Polo Shawcross: Dragon Soldier

by Lee Abrey

  We spent four weeks at Fort Merion, and though I thought it humid and damp when I arrived, the real wet was starting. The last week we spent cooped up inside as a river fell from the sky. It was if as someone was pouring water on us from a million buckets, not like rain at all. I’d never seen downpours quite so heavy.

  On the bright side, the trails were impassable and our foot-patrols were cancelled. The platoon’s transfer went through. With relief we loaded up our horses and rode one last time down the precipitous path, now slick with mud and gravel.

  As if they resented our escaping, the Sriamans ambushed us near the bottom of the hill, right as we undid our visors thinking we were safe. Fortunately we weren’t looking at the jungle, busy dealing with horses that were bored with the fort’s lack of space and wanted a good run. Nobody was injured but we chased the snipers off one last time.

  Downriver on the fast flow, up another river and a short stay at a busy border town fort where we had weekend leave. The rain wasn’t as heavy and the squad spent the Friday night out on the town, spending some of the coin the sarge had won on me.

  I stuck with shandies despite the pressure to hit the booze.

  ****

  Chapter 35 – Reading For Pleasure

  On the Saturday it was fine and I went shopping, thinking to buy some souvenirs and maybe try the local mindweed, discovering a bookshop tucked away on the high street. I browsed quietly. I smelled perfume and turned to see two brunettes looking at me from the counter. I smiled.

  “Morning ladies,” I said. “Lovely shop you have here.” They both smiled.

  “Can we help you with anything?” said the taller one.

  “Well,” I said, and walked over with the books I was already carrying, “I’ll take these, but I’m particularly interested in history, especially anything pre-Dragon or about Dragon.”

  “Oh,” said the taller one, “that’s Daisy’s territory.” Daisy smiled at me.

  “This way,” she said, “we have a whole room of history. I think you’ll be impressed by our selection.”

  I was already impressed by Daisy. There was something about the way her tongue touched her lips. I left the other books on the counter with a polite smile to the tall lass and Daisy led me deeper into the building. She was easy to follow. With the heat in the north, women wore less clothing. Daisy wore a cotton shift in a bright floral, with no sign of anything between it and her skin. Her bottom was rounded and her hips swung from side to side. I wondered what she would be like to squeeze. There was the titillating experience of getting close to her, breathing her in, feeling the attraction and not doing a damn thing about it.

  Instead, Daisy and I talked history and selected books. I made coherent conversation despite thinking the whole time how perfect she’d look bent over that little stepladder, wrists tied to her ankles and that sweet arse in the air. We were still talking an hour later when she invited me to lunch with Felicity, her “friend” and co-bookshop-owner. I assumed ‘friend’ in her case was code for partner, and resigned myself to being their token male lunch companion, someone safe to flirt with who would make them look better to any homophobic neighbours. Ah well.

  First I paid for my books, then offered to take them both out to lunch, thinking that would really show the neighbours, but they said they’d feed me.

  “Wonderful,” I said, “it’s been ages since I had anything homemade. I noticed a wine merchant a few doors up, shall I get a bottle or two of something?” They allowed that contribution, so I went to get wine, whistling happily to myself. I was weak with lust for Daisy by then, having noticed that far from simply a nice bottom, she was made up of lots of other nice bits, including a wicked sense of humour and that shared interest in the historical.

  Lunch was outside, under a trellis covered in various vine fruits. Fat clay pots held tomatoes on stakes, herbs, and a miniature lemon tree of a kind I’d never seen before. A giant tree shaded most of their back garden, a mango they said, as they sat me down out there, and told me to stay while they brought out food.

  “It’s leftovers,” said Felicity, “nothing fancy.”

  “Rather good leftovers,” said Daisy, setting the table, “we like to cook up a good feast on Fridays then not cook all weekend if we can. This fried rice salad is even better today.”

  “And Daisy made the bread fresh today,” said Felicity.

