A Most Graceful Life Ch. 01

Author's Note: Welcome to my first story! The tale was many months in the making, and I wanted to publish this to solicit feedback. As the description indicates, this is a full length genie story of twelve chapters with an ending. I took a lot of inspiration from the "Brolly-universe" when creating my genie, but added a few flourishes of my own. This first chapter is merely the prologue, and can be skipped if one desires. I decided to write this chapter as homage to historical non-fiction. Many of the names here were real people, yet the story is mine. I really hope you enjoy, and thank you for taking the time to join me on this ride!

-CJ McCormick

*****

Prologue 401 BC

"Great King, are we not a little exposed in this current position?"

"Papak, don't be an old woman! We need to ensure my dear brother can see the size of our vast force and tremble at its might."

The rest of the entourage around the Great King began to laugh on cue at the courtier, taking advantage of his insult by the Great King. The scorned adviser, Papak, put his head down, never daring to question twice the leader of entire Persian Empire.

Or should he say, the soon to be ruler of the entire Persian Empire. For his commander, the leader of this vast army, a man affectionately known to later history as Cyrus the Younger had, at this moment, the title of mere usurper to the throne. The legitimate king of the Empire, Cyrus' older brother Artaxerxes II, was encamped a little more than a mile from their current spot, hugging the safety of the Euphrates river deep in the heart of the land called by later men Mesopotamia. Only by squinting his eyes could Papak make out the great standard of Persia flapping in the breeze near the enemy camp.

One might wonder how it had come to this: how two great armies, led by brothers sharing the same blood, could find themselves occupying the same battlefield where only one could be victorious. It was a question that Papak had found himself gnawing at frequently, especially given the stakes of this expedition. Of course, there weren't many who doubted that Cyrus would be the victor of this contest. Anyone who had been in his presence could see that he was destined to be the ruler of the world, so apparent were his virtues, intelligence, daring, and courage.

Papak hazarded a glance over to the man he acknowledges as Great King. Cyrus the Younger wore a curious smile, like one who was in on a secret still hidden from everyone else. With one hand gently stroking his long, dark beard, he surveyed the land between his small entourage and his brother's camp. Papak had seen this look before, and knew he was creating his plan for the morning, when battle would begin. As far as plans went, Cyrus had never led him astray. The second son of the late Great King Darius II, Cyrus demonstrated clear intelligence and skill from a young age. The Little Wolf, as they called him in his father's court, for the wolfish smile he would give after peppering a target with arrows, or from demonstrating his superior horsemanship, Cyrus would have made a fine Great King, had he not been born second in line for the throne. That was the only avenue of life where Cyrus did not rank first, a privilege only given to Darius' first son, Artaxerxes.

Papak had known Artaxerxes when he was just a boy as well, having spent the majority of his forty-four years in service to the Great Kings of Persia. He could still remember the day, almost twenty years prior, when young Cyrus has bested his brother in spear training, and how the father Darius looked on so proudly at his warrior son. No doubt Darius had hoped for Artaxerxes to be the wise and peaceful ruler, while his brother Cyrus would wield the spear and shield in defense of the Empire. It is a blessing he could not see where those carefully laid plans have fallen on this battlefield. After tomorrow, one of his sons would pass forever from this world. Papak's bet hedged that it would not be Cyrus.

"Papak, halt the soldiers on that high ground on this side of the river. We will prepare camp here tonight. Summon Clearchus, and have him meet at my tent at sundown with his unit commanders."

"As you wish, Great King," Papak replied, before turning his horse and setting off in the direction of countless men and dust. The army of Cyrus spread out for miles, marching along with their spears, wicker shields, and protective clothing. Men from every corner of the Persian Empire were represented. From great Phrygian cavalry, to Babylonian spearmen, to Median shieldbearers, this diverse army met and assembled for one purpose: to institute a new order within the Empire.

It was neither Mede, nor Babylonian, nor Phrygian that Papak sought at that moment though. He was looking for the other contingent of the great army, those sporting the circular bronze shields and metal breastplates, and fighting in the hoplite style. Proud men, who had twice thrown back the might of the Persian Empire, and now fought as mercenaries, seeking death or glory in the service of mere coin. They were the men of the city-states of Greece, and no more proud or effective warriors existed elsewhere in the world.

