REVENGE IN SULAMAR
By
Katerina Kramova
SMASHWORDS EDITION
Version 1.1 Updated 3.15.11
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PUBLISHED BY:
Katerina Kramova on Smashwords
Copyright © 2010-2011 by Katerina Kramova
Also by Katerina Kramova, published at Smashwords:
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Talgar
One
The annual racehorse auction in Talgar was always held on the first day of spring. This year's crop of yearlings was not the best, and I was only interested in one horse. I was looking forward to the auction, anyway. It was a glorious spring day, and I did not take the carriage, but came on foot, accompanied only by my maid Nazima. I came early and was strolling about the market taking in its sights and sounds. I walked past hanging sausages and cured hams, garlands of garlic and red peppers. I looked at painted wooden dolls and brass pots and pans shining in the sunlight. I stopped to watch dancing children and the old fortune-teller plying his trade.
I wish I had my fortune told. I might have been warned of my danger.
I was sorry that I didn't come to the market more often, but my duties at the royal court of Talgar and my seven racehorses kept me too occupied for idle excursions. I was twenty two years old, a daughter of an illustrious family, and a mistress of my own household. But for all my busy social schedule, I was restless and in search of new amusements. Perhaps that was why I didn't make it to the racehorse auction. Instead, I allowed myself to be distracted by an ordinary sight of a man being sold into slavery.
Except it was not an ordinary sight. It stopped me cold.
This slave was naked except for a loincloth. He was certainly the most handsome man I had ever seen. He was tall and broad shouldered, each muscle perfectly sculpted under the smooth bronzed skin. His hair curled gently around his face in waves of spun gold. His eyes were large and very deep blue, so rare among the olive skinned people of our shores. He had high cheekbones, a straight arrogant nose and curved sensuous lips.
In short, he was absurdly beautiful. Such a face should belong to a god, not a man, and certainly not a slave. His hands were chained behind his back, his legs were in irons, and he had the obligatory iron collar around his neck. I could not take my eyes away from him, and in this I was not alone. A group of about two dozen people had gathered to watch. From their comments, I learned that the man was a Sulamarian warrior, just captured.
One man was haggling with the slave dealer. The would be buyer was short and fat with thin greasy hair. He argued about the price in a high pitched nasal voice, casting doubt on the slave's physical strength and obedient character. He ran his short chubby fingers along the slave's arm, feeling the muscles. Then he parted his lips and examined the teeth. Then he poked him in the stomach. The slave's face remained impassive.
Still not satisfied, the man demanded that the dealer remove the slave's loincloth. The request caused excited titters from the crowd. It was obvious that the man wasn't buying the slave for honest labor. The dealer hesitated. The request clearly exceeded the bounds of propriety. At the same time, the price was high, and no other buyers were forthcoming. The dealer shrugged and smiled apologetically to the crowd. Then he removed the slave's loincloth. The buyer took his time examining the goods. He clucked his tongue and circled his quarry. Getting even bolder, he felt the man's genitals with his hand. I noticed that he had dirty fingernails.
"Won't you get it up for me, sweetheart?" he smirked at the slave.
The captive warrior's face remained a frozen mask of contempt. His eyes were fixed on a spot somewhere above the crowd. He never once glanced at his tormentor. Only a throbbing vein in his temple and a set angle of his jaw betrayed his humiliation and rage.
I had already decided that I would have this slave for myself. Having come to the market to bid for a well known thoroughbred, I had brought plenty of money. I could have easily cut this appalling spectacle short by offering a higher price. After all, the buyer's behavior was vulgar beyond belief. It made me feel ashamed for my countrymen, for we pride ourselves on being the most civilized city in the world.
At the same time, the warrior's plight was well deserved. Sulamar had raided Talgar for centuries. Their hordes plundered and burned and took slaves, and they didn't treat those slaves any better than this. So, let this proud warrior be humbled before the good people of Talgar.
I waited till the bargain was just about to be struck and at the last moment called out, "I will pay twice what this man is offering." I didn't even raise my voice, yet all heads turned in my direction. Of course, the price I offered was outrageously high, but it would be quite beneath me to get into a haggling contest with a vulgar commoner.
Had I only known then just how high a price I was going to pay for this man!
Followed by Nazima, I made my way to the slave dealer's counter, the crowd stepping back respectfully before us. With a nod from me, Nazima plunked down the purse of gold coins on the counter and proudly looked at the crowd. Nazima understood me well, and she enjoyed a dramatic gesture as much as I did.
The dealer's eyes lit up with greed as he bowed to me. The unsuccessful buyer threw me a murderous glance and retreated through the crowd, muttering under his breath about rich harlots. We waited as the dealer counted his money under the watchful gaze of Nazima. In the meanwhile, I could examine my purchase more closely. He, too, glanced at me surreptitiously. I could see shame and anger in his face. Mostly, though, he seemed relieved at my sudden appearance.
Finally, the dealer finished counting his gold. Only then did he remember that the slave was still naked. He restored his loincloth and in a fit of generosity, he added a worn cloak. Then he gave me the key to the slave's irons and unrolled the ownership document. I read it. My slave's name was Fazil, and the physical description in the document did not do justice to his looks. The dealer handed me a pen. A sea gull screamed suddenly. Was it a warning? I ignored it. I was not the one to pay heed to peasant superstitions. I put my signature on the parchment.
And sealed my fate.
