The Thief of Virtue Ch. 02

Part 2:In which a thief is tried and tasted.

The text below is original content which belongs to the author. This work must not be reproduced either in part or in full without the permission of the author.

That said – enjoy! This is my first Literotica submission (as it were), so please let me know what you think! It's a three part story, and all the parts are online.

This story will probably only really make sense if you have previously read Parts 1, which you should be able to find in my author's page.

*****

Trystan awoke the next day to find Ellia still curled up beside him. The moment he shifted position she woke with a start, glancing nervously around her. Her expression spread into a smile as she saw his face and she extended one arm over his chest, looking up at him. They lay still together, both separately wishing that the day did not have to begin.

"What does this mean?" asked Ellia after a while, running her hands over the tattoo on his chest.

"It's the oath of the Order of Arnan - 'devoir me lie' – it means 'duty binds me'. We all take the words to our skin when we become paladins." He spoke with a quiet pride, as his fingers stroked through her brown hair.

"Didn't it hurt?"

"A great deal," Tristan nodded emphatically. "But it's a great honour to bear the symbol. And this one," he added, rolling over suddenly onto his front, and displaying his broad back. A sword, with scales balanced on the pommel, was emblazoned down his spine. It was nicked and crossed by long scars across his skin - she hadn't seen this in the golden glow of last night's lovemaking.

Trystan rolled back over and with a wide grin he scooped her into his arms, kissing her on the forehead, on the nose, and on the lips. Ellia had never seen him playful before. The kiss became more passionate, and her arms wound round his neck, her hands slipping into his hair. Her lips left his, kissing his neck; again, he copied her motions, laying his lips over her pulse point, over her collar bone, his tongue coming out of its own accord to taste her skin. She could feel his lust pressing hard against her thigh.

His fingers slipped down between them, between her legs. Gently he explored her dewy folds. Ellia drew away the blanket, revealing her fully naked self to him. For a moment he froze, transfixed. Last night they had coupled in candlelight but now, in the light of dawn, he could appreciate every curve and hollow of her body. He brought his face closer to his exploring fingers. He opened her legs to see her centre more clearly, still teasing his fingers over her pleasure centre and causing her to shiver, as he examined her curiously. Ellia found herself feeling strangely vulnerable,

"It's very strange looking," he murmured, almost to himself. "Very pink and sort of wrinkly..."

"Well, sorry," Ellia replied, with a bitter tone in her voice, suddenly stiffening.

She pulled away from him. Trystan looked up at her, trying to understand what he had done wrong. She was drawing the blanket back around her curled form, defensively. He sat naked on the side of the bed, feeling foolish, his manhood still ragingly erect.

"I made you sad," he said to her forlornly. "I'm sorry." He waved his hands around futilely, trying to explain. "I don't know anything about this." He looked at her with big, pleading eyes. "I'm sorry," he said again, desperately. Her expression softened, and she moved to him, allowing him to grab her into an embrace. He kissed her hair and nuzzled into her neck, feeling simultaneously contrite and aroused, his lust reigniting hers.

Ellia turned in his lap, and straddled him as he sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes opening wide. She had already been wet from last night, and Trystan's teasing stimulation had aroused her further. Gradually she impaled herself upon him, enjoying his sounds as much as the feeling of him stretching her open. His head was level with her breasts and she pulled his mouth to them. He looked unsure, but as his tongue connected with her delicate flesh she gasped, her grip in his curly hair tightening. She began to undulate above him, rocking back and forth, feeling him swell further inside her. Determined to climax herself, she slowed, enjoying every inch of him caressing deeply within her and the pressure against her clitoris as their bodies fully connected.

Trystan felt himself enter her even further than last night as she opened up to him. He flicked his tongue over her breast, trying to emulate the way her fingers had guided his the night before. He was desperately trying to prevent himself from finishing, running over honour codes in his head, counting the transgressions of Nim, or anything else he could think of to distract himself.

