Caballero del Norte

The northern knight, Leonese from his livery, crashed his mace into the hareem guard's sword. The shock of the impact left the guard's hand and arm numb. He fell to one knee at the foot of the two short, wide steps that led down from the portico into the inner courtyard. His weapon dropped from temporarily useless fingers. Behind the knight he could see the flames that were starting to run rampant but had yet to really reach this inner sanctum. The Leonese knight advanced, stepping down and onto the guard's sword, triumph in his eyes visible through the slit in his helm. Then his own fingers slackened and he dropped his mace as a lute crashed into the back of his helmet.

Zuleika had snuck up on the scene on pale, bare feet, wielding her erstwhile musical instrument with nonetheless fiery determination. Her thick, wavy midnight hair and snowy white silk shawl fluttered behind her as she struck the overhead blow with all the strength of her lush body. The knight stumbled and the guard of the hareem managed to grab his sword while swinging his small hand-shield to also crash into the Christian northerner's helmet, further staggering him.

He reared back to strike the killing blow against the knight with his sword when a cry from Zuleika brought him up short. It was maybe half fear, half indignation, the cry. The guard looked up and saw another knight had rushed in and grabbed her by the arm. This one from his accoutrements was clearly a noble. His face was obscured by a Visigoth-style helmet, perhaps passed down, or perhaps merely made to resemble such. The faceguard was crafted to resemble a mask, leaving just his dark eyes and stern mouth to be seen behind an implacable visage.

"I don't suppose you're willing to be taken prisoner. This stronghold has fallen. You will not win this day."

The guard growled and went to rush the infidel but got no farther before the Leonese knight's recovered mace crashed into his head and he dropped. The noble with the masked face shook his head. "That's what I...ah!"

Zuleika had jerked in his grip, trying to stamp at his feet and claw at whatever of his face she could get.

"You've got a leopardess Don Iago," said the Leonese knight. "Her master being dead you're best off slitting her throat too."

That gave Zuleika pause. al-Malik dead? She stopped struggling as her thoughts whirled like a desert wind, absorbing this change to her world along with all the rest and trying to see beyond it to what might be next. Her eyes tracked first to the Leonese knight, now relaxed of posture but still wary, who was regarding the other, perhaps his superior.

Then they tracked to the northern infidel noble, who she was shocked to find was already studying her eyes. Not the beauty of her face, or womanly charms, but her eyes, clearly appraising her and her reactions. Scrutinizing with his own dark gaze to see what lay beneath the surface. She was completely unused to such regard; most men either disregarded her or saw her sharp beauty and nothing else, a bauble, if an exquisitely crafted one. This was altogether different, and unnerving.

"She was his wife. A wife, at least, I suppose." She drew herself up, eyes, practically shooting sparks. She had decided...convinced herself?...she didn't like the way this one was looking at her.

"Wives." The Leonese scoffed. "Heathens. Still, if you could have a handful that looked like her...though, preferably with less spirit than that. I'd rather not get stabbed mid-entry, and this one looks like she wouldn't even hesitate." The way the Leonese looked at least matched her expectations, especially of the barbaric Christian northerners.

The other was clearly not done yet, however. He was, apparently, in charge, so what happened next would be his purview. And his eyes were still watching her with that intense gaze. Zuleika did her noble best to ignore it. "Maybe. Still, a wife of the former lord of this place could be useful when dealing with the local courtiers. Either way, we don't need to give them any greater excuse for hostility by slaying a bunch of women in their quarters. We mean to hold this place. Round them up; keep the women of substance separate from any slave-girls. Slaves are spoils."

The Leonese nodded, the promise of spoils as intended putting him in a very agreeable mood. "As you say, Don Iago. Of course, the place we hold might not actually be this one. Even if the main structures survive, this place might end up gutted. There must be a hundred fires burning."

"A hundred fires or no, this place and its people are now ours."

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The two groups of women arrayed in front of Iago were, largely, supremely uncomfortable. It was hardly surprising. Most had spent their entire lives sequestered. Large groups of others, let alone men, were completely beyond their experience. And, of course, in the post-battle furor, few of Iago's men looked especially comforting.

Iago included; though currently unhelmeted, his face was smeared in sweat, grime, and soot from the fires. His armor and clothing showed all the wear and tear he endured in the taking of the town. Still, this was a business he wanted taken care of immediately. Washing off could wait.

