“I know what you’re thinking,” Thrasco continued, still staring down at the boy. “You’re thinking that the boy is a pathetic scrap and even clean will still look a pathetic scrap. I am a man of experience and I know that the boy has a fine-boned face. He is slight, delicate even. Just look at those hands and those feet, long and narrow. Aye, it’s good blood he carries in his skinny veins. His parents weren’t slaves. No, this one is different, and I will use his differentness to my advantage. See to him now, bathe his back and use some of that cream my mother sent me from Baghdad, ’twill prevent scarring. Leave him filthy for the moment, leave him clothed in his torn rags. He deserves to wallow in his dirt for the blow he struck me. All saw it and Valai laughed, others too. If he obeys you completely, you will bathe him on the morrow.”
Cleve nodded. Poor little boy, he thought.
Thrasco said as he walked to the door, “Old Evta will appreciate the little squirrel. Did I tell you that she likes to call her boys animal names? Perhaps if he comes to answer to squirrel here, she will like that and reward me even more. I will send food for him, just some broth, I don’t want him to puke up his guts. Feed him, Cleve, and keep feeding him.”
Cleve nodded again, turning back after his master had left the small chamber to once again look at the lad. At least he wouldn’t be sodomized, and that was something. Cleve had been sodomized regularly for nearly two years until finally he’d been sold to a woman with hair so pale it seemed white, a woman who looked like one of the Christians’ angels, but she wasn’t. He unconsciously fingered the jagged scar on his face. After her, he was bought by a master who didn’t like boys, and that master was Thrasco, bless the gods. He was cruel but he wasn’t a pederast. He was occasionally even generous. He’d given Cleve a patched beaver fur to wear this past winter. Cleve knelt down and said quietly, “Are you awake, boy?”
“Aye.”
“The pain is bad, I know it. Thrasco enjoys wielding the whip, but his mother disapproves of it so he can only do it when she is visiting her family in the Caliphate. You are unlucky she is not here. Now, Thrasco ordered me not to bathe you or change you from these rags you wear. I dare not disobey him, but I will bathe your back and fetch this cream he just spoke about. He will send you food and you will fatten yourself.”
“I heard everything he said.”
“Then I won’t repeat anything else.”
“There is nothing else to repeat. I’m not a squirrel. Your master is beyond foolish. He’s also ugly and fat.”
“Nay, it is Old Evta who would call you an animal. Thrasco merely tries to select the animal before she does.”
“They are both foolish.”
Cleve frowned. The boy was still arrogant; Thrasco wouldn’t like that at all.
“You heard Thrasco speak of Khagan-Rus?”
“Aye, he will give me to this man’s sister. But who is this Khagan-Rus?”
“How can you be so ignorant? Why, he is the prince of Kiev. He is rich, and Old Evta is even richer, a fact the prince hates, but she controls him. She calls him her proud bull when he pleases her. When she wishes to hurt him, she calls him her little swamp beetle. Thrasco wants to supply her with furs, mostly miniver, and she requires many. She is very fat, you know, nearly as fat as Thrasco. You will be his means to succeed.”
“Have you looked at me?”
The tone of voice was odd, but Cleve said only, “Aye, you’re a miserable offering, but with food, you will improve, at least Thrasco believes so. I hope you’re not really ugly under all that filth.”
“I am.”
Cleve frowned. “You’re in pain yet you speak back to me as if I would not do anything to hurt you further. I am Thrasco’s slave. You are the foolish one.”
The boy was finally quiet.
“Good,” Cleve said. “Keep your mouth shut and I will attend you. Thrasco won’t tolerate his wishes being ignored.”
“He will die soon of gluttony.”
“Aye, mayhap, but you won’t be here to see it. Now, boy, you will allow me to help you. No, don’t shrink away from me. I know your back hurts, but you must let me get you onto the cot.”
“I would allow it, but I really can’t move.”
Cleve stretched out his hand and gently turned the boy’s face toward him. He lifted that face and saw that the pain had leached the very color from the boy’s flesh. He saw, too, immense rage in eyes that should have grown accepting. Cleve lifted him as gently as he could, propping him up, actually, and half dragging him to the narrow bed. He eased him carefully down onto his side. Then he just stood there, staring down at the thin figure. And Cleve said quietly, “I can see your breasts.”
The girl said nothing, made no move to pull together the shreds of her tunic. The pain was simply too great.
“What is your name?”
“Laren.”
“A strange name and you speak with a stranger accent. You will tell me soon enough why you play the boy. In this land being a boy can lead to your rape as quickly as being a girl. Come now, I must help you. Nay, I shan’t tell Thrasco, but know he will learn the truth soon enough and then I will suffer for saying naught to him.”
“I know,” she said, and bit her lip until it bled when he picked away bits of the filthy sealskin from her back and began to bathe her. “Thank you.”