Such a proud and noble lineage could only hope to be led by one who shared and gloried in all that was Greek, and leading their column was where Papak found their commander, Clearchus, a Spartan general who's prowess had no equal.

"Clearchus, you are summoned," Papak stated, riding up to formidable Spartan. Like most of his countrymen, Clearchus had no use for a horse, even as the commander of his mighty warriors. Spartans held the view that even the leader of an army should march with his troops.

Clearchus squinted, his eyes narrowly searching for Papak's while blocking out the desert sun.

"For what?" Clearchus responded, his laconic response causing the eyes of several surrounding Greeks to look at their interaction.

"The Great King wishes to make camp for the night. Here, close to that small rise near the river," replied Papak, pointing to the area that Cyrus had outlined earlier. "He also wishes for you to meet at his tent at sundown."

Clearchus nodded, and then removed his helmet, revealing a generous mane of dark hair that came down to his shoulders. It was Spartan custom for men to wear their hair long and lustrous, and his was no exception. "I will have my men start the camp. Tell his Excellency to expect me at the desired time," replied Clearchus, before turning his head to the man closest to him. "Hiero! Xenophon! Prepare to camp for the night."

Satisfied that his orders would be followed, Papak went next to guide the Greeks to the exact spot, issuing orders for the construction of camp for the night. By the looks of the setting sun, they would only have an hour, or two at most, to construct camp before darkness would descend. He supervised the creation of the basic defenses of camp while most of the men set about their various tasks, from erecting the tents, to the preparation of rations for the evening.

Right as the sun was about to dip below the western sky, Clearchus approached as well, giving a curt nod to Papak to indicate his readiness.

"This way," replied Papak, beginning to walk over to the Great King's grand pavilion. "We will meet with Ariaeus as well." Ariaeus was the commander of the Persian contingent of the Great King's army.

"Eh? So we will join battle tomorrow then?" Clearchus asked, a hopeful inflection within his voice and a smile forming on his grizzled face.

Spartans, thought Papak, while rolling his eyes, "That may be Cyrus' intention. Or perhaps our might will convince his brother to quit while he still has his life."

"We can hope not. The men are ready for a fight. It would be a pity to have them march all the way from Greece for a surrender," replied Clearchus, grimly.

Papak didn't respond, and continued to lead the way over to the tent. Outside, the guards from Cyrus' hastily formed Immortals unit gave entry to those deemed important enough to approach the Great King. Once inside, Papak saw a familiar face that gave welcome right away.

"Ah, Papak, there you are," replied Ariaeus, a small smile forming on his face. The Persian commander cast his hand out to grasp Papak's. "Is the Greek dog here as well?"

"You can call him Clearchus," Papak corrected. "And he is on our side, for now. I would choose your words wisely, lest he find a reason to run you through."

Ariaeus spit on the ground before letting out a hearty chuckle, "I will take my chances in front of the Greek dogs. Besides, today they may be our allies. But tomorrow? Who knows?"

"That's the kind of talk that might get you killed, you old fool," replied Papak, with a hint of a grin beginning to form on his face.

"There is not a man alive that can kill the great warrior, Ariaeus," he chuckled, pointing out the long scar that ran from his ear down to his neck, the result of a spear thrust that came too close.

Papak could not help but laugh, having known Ariaeus for many years, and being well used to his brand of humor.

"So, are the rumors true? Will we offer battle tomorrow?" Ariaeus pressed.

"You sound like the Greek dog," replied Papak, "So eager to see blood spilled?"

"More like so eager to go back home to my comfortable bed and my whores," retorted Ariaeus. "Might as well get this over with."

"Wait here. Let me see if the Great King is ready to see you both," said Papak, pushing forward through the tent flaps into Cyrus' personal chamber. Few men alive were allowed this far into the personal chambers of the king, as evident by the amount of guards that Papak had to pass. As he winded around the last corner, an unmistakable sound began to form: the sound of flesh upon flesh.

The sounds grew louder as Papak crossed the last threshold into Cyrus' personal quarters, only to be greeted by a now familiar sight: Cyrus himself, nude as the day he was born, standing proud and erect and watching two of his concubines servicing his member. The slurping sounds came mostly from one girl, a young thing that couldn't have been a day over twenty with dark hair, as she worked the shaft. Her hands squeezed at the base, while her tongue carefully jutted out to taste the skin underneath.

