Ileida, The Fallen Queen

(This is a work of fiction entirely made up and has no parallel in any real-world event past and present.)

- 1 -

In the besieged castle, proud Ileida knelt among the rubble, still in her blood-stained armor, the legendary gem-adorned royal sword laid on the marble floor before her. Barbarian chieftains surrounded her on all sides, judging their enemies' queen with loathness and curiosity.

Surrendered! She never thought it possible after all these years' resistance. But the battle was over. She lost, and her small but rich kingdom was no more. Outside the shattered crystal window, in the courtyard, Ileida could hear the barbarian soldiers auctioning off the noble women they had seized in the city.

Five copper going once;

Five copper going twice;

Sold!

A coarse roar rose as the crowd cheered, followed by a young woman's terrifying shriek, as her purchaser proceeded to claim his prize right on the spot. Ileida recognized the poor woman's voice. It was one of her chambermaids. She shed a tear for her people in her heart while saving the real ones for herself. She knew what terrible fate could await the famous "Virgin Queen." She saw those hungry shines in the chieftains' eyes, all wanting to test for themselves if the tale was real.

"So this is the woman that held off my mighty army for 14 years," it was their sultan. He knew her language well. Even when sitting, the man looked like a piece cut from a giant boulder.

"For what is worth, you do take after your father," He scrutinized her pale face with his dark minotaur-like eyes.

"I made sure to take a long, good look at him, before I fed him to my lions."

She had learned to recognize them--words that meant to anger and humiliate her.

It was upon her and her father's throne that the tyrant now sat with such disdain.

She could pick up that sword and stab it in his chest. Finish the war which she had begun fighting since she turned sixteen. She was still young enough and fast like a lightning.

But not fast enough to kill them all. His loyal coyotes would strike her down next to his pool of blood and nail her on a cross. She was not ready to be a martyr yet; her people still needed their queen. There were still some of her forces left, hiding in the mountains and waiting for a comeback.

She was ready to strike a bargain with her lifelong enemy, and willing to pay for its price, whatever it would be.

The sultan was intrigued by her proposal. He had a very different design for her and her people, but this would do quite fine. He warned her that it would be done in his way, putting her life at his whim.

"I can still grant you a quick death; I will give you a most decent burial, and mark your grave, so your people can go and mourn their heroine."

But her mind was made up. She crawled close by the throne and kissed his feet.

Even the rowdy chieftains hushed at this unbelievable scene.

"Spare my people, and let me be your wife and slave, my lord, and I shall serve you with my body and soul, till death do us part."

She stayed in her subservient pose and did not look up.

Then Ileida felt the sultan's broad hand laying on her head and playing with her soft blonde hair, like petting one of his kittens.

Her wedding took place the next day. She was allowed to collect her maids, who rummaged through the burned quarters and pieced together an intact set of wear. At noon she was escorted down to the city square, where some humble decoration had been set up. Hundreds of remaining citizens gathered to witness their fallen queen's matrimony.

This was not at all how Ileida had pictured her wedding day, but she still felt a strange bliss common to all brides in the world. She was in a long blue gown made of finest satin with golden inlays, and her hair had been braided in a most elaborate style. She had never looked so magnificent, having been used to wearing armors and riding on horseback.

The sultan was in his usual vulgar outfit and had a curved sword on his waist; throughout the simple ceremony he had displayed a particular impatience that alarmed many at the scene. After exchanging vows, he removed one of many exotic rings from his hands and put it on Ileida. She saw the band had a beautiful pattern carved on it.

Then, with a wave of the sultan's hand two of his men came and suddenly seized the queen by her arms. The crowd immediately sank into commotion, and the barbarian soldiers had to pull out their weapons to restore order.

"What do you intend to do?" She demanded calmly.

"Our custom demands a bride to be untainted. If she's not, then the wedding becomes a fraud, and the punishment is death." The sultan unsheathed his sword and placed it against Ileida's throat. Her blood froze.

"I will hate to see your beautiful head roll on this dirty square, my 'virgin' queen."

The sword was lifted, for the moment. Its cold sharpness lingered on her throat.

He began to tear her dress apart in a most unseemly violence, layer by layer, until only a light white undergarment was left. Then his hand reached from beneath and felt Ileida between the thighs. The queen closed her eyes as her people witnessed her very public disgrace. Suddenly, something was torn apart inside Ileida, and an agony gripped her entire body, so much that she promptly fainted, and would have fallen onto the harsh ground had she not been held tight by the guards.

The sultan raised his bloodied fingers into the air, and all of his soldiers bursted into a hideous clamor. It was the greatest humiliation possible to her people: every man averted their eyes and woman quietly wept.

"Your queen will live." The tyrant declared to the crowd while Ileida was carried away, her ruined blue dress discarded on the square.

