1 The Assassins' Village (20 page)

Antigone was drifting on a sea of perfumed silk. A soft, breeze played along the line of her cheek and sunbeams made traces on her eyelids. In a dream she imagined she slowly opened her eyes. It was as if she was trying to see through a gauzy cobweb as she struggled to focus on her love before her. Half asleep, half-mesmerised she lay there, as he gazed down upon her face. Drawing a finger down her nose, he gently traced around her lips and then down to her chin and throat. Catching her breath, Antigone could hardly breathe and lay still, as his finger continued on its way. Lowering his head to hers he lightly touched her lips with his own. He tasted the sun and a sweet lingering trace of wine on her mouth. With a sense of wonder she lay there, not daring to move. She had never been kissed like this before. He slipped his tongue in between her slightly parted teeth, and tasted more of the girl as he explored, becoming more adventurous as she made no move to protest. His needs becoming more urgent, he kissed her with a rising passion and was elated when she matched that of his with her own.

His hand was in the hollow of her throat, gently caressing her velvety skin, as one would pet a kitten. He leisurely ran a hand down until he had one small perfect breast cupped beneath his fingers. Her eyes flew wide-open with surprise, and then, she let a low moan escape beneath his lips. But still she did not try to resist him; she closed her eyes again giving in to her favourite dream. She was dizzy and drunk with love and wine.

With slow ease, he found the buttons of her shirt and began to undo them with well-practised fingers. Pushing aside the fabric Leslie slipped a hand inside to find the hard little nub of her erect nipple. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger and then moved his mouth down from hers to cover first her shoulder and then her breast. Antigone gasped in pleasure as he nibbled and gently teased, her body quivering in anticipation.

She knew the basics of sex from older friends in the village, but Antigone could only guess at what truly went on between a man and a woman. Without hurry, he took his time to caress and kiss her. He didn’t want to frighten her, especially now he had got so far. He was her model lover, a prince among men. He would not rush her, and she was more than willing.

His hand travelled down her thigh, and he was thrilled to feel her tremble against him as he raised her skirt to expose her slim silky legs. He moved his hand higher and rubbed between her upper thighs, the cotton of her knickers slipping under the pressure against her pubis. When she groaned, Leslie slipped his fingers under the elastic; her skin felt smooth and cool and with a thrill of satisfaction he relished her sudden flood of wetness. With deliberate slowness he eased her knickers down to her knees. Antigone moaned against his neck and he kissed her again to keep her sweet and pliant. As his kiss lengthened he felt his own throbbing excitement mount, and with one hand he undid his trousers easing himself from the confining fabric. Taking one of her hands he guided her down until she grasped him. Whispering words of encouragement he showed her how to pleasure him until he spilled onto the blanket and down the front of her skirt.

Baffled and anxious, Antigone lay there, wondering if she had done wrong. She attempted to pull her skirt back down over her knees and do up the buttons on her shirt. ‘No,’ he said, gently pushing her back down on the blanket. ‘We haven’t finished. Relax. Lie back, I’ll not hurt you.’

With kisses and caresses he coaxed her until his manhood was again erect and eager; then kneeling up he straddled his legs either side of her. Antigone began to shake. Of course she had seen her goats and dogs perform the sexual act, but a terrible fear took hold of her. Was Leslie planning to mount her too? This was wrong! She adored the man in front of her, but she didn’t want to go that far. It would be against her upbringing. She was frightened.

‘No’, she echoed his earlier word.

‘What?’

‘No,’ she repeated pushing her hands against his chest. ‘It is wrong. I don’t want to.’

Catching her wrists and pushing her back down against the blanket, Leslie forced her arms above her head.

‘Dear girl, you can’t mean
no
. You can’t kiss like a whore one minute and act like a virgin the next.’

He smiled; only this time there was nothing fine in his face. No trace of gentleness, just a quiet amusement and a touch of cruelty.

Antigone didn’t understand. Her English wasn’t that refined.

‘You’ve come this far,’ he said nuzzling her neck and then nibbling at her breast.

She gave another strangled gasp, only this time it was not in excitement. Antigone struggled and Leslie took the opportunity to push her legs wider apart with his knees. He lowered himself until he was poised above her virginity. In terror Antigone gave a little shriek.

‘But, no, no! Oh!’ she gave a stifled scream as he clamped a hand over her mouth to quieten her cries.

‘Sssh. Sssh. Be quiet. It’s all right. I promise I will not hurt you.’

Antigone was shocked; her hands dug into the coarse blanket until her nails were broken and bleeding. Her tears felt like scalds upon her face.

Dull-eyed, Antigone sat up throwing her torn and useless knickers away into the tangled undergrowth. She straightened her skirt, not noticing the stains at the back, and rebuttoned her shirt. She felt bruised and upset; dazed to the core. What
had
happened?  She enjoyed his earlier love-making; his kisses of infinite gentleness. But later, surely he had gone too far. She shook with dismay as she assumed what had taken place. What
had they
done? If anyone found out she would be ruined. Worthless in the marriage stakes. Thank goodness they were here, where nobody would have seen.

She realised she had been used and betrayed. This man in front of her was not the idol she thought she knew at all. Choking back a sob, a fresh tear escaped and trickled down her nose.

Leslie noticed her apparent misery and rolled over on to his side to look to her.

‘Oh, come on Antigone. It’s not that bad is it? Surely you enjoyed it? You knew where we’ve been heading for the past few weeks. Come on, I understand you might be feeling a little strange, but next time it will be better, I promise. You won’t be nervous and we can relax and really enjoy ourselves. I will teach you all you need to know.’ He gave her thigh a little pat.

She looked at him with horror.
Next time?

‘No, no. But not that! No, I did not know! I do not think that you …,’ she couldn’t finish.

