Buying Trouble
The tall man walked into the slaver's, his white toga haphazardly
draped, his long hair falling out of the stray bit of cord he'd tied
it back with, his sandals in need of repair.
"Greetings, Wattovius," he called out, as the master of the
establishment scurried up to meet him.
"Ah, Quiaius! What can I get for you today?"
"Just some help around the house. A nice quiet girl to run errands and
things, maybe bring me some bread and cheese when I'm too far into my
reading to remember to get it myself."
"And what happened to that nice quiet girl I sold you before last
Lupercal? She came well recommended!"
"Ah, she fell in love with the candle-maker's son." A wry smile. "I
freed her to marry."
"You're out of your mind! Don't tell me you gave her a dowry too..."
Quiaius had a reputation throughout Rome for tender-heartedness, or
for wasting money, depending on who you asked. Despite his careless
appearance, he had money to waste; he was from an old family. He lived
alone in a villa that was too big for him, and spent all his time
buried in books. Eccentric type. Brought home stray cats.
"I won't tell you, then. But my house is a mess, and I can never
remember my appointments, and surely you have another nice quiet
girl..."
"Always. But maybe you need one who's not so quiet? Eh?" The weaselly
slave-dealer gave a wink and a lascivious smile.
Quiaius shook his head. "No, not really. Since my wife passed five
years ago, I haven't really... I think I'm past that at my age. Books,
and philosophy, and my own company, and --" An enraged shriek split
the air. "What was that?"
"Ugh. Barbarian captive. Sebulius unloaded it on me; part of a group
deal with some dancers he knew I wanted. One of those wild Celts."
"A Celt, you say? I've never seen one..."
"Be my guest, have a look, over there in the last cell. Be warned,
it's not a pretty sight."
Quiaius walked to the end of the corridor and looked through the small
barred window in the heavy wooden door. In the far corner of the cell
huddled the dirtiest youth he'd ever seen, wearing a few rags, with
heavy chains on his slender wrists and ankles. His face was partly
hidden by a tangled mass of light brown hair with hints of red. He was
gaunt, bruised and battered, but there was a look of defiance in his
startling blue eyes. He pulled at the chains that held him, and again
screamed his outrage.
"What on earth... He looks as if he's been beaten!"
"Oh, he has, believe me. And starved too, not that it's made him any
tamer. Attacks anyone who goes near him, shouts all day in that crazy
barbarian tongue... Sebulius really pulled a fast one on me, had him
drugged when he gave him to me so I wouldn't know what he was like.
I'll never unload the little beast."
"What will you do with him?"
"Maybe the Coliseum'll want him, a little sword fodder for the games.
He fights like a tiger, doesn't care what happens to him, all teeth
and nails. Can't sell him to the brothel; he bites!"
Quiaius took another look into the cell. The barbarian slave stared
back, then hissed at him like a mad cat, showing white teeth.
"I'll take him."
Early the next day, a loud and insistent knock alerted Quiaius that
his
impulse purchase was being delivered. As several cats fled, he opened
the door to a big man with a shaved head -- probably a former
wrestler;
Wattovius hired a lot of them -- carrying a large canvas bag over his
shoulder.
"So, where d'ya want it?
"Back here, servant's quarters." He led the way to a small, tidy room
in the back of the villa; there was a trunk for clothes, and a pallet
on the cool stone floor. The deliveryman dumped the bag on the floor,
where it hit with a clank, then untied the top of the bag and dumped
out the Celt in a heap by the bed. He lay, motionless, where he fell,
the same heavy chains shackled to his wrists and ankles as when
Quiaius had first seen him.
"Is he... alive?" Quiaius was a little stunned at the way his new
slave had arrived.
"Oh, he's alive all right. We just had to pour some of that tincture
of
poppies down him to transport him. I wouldn't expect much noise out of
him 'til sometime tomorrow, but he's breathing pretty good. It's not
like Wattovius is gonna sell you a dead slave! Now, what do we hook
these chains up to? This chest heavy enough?"
"Ah, yes, I think so..." He hadn't given any thought to it. It hadn't
really occurred to him that he'd have to keep the slave chained here
in his home. The deliveryman locked the chain to the iron handle on
the side of the chest, and jerked it to be sure it was secure.
"Yeah, that'll hold him. Don't want him to get loose and gut you
during the night or anything. We won't be responsible for it if he
does, though."
"What do I owe you, for the delivery and everything?"
"Well, the slave's only a hundred denarii, Wattovius is basically
giving him away, but you've got the delivery, you've got the chains,
and the keys here, and damages--"
"Damages?"
The deliveryman held up his arm with a grim smile; there was the
unmistakable mark of a fairly fresh human bite on the bicep. "Damages.
That's two-fifty total. Sign right here. And Wattovius wanted me to
emphasize that this sale is absolutely final, as is, no refunds, no
exchanges, no returns under any circumstances, he doesn't even want to
see the dead BODY of this one again, you got it?"
"Understood." Quiaius pulled a few coins out of a small leather bag he
wore around his waist, counted them, pulled out another. "For your
trouble."
"Thank you, very generous. Look, I don't mean to be too curious, but
what are you gonna do with this thing? I mean, you understand it's
dangerous, right?"
"It -- he -- is human, or close to it. Even if he isn't human, he's
alive. I've never seen such a miserable creature. I have to at least
try to..."
"That's your own business, no problem. Just wondered. I'm surprised
Wattovius managed to sell him; he's been stuck with him for a month,
and Sebulius had him for a month before that."
"He's been... locked up like that... for two months?"
"Well, in Rome, sure. And then however many weeks it took the soldiers
to get him back here from the barbarian lands. I'm sure glad I didn't
have to haul him from there, I'll tell you that." The deliveryman
picked up the canvas bag, walked toward the front door, and looked
back at him. "Listen. Just be careful, all right? I'm sure it's the
kind of thing you guys argue about in the Forum and all that, what's
human and what isn't, but this is a Celt, worst kind of barbarian.
He's gonna wake up ready to kill somebody. That's just how they are."
"I don't plan to be killed, thank you. But give Wattovius my thanks."
The deliveryman looked skeptical, nodded and walked out, leaving
Quiaius to ponder his purchase.
After looking the Celt over for a while, Quiaius decided that no
creature, no matter how wild and barbarous, could possibly be happy as
dirty as his new slave was. Certainly no creature living in his house
was going to stay that dirty. He wondered if the slave had been
washed, or given any opportunity to bathe, since he was captured.
Probably not, from the look -- and the smell. This was as good a time
as any, and Quiaius was thankful that he had his own bath, even though
it had seemed extravagant when he'd moved into the villa. He could
only imagine what he'd have looked like hauling the captive to a
public bath.
It didn't take long for the marble tub to fill. It took a little
longer to heat the water, but it seemed heartless to dump anyone, even
an unconscious barbarian slave, into a cold bath. Quiaius found a
sponge, some soap, and the kitchen scissors, then headed back into the
slave's room. He hesitated a moment, then carefully unlocked the
shackles that bound the chains to the slave's wrists and ankles. The
locks were hard to turn -- they hadn't been unlocked in a while -- and
it was hard for Quiaius to look at the flesh under the shackles,
bruised and scabbed as it was.
"Poor thing. You haven't been treated very gently, have you?" Using
the
scissors, he cut off the few dirty rags the slave wore, revealing more
bruised flesh and a surprisingly large sex. Quiaius averted his eyes,
feeling somehow as if he were invading the barbarian's privacy, then
wrapped the oddly patterned rags in a bit of cloth; they might be all
the slave had left to remember his homeland. He lifted the slave in
his arms, surprised at how little he weighed; carried him to the bath;
and set him down in the warm water. The slave's body slumped
bonelessly in the water.
Quiaius worked slowly and carefully with the sponge and soap,
revealing
unexpectedly pale skin under the grime -- pale except for a patchwork
of bruises, scratches and cuts, some faded, many new. An intricate
design of interlocking loops, black and nearly two inches wide,
circled the left upper arm; it didn't wash off, and Quiaius guessed
that it must be some sort of permanent decoration. The slave was much
too thin -- Quiaius wondered just how long it had been since he'd been
fed -- but his slender limbs were well-formed. What little hair the
slave had on his body was blond with a touch of red. As he washed the
elegantly-shaped hands -- somehow he'd expected claws -- Quiaius
noticed that some of the fingernails were torn to bleeding; the rest
appeared to have been bitten down to the quick. The wrists were badly
damaged, the skin torn and healed again and again -- the captive must
never have stopped fighting the chains, Quiaius thought, and
shuddered. He washed the hurt places there as gently as he could,
making a mental note to put healing salve on them to keep them from
getting infected. The ankles were nearly as bad. He had to stop for a
moment and catch his breath when he turned the slave over and saw his
back and shoulders, very obviously marked by whipping.
Quiaius hadn't seen whip-marks up close before. He considered himself
lucky, or maybe he'd just managed to avoid that part of Roman life;
he'd always hated to see anything hurt. Slaves needed to be
disciplined sometimes, everyone knew that, but whipping... The marks
on the captive's back were deep, and in various stages of healing, so
that it was obvious that they were the result of a few different
sessions. Some were quite recent, and he realized they'd undoubtedly
been applied on Wattovius' orders, very likely by the same employee
he'd just given a generous tip. He took a deep breath and went back to
washing. At least the slave wasn't in any pain now.
The hair was the worst part; it was too badly matted to come clean,
and too dirty to leave the way it was. Quiaius felt guilty doing it,
but it had to be cut, and when he was finished with the scissors the
slave had no more than half an inch or so of sandy-reddish hair. At
least it was clean, and even, and surely it would grow back... there
was no more than a moment to mourn the cut hair, though, before he
noticed the slave's face, revealed now that the matted hair was gone.
He hadn't expected such fine features, not on a barbarian captive.
He hurried to finish the bath, dry the slave, and carry him back to
his
quarters, shooing several cats off the bed-pallet to lay the boy down
there. The slave was just a little too... disconcerting nude; Quiaius
found an old cotton tunic of his, soft from countless washings,
something he'd slept in on cool nights, and pulled it on over the
Celt's head. Like dressing a doll, he thought, drawing the slender
arms through the armholes. The tunic had fallen to Quiaius' knees; on
the slave, it would have swept the floor, so he tore strips off the
bottom until it was a more reasonable length. Bandages for the wrists,
of course, and the ankles. He dressed the worst cuts and scratches,
very glad the slave couldn't feel what might have been a painful
process, and finally sat back to study his purchase.
The Celt was little more than a boy, that was obvious, and beautiful,
genuinely beautiful. He'd look right in marble, Quiaius thought. This
was a barbarian? Dark circles under the eyes didn't hide long, thick
lashes; the nose was tilted up in a most unexpected way, exotic
really; and even slightly bruised, the mouth was good enough to...
What was he thinking? Quiaius hadn't been so surprised by himself in
years, and still felt somewhat unsettled even after he'd convinced
himself that what he was feeling was merely sympathy for a hurt
creature. That this hurt creature happened to be almost unnaturally
beautiful only made things a little more... well, different, anyway.
Quiaius reluctantly fastened the shackle to the sleeping boy's left
ankle. The ankle was bandaged, and he'd padded the shackle as best he
could with the remaining cotton strips, but still he hated to do it,
less for the pain he knew it would cause than for the slave's anguish
when he awoke and found it still there. There was no help for it;
however harmless the Celt looked in his drugged state - and he looked
very harmless indeed -- Quiaius had been warned enough; he didn't want
to wake up with this boy strangling him, or stabbing him with scissors
or anything else sharp he might find around the house. Surely just the
ankles would be enough, though. Let the wrists heal, he thought, and
resisted a completely unexpected urge to stroke the shorn head.
A knock on the door again, and Quiaius got up from -- what was he
doing? Suddenly he had no idea -- to answer it. It was Macius, a tall,
dark man with -- Quiaius had a sudden, absurd thought that this was
the second man with a shaved head who'd been to his villa that day,
and that this surely must mean something. Absurd thoughts seemed to be
breeding like --
"Quiaius! I'm bringing back your book, that life of Caesar you loaned
me last month. I'll never have time to read it." Macius laughed,
clasped his friend's hand in greeting, and walked into the house.
"Oh, no, don't tell me."
"Don't tell you what?"
"You've got that look on your face. I've seen it a million times,
since we were kids. Like you just fished a sack of kittens out of the
Aqueduct, or something. I'm not taking another kitten, if that's what
it is."
"I assure you, there isn't any kitten." Quiaius couldn't suppress a
smile.
"But there's something, isn't there? A blind watchdog, maybe? A lame
horse? Some other pathetic creature?"
"Come see." Quiaius walked back to the slave's room. Macius followed,
then stopped short at the sight before him.
"I don't believe it. My old friend Quiaius, the least scandalous man
in
Rome, has got a... well obviously it's a boy. A little the worse for
wear, and in... chains? Ah... there's got to be a story here. Did you
win this in a charity raffle, or what?"
"Bought him from Wattovius, yesterday afternoon. Just delivered an
hour or so ago. What do you think?"
"I think he's not from around here, for one thing. And I think if you
suddenly decided you wanted a boy, you probably should have tried
renting before you went out and bought."
"Macius, what are you implying? Gods, you're don't think I bought him
for THAT?"
"Why would anyone buy a boy like that for anything ELSE? He doesn't
really look like the housekeeper type, and it's kind of hard to cook
when you're chained to... Why, exactly, is this boy chained to the
chest here?"
"Dangerous, supposedly. Barbarian captive."
"Pretty quiet for a barbarian captive."
"Of course, he's drugged just now; they put him to sleep to deliver
him. I'm beginning to think the barbarians are the ones who've done
this -- you see these bruises? He's been beaten, and whipped, and
starved, and gods only know what else, and Wattovius was ready to send
him to the Coliseum, and I just couldn't leave him that way."
"Did Wattovius tell you anything about where this kid is from, how he
got into this shape?"
"Well, according to Wattovius, he's a Celt."
"Of course. A Celt. That explains the... bracelet, there." Macius
shook his head, grew serious. "Quiaius, do you know anything about the
Celts?"
"Not really, no. I suppose you do?"
"My cousin Panakus, the one in the Army; a few years back, he was
stationed in the Northern Lands. He told me stories about the Celts --
how the Roman Army once killed forty thousand in one battle, and yet
they didn't surrender. They never do. To this day they refuse to send
tribute to the Empire."
"And the Emperor allows that?"
"Not officially, but it would be impossible to force them. They don't
have much to send but rain and cold; maybe that's why they're so
fierce."
"Rain and cold, and apparently their children."
"They don't send them. What happens is that some of the soldiers
stationed out there get tired of the rain and the cold, and resentful
of the Celts' attitude, and bored the way soldiers do, and sooner or
later they come across some pretty maiden or youth and... it isn't a
very nice story. They usually share them around the camp; you know
what soldiers are like, at least some of them. A lot of these Celts
die -- they fight to the death, even the youngest ones, even the
girls. They'll kill themselves rather than be taken, if they can.
Eventually the soldiers get tired of them, or they find a prettier one
or just a fresher one, or some kind soul among them lets them go; gods
only know what becomes of them after that. And once in a while, they
bring them back to Rome with them as captives."
A long silence. Quiaius looked at the slave lying asleep on the bed,
chained, and tried very hard not to think about what his old friend
was
telling him -- not to picture it happening to this beautiful fierce
boy -- not to think of where some of the scars that marked him had
come from.
"These soldiers usually figure out pretty quickly that they aren't
going to be able to keep them back home; then there are a few slave
merchants who'll pay a little for them, usually for the Coliseum,
sometimes for the brothels if they've gone the quiet sort of mad,
although they usually don't live long. They don't -- I've never heard
of anyone taming one."
"So what do you advise that I do?"
"Probably the kindest thing would be to kill him before he wakes, but
I know you too well. You're going to treat him like one of your stray
cats, and he'll either die or get loose and kill someone or tear the
house down -- and you'll never learn, will you?" Macius smiled grimly,
but fondly.
"I suppose not." The two walked back towards the front of the house;
somehow neither of them had much heart for visiting.
"So, do you want me to send one of my girls over later with some broth
or something? Maybe some bread?" A little bit of a smile. "You're not
going to have much luck nursing him back to health with your own
cooking, and seeing as you can't seem to buy a slave who can actually
do anything useful..."
"I've bought quite a few useful slaves over the years."
"But you never keep them, do you? Half Rome is populated with your
freedmen."
"Not everyone needs as many as you have." Macius was well known for
being as extravagant as Quiaius was ascetic; they enjoyed arguing over
the necessity of Macius' three nursemaids for a single, adored
daughter, let alone his two cooks and the legion of housemaids and
men-of-all-work who served him and his wife.
"You obviously need more than you have, since you have to borrow
mine."
"Yes, and I thank you for that. I know you don't approve of this...
project of mine, but I have to do it."
"I know you do, and perhaps the gods will give me a little bit of the
credit if I help." Macius clasped his friend's shoulder and grew more
serious. "Let me know if there's anything else you need, or anything
you can't do yourself."
"I understand. I hope it won't come to that."
Quiaius saw his friend off, and stood a long while in the front hall,
wondering what it would come to. Even deep in drugged sleep, the Celt
was so very alive; Quiaius could not forget the spark of spirit he'd
seen in the fiery blue eyes. Surely the slave could recover, somehow.
Finally he walked back to the room at the back of the house. He just
wanted another look at the Celt, that was all. Maybe he should check
if he had a fever; could the drug they'd given him do him any harm?
Argentum, a sleek gray tabby cat Quiaius had rescued from a group of
boys as a scrawny kitten, was standing on the pillow beside the slave.
One big paw held the boy's head firmly in place as the big cat
methodically licked the slave's face, very much as if he were caring
for a kitten.
Quiaius smiled wryly. "You're a good mother, aren't you, for a boy.
Perhaps I should turn this kitten over to you." The cat glanced up,
big green eyes flashing; then he resumed his work.
Quiaius sat on the cool marble floor, reading. Trying to read, anyway;
why was it so hard to concentrate with that Celt lying there, still
asleep? It was midday now, and the sun slanting through the window
high on the wall opposite the bed shone down on the boy, turning his
skin a golden color like honey. His lips, slightly parted, were rose
in the sun; the one nipple that showed through a too-big armhole of
the tunic was rose too, and Quiaius decided he should cover the boy up
a little better. It would be no good for him to wake up exposed that
way, Quiaius thought. Not when too many had already looked at him. He
knelt beside the boy and gently pulled at the tunic, arranging it a
little more modestly. Quiaius stroked the boy's shoulder, amazed at
how warm and smooth the skin was. The slave stirred slightly, and
Quiaius drew his hand back; was he waking up, or just moving from the
drugged state to more natural sleep? A low murmur might have been
words, or just sounds; either way, the voice was sleepy and gentle,
dreaming, a world away from the screams he'd heard yesterday. The boy
moved again, turned on his side, and slept on. Quiaius sat beside him,
his book forgotten, and just simply looked at him for a long time, not
quite sure what to think.
A knock on the front door, again. He stood, regretfully leaving the
boy to himself as he went to answer the door. This time it was a
woman, probably close to his own age, Quiaius thought; she was tall
and somewhat plain, and had long black hair braided back carefully.
She wore a slave's tunic, which appeared to be somewhat dusted with
flour, and carried a large covered basket. She made an abbreviated
bow, stepped into the house, and set the basket down in front of
Quiaius.
"Courtesy of Master Macius, sir. For your boy."
"Thank him for me! And thank you, because I dare say he didn't prepare
this. What have we got here?"
"The large jar there is broth, sir. I thought that would be best. And
here's bread, and some cheese, because nearly anyone will eat that.
And I just made these little cakes."
"What kind? They smell wonderful."
The slave beamed, and her plain features were transformed. "Honey
cakes. When the master told me you had a boy, that he'd had a hard
time, I thought that would be just the thing. Boys love them, don't
they?"
Quiaius smiled. "You know something about boys, then?"
"I've got my own. He's only ten, of course, but he's enough trouble. I
had a time keeping him out of these."
"Well, take a few home for him."