The slave followed us home through the streets of Talgar. On the way, we were met by more than a few curious glances. I knew that a young woman's purchase of a handsome male slave would raise a few eyebrows. It didn't matter. I was well born and had powerful friends. I was not going to be intimidated by what anybody thought, or deprived of my new amusement.
My slave could not have seen much of Talgar before today. I lived some distance from the market and as we walked I saw once again the glory of my city as it must appear to a stranger's eyes. Talgar stands on twelve hills overlooking the harbor, built of pink and white limestone. Wide pleated stairwells run up the hills to colonnaded temples topped with turquoise domes. Bridges with ornate laced parapets bow gracefully over crystal blue canals that wind their way among the hills.
Washed clean by a morning rain, the city shimmered in the sunlight, almost too bright for mortal eyes. The spring had come early this year, and the hills were covered by gardens in full bloom, flaming trees and magnolias in a riot of color. The world had never known a city more beautiful.
When we arrived home, I dismissed Nazima. I wanted to be alone with my slave. I saw him look around quickly, taking in the splendor of the surroundings, my tapestries and mosaics. "How did you come to be captured?," I asked him. "I didn't hear anything about a raid."
"There was no raid, my lady. We were a small reconnaissance party."
It was the first time I heard him speak. He had a deep, pleasant voice. A cultured voice. I had acquired an educated slave. This was going to be even better than I had hoped.
"You have led that party," I said. It was a statement, not a question. Even shackled, in a tattered cloak he had an air of command.
"Yes, my lady," he said.
"What happened to your men?"
"They all escaped, as far as I know."
"Of course. They abandoned you and ran for their lives.
Oh, how I admire the brave warriors of Sulamar!"
I could see that the barb had hit home. He cringed a little. "My men..." he began, then caught himself. "Yes, my lady," he said meekly.
I ran my finger lightly over the flawless skin of his arm. "In the market, I have seen you naked," I said.
The slave kept his eyes modestly lowered, but the corners of his lips were touched by a smile. A smug bastard, I thought.
"We are so fortunate to have you captured alive and undamaged," I continued sweetly. "There is not a scratch anywhere on your body. Why is that, my fearless warrior? Have Sulamarians forgotten how to fight?"
"I found myself alone and surrounded by at least a dozen of your men. The captain of the guard that had ambushed me ordered me to surrender. I didn't have a choice, my lady."
I was glad I had provoked him into such a long speech. I liked the sound of his voice. "A warrior always has a choice," I said pointedly. "A choice to fight and die in battle."
"That's true," Fazil said and suddenly added, "I believe I made a good choice. I am now fortunate to serve a lady of such rare beauty and refinement." He favored me with a dazzling smile. No doubt it could melt the hearts of maidens in Sulamar. It had no such effect on me. I raised my hand and slapped him hard enough to make my palm tingle. Fazil's eyes flashed with anger, but he checked himself and lowered his head.
"You are not as fortunate as you seem to think," I said evenly. "Do not insult me with your presumption."
"My lady, I didn't mean "
"Talgarian ladies do not care to receive compliments from their slaves," I said cutting him off. "In the future you will keep your opinions to yourself."
"I regret that I am ignorant of your customs, my lady. You are so kind to teach me."
I looked up at him quickly, but his expression was bland. "Indeed. Speaking of customs, do you know the meaning of this ring?" I extended my right hand with its simple band of white gold on the little finger. For a moment Fazil looked as if he was going to kiss my hand, but apparently thought better of it.
"It is a ring of mourning, is it not, my lady?" he said.
"That's right, my handsome soldier," I said. "I wear it for my father and my brother. They, too, were warriors. Both lost their lives to Sulamar. They died bravely in battle. They died defending Talgar in the War of the Siege, as did so many others. You'd best remember that when you bless your good fortune. You might have been better off with that greasy little man who'd almost bought you. Or even in a stone quarry."
"I am sorry for your loss, my lady, but such is war," he said lightly. "And it is a war you have won. Should we not show mercy to the defeated?" His flippant tone denied his humble words. I could not tell if he meant to provoke me or thought me ignorant. It could be said that Talgar had won the War of the Siege, in a sense that the city had not been taken. But Sulamar had not really been defeated. No one in Talgar had any illusions on that score.
Five years before, Sulamarian hordes attacked Talgar. They meant to take the city by storm, but we repelled them. When they had failed in a direct attack, they besieged the city, blockading our harbor and cutting off our food supplies. We held them off for almost a year, but by the end of it, the food rations had become so small that the weak and the old were beginning to die.
Sulamarians did not demand that the king surrender the city. They did not promise to spare us. There was never any doubt that they meant to destroy Talgar and slaughter most of its people. In the end, we were saved by the Hannu, a nomadic tribe which roams the grasslands to the east of Sulamar. The Hannu took advantage of the siege of Talgar to do some plundering of their own, in the lands controlled by Sulamar. Sulamarians were stretched too thin between the Hannu and Talgar, and so they lifted the siege and sent their troops to fight the Hannu. They went away, but for how long? The shadow of Sulamar was always there, a dark cloud on the horizon.
In the years before the War of the Siege and in the first three years after it, Sulamarians harassed us with raids looting, killing and taking slaves. But for the past two years, there had not been a single raid. People in Talgar were, of course, happy about that. And yet, some felt that things had been too quiet for comfort a deadly calm before a storm. For most of us believed that Sulamar still meant to destroy us, to drown us in blood as they had sworn to do two centuries before. I, for one, never doubted that one day the barbarians would return in full force. And that the Hannu would not be there to draw them away.
