Chapter 1

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 wooden but real warrior swords.

Failure was death. Failure was unacceptable.

His short kilt of home spun was all of only four 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 and 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 Sparta 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.

It had been days since he had had sex. He was interested to see what the female was like up close.

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