Chapter 1

Setting the scene.

It is 482 BC; The City state of Sparta is police state rivalling any we can think of in modern times.

The Greeks are divided into hostile City-states with a nasty habit of fighting each other. Their alliances shift and change but one thing remains constant, the fear of The Mighty Hyper-power of the age, The Persian Empire.

The Greek speakers (By definition Greek) in the Western regions of what is today modern Turkey, then called Ionia, had picked a fight or been provoked into a war (whichever side you take) with an expanding Persian Empire. To their misfortune, they lost but the aid and support given to the Ionian Greeks enraged The Persian Emperor who invaded mainland Greece in revenge. The Invasion was stopped at Marathon and Persia withdrew to Ionia to plot a re-match.

As a reader pointed out, The Spartans were NOT at Marathon. Perhaps he also knows that the great Olympic event 'The Marathon' was originally staged in Memory of the Athenian runner who ran to Sparta (Not Athens) to plead for help.

Sparta
Laconia

Alexander was 18 years old and a Spartan.

That is all that anyone expected of him or desired him to be.

He had already killed 10 men. One in combat (an Athenian) nine in the sacred duty of the Spartan People and State.

The nine men Alexander had killed were Helots whose loyalty or submission to their Spartan lords was in doubt. Doubted by him... , and that should be pondered and absorbed.

At 18, Alexander was a cold-blooded killer in the employ of the state. He was exactly what the Spartan nation wanted and he joined the ranks of Sparta's death squads The Krypteria or Crypteia

He and his fellow warriors moved through the land killing any Helot they deemed Suspect.

Many years ago, the Spartans had overwhelmed the Helots, the original inhabitants of Messenia the Land they now called Sparta. The Helots had been defeated and enslaved but not broken

Long before Alexander was born, a Helot revolt had come close to succeeding. The insurrection had stretched Spartan power and skill to near breaking point only the determined and brutal use of the sword had saved the Spartans from defeat. The victory had been hard won and the fear of nearly losing had haunted them ever since.

After victory had come slaughter on a scale, none could have imagined and none would forget.

In the burned out ruins of their settlements on piles of slain Helot men women and children, the Spartans vowed never to be weak again.

Sparta gave up things that the other Greek cities valued. Poetry, art, etc. They forged a savage uncompromising reality that demanded total surrender to duty.

Alexander received an education that had trained him only in the things that mattered on a battlefield or in a war This Agoge as the school was called was his family home and commune from the age of seven until he turned 18.

His patron and tutor, a gruff old warrior with many war stories and a great passion for masturbating and sucking Alexander's cock marked him out for special things Certainly, the warring city-states of Ancient Greece offered the perfect training ground for any Spartan able to survive childhood. The Spartans ruthlessly weeded out the weak or lazy.

They were famous; they were feared and they were ruthless

Alexander stood on the small hillock arms folded across his suntanned well-developed muscular chest. Like all Spartans, he had grown up running, swimming, wrestling and hurling javelins and using sword and dagger. Not toy wooden swords but real warrior swords.

Failure was death. Failure was unacceptable.

His short kilt of home spun was all of only three things he wore. It was just long enough to cover his muscular buttocks and genitals. He wore no loincloth underneath. It was not the Spartan way.

On his head, he wore the helmet of a Spartan with a high black horsehair display. Around his waist was a belt with a dagger. He was on duty. Every Spartan whether male or female was always on duty; The Helots could never be trusted and the envy of other Greek states never forgotten. Then there were the Persians. Beaten for now but still powerful and hungry for revenge on The Greeks for their defeat at Marathon.

Alexander watched the four Helots toiling in the field below. They knew he was there. He could almost smell the fear they felt.

His eyes moved from the three men to the woman with them.

They all wore dull, sack like Tunics and only the female's long hair and breasts marked her apart from the other three.

A family he decided harvesting the crop. Their names were unknown to him. The only time a Helot name mattered was when he was being hunted down or executed.

Alexander walked slowly down the hill towards them.

He was interested to see what the female was like up close.

The last woman he had had was with another Helot slave. A washerwoman washing cloths in a stream.

He had taken her without hesitation or conversation. Stripped her tunic off and pushed her onto her back moving quickly taken her.

After he had finished, she had calmly walked to the stream and washed herself before resuming her washing while Alexander had washed his penis, and simply walked away.

The slaves stood correctly with heads bowed and eyes averted daring not even to glimpse at his shadow on the ground in front of them.

He had not asked their names or who their lord was... That was a good sign. He was simply checking them out.

"Woman" Alexander asked, "Who are these men with you?"

"My husband, and his brothers Lord" She said softly her voice shaking

"How old are you Woman," Alexander asked looking the four up and down carefully and checking to see if any Helots lurked in the clump of trees nearby.

"I am 7 summers my Lord' She answered

Alexander then correctly worked out that she was perhaps 23 or 24 married 7 years. As per custom, she had used her years as a wife as her age.

"Litter?" He asked harshly referring to any children, she might have

"At home Lord" She whispered softly

"How many?" He asked stepping slowly around her examining her figure as best he could. The garment was unflattering.