"And you have a few yourself, sir! Master Macius told me a little
about your boy. A terrible thing, how he's been treated, and it's
lovely that he's found a kind master. Just feed him a little at a
time, at first, so he isn't sick. And don't... well, it isn't my place
to tell you what to do, but if it were I'd say don't push him. He's
probably less savage than he is afraid. Boys usually are, when it
comes down to it."
Quiaius nodded. "I think you're right. I think most of us are. Do you
want to see him?"
"No, thank you, sir. I don't like to see a boy who's been ill-treated;
it makes me worry for my own, so much. Let me come see him when he's
well, and I'll feel a lot better about it."
"I understand. I hope I can show him to you soon, then."
"It shouldn't take so long, sir. They recover quickly. Just feed him,
that's all. I'll bring you some more tomorrow." Another quick bow, and
she hurried off, and Quiaius carried the basket to his kitchen. He had
just picked up one of the little cakes -- they were still warm -- when
he heard a sound from the back room. He ran and found the slave
sitting up, blinking sleepily and looking around him with eyes that
appeared almost green in the afternoon light. One hand went to his
scalp, as he felt his newly-shorn hair. When he saw Quiaius
approaching, he startled visibly, jerked away, and backed up into the
corner. He raised one hand as if to ward the older man off, and
shouted something in a raw voice.
"No, no, don't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you," Quiaius said
quietly -- he knew very well the boy didn't understand a word he was
saying, but perhaps the tone would help. "Here, I've got something for
you --" He held out the cake.
The boy looked at Quiaius, and looked at the cake, then back at
Quiaius, suspiciously. Clearly, hunger was battling fear in him.
Quiaius set the cake down on the floor and backed away. The boy
reached out and picked it up. He looked at it, turning it over. He
sniffed it, and his eyes grew a little wider.
"It's all right. It's good." Encouraging.
The slave took the tiniest nibble from the edge of the cake, looked up
at Quiaius suspiciously. Quiaius nodded. Then hunger won. The boy ate
the cake in two bites, licked nonexistent crumbs from his fingers,
hesitated, then looked up again. He looked as if he expected to be
struck at any moment, or grabbed, or otherwise attacked -- but he also
looked very hungry.
Quiaius smiled. "Just a moment." He went back to the kitchen, and
returned with a small wooden tray with a mug of broth and another of
water, a piece of bread, a little cheese and a few more of the cakes.
He set it down on the floor, then stepped back and watched.
The boy was undoubtedly starving; he ate quickly, but neatly --
indeed,
Quiaius had seen many of the well-loved free sons of Rome eat much
less
tidily. It was actually a wonderful thing to watch; the boy was so
obviously glad of the food, Quiaius thought, and his mouth was so
beautiful.
What was he thinking? It occurred to him that he was hungry too;
possibly that was why the sight of this boy eating was having such an
effect on him. Otherwise, it made no sense at all. He headed back to
the kitchen, shaking his head.
The usual routine of Quiaius' days was simple: wake early, bathe,
read, eat, and read. Late in the afternoon, the fish-seller, reaching
the end of his route, would come by with those fish he hadn't been
able to sell to the cooks; these, Quiaius would buy and feed to his
cats. Then he'd read some more, and perhaps Macius would come by to
argue some point of philosophy or to beat him at dice. Quiaius would
retire early, usually with a book; most often, by the time he turned
down his lamp, a few of the cats had joined him for sleep in a bed
that had been too large since Claudia had died. To say he lived
quietly would be an understatement; it wasn't unusual for him to spend
several days without speaking to anyone, and frankly, it suited him.
Now Quiaius' routine was completely disrupted. It was nearly midnight,
and he couldn't sleep at all; he couldn't concentrate to read; and he
was fidgeting so much that the cats had abandoned his bed and glowered
at him from the corners of the room. He couldn't remember fidgeting
since he was a boy, and that had been quite some time ago. He wondered
if his new slave was having the same problem -- he was probably having
a worse time sleeping, really, since he was in a strange place. Then
again, he might not be; he'd been napping on and off most of the day,
probably from the after-effects of the drug. Napping, and eating --
the Celt seemed to be something of a bottomless pit, and Quiaius hoped
he would soon realize that he wasn't going to be starved anymore.
Maybe he was awake, and hungry? Quiaius decided that, since he was
awake himself anyway, he might as well go in and check on the boy.
The polished stone floor was cool against his bare feet as he walked
down the hall to the slave's room; it was dark, but his eyes adjusted
to the moonlight. The boy was where he'd seen him last, curled up
asleep on the bed, half a honey-cake clutched in one hand.
Quiaius made a mental note to tell Macius' cook how much the boy had
liked her cakes. He knelt beside the sleeping Celt, and noticed that
his tunic had ridden up a bit, exposing a scraped but well-shaped
knee. Fearing that the boy might catch a chill, Quiaius reached out
and pulled the tunic down.
He may as well have poked at a wasps' nest. The Celt came suddenly --
and violently -- awake, gasped, sat up, screamed, and leapt at Quiaius
like a wild animal. Quiaius stood quickly and took a step back, but he
wasn't fast enough; the boy gave him a surprisingly powerful shove
that banged his head against the doorjamb and landed him hard on his
ass in the doorway, then stood shouting at him, wild-eyed. Quiaius got
up, painfully, and walked toward the boy, thinking to calm him. "I'm
not going to hurt you, quiet now -- " he reached for the boy's
shoulder. The Celt turned his head and bit him hard on the side of his
hand, shoved him away again, then backed up against the wall, staring,
breathing hard.
Quiaius, once again thrown to the floor, looked at his hand and saw
blood. He slowly picked himself up, and saw that the slave was
trembling slightly; his eyes were wide and gray-blue. It occurred to
him that the Celt could not have taken his actions as anything but an
advance, and that there was no way to explain to him that he hadn't
meant it that way.
"I'm sorry." He hoped again that his tone of voice might convey
something to the terrified boy. "I won't do that again." He backed
away slowly. The slave stared after him, panic in his eyes.
Quiaius went to the kitchen and examined his hand; several teeth had
pierced the skin, and the pain of it started to creep up as the shock
wore off. He washed it off with cool water and winced at the sting. He
found a bit of cloth and wrapped it up, awkwardly -- of course, it was
his right hand. I am an idiot, he thought. Knowing what he's been
through, I creep up on him in his sleep and touch him. Would've served
me right if he'd brained me. As it was, his head hurt like Hades; he'd
have some bruises tomorrow, that was obvious. Quiaius walked slowly
back to his room, and settled in for a long night of not sleeping.
The day everything happened, I was wondering if I was truly meant to
be
pledged to the Trees. Now, I was marked to serve the Trees from the
time I was very small -- my mother told me there were things at my
birth that marked me out for that, the veil over my head, and my eyes
open even as I came into the world. But there was marked, and there
was truly permanently committed, pledged for life, and that was a
decision I had to make for myself, and I was just getting to where I
was old enough to make it, and I didn't know what I wanted to do. You
see, if I were pledged, along with a great number of other important
things, I'd be celibate for life, and while that had seemed like a
perfectly good idea when I was a little boy, in the last couple of
years it had started sounding a great deal less appealing. I'd done
some growing up, you see, and suddenly there were a few of my friends
who had done their growing up too and come out of it looking awfully
good. Anyway, I'd done a little playing, with Maelchwn and with
Eithne, and I hadn't gone very far but far enough to know that I'd
like to go further, if I could. And I couldn't go any further -- in
fact, I ought not to have gone as far as I had. It wasn't the only
thing that made me wonder if I really ought to be making the vows, but
it was the thing that I was thinking about that day, and I decided to
go sit under my favorite tree and meditate about it, and that's where
I was and what I was doing when they caught me. It's almost funny when
you think about it; it'd make a great story: there's Eab sitting under
the cherry tree deciding whether to lose his, and up come the Romans
and he never did get to decide, did he? They did the deciding, and it
was fourteen of them that night, and all in all Eab (that's me) would
just as soon have made his pledge and stayed with the Trees.
It's very important that you understand I didn't go easily. There were
four of them in the party that caught me, and I broke away from them
in the woods twice and ran and they caught me anyway. I fought like
mad every way I knew how, and I think two of them still have the
scars, but they were stronger. I suppose even one of them would have
been stronger than me; they were soldiers and grown men, after all.
They laughed and they beat me and they hauled me back to the camp,
where the other soldiers were. They stripped me like it was a game,
and threw me down on my back, and three of them held me down so I
couldn't fight, and gods, I never thought anything could hurt as much
as what they did to me then. I can still see the first one's face, and
smell his breath all nasty from bad wine. I screamed when he rammed
his cock into me, and he laughed at that. The rest of them sort of
blurred together after a while, but that first one's very clear in my
mind. I have dreams about cutting him up into a lot of pieces, and
seeing if he thinks that's so funny.
I was in the camp for a few weeks; it's hard to tell how much time's
passing when you're mostly chained inside a tent being fucked by
whoever's got nothing better to do. Fighting made it worse -- I could
tell some of them loved it when I fought them -- but if I stopped
fighting I knew I'd die, or at least not be myself anymore. I got hit
a lot. I found out you have to get hit really, really hard before
you're knocked out, and it hurts like hell when you wake up from it,
but it's sort of worth it, because you don't remember a lot of what
happened even a few hours before you got hit sometimes. I also found
out that eventually the fucking doesn't hurt quite as badly as it did
at first, but that it's actually worse then, because you know you're
getting used to it, and even if it doesn't hurt as badly, it still
hurts.
The main thing I found out is that I hate Romans. They've got to be
the
nastiest people in the world. I hate the way they talk -- I know it's
a
language, but it sounds all wrong, like animal noises or something. It
can't be a proper language. I hate the way they smell, even though I
probably didn't smell any better after I was with them for a while. I
hate their food, or at least the kind of scraps they threw me. I hate
the way they think it's funny when someone gets hurt, or screams, or
bleeds. I hate the way they rode their horses when the camp broke up,
and carried their things in wagons, but made me walk behind them in
chains all the way to Rome. I hate the way, when we stopped at night,
they just kept me chained to the back of their stupid wagon, and took
me on my knees on the ground, and then made me walk all day afterwards
just the same.
Once I got to Rome, they couldn't get rid of me fast enough; they
passed me off to some kind of trader. I saw him give the soldier who
caught me the first time a few coins, and I saw them argue about it --
I guess I didn't bring as much as he thought I would. The slaver's
place was actually better than being with the soldiers; I got beaten
almost as much, but hardly anyone fucked me. By then I was pretty well
out of my mind. I'd been treated like an animal so much, I think I was
turning into one. Maybe that would be easier than being what I
actually was. Anyone who touched me got bitten. If I screamed at
everyone who came to look at me, I got whipped, but then I didn't get
bought either, so it was safer that way. Sometimes I wondered if
Maelchwn and Eithne ever wondered what became of me, and I was glad
they didn't know. I was there for a while; then some guards held me
down and poured something nasty down my throat and I woke up in a
different place, feeling sick and hurting in some familiar places -- I
guess it was too tempting for somebody, seeing me all knocked out like
that. That place wasn't much different from the first one, except that
when they found out that whipping me didn't stop me from screaming,
they stopped feeding me. That didn't stop me either, although I expect
it would have eventually, wouldn't it? By that time I was so dirty and
crazy and ruined that I don't think they hoped to sell me anymore;
probably they hoped I'd die. I hoped so too. People would come and
look at me, and I knew what they were seeing: some kind of creature.
Horrible.
And then this man came, and I don't know what he saw, but I suppose it
wasn't so horrible. He looked like he felt sorry for me. I tried to
scare him away like the others, but I guess it didn't work on him,
because a different bunch of guards poured a different nasty thing
down my throat (not before I bit them, though) and I woke up where I
am now, in this big empty house full of little animals.
It's the strangest thing. I woke up clean and dressed, in a clean bed!
It doesn't really make any sense. Why would anyone bother to dress me?
He looks at me all the time, but not the way the soldiers did -- more
like you'd look at something that was interesting, something you
liked. He keeps giving me good food, really good food, and he keeps
not fucking me -- he tried to, last night, he touched me and scared
the hell out of me, but I bit him, and I felt so much stronger from
eating that I knocked him down a couple of times, too. He looked so
upset I almost felt sorry for him.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Or not as bad as the soldiers, anyway. At
least he smells good. And he has beautiful blue eyes. I'm still going
to knock him down if he tries it again, though.
When Quiaius finally fell into a troubled sleep, it was nearly
morning; only a few hours later, he was awakened by the sun streaming
in the window and an aching in his head. He put his hand out to steady
himself as he got up, and was reminded by a fresh burst of pain that
he'd been bitten the night before; standing, he remembered that he'd
been knocked down not once but twice by the Celt. I'm too old to be
getting knocked down, he thought ruefully as he limped out to start
his day.
He put together a breakfast for the boy; there was still some bread
left, and cheese. He scrambled a few eggs and cooked them over the
hearth; it was a real challenge, with his right hand painful and
feeling badly swollen, but he thought he should at least offer him
something hot. He carried the tray, with a pitcher of water and a mug,
to the slave's room, and hesitated at the door; peering in cautiously,
he saw that the Celt was sleeping, sitting up, with his back to the
wall. Several cats were sprawled around his feet; they seemed to take
up more space than he did. Quiaius quietly placed the tray within the
boy's reach, then stepped back through the doorway.
"Breakfast, before the cats get it," he called out gently; the boy
stirred and opened his eyes. He glared at Quiaius for a moment before
he smelled the food, then appeared almost to forget the man was there
as he devoured the eggs.
Quiaius smiled. If he could cook nothing else, he could cook eggs;
Claudia had loved to wake late and lie in bed while he made her
breakfast. He didn't usually bother with much for himself, but
apparently cooking eggs was a skill that came back after long neglect.
He returned to the kitchen and picked up a piece of bread for himself,
then took a quick bath. Any situation looked better after a bath.
Unfortunately, his hand looked worse; it was as swollen as it felt,
and red around the bite marks. It hurt worse when he touched it, and
felt hot. Brilliant, he thought. Now I've got myself infected. He
found a clean toga, dressed, and set out for the healer's.
Yolada the healer's tiny clinic was a short walk from Quiaius' home.
He was thankful for that, not only because his back hurt from the
falls he'd taken the night before, but because those few people he
passed on the street looked at him as if his hair were on fire. Of
course. Bruises from the doorjamb. That had to look wonderful. He
reached the house and stooped to knock, waited a few moments, knocked
again.
"Coming!" the healer's shrill voice rang out. "When 90 years old you
are, run to answer the door you will not!" She opened the door and
laughed at the sight of him. "If fights you keep getting into, 90
years old you will never be!"
Although Quiaius had visited her before, the healer was always an
arresting sight. She was no more than four feet tall, gnarled as an
ancient tree, and almost entirely without hair except for a few white
tufts at the sides of her head. The only things about her that were
not undersized were her ears, which were not only quite large, but
somewhat pointed. There was a great deal of speculation over whether
she had been inspired to pursue the trade of healing because of her
own deformity, or whether it was the constant exposure to powerful
herbs and chemicals from an early age that had stunted and twisted
her. There was also speculation over where exactly her odd accent and
speech patterns had come from; some believed she was originally from
Egypt, while others claimed that their grandparents remembered her
growing up just outside Pompeii and speaking like any other native.
Whatever her origin, she was an extraordinarily talented healer, if
you didn't mind fitting yourself into the clinic she'd had built to
her own personal scale. Quiaius had to stoop more than most as he
entered the little front room.
Every inch of the walls was covered with hanging bundles of herbs,
shelves with mysterious jars, and genuinely frightening medical
apparatus hanging on hooks.
Quiaius smiled despite his annoyance. "It wasn't a fight, exactly.
I...
surprised a new slave."
"Surprised you must have been, when thrashed you he did!" she
chuckled. "Not much for bruises can I do, except advise waiting. Sit
down, now. Your hand you have hurt, hmmm?"
"Yes, I'm afraid he bit me." Quiaius folded himself into a tiny chair
that put him just about at Yolada's eye level, and unwrapped the
bandage. "It's quite painful, and it seems to be swelling."
The tiny woman inspected his hand, and prodded painfully at the bite,
shaking her head. "Dirtier than any dog's, the human mouth is! To be
bitten by a crocodile, better off you would be! Red streaks here do
you see? Infection!"
"So I suspected. Is there anything you can do?"
She went to an old cabinet at the back of the room, opened a drawer,
and pulled out a small jar, which she handed to him. "This you will
put on it, three times a day."
He opened the jar to see what looked like some sort of goo, with a
strong foul smell. "What is it?"
"Comes from mold. Takes away infection it does, but filthy it smells,
hmmm? You must keep this hand wrapped and dry, and don't let any more
slaves bite you! A problem with this one you have?"
"It's entirely my fault. I saw him at a slaver's and bought him
because he obviously needed some care; he'd been beaten and starved
half to death. He'd been a captive with the Army in the northern
lands, and abused quite badly. I managed to wake him up and frighten
him pretty badly when I was checking on him last night, and of course
he thought he had to defend himself."
"Captive with the Army, hmm? Young and pretty he is?"
"I suppose... if my tastes ran that way, yes, very pretty. Certainly
young. Doesn't speak a word of Latin, of course, and I don't know how
I'm going to explain to him that I don't mean him any harm."
"Smart man you are. Teach him Latin you will. For now -- cats you
have,
hmm?"
"Why yes, I do. How did you know?"
"Hair on your clothes you have, quite a few different colors. Old I
may be, but blind I am not. Cats did you all get when tame little
kittens, or some strays?"
"Mostly strays, I suppose. I tend to accumulate them."
"When new cat you have in the house, wild one, pick it up do you? Play
with it? Catch hold of its tail, hmmm?"
"Of course not, that's a good way to get... Ahh, I see. So, I should
let him alone as much as possible?"
"Let him alone, feed him, and speak to him nicely, and in your lap he
will be sitting!" The old healer laughed as Quiaius blushed.
"Well, that's not really what I'm trying for."
Yolada grew a little more serious. "Clothed the boy is? Not known for
keeping boys well covered, are soldiers. Known for the opposite, in my
experience."
"Yes, yes, I've given him one of my old tunics."
"Your tunic fits a starved young boy? Likely that is not. Buy him some
clothes you should. Suitable for nice boys, students, not for the ones
who hang around the baths. Come to me with the itch every moon, some
of them do. Clothes fit for a good boy give him, and fit them he
will."
"I don't really know what size he wears..."
"Loosely the boys' tunics fit these days, and looked at the boy enough
to estimate I think you have. To Palpatinus you can afford to go, hmm?
At the north end of the market?"
"Well, I suppose..."
"Suppose not, but do. Fifty denarii you will pay me now, and when less
bruised you are looking, shopping you will go." The tiny woman held
out her hand, a look of triumph on her wizened face.
"Shopping. Yes." Quiaius handed her a few coins, rose from the little
chair (banging his head on the low ceiling in the process) and turned
to go, dropping the jar she'd given him into the bag that hung at his
belt. "Thank you, Yolada. I'll take your advice. You're a wise woman."
"When beautiful one is not, wise one must be. When beautiful one is,
wisdom is only one of several options."
As he entered his front door, Quiaius heard an unfamiliar voice from
the back of his home. He walked back cautiously, quietly, to discover
a charming sight: the Celt was sitting cross-legged on the floor and
speaking quietly and earnestly to Rosa. Rosa was the smallest of
Quiaius' cats, a tortoiseshell he'd found sitting calmly in the middle
of the market when she was a tiny kitten. She was grown now, but still
behaved very much like a kitten. The Celt appeared to be telling the
little cat a story, and while Quiaius couldn't understand a word the
boy was saying, he was mesmerized by his voice, soft and lilting, and
by his dramatic gestures, which the cat was watching, spellbound.
Quiaius sat down quietly in the doorway and listened as the story
reached its apparent climax; the boy showed no sign that he noticed
him, until at the end of his tale he nodded in his direction and
pointed him out to the cat who, of course, looked not at Quiaius but
at the pointing finger. Wonder what he's telling her about me? Quiaius
mused; then he smiled, suddenly struck by an idea.
