Chapter 2 #2
If he hadn’t been bought today, he would be in the slave pen, a filthy enclosure near to the slave market.
He would be alone and hungry and terrified.
She realized she was his only hope. But because she’d been stupid enough to strike Thrasco, he’d beaten her, and now she was sprawled on her belly, helpless as a pup.
At least a pup was better than a squirrel.
She shook her head at that and raised herself on her elbows.
The pain shot through her back, curving around her chest, making her gasp.
It even hurt to breathe, but she did, and she realized that she could bear it.
Odd how she could bear things now that before would have surely killed her.
Had she once been so soft, so delicate, such a useless creature?
She was so hungry. She smelled the rich beef broth before she even heard Cleve come into the small chamber. She felt saliva pool in her mouth.
“You will remain on your belly but I will put a pillow under your chest to raise your mouth.”
Soon he was spooning the hot broth into her mouth. It burned all the way to her belly. She felt light-headed at the taste of it, felt her body warming and strengthening. But she knew that it was an illusion at best, that her body would betray her, for she’d denied it too long.
She ate until the bowl was empty. She raised her eyes to Cleve’s face. “I want more.”
He shook his head. “Nay, you’d puke if you ate more. Thrasco knows about these things.”
“I don’t know how he could know. He looks as if he’s never stopped eating in his life.” But she knew it as well, even as she spoke, but her belly was still rumbling, and she didn’t care if she vomited up her guts if only she could have more of that broth to eat.
“You will sleep now, ’tis best for you.”
“What is the hour?”
“It is noonday.”
“You’re very ugly, Cleve. What happened to you?”
He was silent a moment, then he laughed, a raw, hoarse sound, obviously a sound he hadn’t made in a very long time. “It is a worthy story, one that makes women cry and men sigh with envy. Aye, it is a tale that makes the soul take flight.”
“I’ve given you pain. I’m sorry. Did someone slash your face when you were that young?”
“Aye, you’ve good eyes, little girl. Hush now.”
“Your eyes are beautiful. One is gold and the other is blue. In my land, many would believe you a devil’s get.”
He grunted even as he pulled a cover to her waist. “If I were devil’s get, believe you I would be Thrasco’s slave?
Nay, I would rule this damned Kiev had I the power.
What you see in me is the way of life and men, naught more, naught less.
At least I have enough food in my belly and my ribs don’t stick out. Right now, you’re uglier than I am.”
“And I smell worse.”
“Aye, that too.” Cleve paused a moment, rubbing his chin. “Do you have much pain?”
“It is less now. The cream is magical.”
“ ’Tis because Thrasco’s mother is a witch. Even the Arabs fear her. She goes wherever she wishes to and no man tells her no.”
“You’ve been kind to me. If you didn’t have the scar, you would be beautiful. Your hair is golden, like a god’s, and your body is well made.”
“Aye, you’ve the right of it, little girl. Be quiet now. Thrasco ordered me to care for you. Aye, I find you unusual for a slave. Is Thrasco right? Are your parents not slaves? Is your blood unlike mine?”
She looked at him, then said slowly, “I have a little brother, Cleve.”
“Aye, I did, too, once long ago, only he was my big brother and he was sold and I wasn’t. I cannot bring his face into my mind now.”
“Then you must understand. I must save him.”
Cleve laughed in genuine amusement. “The little boy won’t die here, not in Kiev. Nay, he’ll be sold to an Arab trader from Miklagard, or even farther to the south, and he’ll be used, aye, I won’t lie to you about that, but it won’t be so bad. I survived it.”
“I’m sorry that you were used in that way. I cannot allow that to happen to Taby.”
“You are helpless to prevent it. You are a slave yourself. It matters not if you have royal blood flowing through your veins. You’re nothing now, less than nothing, a pawn in Thrasco’s endless games.”
“You speak very well for a wretched slave, Cleve!”
