>>31784
Here's another installment to keep you hungry! :D


To the thunderous applause of the audience, all of whom sat on the specially made and fitted cushions atop the stone seating of the amphitheatre, the children in their white togas and sandals in the front row, directly level with the performance area and the adults, a mix of parents, teachers and representatives of the various companies who had been involved the competition behind them, Nep in his full Zeus regalia rose up out of the floor of the throne dais accompanied by Rowan in character as his wife Hera and a pretty, red-haired girl of around fourteen in nothing but jewellery and a loin cloth, a golden chain which Rowan held fixed to her collar, kneeling by her side depicting her slave. Nep had been briefly introduced to the girl before stepping onto the platform but was not allowed to know her name or what part she might take in the performance or feast. He held his arms out like a rock star, accepting the adulation, then took his seat, Rowan next to him and the slave-girl reclining at their feet, reminding him a little of Princess Leia at Jabba the Hutt’s palace. It was time for the show to begin!

“Tell me, my wife,” Nep spoke, his voice amplified by the concealed microphones within the throne chamber that could be faded up or down by an unseen operator depending on the needs of the moment, “why is Agamemnon’s fleet yet to sail? They ships have been crewed and ready to sail for Troy for a month and yet they remain in the harbour!” Rowan, as Hera, gave a sly smile.

“I have kept them there by the winds, oh husband.” she replied. “If he wishes to make war, then it must cost him. My oracle has informed him that his fleet may not sail without a sacrifice. The sacrifice of what is most precious to him.” Nep nodded approvingly and the first set-piece began to rise out of the middle of the performance area, a circular hole opening up as a disk of staging dropped about a foot and retracted in wedges like an enormous pizza. The set rose up through the hole on its own circular base, sealing the hole perfectly.

The set-piece was a white faux-marble altar carved with images of the gods and of epic battles, the top of which was actually metal rather than stone or anything that resembled it. Behind the altar, slightly closer to the thrones, rose up an archway in the same ancient Greek style as the altar with hooks on chains hanging from it. As the audience and Nep, to whom this was equally new, fell silent with anticipation, another trapdoor opened up around the entrance to the theatre and, just as Nep and the girls had done, five figures rose up out of the ground.

One was a tall man dressed in stylised black and gold armour with a helmet that covered most of his face. He stood at the back of the party, looming ominously, behind a girl of around twelve in a beautiful purple toga which, while still not entirely opaque, was more modest than the one Rowan wore, more of a dress than a wrap-around scarf. This too was trimmed with gold and she wore gold jewellery on her arms, around her neck and around her ankles. She was very pretty, olive-skinned like Rowan, with very long curly black hair tied back neatly. Her hands were tied in front of her with a golden rope but she did not appear to be making any effort to escape, nor even look down fearfully. Instead she looked forward with a steady, determined gaze. It was clear from what showed of her arms and legs as well as the general shape of her figure that she was toned and athletic but without being thin. She looked to Nep like she probably did a lot of cycling or swimming.

Standing either side of the girl in purple, holding her arms as if providing an escort, were two girls who wore no ornamentation other than a collar, very similar to the one the girl who reclined at Nep and Rowan’s feet wore, and matching bands around their wrists resembling shackles rather than bracelets. They were both dressed in simple black togas that left all their intimate parts covered but clearly marked them as slaves.

The final member of the group was another tall man but this one thin and wiry, his long hair which was tied back in a ponytail very light grey with streaks of white. His long beard was braided and fell down the front of his voluminous white robe. He looked to be in his sixties at least, although Nep had never been especially good at judging ages.

“Look, husband.” Rowan declared. “In order that his fleet may sale, he is willing to make an offering of his only child! His beloved daughter Iphegnia who often pleases him and soothes his anxious spirit by playing the harp. He is sacrificing the thing he loves the most and his only true source of comfort that he may go make brutal war against others!”