He reached back and awkwardly, with his uninjured left hand, untied
the
leather cord that held his hair. As his hair fell around his
shoulders,
Quiaius tied the cord into a floppy bow, then tapped his fingers on
the
floor to get the cat's (and the boy's) attention. He gave the Celt a
sidelong look and smiled, then tossed the cord across the room; Rosa
bounded over to it, scooped it up with one white-socked paw, and
picked it up in her mouth. She then trotted over to Quiaius and
dropped it in his lap. "Very good!" He tossed the cord again, and she
repeated her performance. The Celt watched, and for the first time
since Quiaius had seen him, smiled, and although the smile was
slightly tentative, he suddenly looked less battered than radiant.
"Now you try it," and Quiaius tossed the cord to him as the cat
watched intently.
The boy caught the knotted cord -- Quiaius was pleased to see how
quick his reflexes were -- and threw it a few feet across the room.
Rosa ran over and picked it up, then returned to drop it in the
delighted boy's lap. He laughed -- a lovely, musical sound -- and
tossed it again; the cat returned it again. With a slightly
mischievous look -- and Quiaius wondered how long it had been since
the boy had played -- he tossed the cord over near Quiaius. When the
cat ran over to retrieve it, Quiaius scooped her up and she wriggled
and purred in his arms.
"Cattus. See? Cattus," Quiaius said, holding Rosa up as an
illustration.
"Cat-tis?" The Celt pointed to the cat.
Quiaius would later recall that he had never before been so pleased by
someone saying "cat."
The impromptu lesson quickly advanced, with much laughter, to such
subjects as manus (which reminded Quiaius to put the medicine Yolada
had given him on his injured hand), pedis (for which the Celt
stretched out a disconcertingly pretty foot, with attached chain), and
nasus (it seemed to amuse the boy that the same word applied to his
own small nose and Quiaius' somewhat crooked one), as well as cauda,
illustrated by the waving tail of Rosa as she attempted to initiate
another game of fetch. When Macius' cook Sima stopped by with more
food, Quiaius was able to show the Celt panis and the obsonium that
went with it (bread and fruit preserve, in this case), as well as
crustulum, the little sweet cakes that the boy liked. Quiaius was
attempting to demonstrate ius by pouring some of the hot, fragrant
soup into mugs when Rosa began poking her head into one of the mugs,
trying to get a share. "No, no."
The Celt, who had up to this point been more relaxed and happy than
Quiaius had ever expected to see him, suddenly became quiet and
thoughtful. "No?"
Quiaius nodded, and suddenly realized that to the boy, this was
probably the most important word in the language.
They sat quietly for a few minutes, sharing food. The boy seemed less
afraid, Quiaius thought; perhaps just being able to communicate, even
about simple objects, made him feel more secure. The Celt was
half-reclining on his low bed; Quiaius caught him looking at him a few
times, curious. His eyes change. They were blue a moment ago, weren't
they? Now green. Like the ocean. The more he looked at the boy, the
less he saw the cruel bruises that marked his slender limbs; the more
he saw... what? The sharp angle of a shoulder, the almost
imperceptible curve of a hip, the unstudied grace of a hand not much
more than half the size of his own. The boy looked up at him again,
questioningly.
Of course. "Quiaius," he said, gesturing towards himself. "I'm
Quiaius."
The Celt smiled shyly, trying the name. "Kais." Close enough. He sat
up and pointed to his head, his heart. "Eab."
Before the boy learned some Latin, Quiaius reflected, it had been easy
enough to treat him as a kind of pet. Now, that was impossible; he was
Eab, a boy, a strange one in some respects but still a boy, and
Quiaius hardly knew how to treat him at all.
Eab was clearly somewhat afraid -- less of him, as time went on, than
of everything. Quiaius had tried to tell him that he was in no danger
of being mistreated in his home, but even after three weeks of doing
his best to teach the boy Latin, he couldn't be sure how much he
understood. There were words Quiaius genuinely didn't know how to
teach him, concepts that couldn't easily be pointed out in pictures or
in life. Quiaius could only hope that Eab would eventually accept that
he wasn't going to hurt him. Eab spoke little; Quiaius wondered if he
had always been shy, or if his experiences in the past few months had
driven him inward. While there were times when the boy seemed to allow
himself to relax, they were brief, and most of the time he appeared to
be very much on guard. When Macius visited, Eab had reacted with
terror, backing into a corner and shuddering despite all Quiaius'
reassurances, and the friends had agreed that perhaps it was best that
they meet at Macius' home for the time being. Nearly any unexpected
noise was enough to make the boy jump, and several times the sound of
a group of men on horses in the street outside clearly inspired panic.
Physically, Eab had made a great deal of progress. The bruises that
had
covered him when he first came to Quiaius' home had faded, and all but
the worst of the cuts and scrapes had healed. There were some scars --
mostly on his wrists and ankles, from the shackles, and on his back,
from the whippings -- but Quiaius guessed that even these would
eventually become less visible. While Eab was still thinner than
Quiaius thought was healthy, he had filled out somewhat, and no longer
looked gaunt. Twice Quiaius had watched silently from the hall while
the boy performed a series of stretches; each time, he had felt
faintly embarrassed at having done so, as if he were spying on a
religious ritual or an act of love. The second time, Eab had turned
and caught him looking; the boy simply stood and stared at him, his
expression unreadable, until Quiaius felt so uncomfortable that he had
to leave the house.
Quiaius walked, preoccupied, not particularly conscious of the sights
and sounds of the market. He wondered whether Eab was angry with him
for watching his exercise; then he wondered why he was spending so
much time watching the boy; then he wondered how he'd occupied his
time before Eab had been there to watch. This line of thinking
distracted him so much that he nearly walked into a stand where an old
woman was selling bags of salted nuts. Set much too far into the
street, he thought irritably as she gave him a dirty look. I'm
surprised half Rome hasn't run into it. I'm surprised it's standing...
He looked around and realized he was already at the north end of the
market, with no real idea of where he'd been heading in the first
place. Then it occurred to him that there was something he'd been
meaning to do, and he headed into the tastefully lit and elaborately
decorated shop where Palpatinus the clothier had his business.
"Ah, good afternoon, good Sir," the rather oily proprietor greeted
him. "And what are you looking for today?"
Quiaius looked around; the shop, while full of mirrors and fancy
benches and small pedestals, did not appear to contain any clothing.
"Boys' tunics?"
"Splendid! I have a new line, truly lovely work." He clapped his
hands.
"Maulus! The new tunic, please?" There was a stirring in the back room
of the shop, a sound that might have been discreet grumbling, and then
a few moments later a most unusual creature parted the gilded curtain
and entered the room.
Maulus, the shop's model, was not particularly tall; however, he was
remarkably well-built. His jet-black hair was worn in short, gleaming
curls, and he looked very much like an image on an old Greek vase. He
would have been extremely attractive, Quiaius thought, if his face
hadn't been marred by an arrogant expression. He walked silkily around
the room, pointedly ignoring both Quiaius and his employer, then
arranged himself on one of the benches in such as way as to emphasize
the fact that the rather sheer tunic he wore was slit up the side to
reveal a shapely leg nearly to the hip. He then looked up, fixed
Quiaius with an intense look, and spoke in a sultry voice. "Boys'
tunic in China silk. Seventy denarii."
"I don't think that's quite what I'm looking for. Something more...
plain?"
"We don't do cheap, if that's what you want." Palpatinus gave him a
nasty look. "We do good work here, in cotton, linen and silk. Don't
you think your boy is worth it?"
"No, no, he isn't my boy. He's..." Quiaius searched for an
explanation. "My nephew. A student. Studies languages. Yes, very
scholarly boy."
"Aaaah, your nephew. You should have said so. You want something
more... Maulus, the Egyptian cotton?"
The model rolled his eyes, then got up and slunk to the back room.
There were a few sounds of frantic rummaging around, a moment's
silence, and then he re-emerged in a longer, looser garment in opaque
white cotton. He walked around the room, then leaned languidly on one
of the pedestals. "Boy's tunic. Edging in red, green or black.
Fifty-five denarii."
"Yes, that's the kind of thing... One in green, one in black, I
suppose."
"And what size is your... nephew?"
"Well, he's a little taller than your model here, but thinner..."
"Size small, then. Two. Would you like Maulus here to deliver them?
There's a small charge, then any tip you might work out..."
"Delivery is only a little extra," the model purred, fixing him with a
seductive look. "Delivery is always worth it."
Quiaius wondered exactly what came with the delivery, then decided
he'd be better off not knowing. "No, no. I'll take them with me." He
paid, then waited as a sulky Maulus brought out the tunics and wrapped
them; the model appeared to be working as slowly as he could without
actually being accused of stopping.
By the time Quiaius left the shop, it was nearing time for dinner. He
walked briskly towards home, thinking of Eab's surprise when he saw
the new tunics -- he'd been wearing the same thing for weeks, after
all. He smiled at the idea of Eab wearing something new. The green
trim, he thought, would go well with the boy's eyes.
When he opened the door of his home, something seemed wrong. Things
were too quiet, somehow, and the cats were milling around like leaves
in a windstorm, mewing. The kitchen cupboard was open; Quiaius paused
for a moment, thinking to see if anything was missing, then stopped
and ran to the back bedroom.
Eab was gone.
I don't think he's actually a Roman.
He hasn't touched me since the first night, and the more I think about
it, the less I think he meant me any harm that one time. If he meant
to fuck me, he surely would have done so by now, wouldn't he? He
hasn't even punished me for biting his hand, and it's practically
healed now. A Roman would surely have beaten me for that. He hasn't
hurt me, and he hasn't let anyone else hurt me, not even his friend,
the one almost as tall as he is.
He's taller than any of the Romans I've seen, and quieter, too. I've
never heard him shout yet. He's so quiet, I hardly know he's in the
room sometimes until he offers me something to eat. He gives me the
best food, too -- he takes the burnt cake and gives me the good one,
every time, and it doesn't make any sense to me why he'd do that. He
just looks at me with those kind blue eyes, and smiles, and sometimes
there's nothing I can do but smile back at him. At times like that, I
forget how afraid I am, if only for a moment.
He's teaching me Latin -- none of the other Romans, the soldiers, ever
did that in all the time I was with them. What did I have to say to
them, after all? I could have asked them not to fuck me any more,
please, but they wouldn't have listened. I have trouble believing the
language that sounded so crude and harsh in the mouths of those
soldiers is the same one he speaks. From him, it sounds almost
beautiful. The voices I hear in my nightmares aren't the same thing at
all.
The other Romans had horses, and they did all kinds of work, carrying
soldiers, pulling wagons, that kind of thing. If Kais has a horse, I
haven't seen it -- all he has are these beasts like tiny bears with
long tails. There must be a dozen of them, all colors and sizes, and
they don't do anything at all but walk around and look beautiful and
speak in peculiar voices like birds, and sleep wherever they like.
They don't have any job at all. I wonder sometimes if the house
belongs to them, and he just keeps it for them. It's funny to think of
such a fine tall man being a servant to little beasts, but this is a
strange land I've found myself in. They're lovely beasts, anyway. Kais
strokes them with his big, gentle hands, and they rub their heads
against his ankles, and make the most wonderful sounds. You could do
much worse than to be a beast in this man's house.
The other Romans were a lot more watchful than he is, too. Not that he
doesn't watch me -- he watches me all the time, and it makes me feel
strange inside sometimes. I wonder what he's looking at, or what he's
thinking when he looks at me. But the other Romans would never have
left a hair clip within easy reach of a man in chains, would they?
I don't know where I'm going, but surely there must be some trees
around here someplace.
"Quiaius, I think you may as well accept that he's gone." Macius
sighed and sat down on his brocade-covered couch. "I told you from the
beginning that you'd never be able to keep him."
"I didn't come over here for you to tell me that. I need your help."
"Help with what? We could ride around all night searching the streets
for him. Do you think he'd be out in plain sight? And if we found him,
what would you do? Take him home and chain him up again?"
"I don't know..." Quiaius paced nervously back and forth in the
elegantly appointed room. "What do you do when a slave goes
missing?"
"Depends on the situation. If, say, my cook's son ran off, he's a
child -- I'd let her handle it, maybe ask around in the marketplace;
he'd probably just be off doing boy things, and he'd come on back in a
day or two, no harm done. When that new stablehand took off with my
best horse, I reported it to the city guard and hired slave-catchers
to go after him. Not that I wanted him after that -- I had him whipped
and sold him -- but you know I wanted the horse back!"
"Slave-catchers?"
"You don't want to do that, Quiaius. Trust me. They go after them with
dogs, sometimes. Your boy..."
"I couldn't do that to him, no."
"Let him go, Quiaius. Who knows, maybe he's going back home to the
northern lands. Finding his way back by the stars or whatever."
"Oh, I suppose you could do that, if you were dropped off half the
world away..."
"Of course I couldn't. But maybe he can." Macius got up from his seat,
stopped his friend's pacing. "Look, you should let this go -- you took
care of him, you fed him, you probably showed him the only kindness
he's seen in months. You've done a good deed. Wherever he is, he's
certainly better off than he was when you found him with Wattovius."
"I don't know that. He could be... Someone could have taken him."
"Quiaius, who in his right mind is going to take a half-wild Celt
slave with no skills and a tendency toward violence? Besides you,
anyway. You told me you found your hair clip in one of the locks.
That's pretty obvious, it seems to me. Was anything missing besides
him?"
"Some food -- bread, cheese, that kind of thing. An old canvas bag.
And one of my kitchen knives."
"Oh, so he's armed. Well, I should've known... I hate to ask you this,
but have you... well, have you done anything that might make him want
to kill you?"
"Not unless you count teaching him Latin."
"Then he probably won't come looking for you. And if you're lucky, he
isn't going to go off and kill a few soldiers who look halfway
familiar to him. You know, letting a potentially dangerous slave get
loose could get you into a lot of trouble."
"I didn't let him get loose! I left the house for less than an hour.
He was securely locked up." Quiaius sighed and sat down, his head in
his hands. "I don't know what to do."
Macius sat down beside him. "Don't do anything. Quiaius, I'll ask
around a little, see if anyone's seen him."
"Thank you. I think I'll head home now and -- "
"Go home. Take a bath. Get some sleep. Don't wear yourself out
worrying over a slave. He isn't worth it."
He's worth it to me, Quiaius thought as he walked home through the
night. Why is that? He's just a slave. I only paid a few denarii for
him... He thought of the slaves he'd had before, the housekeepers he'd
kept for a few months and set free for one reason or another. He'd
been fond of all of them, but he'd always been happy for them when
they left, and really a little relieved. However helpful they might
have been, they had tended to buzz around the house with chores and
duties he'd never thought needed to be done, and spoiled the quiet.
Why was this boy so different?
When Quiaius got home, he stood and looked at the empty chains on the
floor in the back room for a long time, wondering.
As it turns out, Rome is a much larger city than I thought. I should
have remembered that I hadn't seen very much of it. The size of it was
a help to me, though; there were so many people bustling around, no
one seemed to notice one boy in the shadows. I just walked, in no
particular direction, and when I came to a big river, I followed that
upstream and out of the city. In a while, the buildings got farther
apart and the people grew fewer; by then it was dark and I could go on
my way unnoticed.
This sounds as if I were very casual about it. In fact, I was scared
to
death: every time someone looked at me, I thought surely he must be a
soldier, ready to capture me again; then he'd look away, because I
wasn't who he thought I was, I suppose. This happened again and again,
and every time my heart beat like a bird in my chest. I did have a
knife to defend myself with, but I've never fought with a knife in my
life, and anyway I doubt it was sharp enough to cut anything but
bread. I had no real idea where I was going, either, so I just
followed what little intuition I had, going in whatever direction
seemed tree-ish.
At the same time, though, I was practically spinning with joy over
being out, walking free under the clear dark sky and the stars and the
moon! It had been so long since I'd seen the sky, after all; those
months with the slavers, and before that with the soldiers, when I'd
been outside but hadn't looked up ever. I stopped twice to eat some of
the food I'd brought with me, but I was too excited to have more than
a few bites, just enough to keep me going.
When, after walking all night, I saw the sun coming up over a stand of
trees, I actually jumped up and down with excitement -- I wasn't
embarrassed, because there was no one to see me but the sky and the
trees, and they knew how I felt. I ran the last half-mile, tired as I
was.
This grove just felt right. It was wonderfully isolated; there was a
small white building, a temple of some kind, but no one was there. A
little stream ran through the grove, and made the beautiful sound of
free water. Not all the trees looked familiar -- I was very far from
the forests at home, after all -- but they were there, and there were
so many of them, and I wanted to touch every one. I walked around for
a long time, breathing the wonderful smell of them and just looking.
When I saw the great oak tree, I knew I'd found exactly what I was
looking for. She was beautiful -- tall and broad, with branches
reaching high in the air and great strong roots gripping the earth,
the Mother of trees, with Her lover the mistletoe twined in Her arms.
I leaned against Her, felt Her rough bark against my hands and face,
and knew that She would care for me.
If I were at home, there were rituals I might have followed, ways of
cleansing myself before approaching Her, but I was a long way from
home, and I knew She would understand I was doing my best. I slipped
off my tunic and walked to the stream; the air felt cool and strange
and very right on my bare skin. The water was cold -- cold enough to
make me gasp -- but I washed myself as thoroughly as I could, taking
my time, scrubbing with a handful of grass, until I felt truly clean,
as clean as I'd been since I was taken. I dried myself with my tunic,
put it and the bag with my food and my knife under a bush to find
later, then simply sat and breathed deeply until I felt completely
calm.
Her trunk went straight up a good fifteen feet before branching out,
but I've been climbing since I was very small. It's just a matter of
finding the places where my toe can wedge in, or my hand can grip, and
She was welcoming and cooperative. When a tree wants you to climb,
it's almost impossible to fall, so I scrambled up in perfect
confidence. About thirty feet up, there was a place, completely hidden
from the ground in Her foliage, where four branches -- all of them
thicker than I am -- came together and made a perfect seat. I settled
there, leaning back on one of the branches, legs hanging down on
either side of another, as comfortable as any baby in his mother's
lap.
It was wonderful, sitting there, with the same gentle breeze that was
rustling the leaves ruffling my hair; the ground was far away, and the
sky was that much closer. I quieted my mind the way I'd been taught by
the Trees back at home, and after a while I could feel Her leaves
stretching up into the clean air, and Her roots burrowing into the
good dark earth. I could feel Her strength as She revealed Herself to
me, and that strength became a part of me as I became a part of Her,
another branch bending gently in the breeze.
The sun rose higher, the breezes grew warmer, and I slept lightly in
my nest there in the center of the great tree. I dreamed then, but
instead of the nightmares of the past few months, I dreamed of the
great Tree, and Her life: the droughts She had endured, the lightning
that had scarred Her, the fire that had scorched Her but yet not
consumed Her. I knew She showed me these things so that I would know
that She, too, had suffered, and yet that She was not destroyed: that
She had survived, and grown stronger than before, and that I would,
too.
The dream changed, then, and I saw Kais in his house, sitting on the
floor in the room where he'd kept me. He was holding my chains in his
hands, and looking as sad as I've ever seen a man look, so that I felt
sorry for him sitting there all alone. His little beasts walked around
him and spoke to him and rubbed their heads against him, but he paid
no attention to them, just looked at the chains. Then he put them on
his own ankles, and lay down on my pallet there on the floor, curled
up like a child, and I think he wept.
The dream changed again, and I was back in that house, wearing fine
clothes and reclining on a great, soft bed. There were no chains on my
wrists or ankles, no part of me hurt, and all my scars were gone, and
I felt wonderfully safe and peaceful. I lay there a while, enjoying
the warmth and softness of the bed and the way I felt, and then Kais
came into the room carrying a little basket. I recognized the basket
right away; it was one I had when I was quite small, that my mother
made for me; some bigger boys took it from me one day and I never got
it back. Well, here was Kais with this basket, and he sat down beside
me on the great soft bed, and I saw that the basket was full of
cherries. I realized just then that I was hungry, and that cherries
were just what I wanted, and at that moment he picked one up and fed
it to me with his own hand, as if I were a baby. After I ate that one,
he gave me another, and another after that. Now, these were the kind
of cherries that you only see in dreams, big and red and impossibly
sweet, and they had no stones at all, so that I could just eat them
without thinking, and that's what I did. Kais seemed very happy to lie
with me and feed me cherries, and I was very happy to eat them.