And here was my very own barbarian slave, having the audacity to preach to me about mercy to the defeated. And why was he here, anyway? No doubt sniffing around for the next raid when, fortunately, he'd been caught.
I wondered if he had been here during the siege. If he could have been the one to kill my father or brother. It would, of course, be useless to ask. The rat was bound to deny it.
"How dare you preach to me of mercy, you bloodthirsty savage?" I demanded angrily. "They should have killed you on the spot. You don't deserve your miserable life!"
He looked up quickly, taken aback by my vehemence. "Then why did you buy me, my lady?" he asked after a small hesitation.
Why, indeed? I must have been mad. I took a deep breath, made myself calm. "I bought you for your looks, of course," I said lightly. "You are quite decorative, as you probably know. But now that I brought you home, I see that I don't like you much."
The slave kept his eyes down, but I saw a shadow of a smile cross his face. It occurred to me that he didn't believe me, that he thought I fancied him after all. I came very close to him then, and lifting his chin with my hand, said straight into his face, "I despise you, my pretty peacock. Not only are you a coward, you are a smug arrogant fool. You think you can seduce me and then spend your days lolling about in my soft bed "
"My lady, I never intended "
"Your intention is plain as day, and I find it insulting. I promise you that you will never have me. Not me, nor any other woman, because I forbid you. If you do and get caught, you will surely regret it. Is this clear to you?"
"Very clear, my lady," Fazil said promptly. He did not sound impressed.
"You annoy me, Fazil. I am going to have you whipped. Right now and any other time I feel like it. Which I think will be often. Perhaps it will show you the measure of my dislike."
I waited for his response, but none came. Evidently he was not about to beg for mercy. It would not have helped him to do so, but it would have pleased me to hear it. To my disappointment, he simply waited with his eyes lowered. "Nazima!" I shouted at the top of my voice. She appeared almost instantly. I wondered if she had been listening at the door. I wouldn't have put it past her. Nazima was often more curious than was good for her. "I want this slave whipped right now," I said matter of factly, as if this was something I did every day.
In fact, I could not recall the last time a servant had been whipped in my household, it must have surely been before I had come into my inheritance.
"What's he done?" Nazima asked breathlessly.
"He is a miserable coward, and he thinks that I like him," I said. "I am going to convince him that it isn't so."
"Yes, my lady," Nazima said hesitantly. "What should I do?"
"I want you to whip him. Go get the whip!"
Nazima giggled and ran out. She was gone a long time, probably looking for the whip, which must have been lost from disuse. It would have to be kept handy from now on.
While we waited for Nazima to come back, I stared at Fazil. He didn't squirm or try to get me to change my mind. He actually managed to look bored. I was determined to make him pay for it.
At last, Nazima came back with the whip, looking flushed. She was as new at this game as I was and obviously as excited. "Should I make him lie down on the floor, my lady?" she asked.
"No, I want to see his face while you whip him," I said after a pause. "Let us take him out into the garden and tie him to a tree."
Nazima had to get one of the grooms to help her tie Fazil's hands above his head to a branch of a cherry tree in the garden, as he was too tall for her. At a word from me, Nazima took off Fazil's cloak. Then she looked at his loincloth.
"Go on, take it off," I said. "He'd be disappointed if you didn't."
Nazima promptly took off Fazil's loincloth. She looked shyly at me. Then, reddening, she stepped back and cracked the whip at Fazil's feet. He did not flinch.
The whole affair was so improvised, it seemed ludicrous. It looked like a game, an amateur performance. But the pain would be real enough. Nazima raised her arm and brought the whip down on Fazil's buttock. His body jerked and grew rigid, but he didn't cry out.
"Hit him harder," I ordered. "Make him scream."
Nazima hit harder. I could tell that she was doing her best. I watched with mounting excitement, as Fazil twisted helplessly under the whip. Sweat ran down his face, and he bit his lip until it was bloody. Still, he didn't make a sound.
We were in a fairly secluded spot, and yet, it seemed that within minutes several servants had a reason to pass by. "You may stay and watch, if you wish," I said to them. that anyone who wanted could stay and watch. The servants gathered around and set in a semicircle on the grass.
I wondered how long it would take before my new slave broke down and cried. It didn't seem right to let him off before he begged for mercy. Unfortunately, I did not have much time. I was going to attend a new musical performance at the royal palace and it was time for me to begin to dress. The real humbling of Fazil would have to wait for another occasion.
I told Nazima to stop, which she did with obvious reluctance. When she untied Fazil from the tree he stumbled, but did not fall.
"Bow to me, my brave warrior. Thank me for your punishment," I ordered softly.
After a smallest of hesitations, he did. His body glistened with sweat and was covered with red stripes from the lash. And he no longer looked smug. I had to be content with that for now. I told my housekeeper to feed the new slave in the kitchen, to find him some work clothes, and to set him to work at the stables. I also told her that the Sulamarian was to sleep at the stables, as I didn't see fit to crowd my other servants in the kitchen quarters on his behalf.
While Nazima helped me dress, we talked about Fazil.
"Why didn't he scream?" I asked her.
"I beat him very hard, my lady," Nazima said. "You should have tried it yourself."
"I am sure you did your best," I said quickly. "I am not blaming you at all. But it seems that he got captured without a fight, and then he wasn't afraid to be whipped and didn't beg for mercy. Don't you think it's a little odd?"