"This is all of them?"

"Yes, Don Iago. A couple tried to run, or fight, but here they are."

"Have we found quarters for the wives?"

"The father of the young one," Vistruario nodded at the girl, who couldn't have been much older than fifteen, "he says he'll take her back. Probably already has another groom lined up, seemed the type. The leopardess..."

Zuleika crossed her arms, managing a withering look. The sight made Iago smile and interject "Careful my Leonese friend. I believe she plots to find another lute as we speak."

Vistruario actually looked chagrined when faced with the scathing look, but she soon transferred it to Iago instead, which made him chuckle instead. "Looks like I may not be the subject of her musical talents next time."

"Well, before we find out, has she quarters or no?"

"Of a sort. Makeshift, but everything is right now. Most of us are best staying in the tents until tomorrow. We've got one of the outlying buildings at the back set aside, though, and won't be much to partition off a section."

"The barracks building."

"It was, yes, Don."

Zuleika looked aghast, the other women scandalized, not helped in the least by the soldiers grinning and nudging each other.

"It's the only one that didn't go up while we were busy with The Thing." The Thing. After the resistance the Almohads had put up, Iago's forces had broken through in a fury. Once the victory was secure, and truth be told slightly before, the call for Havok had gone out. Havok....the free-for-all cry of loot and pillage and sack. It was never easy to pull men back from. "But at any rate, we've emptied the building out. None of ours are going to be using it, certainly. We can get some levies or militia to move in what she needs. Have sergeants and nothing less as guards, but use the rest of the building for supplies and storing mass pillage. Button it up, all the privacy she'd need."

Zuleika still looked very unsure, but Iago nodded, trusting the words and judgment of his Leonese lieutenant. "Get it done. You, personally. She is to be considered a princess, and treatment of any lesser caliber will be answered for as an insult to my honor as well as her royal person."

"As you say, Don Iago." He nodded towards the four remaining women. "And them?"

All were dressed alike in fine clothing, all wearing rich ornamentation. They huddled somewhat, fear and confusion writ plain on them. Two were clearly moorish. One, whose beauty made her stand out even in that group, had different, more eastern features. The last appeared of a more northerly cast, but whether a native of Hispania or from further afield was impossible to say.

Iago scratched at an itch on his cheek. "All concubines?"

"Yes."

Iago nodded. "Spoils, like I said. Figure a price for each and offer them as alternatives to other treasure for the high-born among us."

"You are our commander, Don Iago. On you falls first choice."

Iago's eyes flicked over them briefly, then shifted to Zuleika, then back to Vistruario. "I'll stick to treasure. I pass first choice on to you, Vistruario."

Vistruario blinked in surprise, then nodded, then bowed. "You are very generous, Don Iago."

"It is nothing. Now, I'm off to inspect the wounded. Remember, none other is to manage the princess's accommodation."

"I remember, Don."

Iago turned and walked away. He was unaware of Zuleika's eyes following him.

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Having attended to the myriad tedious chores which followed the rush of conquest (or, more specifically, reconquest), Vistruario had changed into a simple if well-made tunic. He didn't much go for ostentation. He was only the second generation in his family to be of the knightly class and like most Leonese the elevation had been earned in blood and battle. In fact, that was almost universal in all the kingdoms of Christian Hispania: Galicia and Leon (recently united), Castile, Portugal, Navarre, and Aragon. His armor was meticulously laid out in the corner of his large campaign tent, and his weapons likewise. He had let his manservant tend to the after-battle maintenance of his armor, but he had tended to his weapons himself. He always did. Now, though, the tasks that discipline demanded complete, it was time to ease himself of the day's tensions and enjoy the fruits of the spoils.

The sun going down, the tent was lit by two oil lamps, throwing a flickering yellow light and soft shadows over everything. In addition to his weapons and armor, the tent contained a large chest, a cot, and a small folding table with a chair in front of it. These were all scrunched on one side of the tent now, to make room for the greater portion of the spoils he had been able to claim. Most notably, this included some suits of chainmail armor, several swords, an ironbound chest containing a great deal of silver and gold dinars, and a thick pile of silks and carpets upon which now sat the slave-girl he had claimed for himself. Vistruario crossed his arms as he contemplated her.