However many he fed me, the basket was never empty, and however many I
ate, I wasn't full, but I did start feeling very warm.
I heard rain in my dream then, and wondered why it was raining in
Kais'
bedroom, and that was the end of it: I woke up in a downpour, soaked
and, to my amazement, quite hard. Without thinking of anything at all,
still half-dreaming, I touched myself for pleasure for the first time
in months. The rain poured down on me, and slicked my hand and my
cock, and when I came with a shout in a rush of heat and joy, the rain
washed my seed from me and down into the ground, an offering to the
tree who had given me Her gifts.
It took a little while for me to come completely to my senses, as I
sat
there thirty feet above the ground, leaning back on that broad branch.
Tiny shocks ran through me as my body reminded me of the proof that it
could still feel pleasure. The rain ran through my hair and down over
my face, and I opened my mouth and tasted it, sweet, on my tongue; I
raised my hands and let it run down my arms, extended my feet and let
it wash them, too. Then I turned and stood and wrapped my arms around
a thick branch, so that the rain came down on my back and washed it
too; I looked up and let it pour straight into my face. The rain was
Her blessing, given to clean me and prepare me for the rest of my
journey.
When the rain slowed, I was ready to leave Her. The sun's light told
me that it was morning again -- I was a little surprised, but then
dreaming in Her arms might take any amount of time, and my mother had
told me stories about Trees of ancient times who climbed Her and were
not seen again for years. I climbed down much more slowly than I had
gone up, thanking Her as I went for what She'd given me, and promising
to consider Her dreams carefully. I stepped carefully onto the ground;
it seemed to sway gently under me as I found my things, dressed, and
bid Her farewell.
I had a long walk ahead of me, and quite a lot to think about on the
journey.
Quiaius sat on his bed, picked up a book, tried to read; he found
himself going over the same line again and again, unable to
concentrate. He got up, walked to the kitchen, looked in the cupboard;
nothing there appealed to him, and he couldn't decide whether he was
hungry or not. He briefly considered going to visit Macius for a game
of dice, then decided it was too late -- indeed, it was after
midnight. A bath might have been a good idea, considering how keyed-up
he felt, but he'd already had one an hour or so ago; instead of
relaxing him, it had left him as tense as he'd been before he climbed
into the hot water.
The bathtub reminded him of the day Eab had arrived, all bruises and
bones and dirt, and how he'd bathed him and settled him in the bed in
the back room. The kitchen reminded him of how Eab had seemed to love
food, pretty much anything Quiaius had offered him, but particularly
sweet things, fruit and cakes and honey. Reading reminded him of the
times they had spent quietly together, Quiaius reading, Eab playing
with the cats. As for Macius -- Macius had told him he wouldn't be
able to keep the boy, and he'd been right. Macius had told him Eab was
gone for good, and he was undoubtedly right again.
He walked into the back room and looked at the chains on the floor,
still locked to the heavy wooden chest. He wondered whether, if he had
released Eab from the chains, he would have stayed, or run off into
the night as soon as he was freed. He'd never know now, would he? He'd
kept the boy chained all along. What kind of man was he, to keep him
that way... He sat heavily on the low bed, his head in his hands; he
couldn't really tell, but he imagined the folds of the bedsheets still
bore the impression of the boy's body. He lay down, and noticed a
single short, golden hair on the pillow, and somehow that was too
much. He felt hot tears sting his eyes for the first time in years.
Why hadn't he realized how alone he was until Eab had come and gone?
I'm not sure why it took so much longer to get back to Rome than it
took to find the Tree. I was wonderfully rested from the time I'd
spent dreaming, and after the rain stopped the day was clear and warm
enough that I regretted having to put my tunic back on. What little
food was left in my bag had been spoiled by the rain, but I found some
grapes growing wild, and they were sweet and tart and perfect. Along
with some sweet, cold water from the stream, they were enough to start
me on my way.
Walking back through the countryside along the river, I could see what
I had missed in the dark on the way: gentle hills, deep green grass
dotted with flowers, and occasionally small houses in the middle of
lush fields. The grass felt good under my bare feet, and the sun
warmed my shoulders as I walked.
It was quite dark by the time I got into the city, and I think that if
I had known when I left that I was going back, I would have paid more
attention to the way I had come. There are a thousand little streets
in Rome, and as far as I could tell they all looked alike, so I
wandered around, hoping a direction would strike me as the right one.
There were so many houses, and while lamps and candles shone through a
few windows, none of them was the house I was looking for.
At some point I realized two men were walking behind me. From the way
they were talking to each other so loudly that they might have been a
mile apart rather than a foot or two, I suppose they were drunk. I
don't think they were much older than I am, but I could feel the hairs
on the back of my neck standing up and my heart beating in my throat.
I hurried on, hoping to go around a corner or two and leave them
behind -- maybe they only happened to be going the same way as I
was -- but they followed, and started laughing and calling to me -- I
couldn't tell what they were saying. I started running then, scared as
I was, and I'm not sure if what I heard then was them chasing me, or
just my own footsteps echoing from the houses on all sides. I ran
until I couldn't anymore, and hid shivering in a doorway to catch my
breath. After a while, I looked over to a window in the same house
that was lit up by a candle, and sitting on the windowsill very calmly
watching me was Argentum, Kais' great gray cat.
Quiaius came slowly awake, slightly confused to find himself in the
slave's empty bed where he had dozed off. He wasn't sure what had
pulled him up out of sleep -- a sound? He heard it again, a frantic
rapping at his front door, and realized it had been going on for some
time. He got up out of the bed awkwardly, pulling his toga into some
semblance of order and pushing his hair back out of his eyes; he
tripped over at least two cats in the dark as he made his way to the
door. The knocking continued, and he opened the door.
There, flushed, breathing hard, and slightly trembling, was Eab. The
boy walked into the house, closed the door behind him, leaned back
against it, and gazed up at Quiaius with a look of immense relief.
"Home."
Quiaius fought an almost overwhelming urge to take the boy in his
arms. He took a deep breath, smiled, and stepped back a little.
"Yes. Home, Eab."
The boy smiled a little shyly, looked up through long blond lashes. "I
went to the Tree. She showed me."
Quiaius wondered what he could mean by that, and decided he didn't
need to know. "I'm glad. I missed you."
"Good." More of a smile. "Hungry?"
Quiaius laughed, and they went to the kitchen together.
It was a great thing to see the boy sitting at the kitchen table,
neatly eating an apple as Quiaius heated a pan to make hotcakes.
Quiaius wondered where the boy had been, and what had happened while
he was there -- he seemed happier, somehow easier within himself. Of
course, that might have been because he was no longer in chains,
Quiaius thought, and felt a stab of guilt.
While Quiaius cooked, a few of the cats drifted into the room and
sniffed curiously at Eab, who, finished with his apple, leaned down
and petted them and talked to them, both in Latin and his own odd,
somewhat musical tongue. Rosa leapt up and claimed a place in his lap,
purring noisily as he stroked her. Such beautiful hands, Quiaius
thought absently. Eab kissed the cat on the top of her head, and she
hopped down, mildly affronted, to wash herself in the corner.
"Smells good."
"Every civilized nation has some form of hotcakes," Quiaius informed
him, as he brought a plate of them to the table. "Try them with a
little honey." Not that he needed to tell Eab that; he had already
picked one up and drizzled some honey on it from the small jar on the
table, and was eating it hungrily.
"Very good," he pronounced between bites, smiling.
Quiaius took one himself, and they sat together at the table, sharing
the plate. Quiaius thought of similar late-night feasts with Claudia,
so long ago, when they had laughed and talked and held hands under the
table, and chased each other to bed with sticky hands. He found
himself trying not to stare as Eab quite unselfconsciously licked the
last of the honey from his fingers, then glanced at him.
"Beautiful cakes. Thank you Kais. Now I have to sleep."
He walked ahead of the boy to the back room where his bed waited for
him. Quiaius took the key from the bag at his belt and, while Eab
watched intently, unlocked the chains from the chest and put them away
inside it.
"No more chains for you. This is your home if you like, but I won't
force you to stay."
"My home, and my bed," Eab said sleepily as he lay down, joined
immediately by a few cats. "Thank you, Kais."
Quiaius turned out the lamp and walked to his own bed, and for the
first time in several days, he fell immediately asleep.
If anything feels better than lying in a soft bed after a long day's
walk, it is lying in that bed without chains, full of good cakes and
honey. I think I was asleep before my head was on the pillow.
Maybe it was the men in the street who made me dream the way I did; or
maybe it was just time for me to dream. I hadn't had many dreams in
the last months, or not that I remembered -- not until my time with
the great Tree. Maybe I was too afraid for dreams, and now I was ready
for them, I don't know.
I was back in the soldiers' camp, chained in the tent, and it seemed
to me then that my time with Kais had been all a dream itself. I was
filthy again, and hungry, and the raw pain between my legs was back,
and I could hear them laughing, and I understood what they said now.
"Such a pretty boy."
"Pretty when you caught him, you mean. Not so good to look at now, is
he?"
"Still feels good, though." Rough hands touched me, spread my legs
again, and a thick callused finger thrust up inside me as I screamed,
it hurt, it hurt... "Not as tight as you used to be, are you, little
whore," and he laughed when I tried to get away, the chains holding me
down there in the dirt, and he pulled his cock out of his pants.
"Give it to him, he's begging you for it," and I was screaming again
as he pushed up inside me, ramming up into my torn flesh, screaming
and
screaming...
And I was screaming still as I sat up in the morning light, in the
little bed in Kais' house where I'd gone to sleep, and Kais was there
with me, standing beside the bed, looking at me as if he didn't know
what to do.
Quiaius woke up from vague dreams of warmth to the sound of screaming
from the boy's room, and was there in the room before he was fully
awake.
"Eab, Eab, you're dreaming, you're safe, I'm here..."
The boy was sitting up, still halfway caught in what Quiaius knew had
to be a horrible dream; he had stopped screaming, but trembled
violently, a look of terror on his face. "The soldiers..." he
murmured.
"They aren't here. No one is here but me, and I won't let anyone hurt
you."
Eab seemed to come awake then, blinking, still shivering, but no
longer in the dream. "I need... Please," and the boy reached out a
shaking hand to him.
Quiaius sat down on the bed and took both the boy's hands, held them
between his. "Shhh. You're safe here. That's all over now, and you're
safe at home."
Eab looked up at him, his eyes gray-green and full of tears, then
crawled up and laid his head against Quiaius' chest. Quiaius held him
there, felt him shiver against him, and stroked his hair as gently as
he knew how. "You're safe. No one can hurt you here."
I think something broke inside me when Kais held me then. Strange, but
in all the time the soldiers had me, I never cried -- I screamed, and
I cursed them, and I fought them, and I tried to hurt them somehow; I
was angry, but I never cried at all in the camp or on the road or in
the slavers' places. I never let them see that. I never cried at all
until that morning, when Kais held me, and then I couldn't stop,
couldn't speak, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but sob against
him while he held me and said comforting things I only half
understood. Part of me felt ashamed, to cry that way like a child,
soaking his tunic with rivers of tears, but the rest of me just cried
until the tears subsided, while he held me to him and spoke softly and
petted my hair the way my mother did when I was small. I did feel safe
then, finally, and I relaxed against him and slept again, this time
with no dreams at all, only the feeling of his hands stroking me
gently.
Quiaius wasn't sure whether it was because Eab was no longer chained,
or because of something the boy had experienced in the days he had
been gone, but something in him seemed to have lightened somehow. A
natural curiosity began to show itself as Eab explored the house,
requested names for various objects he found, and followed Quiaius
around watchfully. Quiaius showed Eab how the bath worked, and the boy
seemed to enjoy the novelty of bathing indoors, although he appeared
surprised that the cats couldn't be convinced to join him. When Eab
emerged from the bathroom, slightly pink and smiling shyly, he was
dressed in the new green-trimmed tunic Quiaius had bought him the day
he had left.
"Thank you, very beautiful."
"Much better! I believe it actually fits you." He smiled back at the
boy, and wondered why he'd waited so long to get him new clothes; he
looked charming in the soft white cotton, and the green trim did show
up the green in his eyes.
Eab grew more serious. "Kais, I found some other things, in the
cupboard near the bath." He held up a long, pale blue tunic, creased
from having been folded for a long time. "Who wears this?"
Quiaius sighed. "No one, now. But it was Claudia's."
"Where is she?"
"She died a few years ago. She was my wife. The love of my life, I
suppose." Quiaius sat down; Eab sat beside him, looking sympathetic.
"Poor Kais. How did you meet her?"
Quiaius smiled wistfully. "Well, I grew up hearing stories about true
love, wars fought over a woman's beauty, great passions... I had
romantic ideas, you know. I didn't actually know any women, mind
you -- women in good families here usually stay at home until they
marry -- but I was sure someone would come along... And then when I
was thirty, my father told me he was arranging a marriage for me, to
my second cousin."
"Arranging?"
"Parents set up a marriage, match their children to who they think is
best. My cousin was years younger than I, and I remembered her as a
skinny little girl, always hiding behind her mother. I hadn't seen her
in years. I was horrified, of course. I was still expecting to meet my
true love, after all."
"What did you do?"
"I objected, of course. I argued, I pleaded, I raged, but there was
little I could do, short of leaving the family. My father stood firm,
and told me I had no choice; I would marry my cousin, like it or not."
"Did you run away, and meet Claudia in another land?"
"No. I wasn't brave enough for that. I did as my father said, and
married my cousin. She wasn't very much taller than when I remembered
her, to be honest, and she was rather plain, and she was still very
shy. She cried all the way through our wedding, because she wasn't any
happier about the arrangement than I was."
"And she left you, and you met Claudia?"
Quiaius grinned. "No. I got to know her. As it turned out, my little
cousin had a marvelous sense of humor, and she was very pretty when
she smiled. She glowed from inside. She even loved the cats. It didn't
happen right away, but we fell in love. And that was Claudia."
"You loved her."
"I loved her more than I can say; she made me happy in a way I never
thought was possible. We shared everything; for the first time, I felt
I had someone who truly understood me."
"What happened to her?"
"She was expecting our first child. We hadn't thought we'd ever have a
child, since we'd been married ten years and there hadn't been any so
far; and then this happened, and we were overjoyed. Everything seemed
to be going so well; she was happy, and healthy, and... She fell down
in the kitchen one day. I ran for the midwife, but there was nothing
she could do but give her herbs to ease the pain. Claudia died the
next day. The midwife told me the child had grown in the wrong place
somehow, and it killed her."
"Poor Kais. You miss her."
"Very badly, I'm afraid. Every day. I always thought we'd grow old
together, and now I suppose I'm growing old alone."
Eab looked at him with eyes green as shallow water.
"Not alone, Kais. Not now."
Life is good here, with Kais. He teaches me more and more of his
language, so that I feel I understand him better -- although there are
some things I'm coming to know about him that I don't need words to
understand.
He has been so lonely here; I didn't know it until the Tree showed me,
but now I wonder how I missed it. He holds his solitary ways around
him like a cloak, hiding behind them and imagining that he wants to be
alone. One day I told him he wasn't alone, and he looked at me as if
he weren't sure what I meant, and went off to the market. I don't know
if he is afraid of what I might mean, or what I might not mean.
He tells me stories from his books, fantastic stories, and I can't
tell if he believes them or not. At first I thought he was telling
about some branch of his family, living up on a mountain somewhere out
of town. Eventually I understood that they were gods and goddesses,
but the way he described them, with their jealousies and rivalries and
arguments, they sounded like anyone's relatives. Kais tells stories
well, and I laughed at the way he spoke with different voices and
gestured dramatically to show what was happening.
He was surprised to see that I can write. The Trees taught me when I
was small, and I've always used it to remember things. I was in the
kitchen, trying to remember how to make apple tarts, tracing letters
with my finger in flour on the table. Kais came in and saw the letters
and got very excited. He gave me a wax tablet and a stylus, and I
showed him how to write my name and his; then he showed me the Latin
writing for both. We sat at the table together and taught each other
different things, and I forgot all about the apple tarts.
I still have the dreams at night, when I'm back in the camp with the
soldiers, or at the slaver's, being whipped. The days are better -- I
can forget about those things for hours at a time -- but almost every
night they come into my dreams and take me again. Sometimes I scream
out loud, and Kais comes to me and holds me, and I feel safe.
Sometimes I wake up afraid, and I go to his bed. If Kais is awake when
I get there, we talk for a little while, until I can rest and go back
to my own bed; if he is asleep, I lie beside him until I can be alone
again. A few times, I've fallen asleep there, and waking up beside him
in the morning feels very good.
Quiaius woke up slowly, vaguely aware of a warm body nestled against
him. Felt good; he threw an arm over and pulled himself closer. A soft
sigh; the warmth snuggled closer against him, and he felt a head
against his chest, one foot tangled between his, hot slow breath
against his skin. He felt his body respond, harden as he rocked
against the soft form pressed to him; a feeling long forgotten, a
slowly unfolding throbbing heat.
He came fully awake, and realized with a sudden lurch of horror that
the warm body beside him was Eab. He scrambled away from the boy
entangled in his arms, who looked at him in sleepy confusion,
struggling toward wakefulness.
"Kais?" Eab blinked in the morning sun and looked at him curiously as
the older man backed frantically off the bed. Quiaius felt a moment's
relief; the boy wasn't alarmed. Obviously Eab had been asleep when
he... reacted. Quiaius hurried to the bathroom as cats scattered
before him.
What kind of man am I? Quiaius brooded as he splashed his face and
body with cold water. How could I possibly respond that way to the
poor boy, after all he's been through? He comes to me for a little
comfort, probably had another nightmare, and I react to him like some
kind of animal in heat. What is wrong with me?
Quiaius threw his clothes on hurriedly and ran a comb through his damp
hair, yanking at a tangle. He put on his sandals, stubbing a toe in
the process, and headed out towards the front door. Eab stood in the
hall looking puzzled.
"Kais, why..."
"Go back to sleep, Eab," Quiaius called over his shoulder as he
hurried out the door, struggling to keep his voice calm. He closed the
door in the boy's baffled face and rushed out into the street.
Walking briskly cooled him off a little, not much. He could only
imagine how Eab would react if he knew... He felt sick. Eab had told
him very little about his experiences with the soldiers; he hadn't had
to. The fear and anger in the boy's eyes when he awakened from his
nightmares told Quiaius more than he wanted to know.
A few more blocks and he reached Macius' house, where he was greeted
by a sight that made him smile despite the morning's turmoil: Macius
was in the front garden, with his little daughter Amidala. The plump
toddler was accompanied by two servants, one of whom held a sunshade
to protect her from the morning sun; she was dressed in bright silk
frills, and wore several rather fussy bracelets which Quiaius knew
better than to doubt were real gold. She ambled around the manicured
garden sniffing (and occasionally kissing) the roses, under her
father's beaming gaze.
"Ah, the lovely baby, I see."
Amidala drew herself up to her full almost three feet, and fixed
Quiaius with an imperious glare. "NOT a baby. I am a PRINCESS."
Laughing would obviously not do; she'd probably order my execution,
Quiaius mused.
"My mistake..."
"Quiaius! I haven't seen you in, what, weeks, isn't it? I hope you're
not still brooding over that slave of yours..."
"I need to talk to you about that. Can we go inside, if... Her
Majesty... will permit?"
Macius grinned. "Came up with that all by herself, isn't she precious?
Ami, honey, daddy's going inside, you take care of your kingdom out
here, OK?" The tiny girl nodded as if to dismiss them, then returned
to reviewing her troops as the two men retreated to the house.
"What is it, Quiaius? Sit down. You're upset about something... Did
someone find the boy?"
"Eab, his name is Eab. No, actually, he came back on his own after a
couple of days."
