Freedom's Gate Page 5

  Kyros smiled, his whole face warming with his trust in me. “Thank you,” he said, and clasped my elbow.

  Kyros rose, and Sophos did, too. Then Sophos snapped something cold around my left wrist, and I jerked away in horror before I could catch myself. “What are you doing?”

  Sophos held out the length of chain, almost apologetically. “A new slave would ride in chains, of course. I’m sorry, should I have brought this up earlier?” He was addressing Kyros again. “The rest of my household will not be privy to these arrangements. She’ll need to start posing as a slave right away.”

  Kyros bit his lip and jerked his head, as if to say, Talk to her—not me. Sophos turned and held up the other end of the chain, reluctantly meeting my eyes. “May I?”

  “I am not a slave, Sophos. I am Kyros’s freeborn assistant—his willing servant. You may not forget that fact.”

  Sophos bowed slightly. “Please understand that I will have to speak to you as if you are a slave when we are near other people. But I will not forget again, my lady.”

  Two weeks, I told myself. Trembling, I held out my right hand, and he snapped the manacle around it. Hugging my thin cloak around myself, I followed Sophos out to the wagon that waited by the door of the compound.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I had traveled by wagon before, but everything seemed different when I was traveling as a slave. In part, this was simply because it was so much more uncomfortable. The wagon bounced and jolted over the ruts in the road. The manacles bruised my wrists and, after particularly hard jolts, the chains would sometimes slap down and bruise my legs. As the purported owner of a newly acquired concubine, Sophos was able to take at least a small concern for my flesh; he had tossed a pillow down for me to sit on. But it did little to make me more comfortable.

  Sophos’s entourage was not large. He was accompanied by a few guardsmen and one other household slave, a trusted servant who traveled untethered. Conversation was minimal. At midmorning on the first day, when we stopped to rest, the other slave took my chains in hand like a leash and escorted me a short distance from the wagon to allow me to relieve myself. The slave was an older man; Sophos had brought no women with him on the trip, I realized, and I would have to be escorted to relieve myself, every time, for the rest of the trip. I clutched my cotton shift as closely around myself as I could without soiling it. I glanced at my escort, expecting that he’d at least be pretending to look off into the distance, but instead he was looking me over with a faint leer. I finished my business as quickly as I could and straightened up. “Did you get a good look?” I hissed as he started back to the wagon.

  He jerked on my chains to make me fall to my knees, and slapped my face hard enough to make my ears ring for a moment. “Keep your tongue behind your teeth, lamb, or you’ll regret it.”

  “Elubai!” Sophos snapped from the wagon. “I didn’t give you leave to discipline her. Hands off.”

  Muttering to himself, Elubai jerked the chains again, but I was expecting it this time and managed not to fall. I climbed back up to the wagon, rubbing my cheek with my fist and trying to hold back tears. This wasn’t what I agreed to. Sophos didn’t look back at me, merely signaled for the wagon to start up again. Still, my mother in a temper had slapped me harder than this, on occasion. I tried to straighten my shoulders—then, remembering, tried to sink into myself.

  Helladia was on the other side of the hills, one of the last outposts before the open steppe; there were mines and military garrisons dotted throughout the hills, and Helladia existed to provide a supply point and communication center for those garrisons. The road to Helladia couldn’t go straight up and over the hills; they were much too high and steep for that. Instead, the road cut across the hill at an angle, climbing much more slowly, then reversed its course. It was the only way that horses could possibly pull a wagon up, but it made our progress seem terribly slow.

  The hills were a dusky green from the spring rain, with the red-gold of the soil showing through the leaves. As we crested the first hill and looked beyond, they darkened to gray and brown, but I couldn’t tell if it was dryness or distance that made them look that way. I saw animals, occasionally—sheep, goats, cattle, and horses—with their keepers. I could sometimes hear their lowing a long way off. Elubai was not one for talking; neither was Sophos, nor the guards.