"No, my lady. He is a Sulamarian, and there is no telling what they will do. Maybe he can't even feel it. They are all savages, anyway. Now will you be wearing the ruby necklace?"
"Yes, I think the ruby necklace is best with this gown..."
I turned my attention to dressing for the court and finally succeeded in putting Fazil out of my mind. I saw him fleetingly once again that evening, as I swept past him into the waiting carriage trailing a cloud of perfume. I wore a wine colored velvet gown, a ruby necklace and a diamond tiara. Fazil watched me from the shadows, his half closed eyes lingering on my bare shoulders and back. A secretive smile played on his lips. I thought that Nazima was right, of course. There was no telling what a Sulamarian would do or think, and what this one thought was of no importance whatsoever.
The next day, Armen, who was then my lover, came to have dinner with me at my house. We spoke about the concert at the palace we had both attended the previous evening. Armen knew the latest gossip about the new harpist who had been the evening's main attraction. The young man was of obscure origins and his quick rise at the court was a matter of some speculation. According to Armen, the young musician was the lover of the High Priest Eriman and owed his fame entirely to the latter's patronage.
Of course, Armen did not actually say any of this. Instead, he heaped extravagant praise on the young musician's art and on Eriman's ability to discern talent in the most unlikely quarters. Nevertheless, his meaning was quite unmistakable.
Armen's conversation was always clever and rarely kind. It delighted me immensely. We had been childhood friends, but had only recently become lovers. Armen was a small dapper man, olive skinned and dark, not exactly handsome, but with lively, intelligent features. Always impeccably dressed, he was one of the most elegant men to serve at the court.
"I am sorry, Tamar," Armen said. "You were going to bid on that famous horse yesterday, and I didn't even ask you how it went. Did you get him?"
"No, I didn't," I said with a sigh.
"Why, I thought you had your heart set on that horse. It is so unlike you to have anyone outbid you. Who got him in the end?"
"I don't know, I never even made it to the auction. I bought a slave, instead."
"Darling, I didn't know you were short of help. Surely, there is no need to buy at the market. We can find you someone reliable."
"I have plenty of reliable help. This was a whim, really. I bought a Sulamarian. A warrior who'd just been captured. He is quite unusually handsome. I just couldn't pass him by."
"What an extraordinary thing to do! My dear Tamar, are you sure that this is wise, in a household such as yours? It seems to me that the mines or the limestone quarries would be more suitable places for such a person."
I waived it off. "I assure you, I am in no danger. The slave is quite docile. He was taken without a fight and will put up with anything to survive. I am bored with him already. Really, I should have bought that horse."
"What do you plan to do with him?" Armen asked, then added stiffly, "Not that it's any of my business, of course."
I laughed and took his hand. It was absurd that Armen might be jealous of a slave. "My groom can always use another stable boy," I said airily.
My lover did not look convinced.
"Armen, I like to surround myself with beautiful things.
That doesn't mean I take them to bed with me. And this one is quite insufferable. He knows he is handsome and thinks himself irresistible. Of course, he will soon learn otherwise."
Armen nodded and poured us more wine. I nestled closer in his arms. "Would you like to see him?" I asked dreamily. "He is really something to see. And it would be amusing to have him wait on us."
"Oh, why not? You've got me curious," Armen said.
And so I asked the maid who was serving us to bring Fazil to wait on us instead. Fazil came in shortly and placed a tray with fruit and wine before us. Then he bowed and waited to be dismissed.
"What do you think?" I asked turning to Armen, as if Fazil was not in the room.
"So he is another pretty face," Armen said with a shrug.
"It isn't just his face that's pretty," I announced.
"You should see him naked."
"Should I, really?" Armen's smile was a little forced.
I laughed. I knew that I was making him jealous, and it pleased me. "Fazil, take off your clothes," I ordered.
Fazil looked a little shocked. I suppose he was not used to women behaving in this way in Sulamar. Of course, women in Sulamar didn't own slaves, or anything else for that matter. As far as I remembered, they were not legally entitled to own property in their own names.
Now a blush was slowly spreading across my slave's face. He was dressed in coarse linen work shirt and pants, and he was sweaty from work. He looked slowly from me to Armen. Perhaps he hoped that Armen would stop me. Of course, Armen was going to do no such thing. He was happy enough to see me humiliate my new slave in front of him. And even if he wasn't, I usually had my way.
"Well, darling? Are you going to be a good boy or do you want another whipping?" I said in a honeyed voice.
Reluctantly, Fazil peeled off his shirt and pants. He looked magnificent, despite the marks of the lash on his body. And he had an erection.
"What did I tell you?" I said happily turning to Armen. "Isn't he the most beautiful animal you've ever seen?"
"Did you whip him or was he like that when you bought him?" Armen asked.
"I had Nazima whip him. It was the first thing I did when I brought him home. Turn around and show us your whip marks," I ordered Fazil. "I am afraid Nazima did not whip him hard enough."
Fazil turned around obediently. He kept his hands by his sides.
"He must like being treated this way," Armen said looking pointedly at Fazil's erection. "I guess it takes all kinds, especially in Sulamar."
"That's right," I said seizing on the idea. "You like humiliation, don't you, my pretty slave? Maybe you like it so much you had to come and live with us here in Talgar. Did you get captured on purpose, my brave Fazil?"