"He came BACK?"
"Apparently he had some kind of a dream or a vision while he was out
in the country -- something about trees -- I don't really understand
what that was about, but he's back, he's living in my house."
"Not chained?"
"No, gods no. He seems... as far as I can tell, he's content to stay
with me."
"Content." Macius laughed, clearly amazed. "You started out with a
wild
Celt, beaten half to death, basically ready to kill anyone who got
within reach, had to be kept chained, and now... he's content to live
in your house with you. What are you doing?"
"I have no idea. We talk -- he's learned quite a bit of Latin, he's
very bright. We cook sometimes. We're... just quiet together, a lot. I
suppose I've made him feel safe." He sighed. "And the problem is that
now I'm not sure he is safe with me."
"You're going to have to explain this."
"He's recovered quite a bit since he's been back. He's calmer, he's
happier, he even laughs. But at night... he's been having nightmares.
You can imagine, the things he went through with the soldiers..."
Macius nodded. "Poor kid. I'd be surprised if he didn't."
"He wakes up sometimes, screaming. He thinks he's back with them. I...
go to him and hold him until he goes back to sleep; it seems to help."
"He feels safe."
"He's... well, he's come to my bed a few times, I suppose for
comfort."
"He comes to your bed? As in...?"
"To SLEEP. Gods, Macius... He's hardly going to be interested in sex,
considering his history. Last night, when I was asleep, he came in
and... well, went to sleep. It's been cool these last nights, so he
was sleeping... very close to me."
"Mmm."
"This morning I woke up, ah, pressed against him." Quiaius stared at
the floor, took a deep breath. "Actively."
"Oh. OH. You didn't..."
"Macius! Certainly I didn't DO anything. Gods, it's bad enough that I
had a..."
"A normal physical reaction. What did the boy do?"
"Nothing. He was asleep, as far as I can tell. I don't think he was
even aware of it."
"So there isn't any harm done."
"That isn't the point. After the things that were done to him... I can
hardly bring myself to think about it. It literally makes me sick to
think of their hands on him, let alone... What kind of man am I?"
"Quiaius, you need to calm down. You're a good man, we both know that.
What the soldiers did to your boy was horrible. That he's recovering
so well, that he wants to stay with you, that he actually feels safer
at night when he's lying in bed with you -- this tells me you've been
treating him very well. It's your nature, to be kind to a stray.
You're certainly not going to attack him."
"But I was aroused."
"Of course you were. You woke up with an extremely beautiful boy
snuggled up against you in bed. You'd have had to have been dead not
to have a reaction. He isn't just another stray, Quiaius. The look on
your face when you talk about him... He isn't a pet to you."
"Certainly I'm fond of him."
Macius grinned. "Something like that. Forgive your body, Quiaius. You
should be glad you're healthy, at your age --"
"My age! You know very well I'm no older than you are!"
"Misplaced guilt is going to age you before your time. Quiaius, if the
boy's crawling into your bed... You know, he isn't dead, either. He
was damaged, but he wasn't destroyed."
"You're not trying to tell me..."
"I'm not trying to tell you anything. But eventually... he could be
trying to tell you something. And in the meantime, you should probably
go home and make sure he doesn't think he's done something wrong,
considering you probably ran out of the house like a bat out of hell."
And so Quiaius was back out in the sun, walking home and thinking.
Kais is disturbed, and I don't know why. One moment I was sleeping,
dreaming, only very gradually waking with him warm against me; the
next, he was tearing away as if I burned him.
I'm looking for reasons for him to have acted that way. He got up so
suddenly, and left in such a hurry, that I couldn't ask him. Was he
shocked to wake up and find me in his bed? Did he somehow know what I
was dreaming?
It was no mystic dreaming from the Trees this time, and no nightmare
either. It was only a dream of a kiss and really very little more than
that, but it was Kais I was kissing, Kais whose strong arms held me so
securely. And it was Kais who was running from me when I woke up, and
I only wonder if he saw my face before he was away.
I wonder if he knows, and I wonder if he thinks his Claudia would want
him to live solitary forever. It could be that is the custom, here in
Rome.
I wonder if he thinks it would dishonor him, to kiss me.
I don't like thinking of that, but I have to accept that it could be.
I'm healing now, almost every mark they was put on me is gone or
faded, but he saw me when I was still torn and filthy. He knows how I
was used. I wonder if he thinks of what use my mouth was put to, and
the idea of kissing me sickens him.
All the knowledge of the Trees, all the things I've been taught, and
none of it gives me any idea. I grew up hearing about those who died
fighting and saved their virtue. In stories, you either escape or die
bravely. I never heard anything at all about anyone who lived, and
what they did then with all of life ahead.
I wish I could ask him, but I don't have the words, and even if I did,
I'm afraid of the answer.
I think I'll wait.
Quiaius walked back home, more slowly, more calmly then he had left.
Perhaps Eab did feel safe with him. Perhaps he could keep him safe.
He walked into the house; it seemed dark, compared to the bright
morning sun outside. He looked around; no sign of Eab, and he had a
moment's sinking sensation, imagining that the boy might have left
again, thinking he was angry. The feeling passed when he heard a
rhythmic thumping sound from the kitchen.
Eab stood at the table, working a large lump of dough, kneading it,
squeezing it, and dropping it on the heavy dark wood. Several cats sat
at the edges of the room, watching intently. The boy's hands and arms
were covered with flour; there were splashes of white on his tunic. He
looked up as Quiaius came in, and the older man noticed a smear of
flour across his nose; this, combined with the very determined look on
his face, made Quiaius smile. He reached out and brushed the flour off
Eab's face, then sat on the bench by the table to watch.
"Kais." A shy smile. "Making bread."
"I'm sorry I left so... abruptly this morning."
"You were angry?"
"No. I... woke up badly. I was surprised..."
"Surprised that I was in bed." The boy looked down at his work. "You
don't want me there."
"No, no, that's fine... I was just afraid that you'd wake up and be...
frightened by me."
"Not you, Kais." An unreadable look in the sea-green eyes as they
looked back up at him.
"I don't want you to be afraid of me. You know I would never harm
you."
The boy nodded as he appeared to become absorbed in his work again. He
shaped a pair of loaves on a baking stone, lifted it off the table and
slid it into the oven, wiped his hands clean on a cloth set aside on
the table. He looked up again. "Kais?"
"Yes?"
"Your hair." Shyly, looking down. "Messy."
"I did leave in a hurry this morning." Quiaius reached back
self-consciously and felt that, yes, there were tangles, and wild
strands escaping the loose ponytail he'd tied back on his way out.
"Could I..." The boy reached for a comb on the kitchen counter, an
old,
deeply polished rosewood one Quiaius remembered having put away ages
ago. What an odd request... he nodded.
Eab sat astride the bench; Quiaius turned and swung one leg over the
bench to sit straight ahead of him. As he settled himself comfortably,
he felt the boy's hands releasing the hair he had tied back and
running lightly through it.
"Beautiful hair."
Quiaius chuckled. "Gray hair. I ought to cut it."
"Silver and brown. Mist in a forest." The boy gently but firmly pulled
his head back; he relaxed and leaned back.
"That's a very pretty way to put it." He felt little need to say
anything more as Eab pulled his fingers slowly down through his hair,
gently working the tangles out of it. It felt very good indeed. He
closed his eyes.
"Soft." He felt the small, strong hands pushing up from the back of
his neck up through the thickness of hair; then Eab reached over and
Quiaius felt the comb pulling gently through again and again, while
one hand rested on his shoulder. "And it shines."
Quiaius felt as if he were shining himself, as the boy combed his hair
thoroughly. The tension he had felt earlier was melting away, as the
smell of baking bread filled the air. Eab gathered a thick handful of
hair from the right front side, divided it into three, and braided it
neatly, then repeated it on the left; he pulled the two braids back
and tied them together in the center with the tie he'd removed
earlier. The boy again rested one hand on his shoulder.
"Much better. Now it's out of your way. I can see your face." He could
hear a smile in Eab's voice.
Quiaius reached back and felt the smooth braids. "Thank you." He
turned and saw that Eab was blushing faintly. Before he had time to
register what was happening, the boy took a deep breath, leaned
forward the few inches left between them, closed his eyes and very
lightly kissed him.
Something my mother taught me when I was small was that if you can't
decide what to do, make bread. It gives you time to think, it keeps
you in one place and out of trouble for a while, and even if you still
don't know what to do when you're finished, you have some bread.
I probably should have made bread instead of sitting under the cherry
tree, those months ago.
I know that if what happened to me then was part of a proper story,
the kind I always heard at home, I would have either escaped or died.
I didn't escape, and clearly I'm not dead, so this isn't that kind of
story. The rest of the story, the part that comes after I'm not dead,
must be my own story, and if it's mine, I might as well do whatever I
like. It can't be any worse than what's already happened to me.
That's the way I was thinking when Kais came back and sat down at the
table to watch me make bread. Thinking that way made me reckless.
All I really planned to do was braid his hair back. He has all this
long, beautiful hair, and he pulls it back with a piece of old string
as if it were nothing. I had been thinking for a while that it would
look good braided, and once I put the bread in the oven to bake I
thought that since I was doing whatever I liked, I might as well see
if he'd let me do that.
He looked at me oddly, and I thought I might have made a mistake in
asking, and was ready to run out of the room when he nodded. I sat
down behind him and closed my eyes for a moment, mostly because
sitting so close to him made it nearly impossible for me to be calm
enough to do anything, and then I took down his hair.
It's beautiful, Kais' hair, but what I didn't know from looking at it
is that it's soft, and wonderfully heavy. When I took it down it fell
straight like water halfway to his waist, and it was all I could do
not to bury my face in it and breathe the smell of it. It wasn't
really very tangled, but I used the excuse of unsnarling it just so
that I could play with it a while. There's something wonderful about
the way that hair that looks simply brown has so many colors in it
close up, colors of wood and night and bronze, and moonlight winding
through it everywhere. Gray he said, and I have no idea what I said to
him, because I was lost in it.
The more I combed his hair, the more aware I was of sitting close
behind him, hearing him breathe, feeling the warmth of him, seeing his
broad shoulders and fine column of a neck there before me. Kais is
almost a foot taller than I am, and for all his gentleness there is a
strength in him that takes my breath away sometimes, and I had to work
very slowly on the braiding because my hands were fumbling with my
nervousness over touching him this way, and over the fact that he was
not objecting to it.
When I finished, and he turned and looked at me with his eyes that are
so very blue, I was lost entirely. I was afraid, very much afraid, so
that I am sure he could hear my heart beating its way out of my chest,
and yet at the same time I was so full of joy I felt I might float
away, because I knew exactly what I was going to do, as clearly as if
I had already done it.
I kissed him. My lips brushed his, only the briefest touch, soft as a
bee's wing, and he might put me out to die now, or sell me, or run me
through with a sword for all I care, because I kissed him and my story
is my own.
Quiaius sat frozen for several seconds that felt like hours, looking
with disbelief at Eab, before he was able to speak.
"You... Eab, you realize... you don't have to do that?" He turned to
sit facing the boy.
A shy smile bloomed on the boy's face as his blush deepened. "Yes. Is
it good?"
"Is it... oh gods. It's..." A tiny part of Quiaius' brain registered
that he was almost certainly blushing himself, at his age. "Yes. Yes,
it's good. But why..."
Eab laughed, and it occurred to Quiaius that the boy had a truly
beautiful laugh. "Because I want to."
"You... want to?" This beautiful boy was telling him that he wanted to
kiss him. Quiaius felt stunned, as if he'd walked into a wall -- but
painlessly. It couldn't be happening.
"I want to. I want to again, if you want me to."
"If I... Yes, but Eab, do you know what..."
"Quiet now." And Eab leaned forward again, and his arms were suddenly
around Quiaius' neck, and Quiaius was aware of those lips soft as rose
petals on his again, this time the slightest bit insistent, and this
time he returned that kiss. The boy's lips felt warm against his, and
Quiaius embraced him and felt his slender body deliciously warm
against him and lost all ability to think anything except that this
was what he had been wanting forever.
Eab sat back finally, flushed, lips parted and deeply pink, eyes dark
and wide. He stood up, shaking slightly.
"Bread." He picked up a towel from the table, walked a little
unsteadily to the oven, and pulled out the hot, fragrant loaves; he
set them on the counter, then leaned back against it, looking at the
floor, dazed. Quiaius got up, went to him, and put his hands on the
Celt's shoulders. He could feel, through the thin tunic, that the boy
was definitely trembling, and his heart ached.
"Eab, are you all right?" he asked, and the boy looked up at him,
tears in his eyes.
"I..." A deep breath. "Doing what I want to do is not as easy as I
thought."
"You don't have to do this. Eab, you don't have to do anything."
"I... I don't know the words. I want to -- what is it, what we did?"
Quiaius could see frustration in the boy's eyes. He stroked Eab's
shoulders gently, and felt him calming.
"To kiss?"
"Yes. To kiss. To kiss very much, and hold, and... and to do every
other thing." He looked down again. "I want to, and I cannot. I'm
afraid."
"Eab, I moved too fast for you. It was too much. We can go very
slowly."
The boy nodded, then looked up through wet eyelashes. "Kais, I should
tell you this. I don't know what I am to you, except that you bought
me and that you've taken care of me so much. But you, to me..."
Another deep breath, as the boy visibly gathered courage. "I love
you."
As Eab stood before him, nervously biting his lower lip, Quiaius took
the boy's hands in his and gently kissed them. They felt warm and
strong. He looked down into the Celt's soft green eyes.
"I hadn't dared to imagine it." He put his arms around Eab, and the
boy
relaxed against him, his cheek warm against the older man's
breastbone, for a moment, then looked up.
"So that is all right?"
Quiaius laughed. "Oh yes, that is certainly all right. More than all
right. Wonderful."
Eab smiled shyly then. "That is good."
"Oh, Eab, I do love you." He leaned down to kiss the boy, who turned
his head, abashed, then pulled away and sat down again at the table,
tensely gathered.
"I don't know if I can..."
"I understand. My Eab, if you can only sit beside me, and let me hold
your hand sometimes, and kiss you very softly once in a great while,
that would be more than I ever dreamed of. Tell me what I can do, what
you're comfortable with, and I'll follow that."
"It's very good when you hold me, sometimes, at night." The boy let
out a soft breath. "It helps me very much."
"Your nightmares..."
"I don't have nightmares about you, Kais. You would have protected
me."
"If I had been there..." He sat down a short distance from the boy.
"You know I am no warrior, I haven't fought since I was a little boy,
but Eab, I would have taken up a sword for you. How is it that you
were taken? Did no one stand up for you?"
"I was alone that day." Eab stared down at the surface of the table as
if his story were written in the dark wood, took a deep breath, and as
calmly as he was able to, told that story to Quiaius: the signs of his
being suited to the mystic path as a child, his studying with the
Trees and his joy in that learning, his childish love-play with
friends, his waiting under the cherry tree for a decision to come to
him, and what had come instead.
Quiaius felt overwhelmed by the horror of it. It was one thing to have
had an idea of what had happened to Eab, even to have seen the marks
of it on him, and quite another to hear the slender youth describe the
details of it in his kitchen. Quiaius wanted to stop the boy, tell him
he had heard enough, beg him to bring the story to an end -- there
were things he could hardly bear to know -- but he realized the
telling of it was important to Eab, that it somehow released a
pressure inside the boy and cleansed him, and that if Eab had stood
what had happened, surely Quiaius could stand to know it. Sitting
there beside him, he could not look at the boy's face as he told the
story; instead he looked at Eab's hands, which told nearly as much,
and which in the end reached for his own.
"And then I woke up here, in this house, with you." The boy's eyes,
light gray in the late morning light, met his then. "Safe."
He knows now. I've told him everything, and it can't be taken back. He
knows, and he can still look at me.
If I had planned on telling him that whole long story, I might have
chosen another time and place. It seems it would be more fitting to
tell a story like that in the dark than in a bright sweet-smelling
kitchen the morning I first kissed him. If I had thought about it, I
might not have told him at all. The marks on my body when he first saw
me would have been enough to let him know. What I told him was, from
the look in his eyes, a great deal more than enough for him.
He wanted to know how I was taken. Once I started explaining that, the
story came out of me like poison from an old wound that had to be
drained before it could heal.
I don't even know where the words came from, sometimes, for what I
told him about the things they did to me. I know Kais didn't teach me
those words.
He held my hand, and his strength was a great comfort to me; still I
was sick and shaken when I came to the end of the telling. I wanted
very badly to be held, and yet part of me knew I could not bear it at
that moment. It was only late morning, and I felt as if I had been up
for days; my mouth was dry and tasted of metal, and the air itself
rubbed my skin raw. He looked at me then, his eyes so soft and blue
and full of sadness; he squeezed my hand, then got up and brought me a
mug of cool, sweet water. He watched me intently while I drank it
down, then left the room silently. In a moment I heard water running.
After a little while he came back and took my hand; I stood and he led
me into the bathroom. It was warm, and darker than the kitchen, since
there were no windows; a small brazier heated the water in the great
marble tub, and there was a sweet smell from some sort of oil he'd put
in the water. A small silver lamp glowed in a corner.
"You'll feel better," he said kindly, and turned to leave the room,
and I couldn't let him.
So he turned away -- I think he was more shy than I was -- while I
took my tunic off and climbed into water that was almost too hot, and
then he sat on the floor beside the tub while I settled into it.
Where I come from, bathing is mostly an outdoors thing -- a river, a
pond, a deep crystal lake -- and nearly always cold. This Roman custom
of melting into steaming water like a stewing rabbit is both very
strange and extremely wonderful. Kais has told me about the great
public baths, where men gather and talk and bathe all together, and
while it is interesting to hear about it, I am glad he has this bath
in his house.
The warm water seemed to draw all the tension out of me, and soften my
very bones inside me. Kais sat beside the tub and stroked my hair and
spoke quietly to me of nothing at all, and several of the cats drifted
into the room and watched me with their great, round green and gold
eyes as if I were doing something very strange indeed. Little Rosa
perched on the edge of the tub by my feet and sang her odd music to
me.
After a while I felt whole and well again; and after a while I fell
very gradually into a delicious, dreamless sleep; and after a while
Kais lifted me out of the water and wrapped me in an enormous soft
towel and laid me in his bed. When I woke up, we ate bread and honey
there in the bed, and I kissed him again while he lay very still so as
not to frighten me, and not all the honey in the world could have
tasted as sweet as his mouth did.
Quiaius wondered, as he lay still, whether something necessarily had
to be painful to be considered torture.
As he had hoped, the bath had calmed Eab, and relaxed him. In fact, it
had sent the boy to sleep as the panic in his mind and tension in his
body dissipated, dissolving into the hot scented water.
Unfortunately, supervising the boy's bath had not had the same effect
on Quiaius. He had carefully turned away while Eab undressed, and when
he heard the boy's tunic drop to the tiled floor, he had felt
somewhat... warm, but knowing how distraught the boy was, and having
heard his appalling story only a few minutes before, he was able to
overcome the feeling quickly. As Eab relaxed, however, Quiaius grew
more tense, and more aware that the boy was quite nude and very near
at hand. The older man settled on the floor, alongside the tub, and
while he did his best to keep his eyes averted, it was impossible not
to catch occasional glimpses of pink and pale golden skin, so that he
completely lost the sense of what he was saying to calm the boy. As he
stroked Eab's hair, he noticed that it had finally grown long enough
that it no longer stood in spikes, but lay instead in soft red-gold
waves; it felt like silk under his hand. As the boy fell asleep,
Quiaius found himself imagining joining him in the tub, which was
easily large enough for both; he pushed the mental image away with a
sigh.
Once the boy was wrapped deeply in sleep, Quiaius stood, turned, and
looked down at the languid form splayed in the tub. So much had
changed since the last time he had seen the boy there, lost in a less
natural sleep. Eab was still too thin, he thought, but no longer
frail; strength seemed to be returning to the slender limbs. There was
a subtle curve to the narrow hips, and the ribs were no longer as
prominent as they had been, and the sweet rose-colored nipples...
