Herald of the High King
“No fears, Hittite, …..”
Paris observed the muscular envoy .. strung-up, struggling for air. Agamemnon’s herald might have been built for this task. Powerful back on him, a belly packed with solid muscle, chest high-thrown with muscular power. Indeed a perfect parchment on which to scrawl Paris’ reply to the High King’s offer.
“No worries that you will die here …..”
Lukka returned his flippant tone with a growl. But Paris continued unconcerned.
“I mean to make sure you are in a fit state to make the response to Agamemnon good-and-clear.”
“It is unfortunate, then …..”
Lukka was angry. His blood was boiling. He felt hot, sweaty, dishevelled. But this was more his element. The fighter stinking of sweat stale from battle. Not the cleaned-up herald Agamemnon had sent.
His flesh was running with burning pains. Hit across his chest, aching in his whiplashed belly. That strap had worked over the small area of his arse till the tears of pain would not stop. Angrily he eyed the smug-looking prince of Troy. Paris had broken the protocols, he had scorned the truce.
Sweat ran down his back stinging in the wounds this Trojan prince had opened up. Stripping Agamemnon’s envoy of all dignity. Writing this scornful reply in streaks of crimson welts onto Lukka’s muscled flesh.
“ .. unfortunate …. with the Greeks camped on the beach …..”
Paris was uncommonly handsome, athletically built. But if Lukka hadn’t been trapped in these chains .. even after getting the shit beaten out of him .. Lukka would have snapped his neck in any fight. Driven by pure fury.
“ …. we have no access to the sea.”
Lukka frowned. He wondered where that remark was coming from. He didn’t have long to wait.
“No sea water to clean you down. Can’t have those wounds getting infected. Can we?”
“ …. Not before Agamemnon’s hired hand ….”
Paris’ hand gestured at the tortured body strung up and suffering .. to make sure Lukka knew what he was held to be. How insignificant his tortured body. His suffering of no importance.
“ …. can’t have you dying on us .. not before you have conveyed to the High King the full intensity of our reply.”
Meaning .. the stinging burns scored into Lukka’s muscled back. Meaning .. the message written in welts of pain carved in the power of his fighter’s belly.
“Have to use vinegar instead, then ……”