"Three sons Lord" She replied shaking wondering why he wanted to know.

"Sons? Traitors and lice! You should bare females, Helot. We can always "USE" females"

He had used provocative language on purpose. He was waiting to see if the men flinched or showed any sign of anger.

He was after all on duty and searching for rebellious slaves or even intelligent ones.

"Still, a Helot is useful whether male or female" He added slowly walking up and down before the four slaves.

No reaction.

"Take that rag off woman and get down on your hands and knees," He ordered.

She did so slowly but without any hesitation.

Her body was lean but fit. Her breasts heavy and well rounded.

He ordered the men to do as the woman had done.

"Such a pathetic group" He mocked

"Still, I need some relief and I must make do with what is being offered to me".

Alexander knelt behind the woman and pulled her back hard against him and guided his penis into her vagina.

She whimpered but did not protest or resist.

The other slaves were motionless, on all fours with heads bowed.

Alexander finishing raping the slave and stood up sighing in satisfaction "I have had better but still, not bad. You're a lucky man slave he said talking to the three male salves, unsure which was her husband and not interested in knowing either.

The four slaves remained on all fours naked and silent until they were certain he had gone.

They then dressed and the three men went back to work as the woman squatted down in a thicket nearby and forced herself to piss, hoping to wash the sperm of a hated Spartan out of her.

On the road home

The Krypteria had been busy. The count from the annual 'War' was 267 Helots killed, Spartan losses nil.

Alexander always thought of the annual wars after the harvest, as more of a cull. The Helots, already out numbered the Spartans 20 to one, the element of total fear had to be maintained and re-enforced, or an able and intelligent Helot might persuade his fellow slaves to rise again in revolt.

It was a brutal policy and one he never really questioned. After all, when you have the power to 'legally', kill, rape, torture or otherwise humiliate another nation, you tend to become addicted to the 'high' such power gives you.

It was human nature to be merciless. It was the will of the GODS on Olympus that the dirty, lazy, lying degenerate Helot should be kept under Sparta's hobnailed boot forever; that was what Alexander and many of the other members of the Krypteria thought.

He now had four more Helots on his conscience, if his conscience allowed him to feel any guilt that is.

The winter was closing in and he was heading home to the family farm.

The route took him close to his old Agoge (school/commune) and out of affection and loyalty; he headed up the path to the buildings of the Agoge.

Although it was drizzling and a cold breeze lifted his kilt and caressed his balls and penis with icy fingers, he was only wearing his kilt and a short woollen cloak. It bellowed wetly in the strong breeze as he approached the training fields of the school. He took his cloak off and draped it over his arm. He was not in the mood to be reprimanded for softness.

There as he expected were the current batch of Adolescent students running, wrestling and sword and dagger fighting naked in the drizzle and cold wind.

Each had a lean muscular physique with scrotums and penis shrivelled by the cold breeze.

Training never stopped. An enemy might attack on a cold wet winter morning or a hot summer afternoon. The only lesson was endurance and readiness.

His old Tutor, Plutarch, was watching the training with interest and many loud shouts of encouragement and abuse.

"You rabble of Athenian mother-fucking-Persian-dog balls!" He yelled, "My crippled mother can run faster then you" slapping the butts of the boys sprinting past him.

"My 99 year old Helot one-legged-whore-slave could beat the life out of you with a ball of wool!" He growled at the wrestlers "Grab him you bastard and hurl him. You can play kissy-kissy later"

"Send you into battle?" He bellowed pacing up and down watching the sword fighters go through their paces

"I wouldn't send you against a flock of tethered lambs you cock suckers"

There were other tutors doing more or less the same thing, the boys were slapped, struck with birch rods or verbally abused by every trainer there. Any who fell were kicked and spat on until they struggled to there feet and continued.

Alexander watched it all with nostalgia. The same terms of abuse. The same motivational slaps and kicks. The same type of boys being turned into men.

Which one or ones, were Plutarch's charges? As always, Plutarch showed no favouritism in training. Whichever boy it was, he was not getting any special kid glove treatment here.

Plutarch would rather die then send a boy out untrained to face the Gods knew how many enemies. If anything, the current lover was being run harder, hit harder, and trained harder then any other cadet. Plutarch really loved the boys and wanted them to be the best and survive the wars Sparta had to wage.

Training over the boys were ordered to a stream swollen by the rain and pushed or kicked in.

"Wash!" A tutor yelled, "I don't want the Mess fouled by your perfumed bodies".

Alexander walked slowly over to Plutarch.

Although no cadet or Tutor had acknowledged his presence, they had all known he was approaching. They were seasoned warriors and cadets with 9 or 10 years of training. If they had not been paying attention, they would have died years ago in a training failure or a skirmish.

"Took you own sweet time getting here" Plutarch said gruffly Looking Alexander up and down slowly.

"I am amazed some Helot slut hasn't chopped your balls off by now. Where is my training I ask? I could have sent a junior cadet with a toy wooden sword to kill you. So careless!"

Plutarch was an old warhorse who joked that he had been around since the Trojan War. It was impossible of course but for a man in his late 50's he was in great shape. Lean, tough and well able to beat any younger Warrior with the balls to challenge him.

