Pain filled Tom’s world. His head hurt, throbbing skin and blinding headache merging so that he was not sure which was which. Not only that; his shoulder was on fire, making him cry out. A memory of having already woken to searing pain and his own voice screaming was a tenuous thread that he couldn’t hold; it slipped away in his confusion, and it was easiest to just let it go. Through the pain he was aware that he was lying face down on some hard surface and being jolted up and down. Each movement jarred through him, escalating the pain into an agony so intense that he was in danger of swooning. He tried to move his hands to cradle his head, but found that he could not. He groaned and rolled onto his side, accompanied by a dragging sensation and a clinking as of metal against metal.
He heard a young voice, answered by a woman’s, but he couldn’t bring the words into any semblance of meaning. Metal clinked again, and water dripped onto the corner of his mouth. He turned his head further, opening his parched lips to blindly seek it out, and a thin stream trickled onto his tongue. He swallowed instinctively and opened his lips for more.
Voices again, and he struggled to make sense of them.
‘Be careful! You do not know what he is - some wild creature, maybe.’
‘Mother, he wears a collar. He’s a slave like us, that’s all.’
Tom tried to open his eyes, but everything was blurred, and the light was a stabbing pain. He groaned again; it was all he could manage. At least the jolting had stopped.
‘Can you hear me? Lie still. They are coming to salve your wounds. It will hurt, but it will keep them clean.’
Tom thought, It can’t hurt any more, but he was wrong. Something was smeared roughly on his temple and the back of his shoulder. He cried out and fell into welcome oblivion.
Pain!
He was awake, then. With a groan, he tried to push himself up, and a hand cupped his elbow, supporting him. He forced his eyes open. The light was not so bright, and he squinted at the dark-skinned face that swam before him. Gradually it resolved into that of a boy approaching manhood. His face was narrow, the nose seeming to fall in a straight line from between black eyebrows set wide, and his brown eyes gazed at Tom in concern. It took Tom a moment to realise that the strangeness of the face was due to the lack of any hair to frame it. The boy was completely bald.
Feeling the drag against free movement again, Tom looked down. His wrists and ankles were bound with metal, and a chain ran between each manacle.
‘I’m sorry; I can’t help you more,’ said the boy, and Tom realised that he was similarly restrained. ‘If you can manage to sit by me, I can support you.’
‘I can crawl.’ Tom’s words were a croak.
The boy frowned and looked over his shoulder. ‘He does not speak our language! How can I help him?’
Tom hunted down the words he needed. ‘I... crawl.’
‘Oh. Good. Over here.’
They were in some sort of open wagon, with benches running down each side, and an awning to give some shade. From the swaying, they were moving again, but at least the jolting had stopped. Tom half crawled, half dragged himself over, and with the boy’s help managed to pull himself up and collapse into a sitting position. He started slipping sideways, his head lolling, feeling sick and dizzy, but his new friend propped him up.
‘I’ll sit next to you here, and you can lean against me. My name is Catos. Can you drink?’
A cup was held to Tom’s lips, and he drank thirstily.
‘Good. What’s your name?’
‘Tolmos.’
‘I thought you were going to die, Tolmos.’
Tom groaned. ‘Not yet. I need... know.’
‘I don’t understand, but don’t worry, you’ll be all right now.’
‘Hurt.’
‘I know. I saw them. They gave you nothing for the pain.’ The boy sounded upset. ‘It wasn’t like that for me - I barely remember.’
‘Remember?’
‘Being branded. How did you come to have a collar and no brand?’
‘Catos! Leave the creature alone! You’re always talking.’
Tom closed his eyes and thankfully accepted the support he was given. He could make little sense of what had happened, what was happening, but he had no hesitation in trusting Catos. The boy was much taller than Tom; he slipped one arm over Tom’s head, taking care to avoid his wounds, and encircled Tom’s chest with his arms. ‘There, you won’t fall now. I’m sorry if I talk too much.’
Tom didn’t have the strength to say, No, it’s fine, I like your talking.
He drifted in and out of consciousness, and each waking was a little easier. It was difficult to judge how much time had passed; the pain was as bad, but he could think more clearly and sit without falling. He felt scared, lost, but the arm wrapped firmly around him was reassuring in a world of unknowns. With difficulty, he raised his head and opened his eyes. The light was fading towards evening, no longer bright enough to hurt, but the movement of the world outside the cart made his nausea return; he half closed his eyes and leant his head against the boy’s solid body. Looking at the course weave of the sage-coloured cotton tunic Catos wore was more restful. Tom shifted a little, trying to ease his discomfort. So many questions. He struggled to remember the right words to get the answers he needed.
‘Where we go?’
‘To the slave market in Hafar.’
Tom sighed in relief. Slave market was bad, but Hafar was good. At least he was heading in the right direction. The chain between the boy’s wrists was cold against his skin, and he realised that he himself was bare from the waist up. He still wore his sand-coloured trousers, but his tunic had gone, along with his knives and his money belt. His head felt strange, quite apart from the throbbing pain, and he bent his neck so that he could reach to explore his scalp with his fingers.
‘In case of lice,’ said Catos. ‘That’s why they shaved us. How old are you? I’m fifteen.’
‘Fifty-three.’
‘You’re joking! Mother, he says he’s fifty-three! I think that knock on his head has scrambled his brains.’