Quiaius noticed then that the boy was erect, breathtakingly so, and he
felt his own flesh stir in sympathy. He forced himself to look away;
this was more advantage than he could justify taking.
After a few deep breaths to collect himself, Quiaius lifted Eab
carefully out of the cooling water; the boy murmured something in his
strangely musical native language, but remained asleep as the older
man wrapped him in a large white cotton towel. Quiaius thought with
some satisfaction that Eab certainly weighed more than he had when
he'd come to his house, but that he could still carry him easily. This
time, Quiaius carried the boy to his own bedroom, and laid him down
very gently in his own bed.
The events of the morning must have exhausted Eab emotionally, Quiaius
thought; he lay very still, lips barely parted, deeply asleep. He
looked almost like a child in his sleep, quite small against the white
pillows in Quiaius' very large bed, loosely wrapped in the towel.
Innocent, Quiaius thought, and realized that for all that the boy had
experienced, he was still quite innocent, because none of it had been
his own choice. The older man sat there, leaning against the bed, for
a long time, watching, silent.
It was well into afternoon before the boy stirred, lazily stretching,
rather endangering the towel's coverage of him. He looked up at
Quiaius with sleepy blue-green eyes and yawned like a cat.
"I slept?"
"You needed to."
"You watched over me." A shy half-smile.
"Of course."
"I'm glad." Eab sat up a little, leaning on one elbow. "And hungry, I
think."
Quiaius laughed. "Hungry always. I'll see what I can find." He went to
the kitchen, and brought back one of the loaves Eab had made that
morning, and a jar of honey Sima had brought one day -- Macius' cook
kept bees, as it turned out.
"Just what I wanted, Kais. You saw my heart." A brilliant smile.
"I see it everywhere I look, I think. And are you thirsty?"
"Oh, yes. Very much." And so Quiaius went back to the kitchen for a
pitcher of water, and returned to find a sizable chunk of the bread
vanished, and Eab blissfully licking honey from his fingers.
"Look at you, you've eaten half of it already! You're worse than the
cats for eating quickly."
"No, better than the cats. Much larger, so I can eat more." Grinning,
the boy tore off another large chunk of bread, and drizzled honey on
it. Quiaius could see that if he didn't act fast, he'd be left with
nothing, so he climbed into bed, and they shared the remaining bread
and honey with much laughter and a great deal of talk about very
little. As they quieted, one by one the cats joined them, a few
stretching out individually, several curling up together in purring
masses of fur.
"You see? They're drawn to you," Quiaius pointed out.
"As I am to you, Kais." Eab reached out and took Quiaius' much larger
hand, looking more serious. "Could we -- I would like to try kissing
you, again."
"Are you sure? I don't want to push you too far, again."
"But if we were very careful... I want to try."
Quiaius considered a moment. "This morning was too much for you. I was
too... forceful." Eab nodded. "What if I... Suppose I didn't do
anything at all? I could lie here, like this" -- the older man pushed
a couple of pillows up against the head of the bed, and settled back
on them, hands folded on his chest -- "very still, and you could --"
"I could do this." And Eab leaned over with an intent expression, eyes
very green, and only at the very last instant did Quiaius remember
that he really ought to close his own eyes as the boy's soft lips met
his.
Once, tentative, very lightly, barely brushing his own. Again, nearly
as lightly, but somehow there was something more behind that kiss, and
the third time, Eab's lips were still soft but more insistent, asking
entrance, and Quiaius found it more difficult than he had thought it
would be not to respond in kind, not to simply embrace the boy and
ravish his mouth, but yet he managed. In the fourth kiss, Eab asked
entrance again, and Quiaius gave it to him, parting his own lips. Eab
settled in then, warm against him, and Quiaius was astonished to feel
the boy's tongue, inexpressibly sweet, stealing into his mouth, first
the barest tip of it (and Quiaius recalled the boy licking honey from
his hand), then more, a delicate exploration. Eab drew back after a
few moments of that, and Quiaius opened his eyes to see the boy
leaning over him, a little breathless, but unafraid and glowing.
"You see? I can do it." A shy smile.
"Oh, you can do it, all right. You are very, very good at it,
actually." Quiaius took a deep breath, hoping to get his racing heart,
and a few other things, under control; it did little good.
"Do you think so? I think I need more practice." A mischievous smile,
and the boy leaned close again, and kissed him again, and again, and
yet again, and Quiaius wondered for a moment how much of the sweetness
was from the honey he'd been eating, and how much was just Eab, as he
struggled to remain still. Mostly still.
Quiaius wondered, as he lay still, whether something necessarily had
to be painful to be considered torture.
"Kais?" Eab leaned against the kitchen doorway, holding a knife. "We
don't have any... round, white? With a smell?"
Quiaius looked up from his reading, thought for a moment. "Onions,
Eab."
"Onions. Not any. Or carrots."
"I suppose you could make something else, for lunch?"
"I could see what the cats left." Was that a pout?
"Not a very pleasant thought. I suppose I should do some shopping..."
And at that moment, it occurred to Quiaius that being indoors all the
time might possibly be wearing on a boy who'd grown up running in the
woods, even if being indoors included yesterday's excruciating (for
Quiaius) kissing practice. "Eab, would you like to come to the market
with me?"
The boy smiled, and put down the knife. "Yes. Anywhere with you."
"Well, nowhere very exciting, but I'm sure you could do with seeing a
bit more of Rome. And I suppose you could use some shoes, too..."
"Let me fix your hair again."
An hour later, they were walking in the sun along the narrow streets
that grew progressively wider as they neared the market. Eab looked
wide-eyed at sights he hadn't noticed when he had last been outside;
Quiaius looked at Eab, noticing how much redder the boy's hair looked
in sunlight. An unusual color, but it fit well with Eab's slightly
exotic looks. Quiaius felt a sudden surge of fondness for the boy, who
edged nearer to him as the streets became more crowded.
They came first to the produce stalls, where Eab shyly asked Quiaius
about those fruits and vegetables he wasn't familiar with. Quiaius
gave Eab the net bag he'd brought with him. "Pick out what you think
looks good," he instructed the boy, and soon Eab had a good selection
in the bag slung over his shoulder. His shyness over the presence of
strangers gradually seemed to dissolve in his excitement over the
sights and smells of the market. As the boy inspected the wares of a
pastry-stall -- "Kais, I could make that!" he whispered -- they were
greeted by Sima, doing the shopping for Macius' household.
"Master Quiaius," the tall, dark-haired woman called, and bowed
slightly. "And is this --"
"This is Eab, my... The boy you so kindly brought food for, when he
was
first staying with me. Eab, this is Sima, my friend Macius' cook."
She nodded, looking the boy over with a mother's assessing eye. "He's
older than I thought; from what Master Macius told me I'd expected a
child a year or two older than my son. He looks well, Master Quiaius.
You must be treating him properly." She smiled at Eab. "You must be a
great deal of help to your Master at home."
The boy blushed slightly. "I... I hope I am. I can cook, and things
like that."
"Such a pretty accent. I thought Master Macius had said he didn't
speak
Latin?"
"He learns very quickly. He knew no Latin at all when I found him, and
now he can carry on a conversation as well as half the boys in school
here."
"I have the best teacher," Eab said, and smiled up at Quiaius as he
leaned into the older man, draping an arm around his waist almost
possessively.
As a look of dawning realization crept onto Sima's face, she smiled
and put a hand on one of her broad hips. "Ah. I see. Well, I'm glad
you've found such a good teacher, Eab. That's certainly the most
important step towards learning. Of any kind." And, still smiling and
shaking her head with a certain amount of amusement, she took her
leave of them.
"Kais?" Eab whispered, once she was out of earshot. "Do you think she
knows...?"
The older man laughed gently. "Well, she IS a mother, after all. I
suppose she knows everything."
"Will there be a problem?"
"Only that Macius will tease me unmercifully the next time I see him.
And he will, anyway. It may as well be about something good."
They came next to the sandal-maker's tent; shoes and belts hung from
cords that reached from the top of the tent to the ground, showing off
the man's wares. The old craftsman tutted over the state of Quiaius'
sandals, which were quite old and scuffed; when he understood that he
would not be selling the older man anything for himself, he gave his
attention to Eab.
"For feet like these, you'll want something decorative, I think. I've
got a few pairs like this, with a green leaf pattern worked into the
leather, and an ankle strap... shall I measure him, and see if they'll
fit?" Quiaius nodded, and Eab sat down on the low bench and tried not
to fidget while the sandal-maker took measurements of the length and
width of the boy's feet, the diameter of his ankles, and the spacing
of his toes. Once he was measured, and it was determined that the
leaf-patterned sandals would fit him, Quiaius noticed that Eab was
looking rather wistfully at a booth selling fried dough on a stick, a
little way down the market street.
"You're hungry?"
Eab nodded. Quiaius handed him a coin, and took the shopping bag from
him.
"Go get yourself... whatever it is they have. I'll take care of paying
here, and meet you down there in a moment." The boy smiled his thanks
and sprinted in the direction of the food stand.
"Boys," laughed the sandal-maker. "Always want something to eat. And
we
always pay," he added, winking. "Now, there is a set of armbands that
go with these sandals, and I think they might make a nice surprise..."
Quiaius fell into bargaining with the sandal-maker -- noting wryly
that the man knew he could deny Eab nothing -- and was just paying for
the sandals, the armbands, and a headband when he heard a commotion
from the direction where Eab had gone. He stepped out of the tent,
leaving everything behind, and was horrified to see Eab backed up
against the side of a building by three soldiers of the Empire, as a
small crowd gathered to see what would happen.
"It's the same one, I tell you. The one we brought back."
"It can't be. That thing was all... Well, it didn't look like this."
"It's the same one! See, look at the thing on the arm--" and the
brawny man poked at Eab's tattoo. Eab snarled, and the three laughed.
"See if he'll bite you, then we'll know for sure!"
"Yeah, see if --"
Quiaius was there in an instant, pushing between the spectators. He
seized the man's shoulders and turned him around, drawing himself up
to his full height.
"Excuse me, but that boy is NOT yours."
"We're just kidding around. Having fun." The soldier looked somewhat
chastised, but still defiant; the other two had already started to
walk
away.
"You will keep your hands, and your eyes, OFF of what is MINE, or you
will be very sorry," he growled. The soldier backed away, muttering a
vague apology; Quiaius gathered a trembling Eab into his arms as the
impromptu audience whistled and clapped in appreciation.
"Shhh, you're safe now," he said in a much gentler voice. "They're
gone."
Eab, pressed tightly against the older man's chest, looked up at him,
pale eyes wide. "You made them... They left!"
Quiaius smiled wryly. "I hadn't tried that on anyone but little boys
tormenting kittens before. I'm glad it worked." Eab buried his face in
Quiaius' cloak, and the two stood there a while as Quiaius stroked the
boy's hair and calmed him.
"Now let's get your shoes and go home," he said quietly, and so they
did, and Eab never let go of his hand until they were inside their
front hall.
I didn't think I would ever have to see them again. Those weeks with
the soldiers had started to feel like a dream -- what was real was
being with Kais, here in this quiet house, clean and safe and loved.
That was a different life and a different world, cruel men with rough
hands and loud voices. I didn't think it would touch this world I live
in now.
Only a few minutes and that was over. I thought I was almost a
different person, somehow, but they saw me, they knew me, even with my
new clothes and clean hair and new language and all, they could see
through to the same filthy boy who screamed under them while they
ground me into the dirt. They knew who I was. One moment I was walking
free in the sun, then I recognized a face and felt a chill, and then
they had me against the wall. I forgot every word Kais ever taught me,
and I could feel every scar again, inside and out.
I thought they were going to take me with them. For the time I was
standing there against that wall, I knew they were going to take me
with them, and they were going to have me, and it was all going to
start again, and all the water in the world would not clean me though
it washed over me and through me until I drowned.
And then Kais was there, great tall beautiful Kais, like I had never
seen him before, with such anger in his blue eyes, like lightning.
Kais, who is so gentle with me and with every thing he touches, looked
dangerous, and he was dangerous, and they saw that. He told them I was
his and they just left. If they hadn't I think he would have torn them
apart.
He held me while I shivered, there in the street, in front of anyone
who cared to look, without shame. People had been watching, people had
seen all of it, I'm sure they knew what I was, what I had been, and he
didn't care, just held me until I could walk and took me home.
I didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to make it real that they
had been there, that they had seen me, that Kais had seen some of the
ones who had done the things to me. I tried to push it all away,
pretend nothing had touched me. I put on the bracelets he'd bought me,
and the sandals, soft dark brown leather with deep green leaves carved
into it, and the headband too, although my hair was not nearly long
enough to need holding back, not like before, at home, when it was
almost to my shoulders and always in my eyes. I made a great show of
being busy, putting away the things from the market, the fruit and the
vegetables, everything where it belonged, while Kais watched quietly.
I got the knife out, and a few carrots, to make a stew or something,
and stood at the counter peeling them. I started to cut them up,
bringing the knife down again and again, cutting the pieces smaller
and
smaller. Tears flooded my eyes and I started shaking again, hard, and
Kais was behind me, his arms around me, taking the knife from me and
laying it on the counter, and I struggled for a moment, until he
pulled me back against him and held me gently but firmly.
"Now, Eab. My own, dear Eab. What can I do?" So quietly, almost
whispering, breath soft against my ear, and I relaxed into his arms.
"Wash me. Where they touched me." Kais wouldn't have heard me if he
hadn't been so close to me. He drew a sharp breath, then nodded. He
stood a moment longer, holding me, then kissed the top of my head, and
led me to the bathroom.
He sat me on a chair in the corner, kissed my hair again, and set
about
filling the tub and heating the water, finding soap and cloths. When
it was ready he knelt before me and unbuckled my new sandals and put
them aside, then the bracelets, then the headband, then his own shoes.
He stood then, pulled me up to stand with him, closed his eyes for a
moment.
"Tell me if I need to stop."
I nodded. He reached down then, and pulled up the hem of my tunic, and
I raised my hands so that he could pull it off over my head. The
cotton
covered my eyes for a moment, then I saw him looking at me, his eyes
so dark and blue, taking in all of me.
I wanted to be sure he understood. "You, with me."
He nodded, turned his back, pulled his own tunic off and laid it with
mine. I climbed into the tub then, water so hot against my skin, and
he followed me; he settled back against the tub wall, and I sat in
front of him, facing away, not ready to look at him that way.
"Show me." His voice low, his breath, again, warm against my ear. I
touched my upper arm, where the tattoo was that they had touched. He
stroked the soap that smelled of roses gently over the place, then the
wet cloth.
"More." He rubbed the cloth a little harder then, so I could feel the
slightly rough texture of it leave my skin pink. It felt better.
Clean.
"Where else?"
I showed him. My shoulders. My wrists, where they held me down. My
neck, where some of them bit at me. My ears. First gently, then more
firmly, Kais slowly and thoroughly cleaned each part I pointed out.
My back. My chest, where the whip wrapped around and left a deep scar
under my right nipple. My belly. My knees, where gravel from the road
ground into the flesh. My feet. My calves, where I could still feel
rough hands holding me down, to stop me from kicking. He reached
around me, scrubbed my thighs, front and back, smooth soap, rougher
cloth, then hesitated.
I reached back, took his hand, guided it to my ass. "Please."
Around my hips, then, on each side, the cheeks, down the cleft, his
hand so large and so gentle, rubbing the cloth firmly against my
opening, pressing the tiniest bit inside. Clean. Yes. And then in
between my legs, my balls, replacing every unclean touch with his own.
My cock, and I was half surprised that I was hard, and his hand and
the cloth cleaned me there, where no one else should ever have
touched, and I gasped, and he stopped.
And I nestled back against him, and very quietly asked him, "Please."
And he held me against him with one arm around my shoulders, and
stroked me there, under the water, his hand so warm, so good around
me, his breath hot against my neck, my head thrown back against his
chest, and I moved with him, against him, as the heat built up inside
me until it burst forth and shook me all the way through, and I lay
limp and gasping in his arms while he looked down at me with the most
inexpressible love in his eyes.
"Better?"
"Oh, yes."
Quiaius leaned back against the wall of the tub, not quite
believing -- he would not have believed it, if not for the boy
reclining in his lap, and the wail of that boy's release still echoing
through the room. Once Eab had recovered his breath, he had
half-turned, and now sat across Quiaius' thighs, resting his head on
the older man's shoulder. Quiaius held him loosely, not wanting the
boy to feel restrained; he gently stroked Eab's upper arm, tracing the
loops of the tattooed bracelet, wondering for the first time how such
a thing had been put there, and whether it had hurt. Quiaius looked at
the boy's face, and warm sea-green eyes met his.
"Thank you." A shy smile.
"I... You realize I've never done such a thing before?"
Eab looked serious. "But with yourself, surely?"
"With myself. And with Claudia, but that isn't really the same thing."
Quiaius found himself thinking back to times he and his wife had
played in the same bathtub, sliding together like dolphins, laughing,
dear Claudia so beautifully sated afterwards, and he worried that the
boy would feel his arousal and be afraid.
"I never did that before, either, then. Only kissing, and holding, and
wrestling. And then that with myself, after." Eab blushed and looked
down. "The kissing was only a few times, really. I never touched
another boy's... Not before the soldiers --"
"Shh. Then never." Quiaius kissed the boy's forehead gently. "You
never
chose that, so it isn't the same. It's only what you did that you
wanted to do, that matters, love. Nothing else."
"What I wanted to do," Eab said very softly. The green eyes met
Quiaius' again. "I do want to do things, with you."
The words made Quiaius shiver, and he took a deep breath. "In your own
time."
They sat quietly for a while, then Eab looked at Quiaius once more. "I
was thinking... when you lay in bed, and I kissed you?"
"Mmm. Yes. That was good."
"Could you go and lie that way, now?" And Eab moved out of his lap, to
the other side of the large tub, and looked up at the ceiling.
Quiaius fairly leapt out of the bath, wet braid splashing, so that the
several cats who had drifted in to watch them bathe scattered; he
dried
himself hurriedly, wrapped himself in a towel and picked up his tunic,
then glanced back at Eab, who shyly looked away again. A moment later,
Quiaius was in bed, a light sheet covering him; he lay against the
pillows, waiting, eyes closed.
The bed dipped slightly as Eab sat down beside him. Quiaius opened his
eyes and saw the boy looking down at him, with an intensely focused
expression. His tunic clung to him damply.
"May I touch you, Kais?" Very quietly.
The older man nodded.
Eab leaned over him and slowly peeled back the sheet from his body, a
few inches at a time, until it was at his waist. The boy reached out
and touched his shoulder lightly, fingers barely brushing the skin.
The touch was warm, and grew more sure as Eab explored his shoulder,
his arm, his hand, his fingers. He turned Quiaius' hand over and
traced the lines in the palm of his hand, and once more Quiaius was
aware of how much smaller Eab's hands were, and how soft their touch.
Then Eab leaned over him and repeated his actions on Quiaius' other
arm and hand. The sensation, along with the fact that the boy was
leaning across his chest, made it difficult for Quiaius to remain
still, but he reminded himself that it was important to avoid
frightening Eab, and managed. Then Eab shifted, and was looking into
his eyes.
"May I kiss you, now?"
"Yes, please," the older man murmured, his mouth suddenly dry. He
closed his eyes and felt Eab's hands on either side of his face,
holding him.
A gentle kiss, seeking, and then a deep kiss, frankly passionate, as
the boy devoured his mouth, tongue darting in when Quiaius gasped.
Without thinking he responded, one hand going to the nape of Eab's
neck, his tongue seeking the hot sweetness of Eab's mouth; the boy
froze for an instant, then recovered, and his passion seemed
increased. A low moan throbbed like an angry cat's warning in the
boy's throat, and Quiaius felt himself harden at the sound.
Eab pulled back then, breathing fast, and his eyes met Quiaius', soft
blue-green.
"More?" Almost hoarsely, and he could feel the boy's warm breath on
his
face.
