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

Sophie had no expectation of living through this day. The only thing she wanted was to die with dignity. Even that, she bitterly reflected, was denied her. Disarming her was child plays to the men. She was still focused on their laughter and that bright gleam of the dagger when a sharp pain in her hand accompanied her own dagger flying out of her hand. She was gaping at it in stunned shock when four hardened warriors had her hands bound in front of her with rough, scratchy ropes. She did not resist. What was the point? A warrior she was not, that had been made clear in the last few minutes. To beg for mercy was useless, there was no mercy in those hard, dark eyes. Even when she stumbled and almost fell down the stairs they did nothing but ruthlessly jerk her upright, their fingers biting deep into her soft arm with bruising force. These men did not know her, but Helens husband would know she was not Helen in a second, and then she would die or be raped. She prayed silently to the gods for death. Far better to die a noblewoman than to live a slave. She saw her death in those bitter, furious eyes of Menelaus. HE knew who she was, and knew she was not Helen. She had hoped for some mercy from him at least, for surely he knew she had come reluctantly with Helen, performing her sworn duty. Surely he had seen how Helen treated her servants and handmaids. Surely he would pity a girl who had been left with little choice if she wanted to retain her honor. But there was no pity to be found from Menelaus, it seemed he hated anything associated with Helen now. Sophie could not find it in her heart to blame the wretched man. When she saw his sword lift, aiming for her neck, she silently raised her neck to make the blow easier for him. Her stance reflected a silent, prideful defiance of her fate. She may die, but damn them all to Hades, she would die with dignity and honor worthy of her bloodline. An overwhelming sadness filled her at her impending death. Not only for herself, but for the terrible waste of life because of one greedy whore and one greedy prince. Thousands dead, because Helen wanted Pariss cock. She hadnt even loved the man. If she had, Sophie may have found it in her heart to forgive her. But there had been no love there, just blind lust and selfish greed. Maybe it would be better to die than to live in such a world. But the lords sword was stayed with a shout and she along with everyone else looked to see a tearful, terrified Helen being delivered to her husbands arms. It was the first time Sophie had seen Helen behave with any semblance of humility and she found herself quietly enjoying the sight, a tiny smile crinkling the corners of her mouth. Until she heard the pronouncement of her fate by Menelaus. She whirled then, smile gone in an instant, staring in horror at her mistresss husband. It would mean slavery for her. Once this stranger had her in his grasp as a prize, she would be his until he released her. No! Please, My Lord! You know me! I am no slave, I am a free woman! Please, I did nothing but honor my vows to your wife! Take my life as forfeit, but do not send me into bondage to this or any man! She would have dropped to her knees to beg Menelaus, but it was not permitted. No sooner had Menelaus spoke than Sophie was pulled away, dragged off to be prepared for her new master. Now she fought. She struggled, she screamed, she cried. The brutal men who carried her off simply laughed, dragging her whenever she braced her feet against the cool stone floors to try to stop the forward movement. All pretense at dignity was gone. Her face was flushed with outrage, her braided hair mussed, the circlet forced on her by her former mistress hanging askew from her head. No! I was to be married! I am a Greek noblewoman! You cant do this! Lord Menelaus can do what he wants. Be silent, bitch. I bet it was a damned Trojan you were to marry, wasnt it? Another man somewhere behind her spoke, and Sophie refused to speak and convict herself in these mens eyes. By the time she was delivered to a recently vacated palace bedroom, she was no longer fighting. She was numb with grief over her altered situation, her eyes vacant. They pushed her into a room she recognized as having been a room belonging to one of the former Trojan Kings cousins. Royal, luxurious chambers. One of the men who had brought her here grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. No more fighting. You will obey, or Menelaus will give you a slaves punishment and execution. Sophie shuddered in horror at the thought of it. Convinced by her pale face and troubled eyes that she understood what was at stake, the man unfastened her bonds and pushed her abruptly further into the room. She stumbled and fell, tripping over her bare feet and falling to the floor with a painful thud. Clean this up for your Master. Food and wine will be delivered for him. They left, but Sophie heard one of them standing guard outside the door in case she tried to escape. She cried. For the first fifteen minutes she just sat there on the floor and sobbed. There was a soft knock on the door, and she heard someone enter, smelled the sweet scent of wine, heard the soft clatter of dishes on the small ornate table near the door. Then the door closed and she was alone again. Finally, cried out, Sophie brushed the tears away from her face and stood. All was not lost. If she convinced her new Master to not hold her as a slaveshe had a chance. Menelaus would not have another thought of her. She would be alone, but free. No family survived in Greece, she was the last of her noble line. But perhaps her name alone would be enough to gain her a kind, genteel husband. She regretted her behavior when Menelaus had issued his judgement of her. It was lowborn, slavish behavior, with no dignity. But perhaps her new master would be able to overlook that based off her behavior when he came to her. She straightened the bed that had been left so hastily when the battle commenced this morning. Picked up the rest of the room, hiding evidence of its former occupant. No point in reminding the man he was a conqueror. Then she smoothed her gown and straightened her hair, forming the blond silken locks into an elegant braid wrapped tightly around her brow. Helens circlet she discarded, hiding it behind some cushions in a corner of the room. No point in reminding him of her reluctant deceit. Then it was only a matter of waiting. Stomach roiling nervously as she paced back and forth across the room, constantly reminding herself to act like the dignified noble lady she was. Dont demand. Dont cry. Dont scream. And above allnever, never beg.