  Undistracted by conversation, I spent most of the trip worrying about all the many things that could go wrong. I could die of thirst on my way across the desert; I could be caught and murdered by one of the gangs of non-Alashi bandits that preyed on Greek and Danibek alike; the Alashi could refuse to trust me. I tried to focus my thoughts on contingency plans instead of mere worry. If the Alashi leaders said, “We are certain you are not a slave—you must be a spy,” what would I say to that? How would I know I was close to a camp of deserter bandits, and how would I avoid them? If I encountered them, what would I say to buy time while I watched for the opportunity to escape? As irrational as I knew it was, though, my greatest fear was that Sophos would betray me and Kyros, and I would somehow find myself a slave forever, subject to nasty old men like Elubai. If that happens, I’ll run, I told myself firmly. Back to Kyros, who would never betray me. I had tracked six slaves through the hills outside of Elpisia. Certainly I could evade a tracker myself.

  Partway across the hills, we stopped at a mine. From what I could catch from listening, Sophos was a part-owner. These hills at the edge of Greek territory were full of valuable minerals; this mine was extracting iron. I could feel it before I could see or hear it: outside the digging pits, there was a furnace to purify the iron before it was sent on down to the Greek cities to be forged into weapons. I felt its pulsing heat as we approached. The mine shafts went into the side of one of the hills, and then down. There was a system of wheels and pulleys to draw up the heavy ore that had been dug out of the ground, and slaves used wheelbarrows to carry it from the mouths of the shafts over to the furnace.

  “Sophos!” The overseer strode over to our wagon and clapped my escort on the shoulder. “What a wonderful surprise. Give me an hour and I’ll have an excellent lunch for you. Are you staying long?”

  Very enthusiastic, I thought. But he’s forcing it. I glanced away. Kyros would hardly care whether the overseer of Sophos’s mine was genuinely happy to see him, and I didn’t work for Sophos. Besides, if Sophos couldn’t guess that the man was feigning his welcome, he was an idiot.

  Sophos climbed down from the wagon, returning the man’s enthusiastic greeting with a reserve of his own, and they walked off together, presumably to find the promised lunch. My stomach growled. Elubai had the horses pull the wagon over to a shady spot, a good distance away from the heat of the furnace. He folded a blanket, lay down with his head against it, and took a nap.

  I watched the slaves. The mine was not heavily guarded, and the area where they worked was not surrounded by a wall. Yet few looked like they’d have the energy to run away, even if they had the opportunity. All were coated with a layer of dust and soot; it was hard to tell whether a particular slave was male or female, young or old. They all moved like old men, but I suspected that none were over thirty.

  The slaves here didn’t try to disappear the way some of Kyros’s slaves had. They simply put one foot in front of the other, dragging loads of ore back and forth from the top of the mine shaft over to the furnace. One team of slaves seemed to be in charge of cranking a giant wheel that brought up loads of ore. They would crank up a barrel, and then other slaves caught it and emptied it into a series of wheelbarrows; then they swung it back over the mine shaft and the slaves working the wheel let it slide back down. A few minutes of rest, presumably while the barrel was loaded, and then they began to crank it up again.

  It occurred to me that there must be slaves down at the bottom of the shaft—quite a few, in fact. Working by torchlight, even though it was broad day, to dig iron out of the hillside and load it into that barrel.

  I wondered how extensive the workings wer
e.

  When the sun was directly overhead, one of the guards blew a small horn, and the slaves put down their loads and went over to stand in the shade. From one of the little stone buildings in the shade of the hill, a handful of much older slaves brought out bread, cheese, and waterskins, using some of the same wheelbarrows that were used to move the iron around. The slaves lined up to receive their lunch, then sat down to eat it. I wondered if the deep mine slaves would come up for lunch, but no, others loaded the food into the barrel and sent it down to the bottom of the shaft. Elubai had woken when the horn blew; he took bread and cheese out from the bottom of the wagon and passed it around to me and Sophos’s slaves.

  I should try to think of them as Sophos’s other slaves, I thought. If I’m supposed to try to pass myself off as one of them. I glanced over at the mine slaves again. They’d finished their food and were slowly getting up. It took me a few minutes of watching to realize that they’d switched tasks; the slaves who’d previously been turning the wheel were now pushing wheelbarrows, and the slaves who’d been pushing wheelbarrows were on the wheel.