"Yes, oh --" And the boy's hands were firmly on Quiaius' shoulders,
moving down, down his sides and back up to his chest, and the older
man thought he might explode when a thumb delicately circled his left
nipple. Quiaius felt rather than saw Eab bending down to kiss him
there, and when he felt those lips, and the hot, wet tongue, gripped
the bedsheets at his sides, not trusting himself to touch anymore.
It seems to me sometimes that my life with Kais must be a dream.
Certainly if I were awake, I would never think to convince a great
beautiful man like Kais to lie down before me like a wedding banquet,
for whatever I cared to do; and certainly in waking hours I would not
take such advantage of him.
But there he was, and there I was, and there was nothing to stop me
from kissing him, and so I did. I could tell he liked that, from the
way he kissed me back, as if he were hungry. That frightened me, but
only for a moment, because so much more than being afraid, I was
amazed that I could do this to him -- make him gasp under me. For
all that he is so much bigger than I am, I could feel that I was in
control, and it made me reckless and dizzy and eager to see what more
I could do to him.
I knew he was beautiful, so strong and tall, his face so noble and
eyes so brilliant blue, but to see all of him was a revelation. His
chest is broad and smooth, with a sprinkling of dark hair, and when I
stroked him there he shuddered. That made me think it must have been
too long since he'd been touched that way, and so I had to do more.
His nipples stood out dark against his skin, looking hard as acorn
caps, and I thought of the way I used to touch my own, what felt like
years ago, and I thought he might like that too. Only a little
touching and I could see that he did, and hear it in the way his
breath changed and grew rougher. Touching led to kissing then, and
licking, and his reaction to that was a wonder of shivering and
moaning and gasping, so that I felt as if I had all the sky's power in
me to do as I wished. It seemed wrong to only do those things to one
nipple, like rain
falling on one hill and not another, and so there was more touching to
do, and more licking, and kissing, and the salty taste of his skin on
my tongue, and then for a moment I sat back and looked at him, to
think of what I should do next.
"Oh, gods, Eab, please..." My beautiful Kais, hands knotting
themselves in the bedding, held himself back and begged me. I'd never
felt so strong before, and I took advantage of that strength to go as
slowly as I could, stroking down his flat belly to his navel, the deep
center of his body, and I pressed my tongue inside there, tasted salt
again, and felt him arch against me, whimpering.
I needed to see more of him, the rest of him, before this dream was
over, and so I pulled the sheet away entirely. Long legs, I knew that
already, strong from walking everywhere, and tan, fading lighter
further up, and I went down and petted those long feet as if they were
small animals twisting in my hands, kissed their tops, and ran my
hands up his legs to where they met his body, and the root of him.
It made me gasp to see it, long and thick as a young tree, deeply
pink, veined darker, and it seemed almost to be straining against its
own skin. Of course I had noticed that Kais is very tall, and that his
hands are much larger than mine, but somehow it hadn't occurred to me
that along with that, his other parts must surely be as big as this. I
felt a moment's fear then, and thought, this could hurt me, things
like this have hurt me, and I wanted to run away out of the room and
out of the house and out of Rome.
Then I closed my eyes and breathed slowly, and reminded myself that
this was no cruel soldier, but my own gentle Kais, who would never
hurt me. I looked at him again, all of him, and remembered that he was
beautiful, all of him, and that I loved every part of him with every
part of myself, and so I reached out my hand.
I ran my finger very lightly from the base to the tip, and he groaned
then like a man in pain, and arched up from the bed, and his cock
leapt up like a separate thing from the rest of him. I looked up and
saw that his eyes were closed tightly, his head thrown back against
the pillows, his mouth open as he breathed as if he had run for miles.
Again I thought, what power I have, to do this to such a man, what
power in my hand that is not so large. I touched again, but more
firmly, and felt the way the skin was soft like a rose petal, and what
was underneath the skin seemed hard as iron, and hot with pulsing
blood. I closed my hand around it, or mostly around it, because it was
too large for my hand to fully circle, and stroked that way, slowly,
feeling the way the skin moved over it. He groaned at that, and his
hips pressed up and pushed him more firmly into my hand, and he
murmured something that could have been in any language, that I think
meant "more."
Beautiful Kais, quiet as you are with your books and your cats and
your
lessons, oh, I have you frantic, you won't be quiet now.
I found his rhythm, slow first, then faster, and every sound he made
told me what I must do, what I was doing, driving him on. The head of
his cock was like an apple, a rose, with dew, and I leaned closer to
taste, my tongue finding the salty bitter drops, and with that he
screamed, and pulsed in my hand, and his hot seed was on his belly,
and my lips, and my hands. He reached down for me then, hands groping,
blind, and I came up to him, and held him a long time, all the
strength gone out of him as he shuddered, and I kissed him and touched
his hair and his beautiful face and called him "love" every way I knew
how, and thanked him for giving me my own strength again.
Quiaius came to himself slowly, gradually, as if waking from a dream
he
hesitated to leave. Warmth against him; he moved, and several cats
objected to his disturbing their rest; their chirping voices were
echoed by a boy's laughter, and Quiaius looked up to see Eab in the
doorway, smiling brightly as he looked down at him.
"I..." Quiaius felt at a loss as to what, exactly, to say, as vivid
memories of the activities of the previous day -- and it was another
day already, well into it, by the light -- came back to him.
"You slept." Eab laughed again, then flopped down on the bed; he was
dressed in clean white cotton, and he smelled of cinnamon and flour.
"For hours and hours and hours."
"And you?"
"Slept too, and then watched you sleep, and slept some more, and had
another bath, and came back and watched you, and made apple tarts."
Eab held one out to him, and Quiaius realized he must indeed have been
asleep for quite a while, because he was incredibly hungry. He took a
bite; it was hot and sweet and delicious.
"Wonderful." Quiaius wondered what he had done to deserve this; all of
this, most particularly the boy at his side whose smiling gray eyes
watched him devour the pastry. Eab looked relaxed and content, more
comfortable in his body, somehow, than Quiaius had seen him before.
The boy lay flat on his back, hands over his head, and stretched;
there was nothing particularly sexual in it, only a natural enjoyment
of muscles and skin that Quiaius found beautiful. He wondered if this
was what Eab had been like at home, a boy with a boy's casual
sensuality and lack of care. "Thank you."
"I ate the rest of them," Eab admitted cheerfully. "Seven." One hand
went down to rub his belly, and Quiaius laughed, wishing for a moment
that he'd been awake to watch that feat of breakfasting.
They lay together that way a while, in quiet contentment, until
Quiaius felt the need to get up and seek the bath and its
conveniences. Washing up and dressing, he felt slightly embarrassed;
it had been years since he'd awakened quite so... sticky. A strange
turn for his life to take at this stage, he thought.
He returned to find Eab sitting up, watching one of the cats -- Rosa
again -- casually climbing out the back window.
"What's back there?"
"Come and I'll show you." They walked back through the house, and
Quiaius unlatched a long-disused kitchen door that creaked open
reluctantly. It had been a long time.
A yard, a little smaller than the house, enclosed by a high wall of
weathered, mossy stone: Claudia's garden. It had been her joy, her
refuge, and when she had gone, Quiaius had feared seeing her there too
much to ever spend another moment in it.
Untended, it had grown into a kind of jungle of kitchen herbs gone
wild; the older man felt sad at the neglect, until he noticed the look
of delight, almost awe, in Eab's eyes.
"Ooh... Kais, this is so beautiful!" The boy gazed around as if he
were in a treasure-house. "You'll tell me the plants, here? Please?"
As if he could refuse the boy anything; and for the remainder of the
morning, Quiaius passed on what little he knew of the lore of herbs.
Fragrant rosemary had grown into something almost like a bushy tree;
Eab stroked the gnarled trunk reverently while Quiaius pointed out the
tiny violet blossoms. There was a graceful pomegranate tree in a
corner, and Quiaius told the boy the legend of Proserpina and Pluto;
as he did he wondered whether perhaps the story cut too close to Eab's
own, but there was only a quiet moment, and barely a cloud passed over
the boy's face. Eab brightened as Quiaius pointed out the clumps of
mint that rioted everywhere, escaped from the pot where Claudia had
originally confined it, and vowed to learn to make tea from the hairy
leaves; he crushed a few dried leaves of the abundant, silvery
lavender between his fingers, and sighed happily at the clean scent.
He told the account of the slave boy who'd been so horrified at
dropping a pot of perfume meant for a king that he'd turned into a
fragrant marjoram plant on the spot; the story tickled Eab for some
reason, or possibly it was the thyme that made him sneeze. For a
moment, Quiaius thought Eab might actually lie down to roll in the
cat-mint; and he thought he might not mind joining him in doing so.
The boy's joyful sensuality was that contagious. Eventually they sat
down together in a shady spot, half hidden by a flowering myrtle bush,
as Quiaius explained that it
was sacred to Venus, who had been a goddess of vegetable gardens
before she devoted herself to love.
"I have to admit to you, this isn't my best subject; I imagine Sima
could tell you more practical things, about the uses of these
plants..." And then he saw the boy looking up at him, with leaves and
sweet white flowers of myrtle in his hair, and forgot everything he
ever knew about practical things as he kissed him.
All this time I've been here with Kais, weeks and weeks, and I didn't
know this place was here, not really. I'd smelled flowers, of course,
and leafy things, but I hadn't even thought of it, and it was so close
all along.
A secret place. A garden, he calls it. You can see that there was
order
here, once -- only these Romans would try to make plants stand in
lines -- but the plants have long since broken out of their rows, and
now they all dance together where they will, sweet and sharp. Some of
them I recognize from home, and some of them are like nothing I've
ever seen, and all of them are as beautiful as any growing thing.
There is a stone wall, high enough to keep it safe from any danger
passing by, but it is so covered with the tiny jewels that cover stone
that it is like a plant itself. Every part of it lives.
I love the look on Kais' face when he explains things to me, the way
the knowledge warms him from within. He gives me each truth like a
gift, and it is a precious gift, from him. He could have been a
wonderful teacher, and I am very thankful that he is mine, in so many
ways.
Every thing that grows from the earth is of the gods, or so I've
learned and felt all of my life, and I was surprised when he told me
that some of these plants are sacred to the gods of the Romans, too. I
had not thought they would recognize such things.
This garden was his wife's, his Claudia's, and I wonder if she first
told him those stories of the flowers and plants that he told me. I
like to imagine that, the way he would listen to such stories, the
look in his blue eyes. I like to think of him loved, here.
Did he ever kiss her here, in this cool secret place, under the sweet
spicy trees? I could never ask him that, but I can't imagine anyone
resisting it, when every leaf and twig is singing that it is right. I
put leaves and flowers of the plant he called myrtle, sacred to his
goddess of love, in my hair, and She told him what I wanted. He bent
down to me then and took my lips, and there was no fear in me, but
only the joy of knowing perfect abandon, and I could feel the cool
damp earth under my hands and between my fingers while we kissed there
under Her tree.
He says this garden is mine now, and says he'll buy me any plant or
seed I like to make it my own. What seed could I ever need, besides
what is there already? This garden belongs to Love.
In the corner, where no one has seen it but me, is a cherry tree.
Quiaius stood at the window and watched Eab in the garden, and
wondered what it was that the boy was so very absorbed in.
After all the hesitation before, all the fear he'd had of frightening
the Celt with his touch, what had happened under the myrtle had flowed
as easily as summer rain. Quiaius knew better than to push much
further, he would continue to let things move slowly at Eab's own
pace, but something had changed, and they had kissed tenderly and
passionately and deliciously without uncertainty. Quiaius still had
the taste of the boy in his mouth, the feel of him, the gentle
questioning of his lips and tongue, the unreal softness of his skin.
So beautiful he was, in every way, so sweet and strong. Kissing him
was like swimming in a clear stream with deep currents.
Finally he'd gone in to find something to eat, sensing that the boy
had some need to spend time in the garden alone. Soon after he'd been
called to gather in the cats who inevitably seemed to follow Eab and
watch whatever he happened to be doing -- Quiaius wondered that he had
ever called them his cats -- whatever it was that Eab was going to
do, he needed to be let alone at it.
Now he could see the boy kneeling on the ground under a small tree
back in a corner, some stray sapling, probably from a seed a bird had
dropped. Eab had reverently cleared a patch of bare earth under the
little tree, and was now creating what appeared to be a kind of
earthworks. He was shaping what might have been letters or symbols of
some kind in the dark loam, some raised, some traced down into the
soil. He stopped from time to time, sometimes speaking a few words,
other times simply sitting quietly, as if waiting for a reply. His
response gave Quiaius the impression that he was probably receiving
one; each time, he shaped another line of text in the earth before
him. When a large raven flew over and perched on the garden wall to
watch him a while, the boy had looked up and smiled at it, then
continued with his work as the bird flew off with a squawk.
It had the look of a ritual about it, and Quiaius thought about what
the boy had told him about the plans that had been made for his
future, before he was torn out of it. The boy had been marked to be
some kind of a priest or mystic; he hadn't offered very much detail
about it, and Quiaius had thought it might be best not to press him on
it. Whatever he was doing now, it was almost certainly part of a very
private spiritual practice.
Quiaius thought of the ritual he had improvised in the bath the day
before, the cleansing the boy had needed so badly, and the intense
sexual release. That it had succeeded was obvious; and now the older
man wondered whether it had simply occurred to him as he did it, as it
had seemed at the time, or whether it had come from somewhere else. He
wondered, but to be honest its origin wasn't that important to him;
what was important was the way Eab had collapsed against him when it
was over, and how the boy had since become so much more sure of
himself. Quiaius realized that, whether he knew it at the time or not,
he had been part of a kind of healing.
Just as Eab seemed to be finished with the small plot in the garden,
there was a crack of thunder, and to Quiaius' dismay, it began to
rain, hard. The poor boy, he thought, all his work will be washed
away.
Then he saw that Eab was looking up into the rain, with a look of joy
on his face. The boy stood and stripped off his tunic, and stood
still,
his eyes closed, his expression ecstatic, as the rain washed over him,
and melted and erased all the letters he had written in the earth.
When the rain stopped, there was no sign of what the boy had built
there, and Quiaius was waiting inside with towels and a hot drink and
a long embrace. Neither of them talked about what Eab had been doing
in the garden.
I am so angry with Kais.
This day started out well. After yesterday's rain, the sky and the
earth and every other thing was clean, and the air was just cool
enough that it was very good to wake with Kais near and lie close to
him for a long time. Kais is wonderfully warm when he sleeps, and very
beautiful, although he would argue with me about that, since he has
never seen any beauty in his own face. How a man with eyes like that
can be that blind is beyond me.
We got up, finally, and I thought that hot bread would taste very
good, and so I started on it, the mixing, the wonderful cool yield of
the dough under my hands, and the shaping of loaves. All this time
Kais was bathing and dressing. There are so many things I love to do
with Kais, but baking bread is something I need to do alone.
After the bread was in the oven, there was a knock at the door. Why I
went to get the door I am not sure; there is no one here who I would
want to see, after all. Kais was dressed by then, and he went to the
door too, but I was there ahead of him, and so I opened it.
It was a soldier, a Roman soldier, in more leather than I have seen
their horses wear, with a sword at his side. He might have stepped out
of my worst nightmare.
I don't know what I did then. Everything mixes together. I know that I
wanted to run, but that I was afraid to turn my back, and I know that
Kais tried to comfort me, and I know that I told him I did not want to
see the soldier, and I know that Kais opened the door to that man and
let him into the house that I have to live in.
Kais talked to him, in our front room, while I stood in the hall. I
would not be in the room with that man, yet I would not trust him out
of my sight either. I would rather a bear had come roaring into the
house.
This soldier claimed to be a kind of master to the ones who took me.
Certainly he looked like a master of some kind. He was not as tall as
my Kais, but broader, with the kind of skin that comes from being in
the sun a great deal, and the kind of muscles that come from working
very hard. He had a great deal of curly black hair, although what I
had thought was part of that hair turned out to be a tame young raven
that sat on his shoulder and whispered in his ear.
I had thought ravens had better taste.
He spoke to me as if I were a child, and when I would not answer him,
he spoke to Kais, thinking I could not possibly know enough Latin to
tell him anything. He said that someone had told him that these
soldiers had bothered me in the market, and that this was against
their laws. Of course, to these Romans and their laws, I am Kais'
property, and they would have punished a man who broke Kais' best
chair the same as they would one who killed me, I think. He had these
soldiers in his jail, he said, and wanted to punish them, and wanted
to know if they were the ones who had taken me from my home.
Of course they were the same ones; they knew me, and I could not have
forgotten them in many lives. What that matters I don't know, since
they were only the first to have me among that pack of dogs. I suppose
he is too busy to punish that many men.
He said he would chain them and drive them from their homes to some
unpleasant place, and whip them too -- he thought I didn't understand
what he meant by that. I think I know well enough what whipping means,
well enough for ten men. He showed me then a mark on his own shoulder,
I suppose so that I would know that he had felt a whip too; but it was
only one mark. Let him come back with a few dozen marks and then I
will talk with him about whipping.
I asked him if he would punish them in kind for the worst of what they
did to me, and he turned white, and could not look at me. Good,
because I hated the feel of his eyes on me. He held his pet raven in
his hands then and petted it and looked at it as if it would give him
an answer. Then he told me that he could not rape anyone, that it was
wrong to him, against his code. I wonder what business he has being a
soldier then, if that is his feeling. It never seemed to bother any of
his fellow workers.
Kais told me then that my bread must be ready, and to go to the
kitchen to see. As if Kais knows one thing about bread except that it
is good to eat, and that he has a boy who can make it now and doesn't
need to buy any. What he meant was, go Eab, little child, so we men
can talk about you.
Kais will be very lucky to get any of this bread.
In retrospect, Quiaius realized, he should have noticed how very
quietly Eab left the room, and recognized that this was not a good
sign.
He had only wanted to spare the boy's feelings. Clearly Eab was upset
by Praetor Cornix' presence, and the questions he was asking; it
seemed better to let him retreat to the kitchen so that the man could
speak more freely.
Cornix had a lot to say. Certainly the Army leader was intimidating,
but Quiaius was touched by his concern for Eab. Once the boy was out
of the room, the man had explained that Macius' cook Sima had
witnessed the scene in the marketplace, and gone home shaken by it;
she did not like seeing Eab harassed by soldiers in a place where she
routinely sent her son on errands. Macius had asked her what was
wrong, and she had told him; Macius had spoken to his cousin Panakus,
and he had reported the matter to Cornix, who was investigating
disorder in the Army. Not only had he been appalled that a
distinguished citizen was reduced to defending his own slave in public
from the city's own guard, but he had made the connection between this
matter and a particularly disagreeable rumor he had heard, concerning
the conduct of soldiers posted to the Northern Lands. He did not like
what such behavior did to the good name of the Roman Army, and had
decided to make an example of the miscreants before he ever came to
Quiaius' home. It occurred to Quiaius that this was not a man to make
angry, and that he was angry indeed with what he had found that the
soldiers in his charge were doing.
Cornix had assured Quiaius that he was convinced enough by what few
words Eab had said, and the way he had said it, that he would not
hesitate to punish the three who had been in the marketplace that day.
Before he left, the commander had one last thing to say: he would be
travelling to the Northern lands himself in a few weeks, to
investigate the Army's outposts there, and that he thought that Eab,
while legally Quiaius' property, should be free. He would expect to
hear Quiaius' decision in the next few days. And with that the man had
left, taking his raven with him.
Head near to bursting with what he'd heard in the short time Praetor
Cornix had been in his home, Quiaius had gone back to the kitchen,
which he privately thought of as the heart of his home, to tell Eab;
he opened the kitchen door, was barely missed by a heavy earthenware
mixing bowl, and found himself facing a very angry wild creature.
"Is that man gone?" Eab's usually soft voice was near to a shriek;
Quiaius noticed, through his shock, that most of the breakable objects
in the kitchen were now in pieces on the floor.
"Eab, what -- "
"Is he GONE." The Celt's eyes were blue ice.
"Yes, he just -- "
"Did you not understand that I did not want to see him?"