‘I told you he wasn’t a child. Look at his face, look at his chest. Maybe he’s gelded; he’s smooth enough. That can stunt the growth, but I’ve never seen a eunuch that small.’
‘And you’ve seen a few, no doubt.’
‘Impudent child!’
For the first time, Tom made an effort to see the other speaker. He peered around Catos, and found that the wagon or cart was made of two sections. In the front sat a woman, a veil across her lower face, but her eyes met his boldly. ‘What are you, little bird?’ she asked. ‘Are you hung like a man?’
Tom leaned back weakly and glanced up at Catos. ‘Your mother?’ he asked.
‘Oh, no! That would be a hardship indeed! The mother. You know.’
Tom didn’t know; he gave up trying to understand and shifted to try and ease the pain in his shoulder. In his mind, he heard himself screaming again, and this time the memory came with the foul stench of burnt flesh. With no warning, he folded over Catos’s arm and voided the water from his stomach.
‘That’s nice, that is. He takes one look at me and throws up. Me, that used to be the favourite in the harem. My master would have kept me into my old age, but he died, and his son’s a thankless dog. So here I am...’
Tom stopped trying to understand what she was saying and let her tirade wash over him. And she had accused Catos of talking too much! He started to shiver. ‘I sorry,’ he said. At least he had missed the boy’s feet.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll get some sand when we stop. How long have you been a slave?’
‘How long I with you?’
‘Since yesterday.’
‘Oh. Two days.’
‘What! You’re a freeman!’
‘I think I no more a free... man.’
‘But there are laws. Can you prove it? You can go to the courts.’
‘And a lot of good that did your grandfather,’ cackled the woman.
‘Yes, well, that was in war, because he supported the House of the Sun; my father explained it to me. But Tolmos has just been... kidnapped!’
‘Yah, yah, yah,’ said the woman. Bangles chimed, and Tom could imagine the dismissive wave of the hand. He didn’t think he could have put it better himself.
Amidst shouts, they came to a halt. For Tom, it was just a confused noise and a kaleidoscope of colours moving around him. There was no point in even thinking of escape: he could barely stand. He probably ought to be lying down. Catos helped him from the wagon and supported him while he relieved himself, and Tom was so far past caring that he found no embarrassment in that. He sat where he was put and accepted food when it was held to his mouth. One of his captors came and poked at him with a stick, but his words were too fast and complicated for Tom to follow. He stared stupidly up at the man.
‘He doesn’t speak our language,’ said Catos. ‘Just a few words.’
‘Pah!’ said the man. He dropped two blankets on the ground and walked away. Night was falling, and it was getting cold. Tom shivered; with nothing on his upper body, he was losing heat rapidly.
‘We’ll be better off back in the cart,’ said Catos. It was a struggle to get back in, and Tom wondered at the boy’s care for him. From his limited experience of the Haradrim, kindness seemed in short supply. He tried to wrap the blanket around himself, but Catos stayed his hand. ‘Like this,’ he said. He put both blankets together and then tucked one edge under Tom. He squirmed in beside him, trapping the opposite edge under his own body. ‘Don’t struggle. This will be much warmer. My little brother and I always did this to keep warm.’
There was a catch in the boy’s voice as he hugged Tom closer, and Tom had a sudden glimpse of what it meant to be a slave: your family could be lost as easily as a handshake in the market over a yearling steer. Tom let the tension go from his body and accepted the close embrace. Their chains were caught between them, and the wood floor was rough against the side of Tom’s chest, but he barely noticed; most of his mind was given over to pain. The comfort of being held helped him bear it, and he sought for other ways to distract his mind.
‘Tell to me of your brother.’
‘He’s eight years old - about your size. I look - looked after him. Our mother died, and I looked after him. Now... now...’ Catos gave a sob. ‘Now I may never see him again.’
‘Oh, Catos. I sorry.’
They lay quietly for a while, and then the boy sniffed. ‘Have you any brothers or sisters?’
‘Six brothers, six sisters, but one brother died soon ago.’
‘You mean “recently”, I think. Do you miss him?’
‘Very much.’
‘Are they normal size?’
‘Yes, all same as me.’
Catos giggled at that, as Tom had hoped he would. ‘Silly, you’re not normal size, not if you’re fifty-three, though I’m not sure I believe that. Are you a dwarf? I’ve heard of dwarves in stories.’
‘No, I not dwarf, but I have meet many dwarves. Little more tall, little more wide, lot of hair.’
‘You’ve met dwarves! I never believed they really existed. But what are you?’ He tensed. ‘You’re not an imp, are you?’
‘What is imp? I called so, since here I come.’
‘Imps are trouble. They make mischief. They come from somewhere far in the north and live in holes. In stories, anyway. They are very small. I don’t think they really exist.’
‘Ah,’ said Tom, and wondered how hobbits had ever entered Southron tradition. Of course, there was Barard’s great-great-great Uncle Hildifons: despite the many tales told round the fire at Great Smials, no one had ever known what happened to him. If the stories Catos had been told were based on a Took, it was not surprising that hobbits had the reputation for being trouble. ‘Well, I hobbit. Men in north call we Halflings.’
Catos giggled again. ‘You are funny. “Call us Halfthings.”’
