The Tattooed Princess

Svetlana's Awakening

        That same late evening Svetlana had been called to Murka's tent, the bedroom of her new master. She walked from her sleeping quarters through the winding paths of tents to the red and blue curtain behind which he would be waiting for her at that advanced hour. Suddenly, Svetlana heard footsteps behind her and she turned. There, holding one of her sleeping children in her arms, was Dressa, herself looking tired and concerned.

            "You will be with him for the whole night," Dressa said in a whisper. "That is understood. And do not expect any of what you do this first night to be pleasant. But pleasure will come for you soon enough."

            Svetlana stood, frozen, not knowing how to respond. She just stared at the thick woolen curtain before her which was tightly closed and apparently tied from the inside.

            "I am here to warn you, slave . . . to accept all that Murka does in that room tonight and all nights . . . as only pleasure. His pleasure. . . .and sometimes yours. Later you will have the most delicious feelings a woman can have. But do not ever feel you can fall in love with him . . .Do you understand me?"

            Svetlana nodded slowly.

            "Forbid yourself . . .now and always to never have such a thought. For if I ever learn of it, Svetlana . . . I will destroy you while you sleep."

            Svetlana felt a sudden chill run down her back. She then nodded slowly once again. In the silent moment which followed, she felt compelled to reach out and lightly touch the sleeping little girl on the cheek. But Dressa pulled her back and forbade this.

            "Just call to him now, slave," she whispered loudly. "Tell him your name. He will open the curtain and take you to his bed."

            With this, Dressa turned and left Svetlana standing before the curtain in the dark.

                                              *     *     *

            Upon hearing her voice, Murka untied the thick woolen drapes and ushered Svetlana into his bedchamber. There was an immediate aroma of incense—a combination of mountain blossoms and musk. The large vases he had positioned around his bed each had a floating wick, as these vessels were filled with olive oil, and as lamps they could burn for days and nights when unattended.

            Svetlana wore the short dress-like chiton she had been instructed to wear these nights and followed her master diligently over to the mattress where she remained standing in the amber light. Her legs were bare and feet naked. Her golden hair had been brushed down full to her shoulders and her bare arms still showed a tint of sun from her daily morning strolls with Moshtok and her friends on horseback.

            "This night I want to be remembered by you Svetlana," Murka said festively, taking a seat on his massive matress. "As an evening of comfort . . . and, as I promised, no fear."

           Murka wore a white, finely woven top, open at the chest, with generous sleeves. Below it, he had a pair of soft leather pants and wore no sandals himself. He pointed to a small table near the bed. There was a golden bowl embossed with running leopards and two tall drinking vessels next to it which seemed iridescent blue and tourquoise in the low light.

            "Bring us the drinks and sit with me," he said in a soothing voice. It was absent of any commanding tone and hinted no dreaded expectations of her. Svetlana brought the tall vessels to the edge of the mattress and handed them to him. She then lifted herself up with some difficulty onto the waist-high bed. They sat across from each other and Murka handed her back one of the ceramic drinking vessels.