Cassandra Watson flexed her hands on the steering wheel of her car for the third time in as many minutes, navigating the narrow country lanes of Devon in winter was difficult at the best of times, especially if the road wasn't on the map and the temperature was plummeting to below zero. The sat-nav had given up the ghost half an hour ago and now told her she was in the middle of a field.
'Thank fuck for four wheeled drive,' she muttered as the incline rose to a precipitous angle that would have defeated lesser cars. 'Do they cross the native population with mountain goats on Dartmoor?' She pulled up and looked at the map book again, it had to be somewhere near. 'You can't just loose a fortified Tudor Manor house,' she told the book, imagining the way her head of department would glower over his glasses if she told him she couldn't find Compton Castle.
She pushed her booted foot down on the accelerator harder and the car inched its way to the top of the incline. The drop on the other side was as bad as the incline, but at least from the top she'd seen what looked suspiciously like a grey granite outline in the valley below, shielded from view and the weather by thick forested slopes. Feeling rather more hopeful than she had in the past hour, she eased the car gingerly downward through a tunnel of overhanging branches laced with ivy. It was a drop of some three hundred feet if you missed the hairpin turns on what wasn't much more than a single track road, and she doubted the RAC would even find her this far from civilisation, let alone unwrap a car from a tree should she make a false move.
Gradually the slope of the road lessened and went over a fast running stream in a bridge only just wide enough to navigate without taking the paint off the car's sides. Gravel crunched under the tyres as a structure that looked something like an old gatehouse appeared through the trees. She slowed the car to examine the structure. 'Narrow Tudor bricks, just like Hampton Court.' She leaned out of the window to push away some encroaching ivy to reveal the heraldic shield of the Compton Family, two lions supporting a sun disk. 'Gottcha, you little beauty!'
Cassandra guided the car through the gate, and onto the wider gravel of the drive up to the Castle. The ivy had made inroads onto the Castle itself, half the height was covered in the stuff, what with that and the moss it was difficult to see that there was granite until you got up to the battlements. Artificial light spilled out of some of the lower windows and a dog barked possessively from behind them, that at least was a start, someone, other than the dog, was at home. Pulling up by the main door, Cassandra grabbed her bags and laptop, and crunched her way over the gravel to the door, ringing the bell loudly. The sound of the dog getting closer was matched by the increasing level of curses aimed at it until the door itself opened.
'Yes?' The face that peered round the very old wooden frame was close to seventy and looked as weathered as the stone work. 'Dr Watson, from English Heritage. I believe Lord Compton is expecting me.' Cassandra proffered her card to the housekeeper, who took it, peering myopically at the name. 'Dr Watson, you say?' Amusement gleamed in the old woman's eyes. It was something Cassandra had seen virtually everyday since she'd been awarded her PhD some five years ago and she could see the thought going through the minds of every one since.... 'Where's Sherlock Holmes, then?' 'I left him minding the fort at Baker Street, he's getting a little elderly for field trips.' The dog yodelled loudly behind the massive panelled door, scrabbling its claws on the ancient wood. 'Oh do shut up, Scruffy!' The housekeeper yelled, for that is what she was, 'I doubt Dr Watson is here to steal the family silver, you daft hound!' Cassandra chuckled. 'Would you like to pass me a suit of armour, or shall I run the risk of being savaged by the Hound of the Baskervilles?' She enquired. 'Don't massage his ego, he's half mumbly as it is, Scruffy's bark is the biggest thing about him. Where are my manners, I'm Mrs Stokes, the Housekeeper, by the way. Come in Doctor, before it starts snowing.' She pointed to the ominous wisps of snow lightly wafting on the wind. 'The Met Office are saying it's going to be the heaviest snow we've had in the passed eighteen years.'