He grinned at her. “The master who used me also educated me. It gave him pleasure to discuss philosophy with me whilst he raped me. Also, when he was done with me and well sated, he enjoyed lying there, toying with my hair, speaking of the ancient Greeks and their strange ways. Your spirit will get you beaten to death, if you do not measure your words. Keep your mouth closed, little girl, else this magical cream won’t be able to heal you. ”
She thought furiously, but gave it up, saying, her voice slurred with sleep, “Aye, you’re right. I’ll forget about him. What is one little boy? Naught to anyone.”
Cleve frowned at those words. Even after such a short time he recognized them as not sitting well on those thin, scrappy shoulders.
Still, he said nothing. He rose and stared down at the girl’s back.
“There is no more bleeding. Thrasco said I could bathe you on the morrow and give you clean clothes. He will come and inspect you himself. You will mind your tongue.”
“Clean clothes would be nice,” she said, and nothing more.
Still frowning, Cleve said, “He won’t think to demand you appear naked in front of him since he has no liking for boys, so you will be protected for a little while, but I cannot imagine that you will look much like a boy once you’re clean.”
“I’ve been a boy for a very long time. No one has guessed. It was my only protection and it worked.”
“Then you have been in a land of stupid people.” Cleve turned to leave her, though he worried, and wondered why he did so.
She was naught of anything, just a slave, and she would be gone soon to Old Evta—that or Thrasco would discover her sex and she would probably be sold to a brothel or beaten to death.
“Thank you, Cleve,” he heard her call after him.
Aye, if Thrasco discovered her sex, he just might kill her for ruining his plans.
He knew the sister of Khagan-Rus, Old Evta, would never want a girl in her household.
She had only female slaves who were older than the murky swamp that lay just to the west of the Dnieper.
It wasn’t his problem. What would happen would happen. She had courage, but of course she was stupid to show it. Look what it had gotten her. Flat on her belly with a raw back. It just made him sad to think of that girl dead, or worse.
Although what could be worse than death? He could not even bring the image of his long-dead mother’s face to his mind. Death was the last thing anyone could wish for.
It was dark, finally. From the single narrow window in the chamber, she could see only blackness. There was no moon and the stars were laced over with billowing dark clouds. Aye, it was very dark, thank the gods.
Laren had finished another bowl of broth, spoken only briefly to Cleve, for Thrasco needed him to serve at the evening meal.
She begged him to leave her the basket of soft bread for the night.
He’d left it, the fool. She wrapped it in a bit of torn cover from the bed.
She wished she had something other than her rags, but she didn’t.
At least she’d wrapped the rest of the cover around her body beneath the rags.
She looked like a boy now, no one would ever suspect.
She was thin, her breasts weren’t all that lavish and she’d flattened them to almost nothing with the cover, and her hair was short and ragged.
Too, she was so dirty, smelled so rancid, she doubted anyone would even notice what sex she was, or care.
She wished her back didn’t nearly send her to her knees with pain, but she locked it away from her, this pain that wouldn’t stop, and gritted her teeth against any sound she wanted to make, any moans that would attract attention.
The door wasn’t locked. If it had been, she would have managed to ease through that narrow window.
She eased out into a dim narrow corridor like a dark shadow.
Beneath her feet was a rough wooden floor, not packed earth, and overhead was a low ceiling of whitewashed beams. There were no furnishings in the corridor.
She tried to remember being brought into the household.
She pictured it in her mind and took a left turn when the corridor forked.
She heard men talking—surely they were guards—and pressed her back against the wall. It was rough and she gasped with the pain in her back. How many were there? The boards creaked beneath her feet.
“What was that?”
“What? You’re hearing yourself eat, you fool, naught else.”
“I’d best go see. You know Thrasco.”
Laren forgot the pain in her back. She was as still as a stone. She saw the shadow of a man. She didn’t move, didn’t breathe. He took a step toward her, then paused, listening.
Another man called out, “You see, I told you there was naught. Be quiet and drink. Or give the ale to me. No one is there, no one is ever there.”
There was a grunt, followed by a deep belch. Another man laughed.
She slowly let out her breath. She waited and waited still longer.
Then she walked as quietly as she could, skimming against the wall, always going left when she had a choice.
She heard many voices now, even Thrasco’s, if she wasn’t mistaken.
If it was Thrasco, it had to be the dining quarters, the gluttonous heathen.