Tom smiled, both at the giggle and at being called a halfthing. Catos would have no idea how insulting that sounded, the words being meaningless to him. It was the sort of thing that Mehos might have said deliberately. At the thought of Mehos, his smile faded, and in its wake the pain worsened. In his judgement, the man had a cruel streak in him, but he had shown Tom some consideration, and now he was almost certainly dead. He had looked dead, lying there in the moonlight. Tom shifted, and hissed in pain.
‘Poor Tolmos. Shall I tell you a story? That always helped Minos when he was hurt.’
‘Your brother?’
‘Yes.’
‘I like that.’ And he did, even though he didn’t follow it very well. Some boy had gone into a cave to escape his wicked uncle who wanted all his money. The boy had found a golden coin that he rubbed, and a magician had appeared to grant him three wishes. Tom never heard how it ended. He drifted into sleep, wishing he had such a magician to call upon.
He slept fitfully, trying not to disturb Catos with his restlessness. In the morning he felt a little better, but he lost his balance when he tried to stand. Catos caught him before he fell, and helped him sit. He brought Tom dried meat and water, persuaded the slave traders to allow him to be the one to salve Tom’s wounds, and chatted to him endlessly about his brother. Tom was filled with compassion, not only for Catos, who sought to fill a void in his life, but also for the small brother who had been left behind. He touched the boy’s hand. ‘Thank you. You very kind.’
‘I wish I had some hot water to clean your wounds. I’m sorry I hurt you.’
‘Me fine.’
‘No, you’re not.’ Catos sat beside him and slipped an arm around him again as they started moving. Tom was glad of the support. He realised there was another cart carrying men. So - he was counted with the women and children; well, there was a lot to be thankful for in that. The future was a great unknown, but for the moment he felt relatively safe. The slave traders left him alone, and Catos was full of care for him.
They travelled through a landscape of red rocks cut by gullies, the cart swaying and jolting as they followed a rough track. There was little vegetation, and where plants clung to ledges and crevices, they had a dull and listless look about them. Tom had to concentrate hard to stop the world blurring around him, and that in turn worsened his headache. He closed his eyes and thought of Barard.
Possibly he slept, because the next thing he knew the sun was high in the sky, and they were entering Hafar through a great arched gateway in a high defensive wall. Tom blinked and peered around. Talk of painted heathen and other disparaging comments by Mabdil and Damlûk had left him half-expecting primitive huts, but the reality was very different. He stared about him like a peasant. Houses lined a wide street thronged with people, and facades were painted in bright colours, blues and deep reds predominating, with patterns in gold bordering arches whose sole purpose was decoration. Round columns were frequently repeated, and again many appeared to be simply decorative. Most houses had gold statues standing on either side of the front doorway, and he caught glimpses of interiors patterned with murals or mosaics. Much of the city was on a level, but about half a league away rose the high hill he had seen from a distance, and beyond, the red mountains rose to dwarf the hill into insignificance. The hill itself rose steeply at its summit and was crowned with a great hall that seemed to grow from the rock. It was not the size of the building nor its precarious position that had Tom craning his neck to see, but the large golden dome that scattered the light of the midday sun into a dazzling radiance.
Just the knowledge that he might be close to Barard was enough to set Tom’s heart racing, but there seemed little point in asking Catos where prisoners might be held; the boy was as awestruck as Tom, and had clearly never been to Hafar before. Looking up made Tom dizzy, bringing a return of the nausea, and he hastily angled back against Catos and closed his eyes. They were moving slowly now, the horses’ feet striking a sharper sound from the paved way, and a babble of voices flowed around them.
‘It’s so big,’ whispered Catos. Tom opened his eyes and twisted to look up at him. The boy was biting his lip, his eyes wide so that the whites showed stark against his dark skin. Tom wanted to say, ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,’ but what did he know? He had no idea what was going to happen to either of them.
A brief meal and a chance to relieve themselves was followed by a rest in the shade which did Tom good. He dozed in the heat, and even Catos seemed disinclined to talk. When the shadows lengthened into mid-afternoon, they were herded onto a low dais. Tom looked around as he stepped onto the platform. They were facing a large market square, hemmed in by high buildings and filled with noise and colour. He was feeling much steadier on his feet, but he was still having some difficulty with his distance vision, which worried him; it would hamper his escape, should the opportunity arise. However, he could see that some of those walking freely amongst the goods for sale were slaves, which was reassuring. Catos nudged him, and Tom hastily copied the boy in casting his gaze to the ground. He remembered the comment that Mehos had made in Umbar, and he had no wish for a whipping to be added to his hurts. His hope was that he would remain in Hafar; he would at least be housed and fed after a fashion, and it appeared that some slaves were allowed to move around the city in a semblance of freedom. If he was either sold away from the city or kept closely confined, he would have to try to escape, but the collar would be a problem, as would the brand.
He kept his head down, and peered out through his lashes. Prospective buyers came to look the slaves over, and asked for this one or that to be brought forward for closer inspection. Only men were buying, and Tom was surprised to see that some were slaves. All the slaves could easily be identified by their collars, their tunics and trousers, and their shoulder-length hair worn loose and cut very straight. Freemen were dressed much as Mehos had been, with full-length white dresses and deep-coloured robes. Like him, they were ornamented with rings of gold in their ears, and like him, their hair was worn in long braids.
It was a slave who came and showed an interest in them: a young man with a grave face. He pointed to Catos, and asked some questions. Catos was taken forward, and the slave checked the boy over, then stood back and just stared at him for a while. Finally he nodded, and Tom’s heart sank; another lesson in slavery - friendships were ephemeral.