He had been rather surprised Iago hadn't taken her; she was entrancing, even in comparison to the others, and Iago had always had an eye for women of dark hair and eyes. And she was that, her shining, dark, curling tresses falling in ringlets just below her shoulders, her eyes, now downcast, a dark brown made even darker by long thick lashes. Her skin was olive, and her features likely marked her as an Anatolian Greek. When Iago had deferred taking any of the concubines from the now-dead lord, Vistruario hadn't hesitated to take up his claim.

"Do you speak Leonese, girl?"

She glanced up at him from under her lashes, but blankly, and made no reply. Not going to be that easy. His Mozarabic was poor, but he figured it was his best chance. "Understand you this tongue?"

"Oh! Yes, sidi. I understand." With that barrier broken, she permitted herself quick looks at him, undoubtedly making her own evaluations. Vistruario vaguely wondered what they were, but it didn't worry him overmuch. He knew where he stood.

"Good, good. A common tongue at least will we have." So to speak, he added in his head. Already he was intently formulating how this evening was going to go. "What name are you?"

She looked a little surprised at the question. "Irene. Irene Makropoulitzous." So Anatolian Greek. Or maybe Cypriot.

"Pretty name. Beautiful girl."

"Thank you, sidi."

"Is nothing. Truth I speak. You are follow of Mohammed?"

She thought for a moment, then caught his meaning. "NO, sidi, I remain Christian."

"How long have you..." he waved his hand vaguely at her, "in this place?" His eyes raked over the whole of her. Though technically well covered in a loose top and pantaloons from neck to wrists to ankles, the pale, silky material was diaphanous enough that even in this light her form was subtly visible. It was scandalous, and it fired him.

She again seemed surprised by the question. She bit her lip, a gesture he immediately took a liking to on her. Her eyes were now steadily on him, clearly trying to figure out what he wanted to hear versus what answer she could believably get away with giving him. He wasn't interested in that game. "Truth. I speak truth, you speak truth. No punish."

She tilted her head slightly on her graceful neck, almost but not quite a doubting look. "Two years, sidi. I was a kitchen girl in Tunis, but then..." she paused; he knew the missing words were 'but then someone noticed my looks'. "I was sold, twice, untouched, before...before I found myself here."

Vistruario pursed his lips; had she sounded petulant when she said the word untouched? "Well, now you are no sell by greedy merchant, buy for fat petty-king. You are win in war and claim by Christian warrior." There was a gleam in her eyes at that. Vistruario smiled, knowing he had said the right thing.

"As you say sidi. I am at your service." The gleam was still in her eyes, and there was honey in her voice as she said the words.

He folded his arms. "Then come here. Serve me."

She slid to her feet in one graceful motion. Slowly she swayed towards him and pressed herself against his side, looking up at him. Vistruario was tall, powerfully built, with sandy hair and light eyes. He was a man who depended on the force he could deliver with his body, who used a mace so he could crush the armor and bodies of his opponents. She was a swan pressed against a bull.

"How would sidi like to be served?" Coyness now seasoned the honey as her eyes gleamed up at him. He slid an arm around her waist and chuckled. She smiled in return.

"Often." With that, he pulled her against him and leaned down, kissing her brusquely.

"Oh, sidi," she murmured when he finally broke away and began to nibble at her neck, his large hands roving across her form. Her hands began to explore him in turn, moving up and down the hard, strong torso. "So different from what I have known."

"You is serve true man now." He pushed her back, then down to her knees while taking her hand and pressing it against his turgid cock. "This need serve too."

"Of course, sidi, oh, of course." She reached under his tunic and pulled at his smallclothes, again biting her lip as she freed his thick, meaty member. The sight of that made him twitch in her hand. Oh yes, he was now dearly fond of that expression on her features.

She began to stroke him, soft hand looking obscenely miniscule around the girth of his hard cock. "Mmm, you hand is good, Irene."

"My poor warrior, has no one served his mighty weapon in a while?" His cock did indeed resemble a weapon, a fleshy club. She shot him a look of satisfaction, then leaned in and cupped his balls with her other hand before kissing the bulbous, dark red head of his prick. That cause him to groan and grab the back of her head with a large hand, entangling the fingers in her curls. It *had* been a while, the whole of his time campaigning to the south, and with the rush of combat and thrill of victory, he was already at a fever pitch.