  “I used to make bread,” I said, “it was one of my chores on the farm.” I didn’t mention that for the past two years I was more likely to be in someone’s palace than kneading dough or doing chores. They already knew I was wealthy, thanks to me handing over a large sum for the books, but I was hoping not to let them know quite who I was. People got the wrong idea the moment one said one was a duke. If I admitted to being the notorious Polo Shawcross it would be even less in my favour. I wouldn’t hide it once we were friends but until then I wouldn’t volunteer the information.

  It was only as we sat down to eat, me having got up to pull out their chairs and help with carrying dishes, that Daisy’s hand slid over my thigh and squeezed, and I realised I might be about to get lucky after all. I poured the wine, enjoyed the food, chatted, then decided I had no hope, they were devoted to each other and I was surplus to requirements. It was still a good lunch.

  It’s not true that a good man can turn women into women on to liking men. Women who are only into women are only into women, simple. To think otherwise is a fiction, one of those male fantasies we perpetuate. Like thinking size matters more to women than a caring nature and a strong tongue or deft fingers, or imagining penetration is all they want.

  There’s more fun to be had in watching your partner until you know when she’s right on the edge, then learning you can hold her there until she screams. If she realises you’re holding her on the edge be prepared for her to start hitting you with her shoe.

  If we knew how little women really cared about our penises and how easily they can do without them at all, it’s possible men would simply implode with the horror. For me, the strange part was why women allowed us our delusions. I was a modern man, not deluded at all. I would hit a brothel on the way back to the base, maybe imagine doing these two while with a pair of happy floozies only doing it for the coin. The squeeze of my thigh was the only real sign of interest and I didn’t see how I could oblige. Married people, no matter what kind of couple, are always so dangerous to get between.

  So when Felicity point-blank said she thought Daisy was right, I was a very attractive man, I wasn’t sure I heard her right.

  “Hmm?” I said, taking a sip of wine and playing for time.

  “You are, Polo,” she said, “don’t be modest.” I shrugged.

  “I’ve grown up with very good looking people around me,” I said, “so while I don’t consider myself ugly, I’m aware I’m nothing special.” Felicity smiled, and even dimpled at me. She started playing with her hair. I nearly spilled my drink.

  “Oh Felicity,” said Daisy, giggling, “you’ve made him blush.” I was blushing a little over nearly spilling my drink but was happy to go with whatever worked. I could be the kind of man who blushed when flattered. I realised suddenly they did fancy me. I grinned.

  “I think both of you are gorgeous,” I said honestly. “And it’s so nice to meet women who read.” I rolled my eyes. “To meet anyone who reads.”

  “Women and a bookshop,” said Felicity, “your idea of Paradise, eh Polo?”

  “Gods,” I said, smiling, “you have no idea how much.”

  A bookshop and two willing women pretty much was Paradise. I’d have to be a complete idiot not to appreciate that, and I was doing my best not to be an idiot any more. So I tried not to talk too much. This adventure had gone from long shot to sure thing. I was going to be their perfect idea of a safe bisexual adventure. One should play to one’s strengths. I was polite and well built. I had a nice smile.

  “Poor pet,” said Daisy, “been in the army too long.” It had only been six weeks but I was
n’t going to disabuse her of any notion that might get me laid. Especially one that might get me two mouths, one of the loveliest things any one person can experience. Mouths come with tongues and I’ve always been fond of tongues.

  Very shortly after that I tried not to look smug, but rather sensitive and aware of the honour being paid me, as Felicity explained that though they were a couple as I thought, they both did men on occasion. I wasn’t their first. It seemed they were into men a bit the way I was. Nice for a change. Something to do for fun. They wanted me for fun.

  “And we read about you liking two women at once,” she said, sounding practical, “and thought at least with you we didn’t have to lure you off to do us one at a time. Some men can be a bit threatened when two women proposition them.” I blinked. Hang on. They had known who I was all along?

  “You read about me?” I said.