The other girl, a fiery redhead that could only have been from the northern tribal lands across the Caucasus mountains had her mouth carefully formed around the tip, and taking several inches into her suctioning mouth. Both girls seemed to work in tandem, taking extra special care of the Great King's cock, and servicing him in the best way they knew how. It was almost like they had done this together in the past, although Papak knew that the redhead was a recent addition.

"Ah, Papak, right on time," came the sudden voice from Cyrus. Papak startled, tearing his eyes away from the girls and facing his king. "You don't mind if I finish, do you?"

"Not at all, Great King," replied Papak, struggling to keep eye contact with the king. The girls barely noticed his presence, continuing with their work.

"Excellent," replied Cyrus, with a disarming smile, and gestured to a chair nearby. Papak obeyed quickly, and scampered into the chair and resumed watching the generous display in front of him.

"Now, my lovelies, we must begin to speed things up. You," said Cyrus, gesturing to the redhead, "remove your garment, and let me see those tits of yours."

The redhead carefully removed his cock from her mouth, giving the tip one final lick, before standing to attention, and slipping the strap from her shoulder. Her primitive garment collapsed onto the ground beneath them, and Papak had to stifle a gasp. The girl had one of the most spectacular pair of tits that Papak had seen in quite some time. He could see how she had easily made it the entire way into the royal concubines.

"Ah, yes, that's perfect," replied Cyrus, reaching his hand out to grasp each fleshy globe in turn, before gently pinching each nipple. "Very impressive, and so very perky. Tell me, girl, have you ever been with child?"

"No, my king," replied the redhead, submissively.

"What about a man? Have you been penetrated before?"

The redhead nodded, before slowly speaking, "Yes, my king."

"Good. I want you to lay on your back. I want to watch those perfectly formed tits bounce as I fuck you," replied Cyrus, motioning for her to assume the position. She did so unquestioningly, her legs spreading open to reveal a generous pink opening surrounded in a frame of red mane. Her eyes lowered slightly, before rising to meet those of Cyrus a coy invitation to slip between her legs.

As Cyrus moved closer to her, the brunette slid to the side, watching out of arousal. Papak had hoped that she might come over and service him, as some of Cyrus' concubines had done in the past. It was forbidden for him to summon one claimed by the Great King on his own, yet they were free to engage him if they so chose. However, the look in her eyes seemed to be focused exclusively on the king, and not on Papak.

Returning his attention to the redhead, Papak saw her gasp at the moment that she was penetrated, taking first the tip, and then each successive inch of Cyrus' cock in turn, before he bottomed out. He stayed rooted inside her for a moment, letting her become accustomed to his size. Finally, Cyrus gave her a lusty smile before beginning to work his hips, setting a chain of motion that pistoned his pelvis, driving his cock deeper into the girl with each new thrust.

"So very tight," commented Cyrus, looking down at the redhead. "Much tighter than Roksana over there," he said, jerking his head in the direction of the brunette. If she was offended, her face didn't show it.

"I'm glad it pleases you, my king," replied the redhead, meeting each thrust with a counter of her own, and setting in pace a vigorous rhythm with the him. Papak watched enthralled, never tiring of this display of flesh, desire, and debauchery. He felt his own cock harden in response to the sight, and kept trying to catch the eyes of Roksana in misguided hope for his own needs.

Cyrus was careful to set a slower pace at first, letting the girl get used to his penetrations, before picking up a quicker pace as her hips started to meet his own. The steady sound of flesh against flesh resumed louder than before, while Cyrus' hands cupped each of her tits in turn, making each nipple thoroughly erect enough to suckle. As if on cue, Cyrus snapped his fingers at Roksana, a predetermined signal for her to get back involved. She slid behind him, laying on her stomach, and with a deft skill, began her tongue across the Great King's balls.

"That's it, Roksana. Keep that up," murmured Cyrus, enjoying the display of pleasure between the two women.

Papak watched even closer, and frequently shifted his tunic trying to hide his erection. He watched as Roksana used her tongue and mouth to bring him closer to the edge, while the fiery redhead met each thrust with a strong response of her own. Together, the three of them moved as if one combined being, and Papak ached to slide in behind Roksana, with her open and glistening gash just begging for entrance. He knew better, as such wanton and disrespectful behavior towards the Great King's own concubines would surely find his head on a spike before dawn.