She was virgin queen no more.

- 2 -

After having arranged the affairs in his newly conquered province, the sultan was ready to set off with his grand army. As promised, he took his new wife with him, and thirty local noble women as her dowry, not counting carts of gold and priceless treasures--a wealth which had taken Ileida's ancestors centuries to build. She thought of ending her life but was worried what would happen if the sultan did not get to have his fun, for fun was the only reason he agreed to her bargain. She chose to live so that her sacrifice would mean something.

And because she wanted to see where they were taking her to, as they marched across the sea of white sands that her people long thought marked the end of known civilization. Ileida had never been in a place this hot and dry, and soon her fair skin turned red and aching. The winds howled and there were always sands in her hair and eyes. She was allowed to wash herself every second day and wondered where they found the water.

During the days the convoy marched at a slow pace, and when night fell they made camp where they were and rested. When she was not occupied by the sultan's lust for her, the captive queen could be seen wandering along the edge of the camp in her thin white frock, staring at the crescent young moon and in thought. The soldiers were always desperate for any woman they could get their hands on, but no one dared to touch her; no living man could touch the sultan's consort but himself.

Ileida was given her own camel. She had never seen the animal before and took a great liking to it. This beast was tame and mild, quite unlike those proud stallions she was used to ride. She called her camel Mirage, having read it in the books and longed to see the miraculous sight herself.

There was also this mute barbarian boy who took care of her camel. She did not know his name and just called him boy. When the sultan was away to oversee his troops during the day, it would be just the two of them. He was young and lean, his smile came with a great warmth in those deep brown eyes. When she rode, he stayed close by her feet, leading the animal gently by the leash.

She talked and talked to him in all those long hours with nothing to do, telling him about her homeland, her ancestors, and the war. He did not spoke her tone and nor could she read his signs. But somehow they connected through this bizarre yet intimate exchange. She realized that she had fallen in love.

Every night, when the sultan laid upon Ileida and engaged in his mechanical act of amorous conquest, he also unwittingly bestowed upon her the forbidden knowledge of carnal love. Through much of her existence she was so single-mindedly focused on her revenge that she desired little else; now a fire of lust had been ignited deep within her groins, that would not stop until it consumed her body and mind.

Ileida forgot when it started, but into the night, when the sultan was in his death-like slumber, she would sneak out and find her way into the camel boy's tent. He grew accustomed to her intrusion and greeted her with his silence. She had become quite skilled with her mouth, with which she pleasured the boy and made him ready, and then she crawled upon him and started her night-ride into the warm and sweaty abyss.

Other than having sex with either the sultan or the boy, Ileida spent the rest of her time contemplating her escape. It was unlikely. She could not escape alone in the desert, not without a guide. But little by little she was able to make the boy understand her plan. He taught her how to read the stars, and they drew maps in the sand with dried branches. The boy kept drawing a long arrow towards the southwest. Trees around a circle. Tents. A short cut to an oasis? People who could help? They could only bring a little water and food with them. Without enough supply a terrible death awaited.

Everyday she felt the plan was getting better but could not set her mind on it. Then one day when she woke up, the camel boy had vanished. As if he never existed. They had known. Someone must have spotted the new wife frequenting another man's tent amidst the darkness, and they had taken him away. One of the chieftains now watched over her camel, and his cold gaze made her blood froze.

One night, when the sultan was having Ileida, she questioned him what happened to the boy. He stopped and pulled out of her weary body. After a pause he asked her to turn around and lie on her stomach. Ileida knew she was in trouble. Now she could not see his face, nor what he was about to do.

"So you finally want to know?" He said in his low voice. "Why, woman?"

He spat and she felt it land right on where it was not meant for sex, and was shaken with a terrible dread.

"Because he is a friend, and I'm very lonely." She could hardly hear herself.

"He is dead."

With his dry response came a thrusting sharp pain, and Ileida cried out.

"You killed him. You evil woman. You enticed him into something he could not afford to do."

Every thrust down the wrong place brought a fresh wave of affliction. She was violated, terrified, and speechless, except for tears that streamed down her hot cheek.

"Do you want to know how he died?"

He pushed her head into the pillow with his iron grasp, so hard that she could not breathe, and the lack of air created a strange sensation in her, that she desperately wanted more. When she was finally led go, Ileida found that she had lost control and wetted herself unknowingly.

"Look at what you have made me do." The sultan admired his trophy with a sense of scorn as his wasted seeds slowly drooling from her gaping hole.

Only next morning did she realize that they had buried the boy alive in the sand.

- 3 -

By the time they emerged from the desert Ileida was heavy with child, and her complexion had deepened into that of a bronze statue. Despite the long travel, she had gained weight from all the dried meat and sweet camel milk. Even her modest breasts had grown into a substantial pair, and they were a pleasant sight even against her dress.