The slave came and stared at him. ‘This is all? You have no other children?’
Tom’s captors were apologetic, and the slave stood tapping his teeth before coming to a decision. ‘I have never seen such a creature, but stand him there. I will look at him.’ He walked round Tom, and sucked in his breath at the sight of Tom’s shoulder. ‘And newly made a slave! That is often trouble.’
‘He has been no trouble, and look, he has very small hands, very nimble. That is what your master requires? Yes?’
‘If he has been no trouble, why has he such a wound to his head?’
‘He slipped and fell. Very unfortunate.’
The slave lifted Tom’s chin. ‘What is the truth of that?’ he asked, not unkindly. His skin was not as dark as Catos’s - a lighter brown - but he had the same very straight nose. His brows, however, were an almost solid black line above his eyes, just thinning a little where they met. With his well-delineated face and high cheekbones, the effect was striking.
‘I fall down,’ said Tom, which was, after all, part of the truth.
‘Hmmm,’ said the slave. He turned to the traders. ‘My master is needful of help, but I think the only way he will be glad of this... well, I do not know what he is, but the only way my master will not punish me for bringing this home, is if he is a bargain.’
The haggling was vigorous, and so fast that Tom could not follow it. He glanced at Catos, who was looking demurely down while obviously following the exchange closely. The slave turned away, and Catos raised his head to wink at Tom.
Sure enough, the traders called the man back, and the deal was concluded soon afterwards. To Tom’s delight, their restraints were removed. He rubbed his wrists and gingerly felt his shoulder; his fingers came away sticky with fluid that was seeping from the burn.
Catos hugged him. ‘I can look after your wounds properly now,’ he said.
‘You are friends?’ asked the slave. ‘Then I’m glad I bought you both together, but I still think there will be some trouble for me in this, but also trouble if I come home unsuccessful.’ He looked at Tom. ‘The first thing must be to get you covered. That will hide the newness of your brand, and also hide that you have a man’s body in your child’s frame. I do not know what to do about your feet. I have never seen such feet. My name is Faros. Come with me.’
‘He no worry we run away?’ whispered Tom as they followed the man across the market.
Catos looked surprised. ‘Where would we go? Now that we’re in the city? No slaves can pass the city walls without their master.’ His fingers strayed to his shaved head. ‘And anyway, we’re bald.’
Tom stared at him. ‘Bald?’
‘Yes, you know, no hair.’
‘Yes?’
Catos laughed. ‘You are funny. We’re bald because of lice, but it means we’re newly bought, and shouldn’t be out alone. The slave-merchants shave all slaves that they hold for sale.’
‘But we go out sometime? Yes?’
‘Of course.’ Catos nodded his head towards their fellow slave. ‘Maybe I’ll even be lucky enough to be such a trusted house slave one day, but I expect many of them are born into their families.’
This didn’t quite make sense to Tom, and he wondered if he had misunderstood. Everyone was born into their family.
‘I mean their master’s family, of course,’ said Catos, in response to Tom’s query.
Tom decided to leave more questions for the time being. Most of the ones he wanted to frame were too complicated for his grasp of the language. It was tiring having to concentrate so hard, and the heat of the sun was not helping his feeling of weakness that still lingered from the blow to his head. He felt unsteady on his legs, and longed to be able to sit down again.
Everything in the market was laid out on the ground, and they had to pick their way carefully between fine coloured carpets, terracotta pots, bags of spices, and even wooden toys. Tom nearly fell trying to step between bowls of dried fruit, nuts and olives, and Catos put a hand under his elbow to steady him. Faros stopped first at an apothecary, where he bought a salve and bandages, and then beside a pile of tunics and trousers. He selected two complete sets of clothes for each of them, and led them to the public baths. Tom was surprised and grateful when he realised where they were; he had not thought that there would be such a luxury in Hafar, but it seemed that there were baths just for slaves.
They undressed under the watchful eye of Faros, who raised an eyebrow at the sight of Tom’s underwear. The other eyebrow followed as Tom stripped completely. ‘So, very far from a child,’ he said. ‘What are you? A midget?’
Tom had no idea what the word meant; he looked at Catos. ‘He’s a harffing,’ said Catos. ‘He says all his family are his size.’ He giggled again at the memory, and Faros smiled at him, then laughed.
‘Is that so? Well, whatever a harffing is, I think the mistress will like the novelty of owning such a creature, and I am relying on that to save me from trouble. What is your name, little harffing?’
‘Tolmos.’
‘And I am Catos. Is it a good family? Will you really get into trouble?’
‘Yes, possibly, but if the mistress likes our little bird, all will be well.’ He sighed and gathered up the discarded clothes. ‘I know the master will like you.’
Tom looked at Faros thoughtfully; he had the impression that the master’s liking Catos was not altogether a good thing. He washed, keeping his shoulder dry, and when he stepped from the water, Faros very gently bathed his wounds. Tom flinched away, but Faros was patient. ‘I’ve nearly finished, Tolmos,’ he said. He salved the wounds and bandaged the shoulder. ‘That was bravely done. You will need to soak off the dressing, but it is better than having your shirt sticking to the burn.’
‘I will help him,’ said Catos.
‘Good. He doesn’t say much, does he? How much does he understand?’
‘I understand good,’ said Tom. ‘More good than I speak.’
