Alexander and Julie

Disclaimer: All characters in this story are over eighteen years of age. In the Middle Ages, as now, the development of sexual maturity depends largely upon diet. One can imagine poor people in the Middle Ages did not have abundant food and therefore matured a little later.

Chapter one, in which Alexander obtains Julie, a poor farm girl

Alexander, a proud figure in the dark robes of a young and talented mage, looked through the bars of the grated iron door, that formed the entrance to the cell. The walls were lined by rough-hewn stones, part of the ancient keep supporting the tower. As a wizard, he had been appointed this domain for his exclusive use. Little did the king realise that the poor farm wench abducted by a rabble of Huns several days ago had been his handiwork. Nor that the maiden in question was now within his keeping. His firm reputation would keep out any unwanted visitors, and so would the lock on the thick oaken door at the foot of the tower. The western wall faced the cliffside with a sheer drop to the sea below, so noises from this part of the keep would be drowned out by waves, gulls and wind. They were alone together.

He thought back over the last days, how he had devised a plan to abduct Julie, for that was the name of the red haired beauty that lay motionless on the white bedlinen in the middle of the cell.

The young man had first spotted her during an inspection tour of the farming community operating on the lands of his Lord. He was riding a dark brown horse, trotting through the barren landscape, for it was turning winter. This corner of the fiefdom was rocky, wet and cold. As he rounded a patch of woodland, a few shabby buildings came into view, surrounded by patches of cleared grassland. His eyes were drawn towards a tiny figure on the field ahead, gathering straw, some way away from the huts. He nudged his horse to trot leisurely on the path leading to the village, slowly homing in closer on the stooping figure.

His sharp eyes observed her every feature. The red hair hung in matted muddied strings around a very pretty face, that was flushed with her newfound womanhood. Her nose was not too large, and subtly upturned. Blushing cheeks and large hungry eyes, but unknowing what this hunger was, that had recently awoken inside her. Her lips were full and sensual, but her sultry looks were not studied, even to the point of being naïve. Her two well-shaped full moons caught his breath even under the rags that were supposed to hide them. Her lithe frame would in time be shaped into a vixen of statuesque beauty. She would be perfect for his plans.

Her lowly existence had not significantly deformed her beauty, however it had left her soul wide open. She would not have developed the defenses often found in 'civilised' females. Besides, the disappearance of a noble would cause quite a stir, so she would have to come from the lowest classes. This ragged group of hired labourers fit that category, not even knowing how to read or write and calculating on their fingers.

But the poverty and filth that she lived in would have to be purified. In order to save her from becoming just another farm wench, he would have to rip her out of this miserable existence. Her coming of age was advertising itself all too clearly beneath the rags she wore. A greyish, formless cloth garment that had been made for her many years ago. It was now too small, wrapped closely around womanly features and the cloth was faded, patched and smudged. Holes gave away peeks at her unblemished skin, a rip exposed the perfect curve of one of her globes. Her shapely bottom was accentuated by the dirty rags that hugged them tight.

"You can have her if you want her," a voice disturbed his reverie. Looking down from his horse, he saw an old bent man of uncouth but not unkind appearance. "With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?" he inquired. "I'm her uncle. Her name's Julie. Her mother died at birth, her father ran away when she was eight. So me and m' wife took 'r in, being family an all. As you can well see, sir, my niece is drawing the wrong kind of attention to herself, if you get my drift, sir. I have no means to keep her any longer. So if you be willing to take 'er in, as a maid like, we can negotiate a suitable price." The man spat on the ground at the feet of his horse.

"I have no need for an additional servant," he replied curtly to the man, who clearly did not recognise the treasure he had under his very roof. Such coarse and vulgar creatures roam the earth. Nevertheless, the peasant had taken her in and raised her, which seemed decent enough. But Alexander had no use for anyone to know about his interest in the girl. He cast a simple stun spell at the man, who started for a moment and blinked his eyes vacantly. "I will bring your grievances before the king," Alexander said and then looked away into the distance, indicating clearly that the audience was over. The man, evidently not wishing to admit that he had lost the thread of the conversation, merely said "splendid, splendid… your excellency…", bowed meekly and went along his way.