"Oh By the GODS! A cloak? Mummy make it for her darling little boy" He mocked sniffing in disgust.

"Helot sluts are usually too busy licking my balls to chop them off, sir," Alexander said smiling. He really loved the old bastard. He was Father, friend and lover to Alexander since it seemed forever.

"As for the junior cadets, the only swords they would be lifting around here are senior cadets' pricks."

"Or maybe..." He reached out and held Plutarch's balls through his kilt"... your very hard cock.

"Happy to see all those healthy adolescent arses I see" He added nodding at Plutarch's erect prick.

Plutarch laughed and hugged Alexander hard in a bear hug. His prick pressed hard against Alexander's own.

As they walked arm in arm to the Mess hall, Alexander slapped Plutarch's hard buttocks and said,

"In future leave my mother out of this you fatherless Egyptian fairy".

Plutarch roared with laughter.

The visit to his old school had been refreshing. Not only did he enjoy the status of a graduated cadet, In his honour (but any excuse was needed), the senior cadets and junior cadets had a lavish feast by Spartan standards. As wine was consumed and crude jokes made by naked cadets and equally naked tutors, Alexander felt at home among family.

Next morning at sunrise, after an icy cold bath in the stream and a breakfast of hard dry bread and goat's milk in the Mess hall with the very sleepy and hung over cadets, Alexander said good-bye to Plutarch and headed home.

He had turned one last time to watch as the naked cadets, went through their training before he continued home.

It was still drizzling but the cold wind had stopped so Alexander, feeling stung by Plutarch's joke had draped his cloak over his shoulder as he walked briskly home.

Home

The farm was the same way he left it. The crop it seemed had been good and the livestock looked well fed.

The farm slaves, seemed to sense his approach, their increasing sense of fearful dread was picked up by Diana, immediately.

As a well-raised and well-trained Spartan woman, she was capable of swordsmanship, archery, and unarmed combat. With the demographic balance between Spartan and Helot, every Spartan had to be a warrior of some kind.

Her training and woman's instinct told her that the slaves were nervous. She had prepared herself for either a revolt or the arrival of an enemy. She was unafraid just tensed for action. Then she saw the black horsehair helmet of a Spartan warrior and realised that the warriors approach was unnerving the slaves.

She did not think it was Alexander. Her first thought was that a member of The Krypteria was stopping by to check all was well.

A Helot slave nervously preceded her as she approached the warrior.

"Greetings" She said her head high her hands folded gracefully over her waist.

"May I help you in your duty?" She asked noting the fearful looks of the three farm hand slaves.

"Greetings Mother" Alexander said removing his helmet and bowing his head slightly in respect.

"You are well Alexander I see. Good. Come in and take some wine my son" Diana may have felt any number of things. Her training told her to be cool and unemotional. Alexander was a man and no longer a child. He had she was proud to think the blood of many on his hands.

Alexander had expected no other greeting. His mother and father were almost strangers to him. He carried his father's name and blood and that was all.

He watched his 36-year-old mother gracefully walk in front of him back into the neat, solidly built farmhouse.

He instinctively shot the slaves hard cold stares, his eyes boring deep into them questioning and suspecting there every move with unspoken words.

Alexander had been home a week. He would wander all over his family's farm, and walk down to the nearby beach to practice his martial skills in the invigorating sea air.

The farm slaves did there best to avoid him. The fear of the Krypteria was always highest after the annual war.

He lay every night naked on the straw mattress in his room thinking about women and sex.

Although he engaged in sex with men, he was very interested in women. His sexual adventures growing up at the Agoge were shaped by need and custom.

Natural urges would lead to the need to get relief. As usual, the older boys and tutors initiated the budding cadets into the sexual activity. There were no women in the Agoge, only males. The only outlet for sexual heat was homosexual, Solo masturbation was discouraged. A warrior must never feel ashamed or want to be alone. He would have to function as part of the state. Solo masturbation might lead to the distained 'individualism' that sapped the cohesion of the unit.

Spartans needed to be capable of independent thought and action but also aware that they were no more then cogs in the military machine, that was the state of Sparta. The sexual activities between them somehow helped to cement a bond between cadets. They grew up 'in love' so to speak with each other. Lover's spats were rare and ruthlessly dealt with by the system.

One day, each cadet was expected to marry and father sons and daughters (the Spartans hated mixing blood with non-Spartans) for the state.

Refusal was not an acceptable option, but a man could continue to have male lovers as long as a Spartan wife bore him children.

It was the same naturally for Spartan girls. Although in their cases, the hymen must never be ruptured by the aggressively probing finger of a girlfriend.

In his case, Plutarch had seduced him and tasted his first orgasmic discharge between his lips.

The sense of pure pleasure that orgasm had caused filled the void that his Spartan upbringing, training, and duty had created deep inside him. It was also the first time he had loved another person as deeply as he loved Plutarch.

As he lay night after night, resisting the urge to jerk off, Alexander's mind strayed to his mother.

He had been away from home for so long and been used to taking any helot woman that he felt like screwing, that he had little consideration for the fact that she was his mother.