"No, my lady," Fazil said quickly. "I did not want to come here and I did not get captured on purpose."
For the first time I saw a look of anxiety cross his face, but it was gone in the same instance. I did not stop to wonder about that. I had a new idea. I told Fazil to put his clothes back on and to go and stand by the door in case I needed anything. Then I whispered to Armen: "Take me now.
I want the slave to watch." I was feeling reckless, giddy with wine.
"If that's what you want," Armen said, but without much enthusiasm. Armen was a good lover, considerate and patient, but not very adventurous. In bed, he usually followed my lead. Now I slipped out of my robe and pulled him down among the cushions. I think that after a while, he forgot all about the slave. But I did not. I did not look at Fazil but I felt his burning eyes with every inch of my body. It is a worse insult than a whipping to treat a man as if he isn't even there, as if he does not exist. I sensed his desire and his rage, and this excited me more than Armen's caresses alone ever could.
Two
Fazil fitted into my household remarkably well, even though it could not have been easy for him, after the way he'd been welcomed. Nazima told me that he had one or two fights with the other grooms in the first few days, but was never bothered after that. She added somewhat wistfully, "He is not really a bad sort, my lady, even if he is a Sulamarian." Then she gave a long sigh.
I wandered fleetingly if there would be more to it than that. Unfortunately, there was. About a month later, I heard them talking in the garden. It was a gentle cloudy day with a smell of rain in the air. I was walking down a path towards the gazebo to retrieve a book I had forgotten there. And then I heard them. Soft laughter. Lovers' whispers. They were in the gazebo. I couldn't make out the words, but I recognized the voices. Nazima and Fazil.
Normally, I would have turned right back. I was not in the habit of spying on my servants. As long as they did their work, I was happy to leave them alone. But this was different. A wave of cold anger hit me before I'd heard a single word. Nazima should have known better than to lower herself for a Sulamarian. I did not want to know what they were saying, yet I couldn't bear not to know. I came closer.
I heard a sigh, a sound of a kiss.
"Let me come tonight," Fazil whispered.
"No, no. You can't. I shouldn't let you do this... I didn't mean to come out here..." Another sigh, a rustle of clothes. Silence.
"Let me come." His voice, low, dark and smooth. Insistent, but not pleading. A voice to be obeyed.
"I must be mad to let you. But not tonight. We are going to a ball, my lady and I."
I was going to a ball given by Dazmara, the most celebrated actress in Talgar. Her evenings always attracted a large crowd. A small, select group of courtiers, perhaps a dozen in all, would stay overnight and bring their servants. Important matters of the court were often discussed at breakfast. I was going to spend the night at Dazmara's and take Nazima with me. Nazima loved those outings, for there was entertainment for the servants also.
"I know," Fazil said. "Make some excuse and stay home."
"I won't miss it for the world. There will be dancing. I wish you could be there, too."
"We'll dance here tonight, you and I."
Nazima giggled. "So impatient you are. Can't you wait? I won't change my mind, I promise."
"For you, Nazima, I could wait a lifetime," he said solemnly. "But it is better tonight, when she is away. She mustn't catch us. I shouldn't like it if you get whipped because of me."
"Oh, but she wouldn't! She has never laid a finger on me, not once in ten years."
"Remember, I am a Sulamarian, and she doesn't approve of me. She would be sure to punish you for being kind to me, an enemy."
"You are not the enemy, Fazil. I know you are not like the others. And I am sorry I had to whip you. I didn't want to, but she made me."
Oh, what a shameless little liar, I thought furiously. She had been eager enough, and no mistake.
"Of course you didn't want to, my sweet Nazima," Fazil agreed smoothly. "You are kind, as well as pretty. Not like our cruel mistress. Be with me tonight, my dove."
"But what will I tell my lady?" she asked with a sigh.
"Say your sister took ill and needs your help," Fazil answered promptly. He must have thought this through before.
Nazima's older sister was married to a fishmonger. The two sisters weren't close, and Nazima rarely mentioned her. I was surprised Fazil knew of her at all.
"Yes, I can say that. You know she is pregnant again, and they already have five children."
I turned around and went back into the house. My temples throbbed painfully. I was aware that my distress was out of all proportion with what had happened. Or, rather, had not yet happened. I sat down in front of my dressing table, and gazed at the glittering jars of powders and perfumes. It was too early to dress for Dazmara's ball. I was waiting for Nazima.
After a while, she came in, looking flushed and slightly disheveled. I would not have noticed if I hadn't known. She bustled around, straightening the room and chattering ceaselessly. Usually, her chatter amused me, but now I couldn't stand to listen to her. I sat in front of the mirror in stony silence, hoping against hope that Nazima had come to her senses and changed her mind.
Nazima didn't notice that anything was amiss. She said solemnly, "My sister has taken ill with fever, my lady."
"Oh?" I said.
"She has no one to help her with the children, the poor thing."
"What about the husband? Is he ill, too?"
"Eh, no, he is away, my lady. Visiting relatives in his village."
"How unfortunate," I murmured.
Nazima paused expectantly. I gave her no help. Please don't say it, I prayed silently, for your sake and for mine. Nazima hesitated, puzzled by my silence, but not deterred. "May I go and visit her tonight, my lady?" she asked, lowering her eyes demurely. "Instead of going to the ball. "I should be terribly sorry to miss it, but..." she trailed off.
"But some things are more important," I said and smiled.
Nazima smiled back uncertainly.
