindly offered me the position at his left hand. Carefully folding the dress about my ankles I sat. Shins rested on the softness of the pillow, my knees together like a lady would.

“Thank you my lord.” I graciously answered. Then turning my head I nodded in acknowledgement to each of the men that Akbar had gathered here. The guards against the wall seemed to ease a bit. My eyes met Hussains and I bit my lip as I thought about what that man had done and seen. His strong rough hands having ripped my old dress from my body and how he had cupped and mashed my breasts, his hot mouth upon the fullness of me.

Quickly I look away and then down. He surely would have ravished me whatever that truly meant, and parts of my body seemed to quiver in an odd response to the thought. Heat rose in my chest and up my neck. What could be more embarrassing at this moment than being embarrassed and going all read faced before I told my story. A story of a young woman’s ravishment and the revenge of her kinfolk afterwards.

Hassan's gaze had been upon her as she entered. Dark brown eyes skimming over her and while she had not been dressed as elegantly as he found her he had to admit that she had found herself in Akbar's finery. He too remembered their meeting well, the soft playing of the music doing nothing to lighten his mood.

He fought back a smile and though he had been out bid by his master's host that had done nothing to entertain his thoughts figuring that Akbar moved to deflower her. That had been his intention after all and while he entertained various lewd thoughts that came over him he felt himself growing semi erect.

He had wondered what it would feel like to push his way into heaven though other than his thoughts and his memories he had nothing. Nothing that he could draw forth or nothing that he could do in that regard or was there?

But it seemed that all eyes were upon her or rather the eyes of the men as the servants and body guards seemed busy with their tasks on hand as they shifted themselves amongst the room like sand in a sand storm.

I sat among the men and smiled waiting for my queue from Akbar to begin my story. A cacophony of voices arouse about me. Men talk no doubt but my inability to understand the tongue made it impossible for me to know what they spoke of.

Surrounded by men I suddenly felt very alone. I was not a part of their world, for all intents invisible or at best a fancy window dressing easily overlooked. I longed for the times in my own country, surrounded by love and understanding. Shifting uneasily my eyes darted about the room watching, waiting.

The ruffian seemed to be watching me, his face unreadable from within the shadow he had placed himself. Perhaps I had it wrong for the other men stole glances my way. Fleeting in their haste to not seem to stare. Perhaps I was not nearly as alone as I thought. Perhaps they did notice me more than the serving girl in her gauzy costume that kept the wine flowing and the food coming.

Of course they had noticed her. What had immediately stood out to them had not been her beauty or even that she had been a foreigner. It had been that she had worn no veil to cover the features of her face. That had made most of the men a bit intimidated as their whole culture had seemed to be turned upside down.

Akbar had seemed immune to this, in fact it benefited him to keep the men a little off guard since he had been about to enter into negotiations with them. A play to increase his own standing in the desert of course but that would hold just a little longer.

But voices tapered off and Akbar gestured to Cassie to begin when talk concluded. A smile against his lips as he turned things over to her though that smile faded after a small while.

Voices slowly fade, the confusing babble finally ceasing. Seven pairs of eyes descend upon me and my heart skips a beat. I smile. Breathe Cassie breathe, I think to myself before I step into the ring of storytelling. An ancient wonderful profession that I seek to do no unwise disservice to.

“Gentlemen, I…I am pleased you would hear me speak the dreadful tale of a woman wronged and the revenge of her husband and kin. For family is important to us all. I am pleased to present to you a little sonnet by William Shakespeare called ‘The Rape of Lucrece’” Glancing at each one of these powerful men in turn till my eyes settled upon Omar and the mention of family.

“I have heard master Omar is quite fond of Shakespeare so I was moved to select this piece just for him, may it provide wisdom and understanding.” If I had access to a knife I might very well have plunged it by my own hand under those three wobbling chins of his. Instead I kept the smile on my face least anyone know of the animosity I bore the pig.

“FROM the besieged Ardea all in post,
Borne by the trustless wings of false desire,
Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host,
And to Collatium bears the lightless fire
Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire
And girdle with embracing flames the waist
Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste.”

I began in earnest, watching their faces for any sign of humanity for I had little doubt they all held slaves.

Yes, they all had been slave owners that possessed a great deal of slaves. They had all seemed rapt in attention as she wove her tall, Omar perking up a little as he had been singled out for this story though his brow creased as he heard the title of the sonnet. He had figured what the tale was about based on the title and of course the few lines of it's opening.

He glared at her with his brown eyes unsure of how family tied into the tale at all but given the tale he figured that it would factor in to the sonnet at some point. Revenge? Possibly, though he figured that in the sonnets telling would explain the tie in.

There had been a few that squirmed a little at the tale given that they had been guilty of that same thing, while others had brushed it off guilty or not it had been just a sonnet to them.

Akbar brought of drought of wine to his lips. His mind worked over the choice of sonnets, his eyes scanning his guests though he had seen nothing out of the ordinary on their faces except for Omar's expression which he could not read. Shock? Revulsion? Interest? He could not say for any real certainty and thus he allowed the tale to continue on. Perhaps it would have been wise to hear the sonnet before hand? Perhaps though hindsight was always 20/20.

The sonnet spilled from my painted lips like the soft warm rains of summer. The ebb and flow of the story making me sway between sips of the luscious wine that kept my tongue glib and my lips moist. It is a long tale, but one that every man should hear. The tale spun from one refrain to another.

'For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight,
With shining falchion in my chamber came
A creeping creature, with a flaming light,
And softly cried 'Awake, thou Roman dame,
And entertain my love; else lasting shame
On thee and thine this night I will inflict,
If thou my love's desire do contradict.

The question of course was what would the men hear? Would the hear the tale of a wife or a daughter brutally raped by one in power and the families need for revenge? Or would they hear a tale of a man driven to take whatever he wished with the implicit impunity to do so? Who would they side with? As slavers one and all it was hard to tell. Akbar did not seem to have a wife or child, and so the taking of something precious to him might not have the same impact as a man that did. I could only hope that in the end the woman they took into slavery against their will might come to haunt there very dreams as these men realized that family would demand revenge. Perhaps naive of me to think so, but it was a hope.

Women, we were considered the weaker sex, the one to be protected from the avarice of wicked men

'Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak,
And far the weaker with so strong a fear:
My bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak;
No rightful plea might plead for justice there:
His scarlet lust came evidence to swear
That my poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes;
And when the judge is robb'd the prisoner dies.


It was that very hope that made me pick the sonnet. A hope that It might free me in the telling. I might not understand the twists and turns of gods path in my life, but one might hope that I could change the evil in men’s hearts and restore myself to my rightful place…..

When they had sworn to this advised doom,
They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence;
To show her bleeding body thorough Rome,
And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence:
Which being done with speedy diligence,
The Romans plausibly did give consent
To Tarquin's everlasting banishment.

“Gentlemen…that concludes the sonnet. Lucrece is dead, and the emperor of Rome cast down by his own lust and by the vengeance of lucrece’s husband and kin.” I would say no more, the wine leaving a warm spot in my belly that made my mind a bit weaker. I was still chaste, still pure and could only hope that I would leave here soon to make my way back to my beloved family estate to see the rolling green hills and forests. I had learned I was weaker, one man lost in the shadows had shown me that. If not for another man I would have been much like Lucrece.