Cyrus' grunts grew more frequent, and the redhead's moans more audible as they began to reach crescendo.

"That's it, you little tigress," panted Cyrus, "You want my seed? You can have it!"

"Yes, please, Great King," moaned the redhead in response. "Plant your seed deep inside me. I need it so bad!" Her moaning grew ever more intense, as Papak sensed she was close to orgasm.

The words spurned him on, and Papak watched the whirlwind of activity as his hips went into overdrive, before a final stiffening as he came, flooding the concubine's pussy with his sticky seed. Cyrus leaned in, catching his breath, while still planting himself deep within her. The redhead snaked her arms around him, grabbing him on the ass to pull against her deeper still. She was determined that not one drop of his seed should spill out of her. Papak couldn't blame her; being a mother to one of the Great King of Persia's bastards was an incredible status.

Cyrus took a few moments to catch his breath, his convulsions that had started so violently in the moment of orgasm beginning to subside with time. He reached one hand back through his sweat-soaked hair, grinning at the sight of his member still penetrating the girl.

"Now, that was just delightful. You were excellent, my dear," replied Cyrus, finally catching his breath.

"Thank you, my King," replied the redhead, her head bowed slightly as Cyrus unsheathed from her body.

"I think we'll add you to the royal concubines. Papak here will see that it's done, won't you, Papak?"

"Immediately, Great King," replied Papak.

"Most excellent," replied Cyrus, turning back to the girl, "What is your name, my pretty?"

The redhead replied quickly,"I am called Sura by my peoples, Great King."

"Sura, it is. You will follow Roksana back to the other concubines, Sura. Now, please leave us, we have business to discuss."

"Yes, Great King," both women replied in unison, before beating a hasty exit. Cyrus reached up to stretch himself, before walking over to the corner of the tent to take a piss. Papak remained quiet as Cyrus answered the call of nature, and once finished, quickly assumed a more regal robe.

"I trust you have brought Clearchus and Ariaeus?" Cyrus asked.

"I have, Great King. They are just outside the tent."

"Good, you may bring them in now," motioned Cyrus, pointing back to the entrance.

Papak began to retrace his steps, until he came upon the two commanders waiting rather impatiently outside Cyrus' quarters.

"He is ready, let's go," said Papak, almost stunning the both of them to attention. Carefully, they filed in behind him, until they came into Cyrus' quarters, and a large table set out in front of them. Ariaeus assumed one position on the far end of the table, while Clearchus occupied the opposite side, with Cyrus between them.

"Now that you both are here, we can begin to discuss strategy. I intend to offer battle to my wretched brother tomorrow," Cyrus began, looking back and forth between the two men.

Both Clearchus and Ariaeus immediately looked to each other, and then back to the Great King. Papak wondered which of them would be the first to object. He didn't have to wonder long.

"Tomorrow?" Ariaeus asked, looking decidedly more nervous than before he entered. "Is that a wise course, Great King? Just from my scouts alone, it looks like Artaxerxes outnumbers us almost two to one."

Cyrus spit on the ground, his temper flaring up, "Two to one? Bah, Ariaeus! He has conscripted peasants and farmers who haven't held spears in twenty years. We are warriors, and veterans of many campaigns. Not to mention, our men have fought together since we came from the lands of Lydia. And lastly, I have one thing he doesn't, and that's Spartans." Cyrus pointed to Clearchus to emphasize his point.

Clearchus, for his part, said nothing and let Ariaeus continue on.

"Surely, no one doubts the quality of our army, Great King, but even a pack of wild dogs can kill a lion if they use numbers. Not only do they outnumber us in infantry, but they have a great amount of archers and over twice the cavalry we have," Ariaeus pointed out.

"Almost twice the archers," corrected Cyrus, pointing at troop dispositions on the map.

Ariaeus hesitated, and looked to Clearchus for some level of support. Clearchus, the ever typical Spartan, chose not to reply.

"Then why so eager to attack, my Great King? Do we have a secret weapon, or reinforcements that can help turn the tide?" Ariaeus pressed.