Suddenly Ellia sped her pace, her hand coming up to her unattended breast as she rode him furiously. Her pace became erratic and her breaths shallow, as her thighs seemed to shiver around his waist. Her head tipped backwards as her spine arched and Trystan recognised that, as last night, she had found pleasure. He was surprised to feel spasms inside her, massaging his shaft, which seemed to draw him in further. He could wait no longer and he pounded, again and again, his pace wild as some feral need inside him found its escape at last. He plunged into her, raising a loud gasp from her as she rode another wave of pleasure. With a roaring in his ears, which he realised was his own voice, they slammed together and his seed rushed into her in hot spurts. A moment of light and blackness followed - as if he were suspended in still water. He thought he heard Arnan's voice, but it was his own panting which awoke him; they both glistened in sweat, despite the cool air of the room. He cradled her to him, swinging them both back onto the bed, still connected. Her breath felt hot against his chest where her cheek pressed against him. Their breathing gradually slowed, and Trystan tucked the blanket around her shoulders as they lay back, entwined.

Trystan toyed idly with Ellia's breasts, enjoying their suppleness beneath his hands. She was lying against him with her eyes closed, but she hummed with delight and nuzzled against him in pleasure. Trystan gradually felt his passion rising again inside her, and began to move slowly back and forth beneath her. She moved with his relaxed pace as together they luxuriated in the sensations of coupling.

A hard rapping at the door downstairs disturbed them. They looked at each other, and Trystan groaned, whilst Ellia giggled impishly. He pulled out of her and she turned onto her side to watch him pull on his trousers, the erotic bulge still prominently evident in the front. He looked around desperately, searching for his tunic. Ellia found it beneath the pillow and flung it across to him.

"Look asleep," was his plea to her as he ran downstairs, pulling the shirt over his head.

Trystan ran his hand through his hair and opened the door. On his doorstep stood the Mayor of Glainmarsh. He was a very tall man, almost Trystan's height, but his build was slender. His clean shaven face made him look strangely youthful, though there were wrinkles around his eyes, and his prominent lips seemed too colourful for his pale skin and faded hair.

"Good morning, Sir Trystan. How is the prisoner fairing?

"She seems almost well enough, Councillor. I was just checking on her in fact." In his head, Trystan apologised to Arnan for the blatant lie.

"Might I come in and see her?" the Mayor asked, with what Trystan thought was too much enthusiasm. Unsure of how he could refuse, he led the Mayor up the stairs, talking to him loudly in order to warn Ellia of their approach. As they opened the door, Ellia lay feigning sleep. The blanket was pulled up to her neck, and Trystan's still-throbbing member guessed that she was totally naked beneath. After a few seconds, Trystan shut the door again rather firmly.

"Sleep is the best healer," he said seriously. "I'll bring her along to the town hall this afternoon for her official sentence."

"Very well," said the Major, grudgingly, making for the door. "My people are very grateful for all your help in apprehending and guarding her, Sir Trystan. I shall have some suitable attire sent along for her," he added, licking his lips, as he turned to leave.

*****

Some hours later an unwilling Ellia, dressed in a blue, rather low-cut dress, was led to the town hall by Trystan. It was a large, cold building, and currently appeared to contain almost the entire population of Glainmarsh. There was a strange seating system with a line of six large chairs in the front, and benches behind. As Trystan entered, Leesbert appeared beside him. The level of chatter around them increased as gradually people noticed them.

"You should take the thief to the stand there at the front," hissed Leesbert beneath the noise.

Trystan led her over to the stand, and she sat in the chair on the little raised dais. There were manacles there but, when Leesbert tried to lock her in, Trystan shook his head slightly. Leesbert dropped them back down with a wink at Ellia.

"So, what's going to happen today, Leesbert?" asked Trystan softly.

"We're waiting for the Mayor now," Leesbert whispered. "When he comes in he'll hear the testament of the accusers, decide if he thinks you did it, and what he thinks is the right punishment. Then the five families will give their opinion. An' the women's council."

"He just decides whether I did it? Like that? I don't get to say anything?" asked Ellia incredulously.

"Well, yeah. I mean, he'll call for evidence and stuff. And sometimes other people stand up and talk, too. Didn't used to be like that, not with the old Mayor, but then court used to go on for days and days here and no one could get anything done. People'd piss in the corner so they could go on with the trial. It's simpler now – mostly the five families just agree with the Mayor."

"Wait... the five families?" asked Trystan. "Who are they?"

"Well, they're the five richest families in the town, see? Well, not the whole families, just the head of the family. They're always arguing with each other, and amongst themselves, so if it was the whole family they'd never agree on anything. To be honest, if there was just one man left he'd argue with himself..."