"Yes, but -- "
"Did you not UNDERSTAND?" There was, apparently, one last blue ceramic
mug; Quiaius heard it burst against the wall by his head.
"Eab, I know you're very upset, perhaps we should talk about this when
you -- "
"Is my Latin not good enough to make you understand that I cannot be
in the house with a man in that uniform?"
"Eab, you know that your Latin is excellent." Was this a language
problem?
"I'm glad I was able to learn it, considering you have never made any
effort to learn my tongue."
What? It had never occurred to Quiaius; possibly this was a serious
oversight. "But Eab, Latin is such an easy language to understand, and
you learned so quickly, it hardly seemed necessary to -- "
"I will now give you a LESSON." Eab spat out a string of syllables.
"That means that I will no longer be making bread to order, and that I
hope that will not be too much of a PROBLEM -- " The boy stalked
forward a few steps, and to his astonishment, Quiaius realized that he
was afraid. He remembered, at that moment, that Eab had bitten him
once. The older man backed up a step.
"Eab, the soldier was here to help you, to punish the ones who hurt
you. I'm sorry I let him into the house."
Eab stopped, and took a deep breath. "It is your house, master." Ice,
again.
Quiaius felt that ice at his heart. "No, Eab. Please. I don't think of
it that way. This is your house, as much as mine."
"This is my house." Quietly, calmly.
"Yes, Eab. Your house. I thought you knew that."
"This house belongs to me?" A look of surprise.
"Yes, of course!"
Another deep breath, as Eab visibly struggled to calm himself. "Get
out of my house."
"What?" There was no way he was understanding the boy correctly. A
language problem, he thought, stunned. That was it.
"Get OUT of my HOUSE before I PUT you out!"
Ten minutes later, Quiaius, with nothing more than what he was
wearing, was knocking, shame-faced, at Macius' door, still not exactly
sure what he had done, but extremely sorry that he had done it.
I've broken everything that breaks now, I think. I'm sitting on the
floor in the middle of the pieces. I'm thirsty and I don't have
anything left to drink out of. My hands are shaking.
My mother threw men out of the house all the time. The best ones, she
threw out several times. Handfast marriages are meant to last a year
and a day, but sometimes they were lucky to last just the day. She was
beautiful and terrifying, red hair flying around her head like flames,
and they loved her. They all loved her.
If I'd known it hurt this much, this throwing men out of houses, I'd
never have laughed all those times. How would I have known? She always
laughed right along with me, while they pounded on the door and
howled.
The cats have come back into the kitchen, now that there isn't
anything left to break. They're looking at me very strangely. I don't
think they expected me to do that. I don't think I did, either.
I have the oddest feeling in my chest. It's as if it would hurt, if
there were anything inside to hurt, but it's hollow in there now. I
can't tell if it's a relief, or if I'll die of it. I'll have to wait
and see, I suppose. The one thing I know is that empty as I am, I'm
not hungry. The bread's going to waste.
I wonder where Kais went. I wonder if I hurt him, too. I never meant
to. I love him more than life, more than bread, more than every tree.
I only -- He let that man in, that soldier. How could he not know?
It's as if he never knew one thing about me, as if I had only just
walked in, a stranger to him. I don't know if I can go into the front
room again, even to wash the floor. I need to wash the floor.
I need to have the floor torn out, and a new floor put in.
Then I need to put something heavy in front of the door, to keep the
wild animals out.
I need to lie here a while, though, first. I don't know how I got this
tired. I suppose throwing things is hard work. No wonder my mother had
such strong arms.
I'm lying here on the kitchen floor, amid the broken dishes, a
brightly
colored rock garden. Argentum, sweet old gray striped Argentum, is
licking my face. It stings a little; his tongue is rough, and salt
from tears gets into the scrapes. I hope Argentum doesn't mind a lot
more salt.
Quiaius slumped back on the couch. His head hurt, and Macius was
trying to be reasonable, which somehow made it that much worse.
"Well, I'm sure Eab was upset, but Cornix meant well."
"Meant well. Exactly. So did I. I never should have let Cornix into
the
house. I should have talked to him on the doorstep."
"Well, Quiaius, after all, it's your house..."
Quiaius answered his friend's unfortunate choice of words from between
gritted teeth. "Not anymore, it's not."
Macius choked on his drink. Choked, surely, Quiaius thought; there was
no way the man was laughing. "Oh, by all the gods, Quiaius, you're not
telling me..." Oh. He WAS laughing. Wonderful. Quiaius waited a while
until Macius had himself under control, and then repeated the exchange
of hot words that had seen him chased out of his home.
"You... gave him the house."
"It seemed like the best way to handle the situation."
Macius was rocking back and forth, and appeared to be having trouble
breathing. "Your slave was upset with you, so you gave him your
HOUSE."
"He isn't my slave. Not really. I don't think of him that way. I've
never thought of him that way, really. First he was sort of a pet, and
then he was... well, Eab."
Macius looked thoughtful. "So you freed him?"
"Well, no, not officially. But surely he must know..." He heard
himself
speaking, suddenly, and realized that he had made a terrible mistake.
At least one.
"Quiaius, by Pluto! You've freed every slave you ever had within six
months, all those kitchen girls you hardly knew apart! And now you've
gone and fallen in LOVE with one, and you're still holding the TITLE
on him?" Macius looked, if anything, more incredulous than he had a
moment before, but considerably more serious. "And he knows about your
freeing all the kitchen girls, I assume."
"I think I told him about that..." Quiaius suddenly had a sick
feeling.
Another sick feeling. Another in today's seemingly endless series.
"I'm sure I would have got around to it. I guess I felt as if he were
safer, being under my ownership, my protection, as it were..."
"Damn, Quiaius. I'd have thrown a mug at you, myself. And I would have
aimed better."
"If you have any helpful suggestions, I'd like to hear them.
Otherwise,
maybe you should just..."
"If I knew what to do in your situation, besides go buy another HOUSE,
I'd set myself up in business as a seer. We'll think of something. In
the meantime, I'll have Sima set up the spare bedroom for you. You
look like you should be lying down."
"I feel like I should be dead. Macius, I've really hurt him. And he
looked capable of killing me, to be honest. I'm actually afraid."
Macius sighed. "I told you when you got him, nobody can tame those
Celts. They aren't the kind of things you can keep as pets. They
belong in the Northern Lands, where they came from."
Quiaius groaned. He didn't want to think about that part. He really
didn't want to think about that part. What he wanted made him feel
selfish, and what he thought Eab would choose made him feel lost.
He looked over to see a young blond boy, maybe ten years old, standing
in the doorway. He looked extremely serious, and he also looked as if
he might possibly have been listening for a while. "My mother wanted
me to see if you needed anything to drink."
"Quiaius?"
"I haven't made any other good decisions today. What do you think?"
"Anakin, ask her to get the spare bedroom set up. I think Quiaius is
going to be here a while."
Gods, Quiaius thought, but my head hurts.
I'm not sure how long she was knocking before I came to the door. It
might have been a long time. I hadn't slept the night before, but
instead sat up thinking about Kais and the things I'd said to him, and
listening for noises that might have been someone trying to get in.
This meant that as soon as the sun came up, I was dead asleep on the
bathroom floor, and a procession of wild boars might have come through
the house for all I knew.
The knocking eventually woke me up, though, and when I went to the
door with the bread knife (in case the soldier had come back) and
looked through the tiny window beside it, I was very relieved that it
was only Sima, Macius' cook who I had met in the marketplace what
seemed like years ago. She was carrying a basket, and looked as if
being greeted at the door with a knife was nothing to her.
I welcomed her into the kitchen and watched while she pretended not to
see the ruins of broken things everywhere, and settled herself on a
chair. She looked a bit tired, but it was the kind of tired that comes
from doing real work all day, not from sitting up all night in tears.
Her kind of tired was much easier to look at than mine, I think.
She told me what I had already guessed, that Kais was staying with
Macius, and that she had settled him in his room herself. I didn't ask
her how he was, because if she told me he was unhappy, I would feel
horrible, and if she told me he was fine, I would feel worse.
She had brought a few things, cakes and the like, and I thanked her
for
them, even though I doubted I would be able to eat them. She asked me
if I was all right here, by myself, and I hardly knew how to answer:
my heart was torn out and I thought I might die, but other than that,
I was managing. I told her that the man had come with fish for the
cats the night before, and that I had given him a coin, and he had
looked at me strangely; she asked me to show her what kind of coin it
had been, and then she laughed long and hard, because it was a coin
that would feed a family for a week, instead of cats for a day. She
showed me the proper coin to pay him with the next time, and assured
me that both of our masters could well afford a mistake like that once
in a while.
I told her that the problem was that I didn't want a master. I wanted
Kais, but not to belong to him. She told me that with a good master,
being a slave was not bad; for instance, Macius was having her son
Anakin educated, so that he could help teach Macius' little daughter
when she got older. She would never have been able to afford school
for him if she had been free. She felt safe working for Macius, she
said, and more secure knowing that he owned her, and that she was not
simply an employee, who he would not have felt obligated to support. I
told her that she might feel differently if she had been born free,
and she had nothing to say to that.
She told me then that I was going to get my chance. The soldier who
came here and destroyed my home had told Kais that he was going to be
travelling to my homeland, and that he would take me back there if
Kais wanted it. She said that Kais did want it, even though he looked
near to crying when he talked about it. That was more than I could
stand, and I was more than near to crying then; in fact, I cried in
her arms, and wished very much at that moment that she were my mother,
who I knew I would never see again in this world. At least she was
some boy's mother, and that was enough just then.
"Don't you want to go home?"
"I can't."
"Of course you can. Your master would let you, this man would take
you -- he even said that your master could come along, to be sure that
he meant no harm to you, and to see you safely there."
"You don't understand." And I explained about what I had been raised
for, the Trees, and the way I had been meant to be kept physically
pure. I couldn't even play the same games as the other children, in
case I should get a scar. If things had gone the way I had always
thought they were meant to, in a year I would have been initiated, and
afterwards walked through the village wearing only the sky, so that
all could see that I was spotless and unmarked, fit to serve.
I showed her my wrists then, with their wide bands of scarring. Even
in the dark, they would be impossible to miss, hard and ridged. No one
could mistake me for anything unmarked.
Then it was her turn to cry, and then to grow very angry. She said
that here in Rome, there were girls raised the way I had been, for
service to the goddess Vesta. She told me that she would not be one of
those soldiers for any amount of gold, because what they had done to
me was not only cruelty, but a personal offense to the gods.
She hugged me then, fiercely, like a mother bear, and told me she had
to go -- she had been on her way to the market, and couldn't stay any
longer. She told me to be careful, and that if I was going to be
answering the door with a knife, I should walk, not run. I laughed
then, because she sounded so much like my own mother, and it was the
first time in days that a laugh hadn't tasted bitter in my mouth.
She left then, before I could tell her how badly I missed my Kais.
Quiaius lay miserably in his borrowed bed, wishing he could just sleep
a bit longer. Dreaming hurt, but wakefulness hurt worse;
unfortunately, there was no sleep left in him. The sun was up, had
been for a good while, and Macius' cook, Sima, had come in with a
tray.
"Master Quiaius, I thought you might want some breakfast."
He sighed and sat up. It was embarrassing to be treated like a sick
child at his age. He took the cakes she'd brought, mostly out of
politeness; he had no desire to eat anything. "Thank you, Sima."
"May I speak with you?"
"Of course. You know I don't stand on ceremony with you." He liked the
woman, with her sensible kindness; he had trouble thinking of her as a
slave, sometimes, because of her frankness. "Sit down, if you like."
She sat on the edge of the bed.
"I hope you won't think me meddlesome. I've visited your house this
morning."
He sighed. "It isn't my house anymore. I'm tired of having to tell
people that."
She ignored his scolding. "I saw Eab."
His heart leapt at the name, then fell as he recalled that the house
was not the only thing that was no longer his. "Is he -- well?"
"As well as you are, I would say. I don't think he's slept, or not
very
well. His eyes were red. And he answered the door with a knife. He's
afraid, I think."
"It's my fault, for bringing that soldier in. He wanted to help, and I
wanted to help, and it's done nothing but hurt Eab."
"You could just as well say it's my fault, for telling Master Macius
about what I saw in the market. If we're going to give faults here, we
should give them to those that deserve it, the ones who hurt that
child."
"I've hurt him. He trusted me, because he had to, I suppose. What have
I done but taken advantage of a damaged boy, and put his feelings
aside when he needed them protected?"
"Master Quiaius, you've done a great deal to help him. My master told
me what he was like when you first had him at home, starved and
terrified of everything. They made him into a wild animal, and you
helped him turn back into a boy. A very sweet boy, who loves you."
"He told you that?"
"He didn't have to. His eyes change when he talks about you. It's as
simple as that."
Quiaius swallowed; picturing those changeable eyes brought him
dangerously close to tears, which he could not show this kind woman.
"But I've been selfish, I've taken as much from him as he has from me.
More. I hadn't any idea how lonely I was, until he came to me. He gave
me someone to care for, someone to talk with, someone..."
"To love. After Claudia. No man is meant to be alone, or no good man."
"I'm not sure I am a good man. He's been given the chance to go home,
and he belongs at home, and I know that. And I don't want to give him
up. Even though that seems like a moot point just now."
Sima sighed. "Quiaius, you have no idea, do you? I talked to him about
that, this morning. He can't go home."
"He can, and he should. As a mother, you should know that."
"Quiaius, he was raised for one thing, to be like a Vestal to his
gods.
That's been destroyed for him. The child he was at home was killed.
The boy he is now can't bear what they'd think, back there, when they
saw him. There are signs of what happened to him everywhere on his
body." Anger burned in the woman's eyes. "How men can do such things,
to children. It's beyond me. Anakin's my life, but when I see a thing
like that, I wish I hadn't brought him into the world, with the danger
of it." She looked at him. "Eab needs you, Quiaius. If he were my son,
I'd want him to be with you."
"I don't deserve him. I've kept him a slave, when I could have freed
him. I never bothered to learn a word of his language, while he's
become better at Latin than half the natives. And I've... taken
advantage." He felt ashamed to say any more to her.
She put her hand on his shoulder. "You've loved him, and given him
comfort he needed. I dare say you haven't done anything beyond what he
wants. He's always come to you, hasn't he?"
"He's come to me. Or we've come together. There hasn't been very much,
really."
"I don't need to know what there's been; I've been in the world, after
all. It's between you. If you want to fix this, I believe you can, and
I believe you should."
"And what would you advise?"
"First of all, it certainly isn't too late to free him. As for the
language, you're a bright enough man so far as books and study are
concerned."
"There isn't a book for that. I'm not sure anyone in Rome knows that
language, and Latin too, except Eab himself."
Sima smiled. "You don't know what everyone in Rome knows, do you?
Anakin has a friend."
An hour later, Quiaius was clean and dressed, and walking in the sunny
street, led by Anakin, who was chattering away.
"She's kind of weird, but she's been everywhere. She knows a bunch of
languages. She's been teaching me some healing stuff, so if Ami, I
dunno, falls down and bumps her knee, I can fix her up. Well, that's
what she's supposed to be teaching me, but half the time she ends up
telling me some crazy story or something. She's about a million years
old, you know?" And with that, they came to the little clinic with its
low door, which Quiaius noted was perfectly sized for Anakin.
"Wondered I did when get around to this you would."
"Teach you, I will, what you need to say now. Teach you the rest, your
boy will later," Yolada, the tiny old healer, declared, while she
stirred a large iron pot in which herbs floated in murky water.
"I hope so... I don't even know if he is my boy, now."
The crone laughed uproariously. "Yours, he is, without a doubt. Killed
you the first week, he would have, if loved you he did not. Alive you
are, standing before me. Loves you he does."
Quiaius could think of no answer to this, and so he sat meekly,
awaiting his lesson.
"Start with this we will. Rachainn a criochan na h-urach nan dh'iarr
thu orm."
"Ah. Ra --" He had never heard anything less pronounceable. It dawned
on him that possibly learning Latin would not be so easy, after all,
for someone for whom this was their mother tongue. "What does that
mean, exactly?"
"I would go to the ends of the earth if you asked me to." A smile from
the old woman. "Mean that you do, hmmm?"
"Yes. Yes, I do. Can I write that down?"
"Better it is if by heart you can say it, but notes you may make if
you
must. Not much time you have, hmm? Downtown you must go, papers you
must register. Free him you must."
It was early evening, and I was sharpening my knife while Rosa tried
to play with the whetstone, when I heard a knock at the front door. As
I came closer, I could hear murmuring, as if two people were
whispering together; then footsteps as one hurried away. I looked out
the small window by the door and saw no one, and that made my blood
run cold. I had already been imagining noises around the house, and
fearing that someone might be trying to get in. Another knock, and I
looked down; there was a small blond boy clutching a small scroll. He
looked harmless, and so I opened the door a crack; he looked at the
knife I was holding and spoke to me from the doorstep.
"You must be Eab. I'm Anakin, my mom's Sima? Macius' cook? I've got
something for ya." He had that look of a boy under ten doing something
of great importance, very serious. He held out the scroll to me. "So
you're free and all now."
I looked at the scroll, with its seals and signs, and felt dizzy for a
moment. Being granted my freedom by a young boy seemed strangely
unreal. I would have thought I would be happier. He must have noticed
my expression.
"It's from Quiaius. He's staying with us since you, well, since he
gave you the house, right?" I nodded, dazed. I thought it interesting
that this child took the whole thing so casually. "He's been a
complete mess." And at that he rolled his eyes, and I had to smile, as
torn as my heart was. "Look, I know you're mad at him, but could he
come over and tell you something?"
I nodded, my head spinning. He looked over to his right and waved,
then
stepped back from the door, and there was Kais.
He looked terrible, and my heart went out to him. His hair was worse
than I'd seen it before, and his clothes were not to be mentioned. He
went down on his knees on the doorstep, then looked down at a page of
scribbled notes, then looked up at me.
"A Eaib. Sann a h-uile rud a tha thu ag iarraidh, a tha mi fhin ag
iarraidh. Tha mi a' gradhachadh tu. Am faodaidh mi a' tighinn
a-steach?"
Eab. Whatever you want is what I want. I love you. May I come
inside?
These were the first words of my own language, that I had learned from
my mother, that I had heard since the soldiers took me. Badly
pronounced, but beautiful, from such a man. "Tha thu ag ionnsachadh mo
chanain-sa!"
You're learning my language! And at that he looked completely lost,
and I knew that he had only learned those few words, but oh, that was
enough.
"Tapadh leat. Thank you." And I took his hand, which was shaking,
and helped him up, and wrapped my arms around him there on the
doorstep -- and certainly there were people in the street watching,
and surely neither of us cared at all -- and kissed him very
thoroughly, and let him in.
Epilogue
I will not have a man after Kais. In these twenty-three years we were
together, he was everything to me, lover and teacher and rescuer, but
mostly lover, and no other man's hands will touch me.
He was strong nearly to the end, and beautiful to me always, his eyes
always so blue, even as his hair grew entirely white. The last few
weeks I took care of him as he had taken care of me in the first weeks
we were together. I was holding him as he slept, the way I always did,
when he slipped away, like a candle going out, peacefully, as it comes
to its end. I wept then, and yet I was glad, knowing that when I saw
him again we would both be young and strong.
We burned his body then, in the manner of his people. Most of him is
in the garden now, under the cherry tree. I have a little of him with
me, in the small leather bag that I keep on a cord around my neck. He
is in my heart always.
The house, I've given to Anakin and Amidala. It is large enough for
their children, and I no longer need it. Free people should have a
house.
I've cut my hair, the braid like a rope that I grew because he loved
it. It was well past my waist, the ends the fierce red of my last days
as a boy, the top showing its first silver. I hung it in the tree,
where the birds may take it for their nests.
I took only a few things with me, the wrist bands he gave me that day
in the market, his comb, and a few coins. I needed nothing more,
besides the small gray horse Kais gave me five years ago. I call her
Argentum, after our cat.
I have heard that some of my people still live, back at home. I think
I
shall see what the Trees will think of me now.
In the chill of early morning, I turn my horse's head to the north,
and we run.
THE END
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