A Lesson for the Cyclops

Chapter 16

At first, she saw nothing in the darkness. She heard only the sound of the blood as it pulsed in her ears. She feared she’d stumble and awaken him. How would he react to find such a monstrous intruder? Would he think her an assassin? Or worse, would he think her a pathetic shadow of a seductress, one whose hideousness made her desire for him ludicrous instead of erotic?

As her senses became accustomed to the darkness within, she heard his normal sleep sounds, and saw his sleeping form on his cot with his back to her. She hesitated, and then took a step towards him. Then another.

But she was being too bold! Her courage gave out. She felt the urge to flee his tent, stealth be damned. Instead, she forced herself to turn as slowly as she could, heading back towards the exit.

She saw a light heading her way.

She froze in absolute terror. Her mouth gaped in a scream to which she dared not give voice. Her heart felt like it would burst.

She couldn’t just stand there; she’d be discovered. She had to do something … fast!

She spun in place, searching for a place to hide, but her mind had frozen. In desperation, she ducked behind D’Arbignal’s long coat, which hung from an improvised hook attached to the tent frame.

The flap opened and a dim cone of light spread upon the tent’s dirt floor. A figure entered, and the Cyclops smelled perfume: something feminine, with notes of vanilla and … almond perhaps?

It had to be Conchinara, of course. Only she would be so brazen, with her smoldering gazes at D’Arbignal and her flirtatious banter with her husband mere feet away.

Conchinara entered the tent.

Now the Cyclops was trapped. There was no way she could reach the tent opening. And the humiliation of being discovered by Conchinara … of all people! Of course, Conchinara would not dare to expose the Cyclops; by doing so, she’d implicitly be admitting her own presence in D’Arbignal’s tent. However, that wouldn’t stop her from torturing the Cyclops in subtler, far crueler ways.

So the Cyclops remained as still as a statue and hoped the sound of her breathing wouldn’t reveal her.

The cone of light narrowed, and the Cyclops heard the clank of Conchinara’s lantern as she placed it on the ground. Then she heard a rustle of cloth, and the sound of Conchinara’s dress falling to her feet. Peeking under the coat’s arm, the Cyclops spied a sliver of naked flesh.

Please don’t make me see this!

She expected Conchinara to whisper to D’Arbignal, but instead she eased into his cot with him. The cot creaked beneath her weight, and D’Arbignal grunted and tried to adjust his position again.

The Cyclops heard the whisper of Conchinara’s fingers moving through D’Arbignal’s hair. She imagined the tickle of her breath on D’Arbignal’s neck.

The cot creaked as D’Arbignal turned again. There were more sounds: fingernails along fabric, fingertips brushing across skin. A woman’s sharp inhalation of pleasure. A man’s slightly drowsy moan.

“Yes,” whispered Conchinara, arousal making her voice husky. “Yes.”

“Mmmm…” D’Arbignal sounded like he was smiling. The Cyclops could almost picture the devilish gleam in his eyes. She wished she were dead.

Then suddenly, there was a thump and a yelp of surprise and indignation from Conchinara as she landed on the dirt floor. From her vantage point, the Cyclops saw a flash of confusing motion.

“What—?” D’Arbignal said, confused. “Conchinara? Is that you?”

“Who did you think it was?” she said, and she tried to climb back in with him.

“What … no. You … can’t do that!”

She laughed softly, a seductive sound that was part moan. “Give me a minute, lover, and I’ll prove that I can.”

She heard a sharp creaking as D’Arbignal sat up in his cot.

“You’ll have to prove it with someone else,” he said. “Your husband’s my friend!”

The way he said it, it was almost as though it wasn’t the fact that she was married that bothered him, but that she was married to someone he knew…

“I’m your friend, too,” she purred. “My husband shows you his friendship by playing with swords with you, but I have a much better way of showing you my friendship…”

The Cyclops watched as Conchinara took D’Arbignal’s hand and led it to her breast. He gasped, and for a moment, it seemed like he had succumbed, but then he withdrew his hand. When he spoke next, his voice was firm.

“No, Conchinara,” he said. “Go now, before this turns ugly.”

Ugly. The word hit the Cyclops in her heart even though it hadn’t been aimed at her.

“You want to see ugly,” Conchinara said, her voice turning cold, “try rejecting me. Then I’ll show you ugly.”

“I think you’re doing a more than passable job of that now,” D’Arbignal said. He stood before Conchinara, apparently oblivious to her nude perfection. “Now are you going to leave of your own volition or need I jettison you?”

“Why, you—!” Conchinara raked her nails at D’Arbignal’s face. There was a blur of motion, and Conchinara had spun to face the exit.

“I’ve had a lovely time, Conchinara,” D’Arbignal said as he ushered her to the tent exit with a hand pressed against the small of her back. “Let’s do it again, soon. Oh, and thank you for being naked!”

He put a foot against her perfect buttocks and shoved her, staggering, outside the tent. D’Arbignal flipped Conchinara’s dress into his hand with the tip of his toes, and tossed it out after her. Strangled cries of indignation and rage came across as the mewling of a sickly cat.

“And a goodnight to you, too, milady,” he said. “I pray you sleep well tonight.”

“I’ll sleep well tonight, all right,” she hissed. “I’ll dream of my husband cutting you to ribbons!”

“Sounds lovely,” D’Arbignal said, dismissively. “I myself now always dream of elephants for some reason.”

He climbed back into his cot and lay there as though nothing had happened.

There was a deadly few minutes of silence, and then the Cyclops heard Conchinara storm off into the night. Calm restored, D’Arbignal went back to sleep.

Or at least, that was what the Cyclops thought until D’Arbignal said in a sleepy voice: “Maria, if you want to be stealthy, you can’t wear perfume.”

D’Arbignal sniffed once, then twice.

“I like the citrus on you,” he said, “but when sneaking through the night it’s about as subtle as cowbells.”

He rolled over in his cot, and she saw the gleam of his eyes in the light cast by Conchinara’s abandoned lantern.

“If you’re interested, I can show you a few tricks sometime, but not tonight. I have a big performance tomorrow. I need my sleep. Some other time?”

He seemed to be awaiting an answer, but the Cyclops couldn’t speak. She wanted to flee, hide, and die of shame.

She stood frozen for a few moments. Then she bolted from his tent like a startled deer.

She collided head-on with Conchinara, who was fastening the buttons on her dress.

“Oh,” Conchinara said, “you have got to be kidding me.”