"Of course you can go, Nazima," I said. "You must go at once. You shall have my carriage to take you to your sister's."
"The carriage?" Nazima gasped and went crimson. "My lady, what can you be meaning? I couldn't take it!"
"I think you will find it convenient. To carry your trunks and belongings. You are moving out for good. You are dismissed from my service, Nazima. I want you out of my house before sunset."
Nazima blinked rapidly several times. "My lady... You can't mean it... Please!" Her face was dissolving into tears.
"Don't forget anything when you pack. I don't want to see you in this house again."
She fell to her knees before me. "It's lies! All lies!" she cried wildly. "Whatever somebody told you, my lady, it isn't true! I've done nothing, nothing!"
"You've been disloyal," I said quietly. "It's the one thing, the only thing I cannot abide. Get out."
She clutched the hem of my skirt, sobbing. "Who will dress you for the ball, prepare you for the court? No one can do it like I can. I make you look so beautiful, my lady, the best of them all! Truly, I don't know what I've done, but punish me for it. Have me whipped, my lady. Don't send me away!"
"No. Get up, Nazima," I said wearily. "Remember that you are no longer a slave. Try to behave with a little dignity. In the end, that is all we have left."
She stood up, weeping softly. I did not turn to her, but sought her eyes in the mirror.
"Out," I said.
When she was gone, I sat quite still, staring at myself in the mirror.
I had often been told that I had my mother's beauty. A sweeping arch of dark brows, large dark eyes, high cheekbones and a full generous mouth. It did not look generous right now, drawn into a thin line. I hardly knew myself anymore. A bitter, angry stranger stared back at me through the mirror.
I could not say if I resembled my mother. I did not remember her face. She died when I was five, a few days short of my sixth birthday. A horse threw her. She hit her head on a rock when she fell. I was told that she died instantly and didn't suffer.
All I remember of her is her gentle voice, a whiff of her perfume, the way her hair brushed my face when she kissed me good night. And the lullaby she used to sing to me. Only it was not a real lullaby but an old battle hymn, a song of the glory of Timujin, my legendary ancestor.
I rarely thought of my mother, and I didn't know why I remembered her now. A shadow of sorrow and loss, of distant pain. And a memory of something I had always known. Sooner or later, those you love will be taken from you or will betray you.
Nazima had been with me since she was eight. And now, she too, was lost to me. She had been my slave until two years ago, when a man had asked for her in marriage. He was a small merchant, a good prospect for her. I gave her freedom, so she could be married. But Nazima was not in a hurry and kept putting off the wedding under one pretext or another. In the end, she broke off the engagement altogether. She said that she couldn't bear to lead her sister's life and would much rather stay on as my maid. And so she did, with no regrets. Life with me suited her well. Even so, I had always been resigned to losing her one day to marriage. But I never reckoned on losing her like this, to the wiles of a Sulamarian slave.
I shook myself out of my stupor and went down to the stables. I wanted to see Rasha, my favorite chestnut mare. Horses never failed to bring me comfort, no matter how low my mood. Fortunately, the Sulamarian was nowhere about, or I could have strangled him with my bare hands.
I spoke softly to Rasha, brushing her mane and stroking her long glossy neck, feeling the tension go out of my body.
It had not always been thus. After my mother fell from a horse and died, I began to have a fear of horses. I refused to go anywhere near them and would scream and run away whenever I saw a horse. Naturally, such behavior could not be tolerated in the house of the Amir, even from a five year old. Children of the family rode since they were six. It was a family tradition for children to be put on a horse for the first time on the occasion of their sixth birthday. My father made it clear that he would make no exception for me. In the eleven days between my mother's death and my sixth birthday, my dread kept increasing with every passing day.
On the day I turned six, I woke before dawn. I slipped out of the room without disturbing my nurse, who was sleeping near me. I crept through the silent house and hid in the farthest, least-used storage room. Once there, I curled up in the darkness behind sacks of flour, and wept bitterly for my mother who had abandoned me to this. I heard the uproar in the house throughout the day, the servants calling for me. Yet, I must have slept on and off throughout the day, exhausted by my misery and fear.
It was getting dark, when my nurse finally found me. She had to carry me out because I refused to walk. She did not scold me, and neither did my father. Outside, the rain was falling in the chill autumn air. I trembled violently when I saw the horse. Against the dark sky, a darker, malevolent shape. My nurse was crying, but I was too frightened to make a sound. My father, tall and gaunt, took me from the nurse. She knelt in the wet grass and begged him to wait till I was less afraid. But my father would not hear of it. A child of the Amir, he said, would not be ruled by weakness and fear. He put me up on the horse and led it around the circle of the outer courtyard. It was a gentle horse with a smooth gait, but I was sure it would be my death. I still remember how the ground rushed beneath me. A blind, sickening terror.
It was to be my first lesson in courage. True courage, my father had said, was in not in being fearless, but in overcoming fear. Even then I understood. I had to have this courage to be worthy of the name of the Amir. I knew what my father had done, and I accepted its rightness.
My father made me ride every day. And every day my fear was a little less, until finally, it was gone. Now horses were my greatest pleasure. I wished I could ride Rasha now, but there was no time.
I found my coachman and told him to take Nazima in the carriage wherever she wanted to go. And so Nazima departed in grand style in my gilded carriage. Even so, the ringing of its silver bells did not drown out her wails.
