Thread: The Handmaiden's Tale (Wander and Chanti)

Eighteen year old Sophie stared dismally through the arched tower window at the thousands of campfires flickering outside the city walls. Breathe, she thought silently to herself. Deep breaths. Dont let her see your fear or it will anger her. Beside her, her mistress prattled on and on, pointing out the campfire where her former lover was at. Sophie remembered the man. A typical Grecian warrior, a favorite of Helens lovers. The man could be hard and brutal to those he deemed underneath him, and soft-spoken and deferential to those he deemed above him. Women he wanted in his bed that he outranked had been raped without compunction. Those he deemed over his rank had been seduced with beguiling words and warm smiles. Sophies mistress had fallen for those soft words, and Sophie had only avoided being forced into the mans bed because of how close she was to her mistress. But No buts, Sophie. I insist. He must be tired of living with that rabble. Offer him whatever he wants. His own room here in the palace. A place of stature in Pariss armies. Just bring him back with you. The hard edge to her mistresss tone told Sophie there would be no argument. There never was. Helen of Troy had always gotten her way and always would. Ever since they had been children together Sophie had vividly seen the domineering, spoiled, calculating nature of her mistress. She had lasted the longest out of any of Helens handmaids, because she always remembered her place in Helens eyes. Not a friend. Not a childhood playmate. Not a future ally in the world of politics. A servant, despite her own noble birth. Until Sophie was married to the general Paris had promised her to after this terrible war, Sophie would remain a servant. She could not wait to be free of her conceited mistress. Perhaps this man, if seduced by Helen over to Pariss side, could help end the war sooner. The thought brought a brief glimmer of hope into Sophies heart, despite the nearly overwhelming panic that came from the idea of going out into that sea of hardened warriors. Even if they were her own countrymen.oh how she missed her Grecian homeland!....it was a terrible, terrible risk to go into that camp, a woman alone. It wasnt as if she would be the only one. Even this late at night, women came and went from the camp. Mostly camp whores, but more than a few of them were women from the outlying farms, helping their husbands and fathers bring in supplies. None of the soldiers went after those women, under strict orders from their commanders lest the supplies stop coming in. It could be done, even if the idea of doing it terrified her. It was cruel of Helen to demand this of her. The potential consequences for Sophie were horrific. The only consequence to Helen would be that she could be short one helpful and loyal handmaid. Very well. With a sigh, Sophie gave in. Just as she knew she would have to do when Helen first proposed this bizarre plan to rescue her beloved from the army camps. Sophie was certain the man wouldnt be there if he didnt want to be. But when she had dared to broach that idea, Helen had brushed it off. The idea of a man not wanting her was unthinkable. Less than an hour, a terrified Sophie slipped out of the spring entrance underneath the city walls. The one hidden entrance into the city, it was guarded by two warriors both of them easily distracted by their precious Helen stumbling over her own feet and taking a tumble onto the rough ground. When the men had run to Helen to help her up, Sophie had slipped into the tunnel. It was nearly a mile long, stretching far past the point most would look for an entrance. It had been a long, dark journey filled with frightening skitterings in the damp darkness. When she emerged in the tall river grasses that hid the entrance, the hem of her dark gray peasant gown was wet. In her arm she carried a large basket of bright purple eggplant. People were starving on the streets of the seiged city of Troy, but Helen sent precious food as part of a disguise to seduce her lover. To an observant eye, Sophie would never pass for a peasant girl as she intended to. Under the rough thick cloth of her robe her body was slender and delicate, with gentle luscious curves. Her face was a narrow, royal oval shape, with big gray blue eyes and a full pink mouth. But it was her hair that truly set her apart. Not rough, hastily tied hair. But bright thick golden hair, carefully braided, gleaming in the flickering light of the campfires as she passed among them, drawing hungry eyes from the soldiers. None approached her, assuming she was on a protected errand. But they all wanted her. She bore an air of innocence and dignity as out of place in this filthy military