Faros nodded and handed Tom a wide strip of cloth. ‘Here, gird yourself, and get dressed, and I will take you home.’ Tom stood staring at the strip of cloth, at a loss what to do with it, and Catos doubled up laughing at his expression.
‘Like this,’ he said, and wrapped a similar cloth round and about himself.
Tom blinked at the speed of it, and looked up at Faros. ‘I have own clothes?’ he suggested.
‘All your clothes have been taken to be burnt.’
Tom swallowed. They were just a pair of drawers, for the Lady’s sake, but they had also been the last thing in his possession that he could call his own.
‘Here, let me help you,’ said Faros. He knelt and gave Tom one end to hold while he wrapped the cloth around him, and then tied the two ends. Tom felt like a babe being swathed in a nappy, but the thought came to him that Barard would enjoy unwrapping this package. He wriggled his hips, and adjusted the position of his cock. It was actually very comfortable, but he was sure it would have fallen around his ankles if he’d tried to wrap and tie it. He pulled on the baggy trousers, and Faros helped him with his tunic, taking care of his head and branded shoulder.
Faros did not take them straight home, but led them to a small shop selling coffee and pastries. At the slave market, apothecary, clothier and baths, Faros had not handed over any money: he’d simply produced a small stamp, made its mark on the vendor’s scroll, and signed next to it. Now, he reached into his pocket and pulled out some small coins. ‘What would you like?’ he asked.
Tom looked at what was on offer and realised he was starving. He had no idea what anything was, and simply chose the same as Catos. They sat at a small table outside, watching the bustle of the city. Tom had drunk coffee in Minas Tirith, but never like this: thick and black in tiny cups. He took a sip and blinked at how strong it was. The pastry was delicious, tasting of honey and almonds. He smiled at Faros. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m happy to give you a treat, but I’m also being selfish. The mistress will be out visiting friends in the afternoon, and if we wait a little, she is more likely to be back.’
‘I not expect a slave have money.’
‘There are always presents and tips. Where are you from, Tolmos? You don’t seem to know much.’
Tom shrugged. ‘Far away.’
‘You don’t say,’ said Faros drily. ‘And do you have slaves “far away”?’
‘No. I had a... Not a slave, a man I pay.’
‘Youhad a servant?’ Both Faros and Catos sat up in surprise. Faros sipped his coffee, considering Tom. ‘So what were you before you were a slave?’
‘I buy. I sell.’
‘A merchant? What happened?’
‘My friend come here. He... disappear. I try find him.’
‘You think he has been taken as a slave, as well? Is he a harffing like you? I’ve not heard of such a one.’
Tom pushed crumbs around his plate, debating how much to say. He liked Faros, and at some point he had to start asking questions, or he would never find Barard. The worst that could happen was that he too would be arrested as a spy, but then he would hopefully share Barard’s fate. ‘He prisoner, maybe dead, maybe killed dead.’ He didn’t meet his companions’ eyes, knowing his own would look bright with tears. He propped one elbow on the table and hid the tightness of his mouth behind his closed fist.
‘Is he like you?’
Tom nodded.
‘Then he has not been executed; they are all public. I think there would be trouble over such an execution. It is against the law to take a child’s life.’
‘He not a child,’ said Tom, wishing his voice were steadier.
‘But to the crowd he would look like one, yes? There would be a riot. He must be a good friend, for you to come seeking him.’
Tom raised his head. ‘He good friend,’ he agreed.
As they left, Catos took his hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘It’s like losing my little brother, yes?’
Tom nodded, wanting to just crawl into a corner and be left alone, but Faros turned. ‘I think it is like losing a lover,’ he said. He stalked off, and they had to run to keep up, dodging water sellers and beggars, donkey carts and street cleaners. After a while they left the crowded streets behind and entered a wide way lined with trees. The houses here were similar to those Tom had first seen as he entered Hafar, but the district was quieter and more affluent. There were no gaps between the houses, and each had only one entrance, so Tom was not surprised when Faros led them through a front door. It was flanked with golden statues of women in rather scanty clothes, but that in no way prepared Tom for what he found in the lobby area. A huge phallus reared from a small statue on a plinth just inside. It was so large that a prop supported it. Tom blinked in disbelief: who would want such a thing, let alone have it standing almost in the doorway? Faros and Catos didn’t even spare it a glance, and Tom suddenly realised he’d been left gawping at it. He shut his mouth, and heard the chatter of women, then Faros replying. It seemed that Faros had timed their return as he had wished. Tom turned through an archway and found himself in a large hallway with a fountain in the middle and boldly coloured murals on the walls. The pictures were mostly of birds and animals, but he had no time to look carefully.
‘I have bought you a little bird,’ said Faros, and suddenly Tom was surrounded by bright dresses and clashing bangles. A woman and four girls knelt down around him with cries of delight. They all wore veils across their faces and jewelled headdresses, and their eyes were bright with laughter. Tom hastily looked down.
‘Oh, he’s so sweet,’ cried one.
‘Look! Look! He’s got furry feet.’ The speaker stroked them, and Tom jumped back, shocked by such intimacy. If Barard was absorbed in his writing or reading, stroking his foot fur was the quickest way Tom knew to get laid.
‘His poor head. Mother, look at his poor head!’
‘Melia thinks she is so special because she has that little monkey that rides on her shoulder. Wait until she sees this. She will be green with envy. Can he wait on us when she comes round? Pleeease?’