With Nep and the others watching in awe, the handmaidens untied Iphegnia’s hands and she stood submissively with her arms by her sides as her belt was removed then her dress pulled down from her shoulders and allowed to fall to the ground. Gracefully, she stepped out of it, allowing it to be retrieved and put aside by one of the handmaidens. The other performers spread out from her a little, giving the audience an opportunity to get a good look at her lovely, naked, pubescent body. Her figure was indeed exactly as Nep had imagined, lean and toned but with a certain stockiness that just screamed deliciousness. Her breasts were small and not yet fully formed but proud and perky, her nipples a slightly darker tan colour than the rest of her skin. Of course her fillet was smooth and bulged very appetisingly. The audience watched in raptured silence as, guided and supported by the handmaidens but definitely willingly, the naked girl stepped forward and knelt in front of the altar. Once she was kneeling, the rope which had bound her wrists was tied on once again but this time securing her hands behind her back. One of the handmaidens then retrieved a golden bowl from a shrine-like shelf within the altar itself and the other took a large ceremonial knife which she presented to the priest. The two girls then knelt either side of Iphegnia, holding the dish in front of her. At a signal of approval from Agamemnon, the priest stood behind her, put one hand on her forehead to lean her head back, exposing her neck, then with no further ceremony, drew the razor-sharp, curved blade across her throat.

The cut was deep and Iphegnia’s blood sprayed out onto the altar, some of it caught it the dish. A gasp went around the audience followed by a round of cheers and applause as the priest held the young actress’s body upright as the life drained from her. He then lifted her body and cradled it, carrying it to the archway where he hung it from the ankles and proceeded to open the belly, the sandy floor of the stage absorbing the blood as her innards fell out. Taking the dish from the handmaidens, he gave it to Agamemnon who brought it to the foot of the steps which led to the throne and poured it out.

“Now he will make a burned offering of her body.” Rowan exposited. “So that we and our court may feast!” The priest began to butcher the hanging carcass of the pre-teen, placing the pieces onto the metal-topped altar which Nep suddenly realised was actually a hot-plate! Soon the sound of sizzling and the smell of grilling girl-meat began to fill the air. Members of Melanie’s team in their themed costumes handed out gold-coloured paper plates to the children and white ones to the adults then the two hand-maidens who had escorted Iphegnia to hear sacrifice brought metal, gold-coloured plates up to the god and his goddess. Agamemnon stood and returned to the altar, taking over the roll of barbecue chef which seemed rather comical in his armour but was never the less a sensible and practical choice. The handmaidens were brought big baskets of bread rolls which they stood holding either side of the altar.

As the gods to whom the sacrifice was made, Nep and Rowan were the first invited to partake of the meat. At the beckoning of the handmaidens, Rowan stood, took Nep’s hand and, leaving her slave girl reclining by the throne, led him down the steps where they were both deferentially presented with a bread roll on one of the golden paper plates, each containing one of Iphegnia’s perky, budding breasts and a thick slice of rump. On a third dish, a small metal one this time, they were served the young girl’s plump fillet, cut into the shape of a heart like the flower girl’s at a wedding. On the either side of the plate were slim, silver forks with only two prongs. They took one of these each and, finding that the fillet had actually pre-emptively been cut in half and pushed back together, they each pierced one side and fed it to the other while the watching audience cheered. The taste was exquisite, rich and smokey, seasoned to perfection. Had he really been bestowed with the powers of a god, it was a sacrifice which would have made Nep feel inclined to grant any prayer!

“Wow! This is really delicious!” Nep exclaimed, happily munching on his roll once he and his wife for the afternoon were back on their thrones and all the other guests lined up for their share, children first and then the parents.

“This is only the beginning!” Rowan grinned, feeding a small scrap to her slave girl then stroking her hair lovingly. “Just a little taste! Don’t want that lovely stomach of yours bulging, do we?” Nep wondered what was meant by that comment and what role, if any, the slave-girl might play in the afternoon’s entertainment but he was sure he would find out when the time was right and it was quite clear that Rowan had no intention of telling him anything ahead of time!


To be continued...