I took one of the kitchen maids to dress me for Dazmara's ball. I wanted to have my hair arranged in the newest fashion half of it put up, and half to be left cascading down my shoulders. The girl was not much use to me in this, but I managed it myself reasonably well. Nor was she skilled with cosmetics. I realized that I would need more patience than I had today, if she were to be taught anything at all. In the end, though mostly through my own efforts, I managed to look as well as usual. I wore a gown of green silk shot with silver thread and a mantle of white brocade.
The main hall of Dazmara's house dazzled the eye with its splendor. The walls were draped in crimson and gold, the marble floors were polished to a high gloss and reflected the light of crystal chandeliers. The usual glittering crowd was also there courtiers, musicians, actors, wealthy traders and foreign envoys. As usual, it was rumored that later on King Morador would make an appearance. More often than not such rumors proved false, for lately the king was ailing.
Conversation revolved around the court gossip, new plays and concerts, and returned inevitably to maritime trade. For in the end, the trade is what really matters in Talgar. It is the lifeblood of the city, the foundation of our prosperity and glory. Talgar is the preeminent center of commerce, the port of call for the merchant fleets of the world. The summer trade winds bring to our harbor ships from the western continent laden with exquisite silks, perfumes and spices. Slave ships from the South Islands dock in our harbor, and so do Elsamirian vessels carrying strange and wondrous devices, such as a mechanical dial that could tell time up to the minute without the sun. All manner of things are bought and sold in Talgar, even those that are only brought here to be loaded on other ships and taken away again.
One reason for this is that the Crown insures merchant ships against the loss at sea, and this service is much valued by foreign traders. It is a lucrative business, and the fee for insurance is steep. But most traders wish it and some come to Talgar for that reason alone, because they have to dock in Talgar to be insured.
Until the reign of King Kasadur, the father of the reigning King Morador, there had been other kingdoms that insured ships at sea. But then there were three years in a row of terrible storms, and hundreds of ships were lost at sea. In the third year, all the other insurers either would not or could not pay the merchants for their losses. They said that their reserves were already exhausted, and that they could not be held accountable for such a long run of bad luck.
But King Kasadur honored every claim. He did this against the advice of his council, that argued that Talgar, too, could not afford to pay. On the contrary, the king decided, he could not afford not to pay. The honor of the Crown was at stake. The king of Talgar had never been known to go back on an agreement. The wisdom of that decision was proven in later years. To recoup the losses, the Crown increased the fees charged for insurance, but the merchants did not complain. They all flocked to Talgar and were glad to pay, while the other insurers could find no customers. Since then, Talgar has been the only insurer of merchant ships, and it was the integrity of the Crown in all its dealings that made Talgar without rivals in maritime trade.
I danced and smiled and talked as usual, but I was not in a very festive mood. And it did not improve matters when the new envoy from Damogran accosted me with a long and convoluted explanation as to why the planned trade treaty between Damogran and Sulamar was, in fact, in the best interests of Talgar. This was clearly nonsense. Sulamar was close enough to us to lie on all the same trading routes, and any increase in trade between Damogran and Sulamar had to come at our expense. There was no way around this awkward fact, and the Damogranian had to know this as well as I did.
Despite this, I listened to him with my usual rapt smile of attention which never failed me, even if my mind was elsewhere. All the while, I wondered why he bothered. The Crown never tried to prevent our trading partners from having dealings with Sulamar, who were our only enemies. While we were not exactly forced to turn away ships from our harbor, we had all the business we could handle. As far as the Crown was concerned, Sulamar was welcome to the crumbs.
Sulamar, too had a good harbor, and in the last half a century or so, had become a port of some note. But it could never rival Talgar either in the volume of trade or in sophistication. I recalled one instance several years ago, when the High Council of Sulamar announced a policy new for them. They offered to refund harbor dues to any state whose volume of trade exceeded a certain level within a year. This sounds simple enough, but the barbarians could not manage it. They could not keep accurate records of which ships docked when and of the value of their cargo. Disputes arose with other states, and accusations of bad faith were made on all sides. In the end, Sulamar dropped the scheme amidst much embarrassment and recrimination.
In Talgar, where the Crown had been following an identical scheme for several centuries without any problems, the incident was greeted with much merriment. Sulamar was not good at anything except pillage and plunder, but, I suppose, one had to give them credit for trying.
The memory of the harbor-dues debacle served to cheer me up, even as I was being bored by the earnest envoy. I decided not to remind him of the incident, but assured him instead, that I would convey his sentiments to the king. At that moment, I saw Armen in the crowd and managed to catch his eye. Armen promptly rescued me from the Damogranian and took me outside for a stroll in the gardens. But even here, it seemed, I could not be rid of Sulamar.
We had walked but a few yards down a garden path when Armen handed me a handful of coral necklaces saying, "Kumisian traders insist on giving these to everyone. It seems a pity to throw them out. I've saved some for your maid. She seems so fond of them."
"It is sweet of you to remember," I said. "But Nazima is no longer with me."
"Didn't I see her just a few days ago? What happened?"
"I dismissed her today," I said shortly.
"I am sorry, Tamar. I know she's been with you for very long. And you seemed very fond of her."
"Why are you always asking about my servants?" I said with sudden vehemence. "Isn't there anything else you'd care to talk about?"
Armen seemed so surprised that he stopped walking. "I don't remember ever asking about your servants," he said. "What's the matter, Tamar?"
"I am sorry," I said. "It's just that lately I've been on edge. I don't know why. I can't get any peace of mind ever since... " I trailed off in confusion.