‘I think you should wait until his hair has grown a little,’ said their mother. ‘Faros, he’s adorable; where did you find him?’
‘In the market, Mistress. There were no other children; none of the traders in the last week have had a suitable child for the work. I hope the master will not be angry with me, think I have chosen ill.’
Tom studied his feet and the silk that pooled around him. It seemed that politics were all, and Faros was an expert.
‘In the name of the Eye, what is all this noise? Can a man not sit in quietness in his own house?’ Tom itched to look up, but decided the more docile and slave-like he appeared, the better for Faros.
‘Father, father! Look what Faros has bought in the market! Isn’t he the sweetest little thing you ever saw!’
Tom wasn’t sure whether to be amused or angry at being treated like a small pet, but his new master had no doubt on the matter.
‘Faros!’ he shouted. ‘Númenorean devils take you! What is that - that midget!’
‘A new slave, Master. He has very small hands and...’
‘Don’t shout at poor Faros, dear. This little one will do very well, and just think! He looks quite grown, so he will always have such small hands and nimble fingers. You know how you complain that a child has no sooner learnt the work, than he turns into a great, clumsy oaf.’ A beringed finger stroked Tom’s cheek. ‘Is he a gelding, Faros? He’s as smooth as child.’ Tom had the thought that if he were to bite her - a tempting proposition - she would make excuses for him, like some besotted owner of a vicious dog. It was my fault; I frightened him.
‘No, mistress. He is quite entire.’
‘Oh, that is good. They get so fat when they are gelded.’ The finger curled under his chin and brought Tom’s head up. ‘What is your name, little one?’
‘My name Tolmos,’ he said, nearly overcome by the claustrophobia of silk and perfume. He hoped they would let him sit down soon.
One girl clapped her hands, and there were squeals of delight. ‘Oh, he has a foreign accent!’ ‘Isn’t he charming!’ ‘A little bird! How perfect!’ ‘Wait until Melia sees him! She will be as sick as a parrot!’ Tom’s feeling of faintness increased under the barrage of exclamation marks; he swayed on his feet, and there were squeaks of concern from at least two of the young ladies. He could just see Catos hopping from foot to foot in anxiety beside Faros.
‘My ladies, I think he should be allowed to sit down. The wound on his head still troubles him.’
‘And just how did he come to have that wound, Faros? The traders would not damage stock except at some great disobedience.’ The master’s voice was still edged with anger.
‘He fell, Master. An accident.’
‘Then perhaps he is prone to fits.’
‘Oh, tosh, my dear. And anyway, you know if it were true you could take him back to those awful traders.’
‘Yes, and it’s the only reason I can take him back. How much have I paid for him, Faros?’
‘Ten kurus, Master.’
‘Ten! Did it occur to you to ask why he was so cheap?’
‘I did not ask, Master, because I could see they thought he was of no value, but they are wrong -’
‘Father, you’re being ridiculous,’ said one of the girls, the one who had stroked his foot fur. She tossed back her long black hair. ‘If Faros is wrong, what is the loss of ten kurus?’
‘Trust a slave to know a slave’s true worth,’ added another.
They stood, the mother slowly, her daughters bouncing up, to wheedle their way round Tom’s new master. Tom swayed again, and Catos was at Tom’s side with an arm around him. Tom leant against him gratefully, feeling light-headed. His heart was unaccountably pounding as well.
‘Poor little thing,’ said the voice he recognised as the mother's’s. ‘Let Faros take them both to the kitchens. You know those ruffians never feed them properly. You go and sit down, dear, and Lyria will bring you a drink, and Faros can bring both slaves to your workshop later.’
There was a disgusted noise, ‘Pah!’ and slowly the noise of the women faded into the distance.
‘Good,’ said Faros. ‘That was well done, Tolmos. This way.’ Tom wasn’t feeling well enough to take in very much of his surroundings; he followed Faros along a covered passageway, open on one side to a large enclosed garden. There were columns supporting the roof, cutting bars of shadow from the sunshine, but nothing to keep out wind or rain. From Tom’s limited experience, rain was not a problem in Hafar. He blinked out into the sunshine; the house was built as a square around the central garden, and the colonnade continued around the four sides. The garden itself was full of colours, harshly vibrant to Tom’s eye, and he turned back to concentrate on following Faros round the corner and along the length of the second side. At the far corner was a large kitchen with shutters where the walls should be, part-folded back in a zigzagging arrangement of wooden panels. Tom caught his toe in a long groove in the floor as he crossed the threshold, and Catos tightened his grip as he stumbled. The room was dark after the brightness outside, but Tom realised there was a very large woman sitting at a wooden table in the middle of the room. Her eyes were closed, and her head nodded over a cup.
‘Mother,’ said Faros gently, and she jumped and clutched at her chest.
‘Oh, you gave me a fright, boy. I were just resting my eyes for a minute.’
‘I have two hungry mouths for you to feed, and if you care to give me something as well, then I won’t say no.’
‘Come in, then. Don’t stand hovering in the doorway where I can’t make them out against the light. Let’s see what you got. A gangly boy and a little -’ She stopped to stare at Tom, and he placed his fist to his chest and bowed. ‘May the Eye have mercy on us! You’ve brought an imp into the house!’
