A Passage
East
Prince Nevskii has won a great victory, not just for Novgorod but for all the people of the Rus Lands. A victory much needed by a people suffering under the heavy yoke of Mongol rule. He rides to the far edge of the battle field from where the Crusaders fled, careful to avoid the thin patches of ice that mark the edge of the river, confident the day is his, regardless of the horrific losses of both men and material.
"The Foreign Devils have fled and left much baggage strewn around the banks. With your permission, the men would like to help themselves to the spoils."
The Prince nods quietly in agreement, but mostly ignoring the man, until he hears the shrill cries of women. Several drunken soldiers are dragging two women away to a concealed wooded spot. They clearly intend to abuse their terrified captives. The Prince is abhorred by this behavior and accosts them.
"Soldier, what are you doing? Who are these women? Where are you taking them?"
One comes forward to answer the prince. "Greetings my lord. These women... Well, we are... They were fleeing with the enemy, they are our foreigners now."
Another soldier, arrogant, still pumped with adrenaline from the battle, shouts out with complete for good manners and formalities: "They're Levonian Whores! Bedmates of Monks!"
The others laugh but the prince is not amused.
Sensing that the prince is losing patience, the leader of the men speaks up. "Truly they are foreigners, my prince. Their clothing appears to be that of women of rank. We stumbled upon them when we were pursuing the enemy. They refused to give their names."
The prince dismounts his steed and takes a closer inspection of the captives. To his surprise he finds two very attractive young women. One is a brunette with fair skin. He would have thought she was still an adolescent, but the full, generous curves of her body showing through the tatters of her rich clothing say otherwise. She is frightened and avoids making any eye contact with her captors. The other is a fair-haired maiden with unblemished skin, firm of body and with delightfully lascivious curves. She is at the height of her womanly charms. She is bolder than the other and glares at the prince with utter contempt.
"They could be witches my lord. The way they look... their intoxicating perfume... it drives us crazy!" warns the leader.
The arrogant soldier speaks again. "Witches, they
could be, prince. Only one way to make sure. Find the mark.!" And
without hesitation, as if on cue, the other soldiers begin ripping whatever
remains of the young women's clothing. Every stitch was torn away leaving
them completely naked, exposed to the leering eyes of the soldiers and
the harsh biting cold. More soldiers and militia were now gathering around
them and were slowly becoming an undisciplined mob.
"My Prince, let us celebrate this great victory. These women will
provide much entertainment for the men. His Majesty will of course have
first taste. We could make a sport of it. I wager the fair haired one
can serve hundred men by midnight."
"I say two hundred."
"I say, the whole militia, assuming she makes it to midnight!"
"HA! HA! HA!"
The soldiers are having a hearty laugh at the expense of the captives while the Prince is about ready to have these insolent men buried alive, castrated or worse. But before he can give the command, Boyar Vassiley, accompanied by hardened Varange warriors makes his presence known and promptly calms the dangerous scene.
"My Prince, I could not help but hear your conversations and the dispute over these ladies. May I make a suggestion?"
"Go ahead, Vassiley."
"These are foolish old soldiers who can not see the opportunity to earn favor from the Khans. These young ladies are of noble birth and are of excellent breeding. Why not have them trained as courtesans and sent as gifts to the Great Khan? He does have a taste for well-built, exotic women."