  Elubai was drinking from the waterskin, and he followed my gaze. Turning back, he gave me a slow wink. “Behave yourself well for Sophos,” he said. “I don’t know what Kyros does with sulky, lazy slaves, but Sophos sends them to work in his mine.” He paused to let this sink in, and took another swallow of water. “See that one?” he said, and pointed to one of the slaves pushing the wheelbarrow. “She was in the harem. I’m not sure what she did, but it must’ve been bad. So now she’ll dig iron until she dies.”

  I shivered, even though I knew this could not happen to me. But something of that thought must have showed on my face, because Elubai chuckled a little and said, “Don’t count on your pretty face to save you, either. She was beautiful, too, once.” I lowered my eyes at that point, and Elubai lay down again for another nap.

  I watched the former harem slave for a while. Now that I knew she was female, I could see the faint curve of a breast under her filthy shirt. And she was not that old. I wondered what she’d done. Disobeyed Sophos? Mistreated one of his guests? It must have been bad, for him to send her here. At least, it had probably been bad. Kyros had sold a slave to a mine owner once. It had been one of the men who’d run away. I’d tracked him down and brought him back. He’d made it even less far than Alibek.

  It was midafternoon by the time Sophos came back out, flushed and a little drunk and roaring with companionable laughter as the overseer said something I couldn’t hear. He climbed back into the wagon and settled himself in. I watched to see if he looked at his old slave, but he gave her no special regard. She also made no attempt to attract his attention; either she’d given up hope that he’d take her back to his harem, or she preferred the mine. Elubai chirruped to the horses, and we continued on.

  We reached Helladia late the following morning. It was a desolate outpost, far enough from any river that it had to depend on wells. Water had to be conserved much more carefully here than in Elpisia. The town consisted of a military garrison and the sort of businesses that provided supplies and services to mines and the outlying garrisons: wheelwrights, blacksmiths, weaponsmiths, boot makers. It was small and miserable looking; we could see nothing until we were almost upon it. The soldiers at the gate greeted Sophos without interest or alarm, and we proceeded on to his house. It was by far the largest house I saw in Helladia.

  Someone must have been watching for us, because the courtyard of Sophos’s house was swarming with activity as we came in. Stable boys came to unhitch the wagon and take the horses to the stables; a pretty boy slave brought Sophos a cup of wine to refresh himself. Sophos’s wife and children came out to greet him with a kiss. His wife was calm and matronly in crisp cloud-white linen; his children lined up in an orderly row to greet their father. An older Danibeki woman with a pockmarked face waited a few steps behind them, and at Sophos’s signal, she brought over a set of keys to unlock my chains. I rubbed my wrists and stretched my hands; I noticed Sophos give his wife an almost apologetic look and a tiny shrug, and he said to the pockmarked woman, “Boradai, this is Lauria. Have her bathed and dressed and sent to the harem. Make sure no one touches her; she’s a virgin, and I’m going to save her as a present for Alcaeus when he visits in a month’s time. Oh, and—” He gave Boradai a wink. “Be kind to the child, or I’ll have your head. Would you believe that Kyros had her working in the stables? Don’t expect her to know the social graces of a concubine yet, though I think she’ll be a quick study.”

  Boradai gave me a nudge, and I followed her into the house, up a staircase, down a hallway, and up another staircase. Sophos’s house looked much like Kyros’s, but with better furniture and nicer rugs. The door at the very top was shut. Boradai rested her hand briefly on the latch and turned to me. “Sophos paid for a virgin. Stay away from the boys, and do as you’re told. If you aren’t pure when your time comes, not only will I flay the skin from your body, but every other slave in the harem will be flogged and the boy you slept with will be castrated.” With that, she swung open the door, and I stepped into Sophos’s harem.