‘He’s very polite for an imp, don’t you think?’ said Faros. ‘The mistress thinks he’s sweet, so I’ll thank you not to use the word “imp” in the hearing of the family, and in return I’ll forget that you were asleep when you shouldn’t have been.’
Tomstraightened, and it proved the final straw, the blood seemed to rush from his head, and his body just folded. He was dimly aware of Catos catching him, but he didn’t quite lose consciousness, and he felt fingers probe at his neck for a pulse. They were talking over him, but their voices seemed distorted, as though he were floating back in the public baths with water muffling the sound. He caught at the sense of snatches of words - his recent awakening as a slave, his wounds, his lack of understanding - and then clearly he heard Faros say, ‘He’s lost more than a friend or brother, I think. You should have seen his face when he told us. He tried to hide it, but -’
‘But you know how he feels, and you’ve took this little bird under your wing.’
Tom wanted to curl into a ball around the ache inside, but Catos held him tight. ‘I’ll take care of him!’
There was a wheezy laugh. ‘He’ll do well if he isn’t suffocated betwixt and between the ladies and you two.’
‘I’m not suffocating him!’
Tom tried not to cough to give a lie to the words, and opened his eyes. Faros was squatting beside them, holding Catos’s gaze. ‘And I’m not stopping you from taking care of him. Just remember he isn’t your little brother, and he isn’t a child.’
‘I know that!’
Faros smiled. ‘Good. Now let me carry him to our room. You can sit with him while the mother prepares some food, and I will bring it to you.’ He looked down at Tom, and his eyes were kind as he met Tom’s gaze. ‘Will you permit me? To carry you?’
Tom nodded. He just wanted to lie down. He reached an arm around Faros’s neck as he was lifted up. There was the light and shade of the colonnade once more, and then shade as they entered a room with four beds and little else. Tom took in a high window and whitewashed walls. Faros laid him on a bed; the mattress was hard, but Tom didn’t care. Standing in the sun, hurrying after Faros in the market, the strong coffee and the overpowering welcome had all taken their toll.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Faros. ‘You’ll be fine soon. I’ll tell the master you are indisposed for this evening.’
‘You be in trouble?’
‘No. Well, a little maybe, but it is the mistress who has the final say, whatever Bayos bar-Mahdos may pretend. Now rest. Does your head hurt?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I will bring you something for it. They must have hit you hard.’
Catos cleared his throat. ‘The wolves of the desert told the traders that they’d had to bring him down by casting a rock at him, that he was like a cornered animal, ready to fight against five. They said they thought he was a trained fighter, and they were angry they hadn’t been warned.’
Tom tried to make sense of this. He had thought his attackers were the traders.
Faros was puzzled as well. ‘Why did they say that? If they wanted the traders to buy him?’
‘I don’t think the traders wanted him at all. They were muttering about it afterwards, but one said it was better to pay dearly for a worthless piece of goods, than to have the wolves of the desert at their throats. They chained him, and branded him, and... and laughed when he screamed.’ Catos sounded close to tears. ‘They didn’t give him anything for the pain, before or after, and then they just threw him down in the bottom of the cart with me. I didn’t know men could be so cruel.’
Tom’s headache was making it hard to think, but he was surprised that Catos, a born slave, should be surprised at cruelty. He stopped trying to make sense of it all and pushed himself up, wanting to reassure the boy. ‘I fine,’ he said.
‘That you aren’t,’ said Faros. ‘And I’m not doing anything to help. I won’t be long.’ Catos sat and held Tom’s hand, and when Faros returned he was accompanied by the mistress.
She sat on the side of Tom’s bed and felt his forehead. ‘He has a mild fever. Let’s hope it isn’t catching. What’s your name, boy?’
‘Catos, Mistress.’
‘Was there fever in the traders’ camp, Catos?’
‘Oh, no! Nothing like that.’
‘Hmmm. Faros, are you going to tell me the truth about this little fellow?’
‘I do not think so, mistress.’
‘No? Well, he should have two days of rest, and then I will see if he is ready to start his duties. Give him this for the pain, and I will send some fever remedy to you. Call me if he worsens.’ She stood and smiled down at Tom. ‘Get well, little bird,’ she said softly.
Tom watched her leave. Whatever he had expected, it was not this. If he was to be a pet, it seemed he was to be a well-treated pet. He gave up trying to understand and closed his eyes. He obediently drank what he was given, grimacing at the bitter taste, but it was easier to keep his eyes closed, and easier still to drift into sleep.
He woke feeling rested for the first time since he had learnt that Barard was lost, and clutched at a dream memory of Barard’s fingers stroking gently over his shaved head: So, I finally get to find out what it’s like to kiss stubble. His head did not feel so fragile, although the burn on his shoulder was still sharply painful. He lay curled on his good side, remembering another time, another wounding.
Barard burst into Tom’s bedroom at Bag End, feet slithering for purchase on Ma’s polished floor as he skidded through the doorway. Behind him came Robin, grinning. ‘Seems you have a visitor, Tom. I’ll just shut the door, shall I?’ He winked and pulled the door shut as Barard almost slammed into the side of Tom’s bed.
‘Tom! Tom! Are you all right? I’ll pulp those bastard Sandyman brats. What happened? Oh, your poor eye. Does it hurt? I came as soon as I heard.’
‘Calm down. I’m just a bit battered. Ma won’t let me up.’