"All stand for his Excellence, the Mayor of Glainmarsh".

Leesbert fell silent and scurried back to the hall.

The Mayor walked in and sat in the prominent wooden throne at the centre of the room, upon a raised dais. He wore ceremonial robes over his regular fine clothes.

"I will hear the complaints against the accused," he said rather grandly, smiling condescendingly at Ellia. Several accusers came forward and, one-by-one, detailed how they had freely offered their generous hospitality to Ellia, only to have precious items stolen from their houses. Ellia found this rather unfair - most had offered her their "hospitality" out of lust, whilst others had clearly expected her to work for them in return. It was certainly not freely or charitably given, and Ellia had not felt particularly guilty about making off with their possessions. Trystan had already handed over the items found in the Mudlings camp, which were displayed at the front of the hall.

During the butcher's testament, a man in the hall suddenly stood up and started shouting, saying that the butcher had stolen several of the trinkets in the first place. There was sudden outcry from the listeners, some upholding one or other story, and some shouting general abuse. Old feuds between families resurfaced and, as someone began recounting a 20-year-old slight at a third-cousin's wedding, Ellia and Trystan exchanged meaningful looks. After some time, the Mayor finally managed to restore silence, mainly with the threat of executing everyone who was still talking.

"I think that is enough. Let the accused stand". Ellia stood up, trying desperately to look innocent.

"Today's testament, along with the earlier private testament of Sir Trystan, Paladin of Arnan," the Mayor paused, nodding respectfully to Trystan, "leaves me in no doubt that this woman is guilty of theft. However theft, when the goods are returned as in this case, becomes a crime against honour alone. The Counsellor proposes that a half-day's labour for each of the accusers is worked by the accused. Does the town hear justice?" he looked around pointedly at the five families.

"The Fryas family hears justice," said a grey haired man, standing solemnly.

"The Alson family hears justice," said another quickly, almost before he had stood.

With astonishingly little discussion, the other men stood up, assenting the verdict. Everyone turned expectantly to an elderly woman, almost invisible under an array of shawls and scarves.

She stood shakily, helped up by a young girl.

"The women's council hears justice," she croaked, "but adds the proviso that the accused should be rehoused. The women's council finds it morally reprehensible that a single woman should remain in the house of an unmarried man."

Trystan blushed - ordinarily he would have been offended by such an implication against his honour and virtue, but he could hardly deny it.

"Sir Trystan is a Paladin of Arnan - he is beyond reproach!" shouted a voice from the back. It was Leesbert, his flame red hair and acne shining greasily as he shook with indignation on his hero's behalf. "Besides, he's probably the only one who can keep the thief from running off," he added. The townspeople looked to each other, nodding. No one could afford to lose a half-day's free labour because some old women had more morals than sense.

"The Counsellor moves to overrule the proviso of the women's council. Who hears justice?" demanded the Mayor.

Again, one by one, the heads of the families stood and spoke agreement, this time with more lustre. The old woman sat muttering angrily under her breath.

"The Counsellor's secretary will define the specifics of the work detail," announced the Mayor with finality, standing up. There was a thunder as the whole audience of the circus-like court stood up, suddenly chattering. Some arguments were clearly breaking out once more, in an insistent and rising whisper.

Trystan turned to Ellia and grinned. "There," he said under his breath; "I told you it wouldn't be too bad."

"Well, I'm going to be stuck in this mud-hole for the next week doing chores," Ellia grimaced. Leesbert came up to the pair of them again, winking conspiratorially.

"Hope you don't mind I spoke up on your behalf, only those old women don't have no right saying what they said. Although," he lowered his voice to a whisper which only they could hear beneath the bickering around them, "I heard you two last night making some kind of noise when I was on my rounds, so as I don't know that it might be true what they said. But they got no business being so old fashioned an' interfering and the like." He grinned at them in a way which made them both feel rather uncomfortable. Trystan was blushing again and even Ellia felt rather awkward, though she kept her expression carefully blank. Before Trystan could thank or caution him, Leesbert had turned away, looking pleased with himself.