First the city appeared to her like a mirage: blue shadows of domes and bell towers spread across the horizon against the dawn's radiance. They got closer to it everyday, the great Caliphate city. It sat by a river that emptied into two seas, where three million souls were ruled by four Sultans, who shared their divine power according to the rank of age.

Her husband, as he told her, was but a junior member, still in search of his definitive glory in the unknown worlds. The addition of her kingdom was a small but significant step in his scheme, he told her. From the narrow mountain pass behind Ileida's castle the sultan's army could go on and conquer a whole continent. But that could wait, for now. He needed to be back, to attend the annual feast in the capital.

You should be glad, that I let you live and made you wife, he told her. Their child, should he be a male and reach adulthood, would inherit a much larger territory than his mother's patrimony. He had even bigger design for this child, for there was something special about this woman: her desire for revenge burned as strong as her lust, and he knew she still wanted him dead more than anything. But he would tame her and make her his best weapon, both on the raging battlefield and in the intriguing court.

They had arrived. In the sultan's gilded palace, Ileida was finally reunited with the other noble women, all of whom were pregnant like their queen. Whatever hardship they had endured, they were all glad to see this many familiar faces from home. Together they had a longest and most satisfying bath that washed away their worries.

But fresh ones arose immediately, when the barbarians maids, who would never leave them alone, came with razors and a small bucket of lotus cream in their hands. They explained with hand gesture that the sultan's women were expected to conform to certain rules. They pointed at Ileida's crotch, half submerged in the bath, where the wet golden hair dangled like wild reeds below her round belly.

They gasped and protested but in the end were persuaded to accept the maids' service. When it was done there was only a thin strip left on everyone. Ileida looked at her bald immodesty with a sad bitterness, but she knew this had to be done. Next, their beautiful blonde strands were braided into hard rough knots by the handy maids. Many sobbed, including the brave queen. It was not just about their hair; they were being molded into slaves and playthings for their lord.

Then, the sultan took Ileida on a tour in his harem. It was the innermost part of his maze-like palace, and ill-lit with yellow candles and half-drawn drapes. Strange fragrances filled the place. It was afternoon and the wives and their children were taking naps together while their maids watched over them in obedience. Ileida was told that she could only pick two of her women as her maids in the harem, while the others would be disposed as his chieftains' properties.

Only the young ones lived here. The older ones had their own places in the city. He told her that when he first married, the wife was old enough to be his mother, but he still fathered her three daughters. When the sultan was in the capital and wished to frequent one of his women, he would let her know beforehand, and later found her in his room, already warming his bed with her soft body. The most joyous thing for a wife who had the fortune of being frequented was to flaunt her reddened face and quickened breath as she returned to the harem, to the great jealousy of the rest of the wives.

The next day Ileida was to attend the victory parade as part of the spoils of the conquest. It was a repetition of two elements: treasures and women, women and treasures. Music filled the streets, and the city watched and cheered as the sultans' retinues threw silver coins into the crowd.

Ileida was at the front of the parade among dozens of other captives. Some looked like her own race, while others were clearly from far and stranger places. One element that connected them were their fertile, swollen bellies. These must all be women of consequence, rich, talented, powerful, and respected in their homelands, but today they represented mere, and were dressed accordingly:

all naked, bare-chested, except for a thick red string around their waists, on which a short white drape hang down between their legs, its sole purpose being to obscure each woman's gate to her sacred temple from the vulgar on-lookers, who resigned to admire their round and delicious hindquarters instead.

From the first time in her life Ileida felt small and unimportant. How dare her people called this great empire "barbarian"? Its prowess was simply beyond their imagination. Then she remembered she was the wife of a sultan, and her head lifted up a little. The procession ended in the grand mosque, where each woman was due to be properly converted.

Two barbarian maids accompanied Ileida up the flight of white marble stairs. The four sultans sat on their thrones, waiting for her. They signaled her to come closer. Ileida saw her husband talking in lowered voice to the other three, apparently introducing her. Then the young sultan signaled the maids, who lifted up Ileida's loincloth. This was a concubine's proper greeting to a sultan, and a ceremonial confirmation that, since the four of them shared their throne, they also shared their harems.

The other three congratulated him. How many women had he fathered since he became a man? At least a thousand now. Of course, that was but a small number for ruler like him. They looked forward for him to bring more of these golden-haired women back from his next great adventure. Ileida did what she had been instructed and the ceremony was complete. She had renounced her old faith and was born anew as a believer.

From this day on, she was required to cover her hair and face as long as she could be exposed to another man, unless her husband consented to such violation. The young sultan accepted the thin veil prepared for him and slowly put it on Ileida, watching her striking features turn into a dim docile facade.