  “Gods,” said Daisy, “we own a bookshop, didn’t you think we knew who you were? We make a fortune out of those books.” Women, such romantics. I sighed. They must have thought me an idiot, pretending to be nobody.

  “Well,” I said, “I was hoping. Those books aren’t quite true.”

  “Aw,” said Felicity, sounding wistful, “you don’t really like sex? With two women?”

  “That part,” I said firmly, “they had mostly right. They just misrepresented the number of married women I did.” For some reason the books were quite coy about my sex life. The hero was a romantic one, and romantic heroes never admitted to touching other men. Not even during a melee. If people insisted on labels, I preferred omnisexual.

  “I’m glad you do like sex,” said Daisy, grinning, “because if I’d thought you didn’t at least fancy me you wouldn’t be given lunch.” I smiled.

  “How could I not want either of you? And both of you? A man would have to be crazy.” They thought I was being very soulful and in touch with my feminine side. I wasn’t feeling feminine at all but didn’t say a word. By nightfall it was raining again, but that was fine, we were inside, and ignored the weather until Sunday night.

  It was a delicious weekend, and their soft bodies did me good, more than anything else could have. My plans for more weekends with them were stymied when we were transferred again, this time overland.

  There was time for one more afternoon, one of those lovely bittersweet times made more so by the knowledge of it being our last meeting unless I was posted back that way. Memories of Daisy and Felicity sustained my masturbatory fantasies for some time afterwards.

  ****

  Chapter 36 – The Career Soldier

  The platoon came to a pleasant place where we could ride through wide valleys. The downpour of rain slowed, the weather changing with the land, fining up as we rode past small farms set on rolling green hills.

  We lost a lance corporal to transfer, Dandy was permanently our new corporal, and I made lance corporal, as did Griff. The pay rise was minimal but conditions improved dramatically and Griff and I got our own room. The other lancers were in their element, charging about looking for enemy to fight. If we found them, Haka help us.

  At first I was happy to be into the non-com quarters and facilities and out of the barracks, then it sank in that better conditions weren’t going to save me from the Sriamans. If I wanted to survive I was in the wrong branch of the army. The cavalry was not the place for people who thought long term and the lancers was for people who didn’t think at all. Yes, I could get a transfer simply by being promoted one more time, but that was a lottery. I should ask for transfers to places and units I wanted, not leave it to chance. I met a few interpreters, who all told me to learn Sriaman. Sriaman-speakers were sought-after across the army and often found work behind the lines.

  “That’s an idea,” said Griff. “Or we could try to befriend a general?” He winked suggestively. I laughed.

  “I don’t think I could successfully carry off pretending to be gay. Not so much the sex. If it was awful I could probably fake it, but the need to be both secretive and subordinate would be tricky.”

  “You could blackmail the general,” said Griff, being helpful, “then you wouldn’t have to fake it.”

  “Galaia’s tits, that’s perfect.” We laughed. “Now,” I said, “all I need is a gay general. Even better, one who swings both ways.”

  “I’m surprised you don’t already know one,” he said. So was I.

  ****

  I knew many officers, which could be embarrassing. Along with my sparring partners saying hello and enlisted men saluting, everywhere we went some officer would end up in conversation with me, sometimes out of curiosity, perhaps sure he knew either Mother or Father, or having heard of my reputation through those dire biographies.

  Whilst in their thrall and required by nature of my lower rank to be obliging, the latter type wanted to quiz me on the real Polo Shawcross story. I also kept running into men I knew as a boy back in Sendren. There had been an army base next door to our farm, far away from the Northern Front, where lucky soldiers chased bandits in the high country. Once they chased the bandits a bit, they trotted home to their comfortable garrison.

  Now I knew why as a rule they were happy men. Sendren must have seemed like a slice of Paradise itself to any veteran. Hardly frightening at all if one avoided the bears, lynx and wolves, which tended to avoid humans. The most one could complain about was that it was chilly in the winter and wild boar could be dangerous.