camp as a Vestal Virgin in a whorehouse. A fresh spring lamb in a den of ravenous wolves. Sophie walked quickly, head ducked down, trying to hide the trembling of her hands. She could FEEL their eyes on her, prickling her skin as they mentally undressed her. Sophie may be a virgin, but she was not ignorant of the ways of men. Not with the mistress that she had. Her mouth was dry, and when she tried to swallow she could not. Fear threatened to make her heart explode, and she repeatedly fought back bouts of nausea. The walk amongst the campfires was endless, and she feared she would have nightmares of this for months, even if she escaped with her freedom and virginity intact. She did not look around, and therefore did not see the shape of the giant wooden horse standing afar off, barely out of sight of the city walls. Then she was there, standing at the fire of her mistresss ex-lover, staring into his astonished eyes. Of course he recognized her. How many times had she been forced to go and fetch him to Helens chambers when her husband was away? How many times had she stood by near the door to intervene if someone tried to come in, standing awkwardly in the same room as the lovers grunted and moaned and sweat on each other? The man stood, looking around at his gaping fellow soldiers three of them sitting around the campfire. With a snarl, he gestured them away. They sat for a moment, then reluctantly stood and moved off into the night. My mistress begs you attend her, and offers you whatever compensation you desire. Sophie kept her voice soft, soft enough only he would hear her. He narrowed his dark eyes thoughtfully. How did you get out of the city? Forgive me, but I only have permission to take you, not tell you. The man spit into the fire. Flames sizzled. You will tell, cunt. And I will be well rewarded. That bitch of a mistress of yours is more trouble than she is worth. God help the poor bastards she gets in her claws. He reached for her. Sophie reacted with pure instinct, flinging the basket of eggplant at him, lifting her thin linen gown with her fingers, and running for her life. The soldier moved to block the eggplant and tumbled onto his ass, showered with the heavy vegetables. Laughter bellowed around her as Helens ex-lover cursed, crude suggestions floating through the air from the surrounding campfires to him. Stop the bitch! Stop her! She heard him bellowing out the commands, but none moved to obey him. The orders of their commanders were firm, and she looked to be one of the peasant girls regularly coming through the camp selling goods. No man was willing to earn a lashing for touching her and earning the wrath of their commanders. By the time the soldier untangled himself from the eggplant and started after her, she was gone. I beg your pardon, mistress. He would not come, and tried to stop me and force me to tell me how to get into the city. Sophie prostrated herself on the ground in front of her angry mistress, fully aware of Helens displeasure. Not only had Sophie failed to bring back Helens desired male prize, but she had stumbled in from the spring entrance in a near panic instead of waiting for the agreed upon time, alerting the guards and earning Helen Pariss wrath. The man had been furious despite Helens lie of sending Sophie out for information on the schemes of their enemy. You stupid slut. Helen snarled, reaching down and slapping Sophies reddened cheek. It was not the first slap Sophie had endured since coming back into the city. If you had offered him all I told you too Please, I tried. He did not give me a chance. I swear, he was going to Shut up! Get out of my sight! In a fit of dramatic pique, Helen threw up her arms and turned away. I am surrounded by idiots! Sophie made good her escape, rushing from the room under the triumphant gazes of her fellow handmaidens. It was rare that the preferred Sophie earned the all-out rage of their mistress, and they enjoyed seeing it. She had no friends amongst her fellow servants. Instead of going to them, she went to the courtyard in front of the city gate, watching her future husband Alkides walk amongst his soldiers on the wall. Alkides was a square, sturdy, abrupt man. He had little gentleness, no romance at all. But he was her future, and she was glad of it. He was her freedom from the cruel, domineering Helen. While he was not necessarily kind, he was not cruel either. In the few times he had spotted her watching him in the past he had offered her a small, sympathetic smile. As if he knew what she was going through. He would be a good husband for her, she was certain. Sophie crouched against the wall of a house, miserable blue eyes fastened on the man that would be her escape from a life of luxurious bondage.