  Sophos kept his concubines, male and female together, in a single large room on the third floor of his house. There were large windows at each end, to admit light and air. The concubines lived comfortable lives, for slaves; the floor was covered in soft Danibeki rugs and cushions, and everyone appeared to be well fed. There were twelve harem slaves, not counting Boradai or myself; six male and six female. When I came in, one of the young men was playing a dombra, a stringed Danibeki instrument; a few others were reclined on cushions to listen. Two of the young women were working on a tapestry, and one was taking a nap.

  The room had fallen to a slight hush as we’d come in, but Boradai clapped her hands anyway, as if she needed their attention. “Tamar,” she said. The napping girl sat up. “This is Lauria. She’s new here and hasn’t served as a concubine before. The servants will get a bath for her; take her down to bathe in a few minutes. I want you to help her.” Boradai swept a slow, beady eye over everyone there. “She is a virgin. If anyone despoils her before her time, there will be hell to pay.”

  My cheeks flamed as every eye in the room turned toward me. Boradai left, banging the door shut behind her. Tamar stood up slowly. She was much younger than me, and short; her glossy black hair hung unbound all the way to her compact hips. Her face was quite ordinary, her lips a little too thin and her eyelashes a little too short, though she had nice white teeth. She wore a light cotton shift, like mine, and her feet were bare. She squared her shoulders and narrowed her eyes as if she hoped to intimidate me, despite coming up only to my shoulder. “A virgin,” she said with a little bit of a sneer, and pinched the muscles of my arm. “However did you manage that?”

  “I wasn’t a concubine before.”

  “What were you?”

  “A stable hand.” My voice quavered a little. I had thought my story through in my head a hundred times in the last three days, but there was something different about speaking the lies out loud.

  The young man who’d been playing the dombra laughed. He set his instrument down and stood up. He was the oldest of the boy concubines; though adolescent and lanky, his face was still smooth and unblemished. Fine black hair curled like feathers around his ears; one lock fell forward to brush his cheekbone. “She’ll clean up well enough,” he said.

  Tamar closed her hand around my wrist. “That’s Jaran,” she said.

  Jaran bowed with a flourish; I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me or not. I nodded back to him and everyone laughed; apparently he had been mocking me.

  “Come on, we’ll go give you your bath,” Tamar muttered, and I followed her back out and down the stairs.

  The bathhouse was a small stone shack in the courtyard. There was no tub as such; that would have wasted too much water. One of the other slaves had brought a few buckets of water from their cistern. Tamar started by having me take off my now-filthy cotton shift, and gave me
a wet cloth to wipe down my body. I washed my face first, then my arms and legs, body and feet. Tamar washed my back. “Where does Kyros live?” she asked.

  “Elpisia,” I said.

  “Did you ever get to see the city?”

  “Sometimes. Have you lived anywhere other than Helladia?”

  “No. I used to belong to Sophos’s friend Androcles. My mother worked in his kitchen.” She wrung out the cloth. “Sit down. We’ll need to soak your hands and feet.”

  She filled two small basins with water, one for my hands, one for my feet, and began to work tangles out of my hair with a metal comb. On the journey, the wind had whipped it into knots, and my sweat had mixed with sand to form a sticky, gritty mat. Fortunately, it was only shoulder length. I couldn’t imagine trying to comb tangles like this out of truly long hair, like Tamar’s. Tamar dipped the comb into olive oil to work out the tangles. “How many times did you see Elpisia?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I used to get sent out on errands occasionally.”

  Tamar jerked the comb, ripping a tangle out. I clenched my teeth and said nothing. “I’ve never been sent on an ‘errand,’ ” she said.

  Probably because they know they can’t trust you, I thought. In Elpisia, there were guards at the gate and people in the streets; running away would be impractical, if not entirely impossible, though impracticality hadn’t stopped Alibek. “Elpisia has a lot of people,” I said. “And a wall, and guards. It’s not an easy city to get out of.”

  Tamar sighed. “Tip your head back.”

  She poured a sharp-smelling oil over my hair and wrapped a cloth around my head. “Ugh,” I said. “That’s not perfume, is it?”

  “It’s to kill the lice in your hair. Boradai has a terror of lice. I’ll wash it out in a minute. Perfume comes last.”