Alexander waited patiently for him while he trudged into the distance. From the corner of his eye, he observed Julie as she bent over to pick up straw remaining on the field after the harvest. Her poise was indeed more than casually interesting, the outworn frock stretching and straining over her petite booty.

He bent all his thought upon her and wrought a spell, a hallucination that caused a radiant white ringdove to appear to her and implant messages in her mind. She got used to seeing the dove appear in the rafters of the hut and whispering to it. In this way, a few nights later, the dove had appeared and told her a story about a lake in the middle of the forest, the bottom of which held many treasures, that could simply be picked from the lake-bed. The bird told her she could help her poor uncle and aunt by obtaining such a treasure. The poor lass was quite gullible after the dove explained to her that the vision was a miracle. Had not other maidens been chosen to which Mary had appeared, or unicorns? The dove had flown from perch to perch and led her to a spot where ruffians were encamped in the woods.

Alexander had been waiting nearby their camping ground, hidden in a grove of trees. But he had miscalculated the time it would take Julie to find her way through the woods. Julie had run instead of picking her way out carefully, and her clothes hung in tatters around her naked body, ripped by root and branch in her frantic marathon through the undergrowth. She had started out confident, but the noises of the woods brought out her inner fears. After losing her way following the bird, she had suddenly bolted, and started running after the bird, which flew at great speed now. Fearing to lose her last hope, she frantically kept up the pace, crashing through the undergrowth at breakneck speed, stumbling, twisting her ankle, branches whipped at her face and arms, brambles pierced into the fabric of her clothing, ripping and cutting her legs as she willed herself to break free and keep going. But the poor food she was accustomed to had not given her much reserves. Out of breath and weak, she collapsed near the camp. The gang, hearing the crashing noises, had gone to check out the disturbance and found her.

He had only been just in time. Julie had already been violently kissed and tossed from man to man, ripping the last few threads of decency from her body. This manhandling went on as Alexander approached the spot. Picking his way through the trees, he saw her thrown to the ground, while the leader started unbuckling his belt. He had reacted immediately, by throwing a powerful blinding spell on the whole party. Then he dashed in to save his prize. Such bad mannered men did not deserve her beauty.

In the resulting struggle, he nearly broke his left arm due to the club that one of the ruffians used on him. He managed to move in, having the benefit of sight, and confiscated the club. He had to effectively render the leader unconscious with multiple blows to the head and pry Julie from his groping fingers. Multiple bruises and scratches of her delicate features resulted. Julie was sobbing, her face was tear-streaked. He decided to use a stun spell on her so she would hopefully not remember the situation. As he cast it, she seemed to resist. Her face contorted and her eyes rolled in panic. He summoned more energy to complete the spell. She clenched her teeth and her eyes grew wide with fear as if seeing an oncoming foe that she had no chance of standing against. Then her head flopped to one side and she was unconscious. He could only hope he had not damaged her mind in any way.

The ride to his stronghold on the rocks had been under the cover of darkness. He knew the ways through the woods that the woodsmen take, not frequented at night except by vagabonds. He held Julie between his arms, as she sat astride the horse, slumped in the saddle in front of him, her pert bottom pushing against his crotch. He had folded his thick traveling cloak around them both to keep warm in the crisp winter air. She smelt like a pig, but he also got whiffs of a much more heady perfume. Apparently the jolting saddle-ridge against her widespread legs was causing a physical reaction. She wimpered feverishly, as in a delirium: "Mother Mary… oh, protect me…" Then she drifted into unconsciousness again. In the darkness, Alexander saw the tower of the stronghold loom on the horizon. "Home sweet home," he thought to himself, trying to ignore his raging hardness.

He rode towards the gate, unmounting before it, with Julie still wrapped like a bundle of firewood, sprawled in the saddle, leaning on his horse's neck. Unlocking the smaller entrance, carefully leading his horse through, he grabbed the girl from the saddle and hoisted her onto his shoulder. She was as light as a feather. With one hand, he loosened the saddlestrap of his horse and pulled the saddle off, leaving the animal to wander in the empty courtyard. It knew the way to the stables.

