#hopalites

[hecatesdelights]

"Come back with your shield or on it."

[mercurygray]

On today’s episode of ‘Crossovers No One Some Of You Asked For,’ the Harlots x Girl Gang crossover ...got a part two.

@junojelli @majwinters @enchi-elm, collect your darlings.

Honest 18th century whoring below the cut.

It surprised people to know Dick Winters wasn't a stranger to brothels.

He had never been in one before he met Lew (He'd been Sir Lewis, then, ever and always) but a few months of acquaintance had soon put paid to that when the Baronet discovered, quite to his delight, that the company's new Captain was possessed of a rigorous moral compass, an iron will, and a more than unusual amount of respect for the female creature. Which was how Captain Winters soon found himself seconded to Sir Lewis' nocturnal expeditions as the bearer of his purse.

That first trip had been - eye-opening, to say the least. He'd grown up on a farm, and done a bit of fooling himself, but he'd never had money to throw at a problem like a cockstand, and even moreso since taking his commission. These women were professionals, and the fact that he seemed entirely uninterested became, to them, a heady aphrodisiac. (Not true: he was very interested, only also very mindful this was not his money he was holding, and it was more than he'd had in his entire life.)  

When Sir Lewis emerged in the morning, rumpled and refreshed, he found his captain surrounded by three young ladies exchanging thoughts on Mr. Sheridan's latest play and how it treated the army. (The young ladies, as it turned out, had some thoughts about the stage's recent treatment of dames de nuit.) "Pay her," Lew announced, as the creature who'd been entertaining him lounged in the doorway in a dressing gown, both baronet and nymph watching, amused, as Winters rose to his feet and laboriously counted coins into her hand, thanking the girls for their time. 

That had been recommendation enough for Lew, and this had become a sort of standing arrangement, one that had grown over time to that of friend, as the Regiment moved back to peacetime quarters and the life of an officer became much less rigorous where drill and paybooks were concerned.

Yes, Dickie Winters was now, indeed, quite familiar with London's brothels, high and low, and the brothels were becoming quite familiar with him. Lew's regular haunts had stopped bothering with wine and set out a cup of tea and the latest broadsheet when they had word he'd be coming round, and he could usually be assured of some good conversation with the men who kept the door, or the whores themselves who weren't working. 

"I'm beginning to think," Lew said, walking home to barracks one morning, "that they like you more than they do me."

"I make sure they get paid, Lew," was Dick's reply, and Lewis only laughed.

Tonight, however, Lew was carrying his own purse, quite sure that where they were going he would not have his pocket picked. Golden Square, in Covent Garden, the most fashionable address for a whore to own to. There were a few sporting houses here for the rich and titled - Lydia Quigley's was the best, but Mrs. Ellory kept a fine table, and for entertainments, masques and plays, none could rival Mrs. Peaceman, whom clients were pleased to call Lady Columbia. Lewis' standing arrangement with Black Eileen had yielded them an invitation, much sought after, to The Surrender of the Queen, and, an even higher honor still, a personal meeting after with the Amazon.

But what he’d seen tonight troubled him.

It was a...a dream, he reminded himself, a story, told and acted for the benefit of bored aristocrats who'd seen too much pleasure in their lives to appreciate it when it came. Standing in the hallway, waiting, it came back to him in fits and starts, his mind still turning it all over. "Come then and kiss the Roman sceptre," the view they had offering only a glimpse of the actor's hand around her hair as she pleasured him with her mouth, the way the papers on his desk had slid to the floor as he pressed her into the table and took her from behind before he'd slipped a knife into her ribs, some hidden bladder bursting with blood, the way her body had slithered to the floor and she lay like the dead, “See then what Rome thinks of your surrender.”

He'd seen others slip away with waiting nymphs, their desire only getting started, but as aroused as he had been, (and he’d been aroused) he didn't want it slaked now - he wanted to pick up the woman from the floor and bathe the blood from off her face. The men watching were supposed to see themselves as the Consul - he could think only of the husband, the king who’d been dead before the scene even began. 

The door opened. "She'll be right in with you, gentlemen," the little maid said with a modest bow. "She's just having her bath."