Mrs Stokes opened the door wide and Cassandra glanced down to see that Scruffy, far from being the Hound of the Baskervilles, was in fact a small furball of a dog with button-bright eyes and an overactive tail. 'Not exactly 'Cerberus' is he?' She joked, as Scruffy rolled on to his back showing off his tummy ready to be tickled, which Cassandra obliged him in doing. 'No, but he'll pester you for tickles if you give into him now, and if you've got any crisps in your luggage, he'll find them! Drop your cases in the Hall and join me in the kitchen for Afternoon Tea. This way!' Mrs Stokes marched off into the depths of the Castle, Scruffy clattering after her, his claws scrabbling on the stone tiles, anticipating food. Cassandra shut the huge door behind her, leaving her bags as instructed and followed the smell of fresh baking to the kitchen.
'I always make a fresh batch of scones everyday, if his Lordship's here he'll eat the lot himself, but seeing as he's not back, we can help ourselves.' Mrs Stokes placed a large plate of warm scones next to the dish of strawberry jam and clotted local Devon cream as Cassandra sat at the kitchen table. This was obviously the castle's original massive kitchen, suited to produce a full scale Medieval banquet, but it had been brought up to date with the inclusion of an arga, and more incongruously, a microwave.
'So Lord Compton isn't here, Mrs Stokes?' Cassandra enquired, slathering jam and cream on top of a warm scone. 'No, dear, he's gone off to one of the more outlying farms, some dispute over boundaries and the daft bugger will be stuck there if he doesn't get himself moving before the snow really gets going.' Cassandra choked at the idea of a Peer Of the Realm being called 'a daft bugger' by his housekeeper. Mrs Stokes picked up on her amusement. 'I used to be his Lordship's nanny before I became his housekeeper, so I take no nonsense from him.' She chuckled jovially. 'When the weather gets bad you can't get in or out of this valley unless you can walk waist deep in snow; it kept Cromwell from getting his grubby hands on the Castle during the English Civil War, so it was never 'slighted' by the Roundheads.' 'I've known several castles that benefitted from 'difficult terrain' when it came to keeping the Roundheads at bay, they couldn't find Ightham Moat in Kent either.' Replied Cassandra, deliberately dropping a piece of scone onto the tiled floor just in front of Scruffy's inquisitive nose so he could find and devour it. Mrs Stokes smiled indulgently at Scruffy's hopeful expression as he stood on his hind legs, begging for more. 'Well, you obviously know your history and you're an animal lover, so you and I are going to get along nicely, Dr Watson.' 'Call me Cassandra, please, 'Dr Watson' is so formal, and rather prone to the Conan Doyle connection.' Quipped Cassandra. 'Very well, 'Cassandra' it is.' 'Blame the name on my parents, they both had a life long love of 'The Iliad', it was the first book they gave me to read when I was learning as a small child; and I must admit it's still my favourite.' 'Ah, in that case you must visit his Lordship's Library, he has a particularly fine copy of the Iliad, one of his ancestors, the fifth Duke, brought it back from the Grand Tour.' 'That sounds wonderful, do you think he'd mind me taking a look at it? I'm certain I've got a pair of cotton gloves in my bags, so I've come prepared for handling old documents.' Cassandra brightened considerably at the prospect of seeing such a rare tome. Mrs Stokes glanced out of the window at the snow, which during their conversation had been falling silently as a feather to lie nearly a foot deep on the ground outside. 'I doubt he's going to be back today, he's the other side of Oakhampton and likely to be stuck there for some time to come. Anyway, what we don't tell him he doesn't know about, that's what I say! Now, I'll show you to your room and you can get unpacked. Then when you're ready I'll get a nice bit of supper and a bottle of wine set out for you in the Library and you can read to your heart's content. How does that sound?' 'That sounds perfect. Mrs Stokes, you're an angel!'