Keeping her cloaked body balanced on his shoulder, steadying it with one hand, he opened the door to the tower, ascending the staircase to the first story of the keep. He walked down a swept stone hallway with several grated doors to the left, and a corridor to the right, that led to his quarters. The door at the end was the bath-house. He had left a fire under the bath before he left, and the water was quite warm now and steaming. The fragrance of herbs, that he had added to the bathwater, filled the air.

He put Julie down on the floor of the spacious bathroom, then stripped his own muddied clothes down to the waist, keeping his loin cloth to cover his erection. He would have to go into the water with her, if she was to be bathed in her present state. After all, it would be a shame to ruin the clean bedlinen he had prepared in one of the cells. He folded open the traveling cloak, to reveal her wiry body. Her ribs were countable, her breasts not half as full as they were meant to be. He took one of her floppy legs and turned the limp body over. Her backside could even be called bony. He gathered the bundle of limbs in his arms, lifting her up easily, and walked down the steps leading into the stone basin of water. The warm liquid slowly enveloped them, and Julie sighed as she relished the warmth entering into her bones.

Alexander held her body in his arms, keeping Julie's face just above the water level, allowing the red strands of her hair to soak in the water. He took a flannel and started gently washing the dirt and grime from her skin. Under water, her thigh grazed against his hard manhood, now straining the wet loincloth. She was perfect, floating in his arms in the bathwater. His hand massaged her milky skin with the soft flannel, from her cheeks, to her shoulders, her armpits, that had only a soft wisp of reddish hair. He then raised his knee, standing on one foot in the bath, supporting her legs, and worked from the lower legs upward, cleaning scratches, mud and counting the bruises. Now they were sinewy, frail, but in time these legs would become captivating, of that he was sure. Lovingly, he daubed the flannel cloth over her stomach and breasts. She seemed to inhale the attention, her body twitching involuntarily, her legs parted like a helpless creature. He was tempted to explore the inside of her thighs, but restrained himself. There would be plenty of time for that later.

After Julie had been bathed and dried with a large towel, Alexander tucked her into the bed in the middle of the stone cell. She had hardly stirred during the bath, remaining mostly unconscious. Drying her had been quite a challenge. Now sleep would have to mend her cares in the remainder of the night.

Chapter two, in which Julie wakes up.

Julie was lying on a sturdy but comfortable bed in the middle of the cell, the floor covered with fresh straw and a single carpet. Her washed, copper-red curls stained the white sheets of the wooden bed and lay like a halo around her face, an unconscious, expressionless mask, the bruises tended and treated, but still visible. Her pallour was quite ashen grey, indicating severe systemic shock. Alexander wondered how to revive her, and what herbs from his collection might serve to boost her health. She had seemed restless for the past few minutes, perhaps when she woke he could feed her the medicine.

Going back to his study, he consulted the herbariums. "She needs support of the glands and the entire nervous system…" Alexander mused to himself. Naturally a strong dose of iron in the form of nettle infusion would be a good base. But within this we must mix some more potent herbs, for her condition is grave. He decided, in case the cuts might have infected her blood, to add other blood cleansers such as some dose of hops and then the thought occurred to him that perhaps he should even include the sacred herb. A suspension of oils should then be added to the infusion. Hmmm… The sacred herb was no mean plant to use, and very costly. If she could not stomach the broth, some of it might be lost. He had enough to work with, but did not want to lose it unnecessarily. No, he decided against mixing the medicine. He would give her a salve to medicate the oily substances. She would have to apply it to her entire body, at the same time purifying herself of any cuts and bruises. He set about making the salve in a small iron kettle and boiled water for the nettle soup. Taking the required herbs from his extensive stock, he prepared the salve and broth.

It was several hours later when he returned to the grated doors of Julie's cell. Julie was now awake, or at least her eyes were open, looking into vacant space. It was a listed side-effect of the intensive stun spell, that her motoric functions would not return for several minutes after regaining consciousness. He had taken a calculated risk and would have to wait and see what the spell had done to her mind.