There were still a few hours of daylight left, and the townspeople gradually filed out of the town hall to carry on with their chores before the sun set. Trystan wandered to the market with Ellia to buy some food. Several of the women selling in the market had been mothers of the children stolen by Mudlings. They cooed with joy when they saw Trystan, fussing over him, packing baskets full of produce and bread, and refusing to allow him to pay. Ellia had to put up with dark looks from them all, and several of the women complimented Trystan on keeping the prisoner from running off again. One women kept pushing her teenage daughters forward, asking Trystan which he thought was the most beautiful. Making some excuse that all were beautiful in the eyes of Arnan, he led Ellia away, laden with gifts.

When they returned to the Old Smithy, the Mayor's secretary was waiting for them. He presented them with a schedule of Ellia's work detail. Tomorrow morning was to be spent at the baker's, and the afternoon was with the Widow Pincer, a sour old woman who kept a smallholding on the edge of town.

"The Mayor's put himself on here," she said frowning, scanning the list once the secretary had gone.

"Really? He seemed very eager to come see you today. It was he who chose that dress for you, I'm certain of it," added Trystan darkly, nodding to Ellia's low décolletage. Ellia smiled to herself at his protectiveness - take a man's cherry and he thought that he owned you.

Ellia spent the rest of the day sitting at the table, mending her rather battered leather armour. Trystan did press ups in the middle of the room, reciting the Honour Codes of the Order of Arnan, until Ellia pelted him with small objects. After that they chatted quietly. At one point he tried to start cooking, but Ellia shooed him away - one stew had been enough to understand that he had, if anything, anti-talent when it came to the kitchen.

When darkness fell they ate together, discussing the warped and chaotic justice system of the town with quiet companionability. It was rare that Trystan found someone he felt comfortable talking to; he was rather shy and travelled so much that, by the time he got to know someone, it was already time to move on. Equally unusual was that Ellia found someone who didn't annoy her too intensely to spend time with. He had not once lectured her about her theft, nor tried to convert her. He had refrained from asking her too many questions about her past. That had pleasantly surprised her. Gradually they finished their meal, and washed the dishes. It became later. Ellia announced that she was going to bed and Trystan looked about awkwardly, uncertain if he was welcome to join her, or if last night and this morning had been a single gift, not to be repeated.

"Are you coming?" she asked with a smile, beckoning him upstairs after her.

*****

A knocking awoke them before dawn. Disengaging himself from Ellia, Trystan opened the door to find the youngest boy from the bakery standing heavy lidded on the step.

"Daddy says I'm to bring the thief to work," he said seriously. Trystan nodded, and beckoned the boy inside. He handed the child a biscuit, and the boy sat contentedly munching downstairs as the adults dressed.

At the bakery Ellia was put to carry in fuel for the fires of the huge ovens. When a cart piled with bags of flour arrived from the mill up the road, she was sent to unload it. All the heaviest, dirtiest jobs were reserved for her and when finally she thought there was nothing else, the greasy bread forms, still hot from the oven, were given to her to wash in a large, outdoor sink in front of the bakery. The hot pans spat and bubbled as they hit the freezing water, and she could barely feel her blistered fingers by the end. Throughout the morning the townspeople brought dishes to be cooked in the large ovens, since most had no oven of their own. They all stopped to watch the thief working, and to sneer at her. Trystan did every task with her, though, helping her along. The baker had originally complained, but Trystan had reasoned that he was tasked to watch her, and that "idleness is the bedfellow of idolatry", as the abbot's favourite expression had always been. At the end of the morning, they had thrown her a hunk of yesterday's bread as reluctant thanks.

Without rest, Trystan led his weary charge to the Widow Pincer's smallholding on the edge of town. The ramshackle old cottage was surrounded with scrubby hedges which could barely grow in the marshy soil, and the flea-bitten sheep chewed glumly in the mist. They spent the early afternoon cleaning chicken and goose feathers in a bath of soap and vinegar, brushing them through to remove the dust, dirt and droppings. The smelly, elbow-deep mixture was freezing cold, and slopped all over them. Together Ellia and Trystan worked quickly, and the Widow was struggling to find other tasks for them of appropriate unpleasantness. They ended up carding wool, until their hands were sore from the evil metal combs, and greasy from lanolin. At last the sun went down, and Trystan stood, announcing that the day had finished. Widow Pincer looked at him furiously, but didn't dare to contradict him.