This room had a distinctly different feeling from the grand salon downstairs, obviously a space that saw less people and a deal more use. Bookshelves lined one of the walls, shelves fairly crammed with books and a stand in the corner held a stylized suit of armor, a greek hopalite's helmet perched atop it. A desk was neatly arranged with pen and ink to hand, several books waiting to be referenced.  One almost noticed the bed last, though it wasn't for lack of size - but the message was quite clear: This was not the room of a simple whore.

Dick perused her shelves, half-expecting to see novels, but there were none to be found. How many women kept copies of Marcus Aurelius in the original Latin?

“Gentleman.” Here she was - the Amazon herself. Gone the bloody classical drape, the golden ornaments in her hair, the stripe of blue paint across both her cheeks - the woman who received them was no longer a queen, only an ordinary mortal in a silk dressing gown, her skin faintly wet from the bath. “Sir Lewis, we are honored,” she said with a gracious smile, crossing the room to let him kiss her hand. “It isn't often we see you in our humble confines. What did you think?”

“Masterful, as always,” Lew said, kissing her hands and then her cheek. “I thought your pleading excellent, but then, you know me. Where did you find your Roman? He’s hung like a horse, but his delivery was poor.” 

She smiled, as she did, indeed, know him - her friend was his mistress, and known to be in the whipping trade. “Would you believe he fancies himself an actor? Peaceman likes him; he has ‘the look’, she says, but that’s all he has going. I was half afraid I was going to need to feed him a line. I’m asking we not see him again for a little while, my mons can only take so much of Priapus. Wine?”

“You’re very kind, thank you.”

“I don't think I know your friend,” she said, pouring three glasses of a pale white and crossing the room to pass them out. Up close, she was...enchanting, even without the artifice of paint. He took the glass silently, mindful that she did this with everyone.

“Captain Richard Winters - he’s a member of my regiment.”

“And you, Captain?" He said nothing, but she must have seen something in his eyes, for she chuckled. "You disliked it. Not quite to your taste?"

He chose his words carefully. "Boudicca was a great queen among the Iceni, a warlord who assembled one of the largest armies in Britain, sacked two of their greatest settlements and held her ground against one of the best-trained armies in the world.” He paused. “I would have had her fight back."

It wasn’t what she was expecting, and she looked intrigued. "You'd have liked a... more violent rape, then?"

The word rape hit him like the flat of a blade, and he knew he’d flinched. “‘If you weigh well the strength of the armies, and the causes of the war, you will see that in this battle you must conquer or die. This is a woman's resolve; as for men, they may live and be slaves.’” he quoted. “I'd have liked to see a warrior who knew her worth.”

She looked impressed. "You've read your Tacitus."

"Cassius Dio has her say something similar about sheep ruling over dogs and wolves. If I recall."

For a moment she only stared, her expression hard to read, before she turned to Lewis. “Where on earth did you find him, Sir Lewis?”

“The gutter,” Lewis said succinctly. “We’ve polished him up a bit.”

Dinner was produced (acting was hard work, and she did not like to eat before in case something disagreed) and she and Dick continued their discussion of the histories while Lewis leaned back in his chair and found Eileen waiting for him. “What did you tell her?” Lewis asked, watching the conversation unfold with unparalleled amusement.

Eileen grinned. “Not a thing.” 

Lewis whipped around to look at her. “What, no - no vow of chastity?”

“Nothing,” she repeated. “We were out with Leicester, and there’s you and your man across the garden, and she saw him first. Oh, Lewis. It was beautiful. I’ve known her girl and grown and she’s not an easy person to please, but you could hear celestial choirs in her eyes. She was pleased as punch when I said you’d asked to come to the house. Didn’t say a word about him - which means she’d like nothing better than to let him split her peach. And, clever man, he’s said not a word about it all evening either.”

“That’s not clever, that’s just Dick,” Lewis corrected, watching the two of them argue conjugations. “His idea of a good time in a whorehouse is a cup of tea and a chat with the help.”

“Well, it’s working,” Eileen said, still looking pleased as anything. “Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples  - and Tacitus, apparently. She’s overdue to be seduced.”

It was very late indeed by the time the two men started for home - and they weren’t ten steps out the door when someone called them back. “Lew!” It was Eileen, chasing them down, her dark braid flying. “On Monday she's at Angelo's, to start practice for the next scene. Come for a fight.” Her eyes were fairly crackling with mischief as she grinned at Dick. “Captain,” she said, giving him a mock salute.