Armen was good at finishing other people's sentences. He was so good at it that it had become somewhat of a joke among our circle of friends. Armen often entertained us during boring official functions at the palace by whispering the second half of every sentence ahead of some long winded speaker. Usually, we placed bets and kept score. On good days Armen was right more than three quarters of the time. Now, I was not exactly making a speech. No matter, Armen had no trouble finishing for me. "... Ever since you've bought the Sulamarian," he said without hesitation.
"Yes," I agreed. I told him what had happened with a sense of relief. "I let her go because she lied to me," I concluded.
I had expected some expression of sympathy, but Armen was silent. "I couldn't trust her any more. Don't you understand?" I said.
"And if she took him as her lover openly, you wouldn't have prevented her?" Armen asked.
"I don't know. I trained her, I gave her freedom, I even taught her to read. She had good marriage prospects, the foolish, ungrateful girl. And if she wanted to throw it all away for a Sulamarian slave, to demean herself for this animal, then, surely, it would have been my duty to stop her."
"For her own good, of course. And when you threw her out of the house without a day's notice, that too, we must suppose, was for her own good."
"Your concern is so touching, my dear Armen! No doubt Nazima will appreciate it. She is with her fishmonger sister in the Lower Town, and she is easy enough to find. My coachman will direct you. Why don't you take her for yourself, darling? She'll be overjoyed to have you as her protector. Make her your mistress, or better yet, marry her. It's all the same to me, just leave me alone!" I turned and walked away from him quickly, almost running. I could not yet face going back into the house to the dancing and the conversation. I came upon a pond and set down on the bench gazing into the water. The night was clear and warm, and the water was still as glass. White lilies floated in the moonlight, and marble statues of the gods gleamed among the dark green trees, trimmed into elaborate shapes of people and animals. The formal beauty of the garden soothed me a little.
Soon, Armen joined me on the bench and took my hands in his. "It's you I am concerned about," he said. "I've never known you to be ungenerous. It seems you got rid of the wrong servant. It's the Sulamarian who is at fault. He is disrupting your household. Why not get rid of him?" "I've been managing my household perfectly well for five years," I said. "I don't need help or advice."
"As you wish."
We sat in silence for a while. I knew that Armen meant well. I also knew that he was right. "There is a big slave auction at midsummer," I said with a sigh. "Maybe I'll sell him then."
"You don't need to wait for the auction. Sell him to a stone quarry. I've just had a pavilion built in my garden, and I've spoken to a quarry master. He said the quarry was always short of slaves. They don't last very long there. If you wish, I'll speak to the quarry master for you."
"Later, perhaps. I'll keep it in mind."
Armen embraced me and we kissed. A night bird was singing in a tree above us. Its song mingled with distant music and laughter. Fragrant vines scented the air.
My lover's lips were soft and warm. I felt nothing. Only sadness.
The next day, I saw Fazil sitting under a tree repairing a harness. He was humming softly to himself, the very picture of contentment. When he saw me, he stood up and bowed. The bow was just barely low enough to avoid outright insolence. His blue eyes glittered with amusement. I knew what he thought. That I had dismissed my maid because I wanted him for myself. I did not acknowledge his bow. I looked right through him when I walked by, but inwardly I was seething.
Later that day, I found fault with the way he had repaired the harness and ordered Hamiz, one of my older servants, to give him thirty lashes. It was done at the stables, and I wasn't present. Nor did I inquire afterwards how he took it. I treated it as a matter of routine.
Less than a month later, I decided to ask Nazima to come back. I missed her and knew that I had been unjust. I wanted to right the wrong I had done to her and also to show Fazil my indifference. I went to the Lower Town myself. I took a gift with me a filigree silver bracelet in the form of a snake biting its tale. Nazima had always admired it. Fortunately, my coachman remembered the way to the house of Nazima's sister. The streets became bumpy and shabby as we entered the Lower Town and made our way to the waterfront. Across the windows and on the roofs, washing was hung to dry like festive banners. Bright reds, greens and blues, the brilliant blues of our indigo dyes.
Street peddlers shouted the praises of their wares. The air was redolent of seaweed, fried dough and sweet spices. We came to a stop before the fishmonger's shop. A motley band of children gathered to gape at the fancy lady being helped from a gilded carriage. It was a rare enough sight in this part of the city. Hearing all the commotion, a pregnant woman waddled out of the shop. I barely recognized Nazima's sister. Two years ago, when I had last seen her, she had still been pretty. The woman kept bowing to me so that I became alarmed that she would faint in the heat. Finally, she conducted me up the creaky stair where the family lived in one room above the shop. The room was large but bare, with wide wooden benches all around the walls. Here, the eldest daughter, a plump dark girl of about thirteen watched over the rest of the children. They all made a great deal of fuss over me, and despite my protests, pressed upon me tea and fried rolls. The smell of fish was overwhelming even here. I thought I would have too burn the clothes I was wearing and have Nazima do the same should she be good enough to come home with me.
Nazima would be here soon, her sister told me. I hoped fervently that she would, for the smell was nearly killing me.
Nazima came at last, and I saw with a pang how pale she looked, with dark circles under her eyes. She came to me without words, and, kneeling, kissed the hem of my skirt. I took the silver bracelet from my wrist and put it on hers. "I am sorry, Nazima," I said. "I am sorry I believed lies about you. After ten years I should have known better."