"Is very long while, little Irene. You warrior is very bad need you serve."

With that she took the head of his cock in her mouth, lips flowing over its hard smoothness, tongue swirling as her hand rapidly began stroking the shaft. The powerful muscles of his body tensed; her eager mouth and hands were pulling him to the brink in no time at all. The rush of impending ecstasy closed quicker than a charging warhorse, an ambush eagerly embraced. His cock swelled, his balls in her left hand pulled up, his jaw clenched. "AH, yes, ah yes, is so good, you do so good..."

His seed burst out forcefully against the back of her throat. She pulled back a bit....just a bit, she wanted to keep him in her mouth and at any rate his hand in her hair held her firm...and began to swallow him as the thick hot fluid shot from his pulsating prick. He let loose a long, low bellow as he emptied his balls of their full load. She took stream after stream in her mouth, only a little dribbling from her lips. When his cock finally stopped and shrank a little in her mouth, she pulled her mouth off and licked her lips, to catch as much as she could, then wiped her hand across her chin while looking up at Vis. He looked down at her hazily, his skin flushed, panting, sweat on his wide brow.

As soon as his eyes focused, she asked in a voice once again all coyness and honey, "Have I well served you, sidi?"

His cock lurched, its shrinking reversed. "No."

He reached down and grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her up then pushing her back before finally throwing her back onto the pile of silks and carpets. "No yet."

She landed amid them, well cushioned, her face surprised at his sudden burst. He had endured hardship, deprivation, had toiled and fought and killed. Through all he had survived and excelled, and now he was a victor, an intoxication greater than any from wine. Now he had claimed his spoils; where once he had given now had come the time for him to take take take...

He quickly stripped off his tunic, all his remaining clothing till his hard built form was naked to her eyes. His cock was again at full hardness. She took in the sight, no hint of displeasure on her face. Then he approached her, and she did not pull back. She reached to embrace. But he instead grabbed her blouse in clenched fists. "Is you have more clothes here?"

"N-no, sidi. There was no time...the fire..."

He hesitated a second, then shrugged and ripped her blouse apart to her navel, exposing her smallish though well-formed breasts capped with dark brown nipples. "I get for you tomorrow."

Irene blinked up at him, mouth open, a bevy of passions and emotions crossing her face. Before she could react, however, Vistruario moved over her, kissing and licking at her, her chest, her breasts. She moaned at that, then moaned again louder when his mouth finally latched on to a nipple, which quickly expanded in his mouth. He backed away, grinned, rubbing thumb over the hardened nub, then took the other in his mouth.

Irene's breath was now coming out panted. She moved her arms to wrap around him but he grabbed them instead, holding them in a strong grip over her head while his mouth continued to run rampant across her breasts and nipples. She began to squirm. He shifted, leaving a trail of kisses back up to her neck, and his cock made contact with her lower belly. The feel of it caused her to moan again and undulate her hips. As if it had been a trigger, he let go of her arms, quickly undid the knot at the waist of her pants, then grabbed and jerked them down and off.

That done, he nudged himself between her legs which she spread obligingly, revealing her eager cunt nestled within the dark damp curls. "Oh yes sidi," she breathed. "Oh, take me. Take my bower of bliss for your own!"

Vistruario nestled the head of his cock against the heat of her entrance and grunted. It really had been much too long. "I am no interest in take of bower." He thrust part of the way inside, and she hissed at the stretching of her around his thickness. "I am going fuck you pussy. Am going fuck you much." He pulled back and thrust again, burying more of himself inside her, this time eliciting a squeal in response to the pleasure/pain. He pulled back and thrust again, and again, getting a bit more on each stroke. He was greatly enjoying her enthusiasm, the squeeze of her tightness, the warmth of her. He began to thrust faster, now moving the whole length of himself inside her.

"Oh! Oh, sidi, oh my warrior, oh yes!" Irene hooked a leg around his leg, her other around his waist, arms thrown above her head and back arched thrusting out her breasts. Vistruario took advantage and grabbed them in his large hands, squeezing and pinching and mauling them. Then he took his hands from them and bore down, slamming into her with longer and harder strokes.