By the time Cassandra had sorted out her bags and called Head office to let them know of her arrival, it was obvious that no one, short of Icarus, was getting in or out of the valley that held Compton Castle, the snow lay deep and quiet holding all in it muffled against the outside World. In the kitchen Mrs Stokes busied herself preparing a tray of food, home made game pie, cranberry jelly, freshly baked bread, salad, jacket potato and a good claret properly decanted. Carefully she took the tray through to the Library, placed it on a table close by the log fire, which she'd nurtured into a good blaze and stood back to look round the room. 'What do you think, Scruffy? Do you think she'll like it, yes?' Scruffy barked his appreciation, tail mimicking a windscreen wiper. 'Mmmm, I think Cassandra Watson will do very well for Compton, and its inhabitants, very well indeed.' Mrs Stokes eyed the long bookshelves with a certain smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she left the room. She met Cassandra coming down the broad wooden staircase on her way back to the kitchen. 'Just go down the corridor and it's the second door on the left, dear; your supper tray is ready for you and I've given Scruffy strict instructions that he's not to disturb you!' 'Thanks, Mrs Stokes, you're a treasure.'
Cassandra found the thick oak panelled door and went in, closing if carefully behind her and entered another world. Somewhere deeper in the Castle a grandfather clock ticked, but apart from that the only other sound was the occasional crackle of the logs on the fire, deep carpet cushioned her footfalls as she made her way to the table and tray Mrs Stokes had left for her. Beside the table was a winged armchair and on it an old book, leather-bound, and gold embossed with the words, 'The Iliad, by Homer'. From her studies Cassandra knew that this copy was not of course the original that was first produced some nine centuries BC when the ancient Greeks first developed their own written script. It was still, however, some five hundred years old and a treasure beyond price; carefully she put on the white cotton gloves used when dealing with valuable and delicate books. Pouring herself a glass of red wine, she sat down to enjoy the first sip, which hit her tongue with the cedar wood and red berry flavours of an excellent Medoc.
Having read for nearly an hour, Cassandra paused to reflect on the latest Hollywood blockbuster extracted from the text of the Iliad that she'd seen the previous month. 'What a dog's breakfast that was! Paris kills Menelaus on the second day of the fighting and the whole thing's over in a week! Not to mention that weedy celebrity actor they got to play Achilles, all CGI'ed muscles and didn't know one end of a sword from the other, not a patch on the real thing!' She mused aloud.
'I'm glad you think so.' The voice was deep, tinged with warm amusement, and seemed to come from a dark corner of the Library not illuminated by the firelight or the strange cold glow of the snow outside.
Cassandra stopped short, she had been sure that she was alone in the room, there had certainly been no sound to herald the entry of another person through the only door. She peered into the gloom of the recess the voice came from and observed a shape slightly darker than the surrounding bookshelves detach itself and move towards her. He was, she estimated, at least six foot three, but this was eclipsed by his unusual appearance. The last thing Cassandra was expecting to see in the depths of winter in an old English castle was an Achean warrior in full armour. As he moved towards her she could see the firelight gleam off the bronze breastplate he wore, and a memory stirred within her mind that she'd seen something like this before.
'You're not Lord Compton, are you?' Cassandra decided to address apparition as it got within feet of where she sat.
'No, I'm not. Nor has he or any of his family seen me, I'm... 'selective' in those I choose to show myself to.' He pulled a couple of cushions from the nearby sofa, threw them onto the rug by the fire and sat down cross legged to face her, impishly watching her confusion.
Cassandra replaced her wine glass on the table, acutely aware that she had been holding it too tight. She sensed that whatever this apparition was he wasn't malevolent and had chosen her for some specific reason that she had yet to ascertain, but needed to find out. 'Who, or possibly what, are you, and why have you 'selected' me?' She enquired, trying to keep her voice level.
The corners of his mouth twitched with mirth. 'Ah, now that's more like a proper question than I usually get. As to 'what', I am an 'eidolon'.
Cassandra leaned forward slightly. 'You're a ghost...an Achean ghost, late Bronze Age?' 'Excellent!! I knew I had made a wise choice in appearing to you!'
He grinned broadly and matched her body movement to lean towards her. 'And as for 'who', I am Achilles.'
'Son of Peleus and Thetis, leader of the Myrmidons?' She queried.
'The very same, and who might you be?' He moved closer, fixing her with sparkling blue eyes.
'My name's Cassandra Watson.'