  Griff and I sat smoking outside our quarters. In honour of being made non-commissioned officers we both had our hair cropped shorter than ever. We were enjoying being out of the enlisted men’s barracks and the constant smell of rotting feet. Enlisted men needed constant shouting at about their feet. I rubbed at my hair, which was growing back and felt soft. I was getting that gesture Fenric had, of rubbing my fingers through the stubble.

  “You look like you’re thinking,” said Griff.

  “Aye,” I said, “I was wondering who would take a bribe for a posting back to Lower Beech. Or maybe I could pretend to be gay.” He laughed.

  “Could you really pretend to be gay for an officer who kept you off the line?” he said. I thought about it.

  “No,” I said, “but I’d try.” I began packing a new pipe. “I wouldn’t like to mess with someone’s feelings. I don’t do it to women and doing it to a man would be against my personal morality. Though I must admit, if someone came onto me and said it straight, ‘On your knees, trooper, suck it and I’ll sign this transfer paper’, then I think I could take it like a man.” He laughed and I passed him the pipe.

  “Thanks,” he said, “I don’t think I could do a general.”

  “Not even to get out of the front line?” I said as I passed the matches.

  “Oh, I could do the sex,” he said blithely, “it would be the incessant questions about who my parents were that would put me off.” He grinned and lit the pipe. I held my hands up in surrender.

  “We Blood are a bit preoccupied with parentage. But the risk of doing our cousins means we better pay attention to lineage. Nobody wants a baby with flippers.” I remembered Cousin Miri, and how turned on she was by me being her cousin. What would Griff think of that? He exhaled.

  “Being a peasant is much easier,” Griff said. “We’re told not to do our mothers or sisters.”

  “I never had a sister,” I said as I took the pipe. I took a hit, offered it back, he shook his head and I finished it to ash.

  “Probably just as well,” he said. I breathed out.

  “What?”

  “You not having a sister. You would have done her.” I laughed.

  “Do you have a sister?” I said. He shook a finger at me as I tapped out the pipe.

  “You’re not to touch my sister.” I made a lascivious gesture with my free hand.

  “Can’t I pin her to a mattress,” I said, “and do her until she screams?” I grinned. “In a good way.” He laughed.

  “In a good way?” He flicked a match at me.

  “What about o
ther female relatives?” I said. “Got a hot aunt?”

  “You’re not to touch anyone in my family,” he said, “you freaky bugger.”

  “Speaking of freaky buggery,” I said, “this weekend, aren’t we on a pass?” It was a month since the lovely Felicity and the delightful Daisy had their wicked way with me and I was feeling my oats. Griff smiled.

  “Oh aye and I can’t wait. I’m going to get so drunk I can’t do it when I finally find some woman drunk enough to do me.” I laughed.

  “I’m going to a brothel,” I said, “and I’ll drink in moderation.”

  “You sound so pure, even as you’re saying you’re going to a brothel. You forgot you’ll also be smoking enough to get most of Blackrock high.” I shrugged.

  “Oh aye,” I said, in a perfect imitation of his accent, “situation normal.”

  ****

  Some days the longing to run away was so strong I didn’t know how I stopped myself. For a legal escape I studied Sriaman in earnest, more than just a few phrases to enrage an opponent. Griff said he’d give it a go so we practiced together. I applied for the scouts too. It was dangerous but I knew they read books there. Fenric, Ross, and Archie, my mentors and friends, along with being bodyguards, had all been scouts. You were more your own boss. It was you and a small team against the Sriamans, rather than idiot officers against you and the Sriamans picking off the unlucky.

  If I kept being promoted I might even end up with an independent command doing covert work behind the lines. I thought about how good I needed to be for that, figured it wasn’t likely. I trained like a maniac though, just in case.

  Pipedreams aside, it didn’t matter if I ended up shovelling manure. Anything would be better than the lancers or any other branch of the front line cavalry. Sergeant Billings explained a transfer to somewhere safe like stores or kitchens wasn’t on the cards for me.