Exasperated, he sat up and lit a cigarette. He inhaled deeply before continuing.

‘Oh tosh! You’ve been leading me on for weeks. Sure, I didn’t know for certain whether you were a virgin but once you got started you enjoyed it. Fine little prick teaser in fact’ he said the last line more to himself.

Transferring his cigarette to his mouth, Leslie stood up to button his trousers and with no apparent concern brushed away the stray bits of dead grass and burrs from his uniform. Somewhere high in a tree overhead a bird was piping a strident call of alarm.

‘But what am I going to do?’ she asked wide-eyed with concern and misery.

‘Do? Nothing’s changed. You’re still the same. Put it all down to an exciting part of life; growing up. What are you nearly eighteen?’

She looked down at the ground in misery. ‘Sixteen’.

He gave a low whistle as she revealed her tender age.

‘Sixteen! My, and what a particularly sweet sixteen you are too.’

His face had a look of smugness that Antigone was beginning to detest. She couldn’t believe or understand him. Why was he so changed? Where had her elegant and well-mannered English officer gone? Feeling confused and utterly wretched she felt the stirrings of rage flooding through her.

Standing up to face him she tried once more. ‘What are we going to do?’ she asked with a note of begging in her voice.

‘Sweetheart, I just told you. There is nothing to do. It has all been just marvellous. Now, be a good girl and tell me if you can meet here again tomorrow. It will have to be a little earlier though as I’m rather busy later on. This place is as good as any. Nice and secret? Hmm?’

Leslie said all this without a trace of remorse. ‘As I’ve only got a short while left here, we might as well make the most of it, what?’

Antigone stepped back as if she had just been slapped. Of course it meant nothing to him! He was a gentleman officer, and she just a simple village girl. Under-educated and a peasant. He probably had a girl back home, although he never made mention of one. Oh, surely not? Could he be that cruel?

Choking back a sob Antigone searched for her shoes, keeping her face turned away as she struggled into them. Her fingers shook with clumsiness, her dishevelled hair falling in her eyes. With stubbornness, she decided that she would never, never let him know what he had done to her. Not just the sex, but for destroying all her dreams and aspirations. Without taking another look at Leslie she darted over to the hedge. Pushing her way through, heedless of the thorns as they attacked her and leaving bleeding scratches down her bare arms, legs and face, she fled.

Leslie remained where he was; the poet and artist speechless for once. What had she expected an offer of marriage? He almost laughed out loud at the thought. Just what would his mother have had to say about that? She certainly would not have related all
that
to her bridge partners back home.

It was all a bit tedious in the extreme. She would have been just one more notch on the bedpost, albeit one notch that was certainly a lot sweeter than expected, and apparently a bloody
virgin
to boot. Totally unexpected! He looked forward to the next time – he knew he could talk her round. Next time he would properly finish the delightful task he had set himself.

His cigarette spent, he crushed the stub into the ground, gathered up the rug and basket, and scattered the remains of the picnic over the grass. Glancing at his watch, there was just time for a quick shower before going down to the Officers Mess, if he got a move on. There was going to be a bit of a bash tonight. A dinner dance complete with a military band. An event like that always attracted the nurses from BMH too; they were always game.

The eerie silence was all around him as Leslie pushed his way back through the thorn hedge. The few birds had ceased to sing and the cicadas were no longer as raucous as before. A strange feeling stole over him as he stepped onto the path and he took a quick look around him in alarm.

There was nothing there, just the empty path stretching before him and disappearing into the distance. He gave a shrug at his fancifulness; for a moment it had felt like something had been watching from the shadows.

As he made his way back up the track, whistling a cheery tune, he returned his thoughts to tonight’s dance and wondered idly just what his wife would be wearing.

Chapter 27.              Antigone

Come seeling night, scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day.

Macbeth. Act 3 Scene 2

Reaching the village outskirts, Antigone forced herself to slow down. Stumbling along in her grief, too inexperienced to analyse her feelings, she failed to realise she was traumatised by Leslie’s cruel and brutal attack. In her innocence it was enough that he had used her purely for his own selfish gratification.  All his promises and hints, fine manners and gentleness; surely she couldn’t have imagined them? With slow, fat tears trickling down her face she found it hard to drown out her sobs.

Right now, she had to run the gamut of the villagers. If someone took one look at her hair, and dishevelled clothes, they would jump to a horrible conclusion. Stifling her sobs, she dried her tears on her skirt and then glancing down, straightened her attire and noticed the missing button from her bodice. It left a small triangular tear where it had been wrenched off in her struggle. Her arms face and legs were scratched from the thorny bushes and the inside of her thighs felt bruised from where Leslie had forced her legs apart with his knees. She had yet to hear of the word
violated
.

Pushing her sweaty hair out of her eyes, she raked her trembling fingers through the tangles, removing embedded bits of leaf or twig. She knew that she had to keep all this to herself. No one was going to believe or help her. Too late, she remembered she had left her bag and staff at the old house. Nothing would make her go back to collect them. She shuddered. Her throat ached with her wretchedness. It was all she could do to stop herself from jumping off the roof of the nearest building.

Sniffing back her tears, Antigone again wiped her dirt-streaked face with her skirt. She reached the narrow entrance to the alley, which a couple of hours ago she had skipped down with her heart singing and her head filled with joy. Now, peering round the corner before venturing out Antigone collided with Yanoulla.

The older woman frowned, taking note of her scratches and clothes. Her sharp, black eyes missed nothing.

‘What on earth have you been up to Antigone? You look more of a mess than usual!’ she snapped, looking her up and down. Her mouth was turned down in contempt, her lips thinned in disapproval. Her sharp, beaky nose gave her more than a touch of the witch that it was whispered she surely was. She tossed her head of fine blond hair as Antigone hurriedly thought up an excuse.