'Cassandra, 'She Who Entangles Men', how very appropriate.' Achilles reached out and entwined his fingers in a tendril of her hair, she could feel the heat from his fingers against her face and it was definitely corporeal. 'Though with that red hair you could equally be called 'Pyrrha'. Would that all Homeric scholars were as attractive then there might be more of my kind willing to appear. Oh, forgive the amour, eidolons tend to reappear in the garb they died in, so I am as I was on the day that coward Paris shot me.'
'Why have you chosen to appear? Cassandra was intrigued by this urbane and rather cultured ghost.
'I am tied to the book,' Achilles pointed to the copy of the Iliad laid to one side on the table. 'Some heroes in Ancient Times became immortal when their deeds were rendered into words, Homer was particularly good when it came to that skill. The trouble is that immortality has its draw backs, we eidolons cannot touch each other, imagine all those years without that sense? You brought me back by reading that book, I can see whoever reads it, though most people who have read it in the past couple of hundred years have been old men. So when I saw it being read by an attractive young woman, sitting by a fire next to a table full of food and wine, I chose to make myself known. I would be in the sensual world again after all these years of abstinence.'
Cassandra picked up on the hint. 'Would you like to share my supper?' She indicated the contents of the tray.
'Yes, I would like that very much! With three provisos, you take off those ridiculous gloves, come and sit beside me on the floor, and help me take off this breastplate, I long to feel the heat of a fire on my skin again!' He patted the cushion beside him, smiling. Cassandra removed the offending gloves, then knelt behind him to unbuckle the straps that held the bronze breastplate in place. Where her fingers touched his bare skin he shivered after all the long years of unfeeling, the sensation was new to him again and he revelled in it. Once free of the retaining straps he lifted the armour from his body and sighed, luxuriating in the touch of the fire which bathed his skin like liquid gold.
While pouring a generous glass of wine, Cassandra was able to observe her new companion in all his semi naked glory. Divested of his breastplate, Achilles wore a leather thong that barely covered his crotch, and sported a considerable bulge to fill it to overflowing. He was, she decided, the most beautifully proportioned man she had ever seen, letting her eyes slowly travel down the considerable length of his quadriceps and over the iliac crest to his girdle of Venus. As she poured the wine and cut a large slice of game pie, he removed the metal grieves from his lower legs and massaged a red mark on his heel.
'Does it still hurt?' Cassandra enquired.
'Yes,' Achilles took the glass from her hand, letting his fingers brush against hers in the process. 'Three thousand years on and the poison can still have a sting in its tail. This will help take my mind off it though.' He took a large swallow of the wine, emptying nearly half the glass, then laughed aloud. 'Oh, that is good!! What land does it come from?'
'France, and we'll have to keep the noise down, or Mrs Stokes, the housekeeper, will hear us and wonder what the hell's going on. Finding a semi-naked Greek Hero on the hearth rug wouldn't be something she was expecting!'
Achilles grinned his amusement and flicked back his long curling hair over his shoulders. 'Look at the fire.' He instructed.
Cassandra finished cutting the game pie and looked. 'The flames, they're not moving. There's heat coming from the fire, but it's not moving...' Her voice trailed off in confusion.
Achilles looked decidedly pleased with himself. 'When eidolons appear they stop time. Everything in this house is completely still, unmoving and will remain so until I command it to change. No one can see or hear us, and we have all the time in the world at our disposal.' He drained the glass and held it out for refilling.
'Now that is a skill I could have made good use of during my exams!' She handed him both refilled glass and a full plate.
'It helps if your mother is a goddess, too.' He wolfed down the food with the appetite of a man long denied. 'What's the old saying? "A jug of wine, a loaf of bread and a beautiful woman is all a man needs for contentment", I have all three, the Gods are smiling on me today!!' He crowed, jubilant. 'Here, have some of this wine too.' He leaned forward, holding the glass to her lips, brushing her hair back with his fingers. As Cassandra drank she was acutely aware that his fingers were stroking their way down her cheek. 'So soft,' he murmured. 'I'd forgotten how soft a woman's skin is, how good it is to feel.'