Taking out the large key to unlock the door of the cell, Alexander went in and put down the tray with the broth and salve on a little table against the wall of the cell. He pulled out the wooden stool from under the table, and sat down on it, regal in his dark red robes. He calmly observed the silent form, looking at the ceiling with unblinking eyes, as she lay naked under the white sheets. "Can you hear me?" he asked. "Try to blink your eyes if you can." After a moments hesitation, her eyes shut for a moment. "I have salve and broth here, you will regain your ability to sit up in a few minutes. You can then eat. You have been very sick and are entrusted into my care to make you well. The salve you must put on all of your body. It will purify any illness left in you by your sickness."

She closed her eyes, as if in resignation, and he left the cell.

It was not until the next day that he visited her cell again, to bring in breakfast, consisting of some light honey cakes. As he came in, she was sitting up in bed. She had pulled up the sheets to cover herself, tucking them under her arms. Her luscious nipples stood up straight, creating two bumps in the smooth coverlet. Alexander's eyes were involuntarily drawn to the contour of her breasts and stomach, draped only by the bedsheet. After drinking in the view, he looked briefly into her face. Her hazel-green eyes flashed at him from under her brow, framed by her red hair, that hung in loose curls over her bare shoulders. Nothing else indicated her tension. He walked over to the table and put down the cakes. The pot of salve had been left untouched, he noticed.

"Why am I here?" Her clear voice unsettled him for a moment.

"You have been through a great sickness," he answered.

"Is that why I do not remember who I am?"

This revelation almost caused him to lose his balance momentarily, but he disguised it as shifting his weight and turned around to face her. Her face was puzzlement, wonderment, her large green-hazel eyes intent and watchful. She may be young and she had lost her memory, but she was certainly not stupid. Her colour was better than last night, apparently sleep had mended much.

"As your doctor, I need to ask you a few questions first. Do you know your name?" he asked, trying to keep his voice level. She looked a little irritated at first, of course she knew her name. But then her eyes dropped suddenly, as if looking inwardly and coming to the realisation that nothing was there. The rising dismay in her heart could be seen in her moist eyes, but she corrected herself and looked steadily at him again. "No, I do not remember."

"I have heard that you are called Nympha, or perhaps you would like something more exotic, like Sherazade?" he asked and smiled at her. Her scowl indicated she was not amused, although her pretty lips betrayed her merriment. Apparently, she was a playful, joyful thing, that could see the humour even in a serious illness. "No, I cannot believe I was called Nympha, but if that is what you want to call me, then it will do for now," she riposted.

Her response showed that her mind was more advanced than he had initially gauged. Or perhaps her tiredness from excessive work had clouded her mind the first time he saw her.

"What do you remember?" he asked. "I remember running after a white bird. But perhaps that was a feverish dream." A little worried, he asked "Do you remember anything about going to the woods?"

"Woods? Well, I remember something about a fountain full of gold, some buried treasure. But I don't think I found it."

"You may have," he said. "But you remember nothing of your illness, besides your dreams?"

"No, and indeed, nothing else. It is as if my life up until yesterday has happened in darkness." Her eyes could now not hold back a tear.

"Do not worry," Alexander said, "perhaps the memory will return as the sickness abates. You are far from better. This ointment is the cure for your disease. Please use it liberally to purify your body. Try to get some rest and heal from your bruises."

He prepared to leave, but as he was heading for the door, she said "Why must I be locked up like a dangerous animal?" He replied evasively: "Your illness makes you so to others. You must trust me to make you well." Turning with a rustle of robes, Alexander walked out and locked the grated door.

***

However, from this moment on his experiment did not quite work out the way he had planned. He had thought that rescuing her from an illness would be enough explanation for her extended stay in the cell, but she wanted to know more. He needed to find some way to keep her busy. Apparently, she did not trust him and resisted his will, as long as she did not have more information. To make things worse, she was not using the salve. It was her form of symbolic resistance. However, some of her the deeper cuts were starting to look more ugly every day, instead of healing without scars. He had to make her use the salve over her entire body, or the treatment would not work. She was hurting herself by this form of passive resistance.