Cassandra looked up to find his face within inches of her own, close enough to see his pupils dilate as his eyes gazed at her. Without breaking eye contact he placed the glass back on the table and threading his hands through her hair, kissed her deeply. His lips were warm to the touch and surprisingly sensual as they explored her mouth, hands the size of bear's paws tangling themselves into her hair, drawing her closer until she was nestled against his chest. Gradually Achilles' hands roamed downward, trying to find a way into her clothing, needing to feel the warmth of her skin, he eased her back onto the cushions, becoming increasingly passionate as his hands found the hem of her skirt and pushed it up towards her waist. Cassandra found herself responding to him, pulse quickening and a deep ache formed in her crotch as she wound her arms round his neck and let her weight hang against him until they were both lying full length on the floor.
His lips broke away from her and he looked down at her, somewhat perplexed, stroking her hair back from her face. 'Cassandra... I don't understand how your clothes come off. It was easy in ancient Greece, just a few straps or knots to women's clothes, and nothing underneath at all. But how do I get you naked? And what are those things on your legs called?'
Now it was Cassandra's turn to be amused at his confusion. 'Well, these are boots', she unzipped each of the knee length black suede coverings and kicked them off. 'And these are tights... which have been known to foil the ardour of many a man!' She giggled as he ran his hands up from her ankles, it tickled deliciously. 'And they go all the way up to my waist!'
'How do women get pregnant with such clothing?' He joked.
'Oh, just be grateful this isn't the Middle Ages or I could have been locked up in a chastity-belt by a jealous husband.'
'I'm very pleased that you're not,' he replied, hooking his thumbs under the waistband of her tights and gently pulling downwards until they left her body. 'Though I would fight him for you if that were the case, I share my lover with no man.'
'I'd heard about Briseis and the dust-up you had over her with Agamemnon.'
He bent down and kissed her passionately. 'Briseis is long gone, you have no rival in my affections, Cassandra.'
'I'm pleased to hear it.' She replied, amused at the notion of the greatest warrior of all time being willing to do battle for her.
'Now, how does this garment come off?' Achilles had his hands under her jumper.
'It comes off over my head, just pull gently,' she guided him into the right movement until the jumper lay beside the boots on the floor.
'This IS something new! Achilles gazed in amazement at the black lace bra and knickers set she was wearing. In wonderment his fingers traced the patterns of the lace over her breasts, making her nipples go hard and push their way up against his fingers. His cock responded in kind, straining against the leather thong as it grew to a prodigious length. He slid the straps down from her shoulders and carefully peeled the lace away until her nipples were bare, then hungrily applied his mouth to each of them in turn.
Cassandra twisted her arm behind her back and released the fastenings of her bra so that the whole thing came away in his hands and quickly joined the rest of her discarded clothes. Achilles grasped her beasts, they filled his hands and he had very large hands. Happily he covered them with kisses, sucking her nipples erect with increasing fervour, then picked up the decanter of wine and slowly poured it over Cassandra's body, his tongue following where the wine flowed.
'That tickles!' Cassandra giggled, as he wriggled his tongue in her navel, lapping up the medoc.
'In a good way?' He enquired, raising his head briefly from her torso.
'Yes, it's wonderful!' She squirmed as he tickled her even more.
'If you liked that, you'll love this!' Achilles replied, and with one hand he skilfully removed her knickers and with the other poured wine onto her exposed crotch. Grinning wickedly, he plunged his head down between her parted thighs, tongue working its way through her pubes until it found her clit and circled it until Cassandra's hips came off the floor. Using his fingers, he pried her inner lips apart, and inserted his dextrous tongue into her tight welcoming cunt, sucking the juices that lust had triggered along with the wine. Cassandra gasped aloud and tangled her hands in his long hair as he tenderly finger fucked her, rubbing her clit with his thumb as he did so, bring her to screaming pitch until she ground her hips against him, desperate for release. But he held back, carefully keeping her on the brink of orgasm without letting her go over into fulfilment. Raising himself on one elbow, he gazed down at her prone form. 'Not just yet, my love.' He reached behind his back and un-hooked the thong, releasing the biggest erection that Cassandra had ever seen.
'I am a big man and it would hurt you if I took less care.' He explained, moving up to lie beside her, kissing her mouth gently.
Cassandra stroked her finger nails down his chest, over his taut stomach to caress the huge cock that sprang from his groin. 'You're not kidding, you'd make horses jealous with that!'
Achilles roared laughing, making his cock bounce in her hands. 'I'll take that as a compliment!!'
'So you should,' she teased, pushing him onto his back so her lips could make their way down his body in a trail of kisses. As the head of his cock came up to his waist, Cassandra was able to run her own tongue round his nipples, while playfully rubbing her breasts against his erection, causing its owner to take a sharp intake of breath. The feel of her long hair on his skin sent bursts of sensation straight to his brain, while the points of her nails trailed electricity all over his body until he quivered under her.
Carefully, Cassandra let her tongue take off the little drops of pre cum that had formed on the head of his cock before letting it roam in circles, taking its prodigious length as far down her throat as she could. Up close, she could see its true size, easily ten inches in length and nearly six in circumference, so his claim to be a big man was no idle boast, but a physical reality. Caressing the sensitive inner skin of his thighs while she sucked vigorously on his cock made Achilles' fingers claw themselves into the carpet as he moaned with pleasure; it had been many centuries since he'd last been this close to a woman and trying to hold himself back was becoming increasingly difficult.
Cassandra stroked her nails lightly over his very full balls, sliding back to that sensitive spot just behind them that stimulated the prostate and applied just the right amount of pressure. His body jack-knifed in response as this new sensation hit his nerve endings. Grabbing her shoulders he quickly placed Cassandra on her back, lifting her hips to slide a cushion beneath them, before kissing her mouth passionately. Instinctively her thighs parted for him, displaying her aroused crotch, wet with the juices of her desire for him. Holding himself over her, Achilles positioned himself so that the head of his engorged cock rubbed her clit as she brought her legs up to lock over his back. He moved his hips down slightly so that the head of his erection nuzzled at her cunt. His first thrust opened her wide and Cassandra screamed at the penetration, her body dilating to take the massive cock deeper.
Achilles groaned as he gradually fucked his way deeper into her willing body, keeping his desire under control was going to be difficult after the long years of abstinence when faced with such a woman. His longing had gone unrequited for centuries, but his need to slake it had to be tempered with consideration for his lover's pleasure and the fact that he had indeed fallen in love with her. Carefully, Achilles threaded his forearm under Cassandra's hips to support her back, locking them close so his cock could achieve full immersion in her luscious body. Once his cock was completely inside her the sensation of fullness was overwhelming, nothing compared to him, and Cassandra slid her hands down to grasp his buttocks as they found rhyme. Once this started there was no stopping him, he ground his hips in a way that stimulated her clit, then her G-spot and finally her cervix with the massive head of his cock. His spine undulated in the motion of a wave lifting her with each thrust and crashing into the core of her. Cassandra found herself digging her nails into him, then planting her feet firmly on the rug to brace herself for each thrust, cries of joy coming from her throat as he fucked her harder.
For Achilles it was the consummation of many erotic dreams to find a lover so attuned to him, her tightness, her softness engulfed him as he lost any semblance of control and fucked as if his whole being depended on it. His balls tingled, strained, cock slamming into her cunt manically to devour her. Sensing he was close, Cassandra contracted her cunt, and sucked at his cock bucking inside her, triggering the explosion in her clit. Lightening burst forth from the core of him as Achilles semen gushed into her, his orgasm cascaded in blinding intensity for both of them, screaming, panting and wild.
Shaking with the intensity of the experience, Achilles brushed back the hair from his forehead, lowering his head to gently kiss his new lover. Breathless, she smiled up at him. 'I'm so glad that no one else could hear us screaming the roof down, being able to stop time is proving to be very useful!' She giggled, amorously.
Achilles playfully ground his hips against her clit, causing her to emit a long moan of ecstasy. 'I'm glad that you express your enjoyment in such a vocal and tactile way. Though I think I ought to re-name you..'Iphimedeia'. He jovially replied. 'She Who Strengthens The Genitals.'