‘I should think not. Robin says you’re bandaged all over! Can I hug you? Where can I touch you?’ He stroked lightly over Tom’s split lower lip and looked with concern at his swollen eye, then very gently kissed his upper lip and ran his tongue over it.
All Tom’s boredom and frustration at just lying there with his ribs hurting pooled into frustration of a different kind. Barard was here! Oh, it was worth being beaten almost senseless to have Barard here when he’d not thought to see him for weeks. He was filled with a warm glow and the longing to take Barard in a crushing embrace, but common sense prevailed. He closed his eyes and sighed in contentment as Barard lapped and teased at his undamaged lip.
‘Barard,’ he whispered. ‘Oh, Barard, I love you. I’ve felt so... so lost without you.’
‘You didn’t have to go to these lengths,’ murmured Barard against his skin. Tom snorted with laughter, and his breath caught on the sharp tug of pain across his chest.
‘Sorry, love,’ said Barard. ‘I won’t make you laugh. Was it because of that April Fool we played on them?’
‘They didn’t say, but I guess so.’
‘Cowards! Four to one. If they’d taken us both on, they wouldn’t have stood a chance. Shit, I’m sorry, Tom. That’s so unfair that you got all their stupid petty-minded revenge. If they weren’t so stupid, they would never have believed us in the first place.’
Tom didn’t really care any more, not with the way Barard was gazing into his eyes with such concern. ‘I got into trouble with Da,’ he said quietly.
‘You got into trouble? For being beaten up?’ Barard was incredulous.
‘Oh, they got far worse, I believe, and Da’s given old Ted Sandyman warning that if anything like this happens again, he’ll have him out of our mill, but he said we shouldn’t have made the family a laughing stock - not without very good cause. I got a long lecture on mercy and stuff. He asked me to promise we’d not do anything to get revenge.’
‘And did you?’
‘Promise? Yes.’
Barard sighed in dramatic resignation. He lifted the light cover off Tom, but most of the damage was hidden by his night-shirt. ‘So where can I touch you?’ He brushed his hand over Tom’s cock.
‘There’s fine, as long as no one comes in, but don’t touch my balls.’
‘The bastards! They didn’t!’
‘Yes, they did. I thought I was going to puke my guts up, and that’s when they kicked me in the ribs.’
Barard clenched his hands. ‘I’ve not promised!’
Tom sighed. ‘Barard, listen. I don’t want you to do anything. I promised Da. I’ve been laying here thinking, and he’s right. He said Frodo of the Ring didn’t sacrifice everything so’s we could start some long-running feud. He said before you know, it pulls in all the family, until no one can remember what started it, and... and he said you don’t have to thump someone to be a hero. He said sometimes being a hero is not thumping someone, though you’d dearly like to.’
Barard stood up and shook his clenched fists in the air. ‘Aaaaargh!’
‘Don’t be angry.’
‘I’m not angry with you, my love.’ Barard paced the room. ‘And before you say anything, I’m not angry with your father. You know how much I admire him, but... orcs’ blood, I’d like to... Aaaaargh!’ He kicked the chest of drawers hard. ‘Ow! Shit! That hurt.’
Tom laughed and winced, and put a hand to his side. ‘So you’re going to beat yourself up, is that your plan?’
‘Right now?’ Barard hobbled over and grinned at him. ‘No. Right now I’m going to make sure there’s no damage done of a distressing and permanent nature. Can you bend your legs? Good. Mmmm, very good.’ He knelt on the bed between Tom’s feet, rucking Tom’s night-shirt back to fall around his hips. Tom didn’t need the guiding hands pushing his knees outwards; he let his legs roll open, and Barard leant forward and kissed his cock. ‘Oh, yes, that’s a fine sight and no mistake.’ His thumbs traced lazy circles up the inside of Tom’s thighs, and Tom lifted his hips with a soft cry, muscles bunching under Barard’s hands.
A voice in the corridor made their eyes widen in horror. ‘What are you doing hovering out here, Robin?’
Da!
Barard pulled at the night-shirt, but in lifting his hips the cloth had caught beneath Tom, and it took a moment for Tom to register the fact and lift his hips again so Barard could tug it free.
‘Barard’s here, and Tom wanted to tell him what you’d said in private.’
‘Oh good. Well, I expect you’ve given them enough warning that I’m here, don’t you?’ The door latch rattled, and - shit! - there was no way Barard could be off the bed and looking anything other than flurried and flustered, and there was still the sheet thrown back to explain. The door opened, and Barard grabbed one of Tom’s feet. He bent over it studiously and started pressing his thumb into the sole. The action had the added advantage of lifting Tom’s night-shirt away from his cock, so his aroused state was no longer immediately obvious.
‘Barard! How nice to see you here,’ said Da, beaming at them. ‘I hope you’ll stay for a few days now you’re here, and help keep Tom company. Robin can shift in with Hamfast and Bilbo.’
‘Th - thank you, sir,’ said Barard, his voice sounding very unsteady to Tom, but Da didn’t seem to notice anything. He came and stood next to the bed.
‘What are you doing, lad?’ he asked.
‘I’m - I’m giving Tom a foot massage.’
‘Well, you want some oil for that. Don’t move, I’ll be right back.’
Tom and Barard just stared at each other for a moment, then Barard bowed his head low with a groan, and Tom let out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. Robin looked around the door, eyes wide. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘There was nothing I could do.’
‘That - was - too - close,’ said Barard. Tom said nothing; his heart was thumping painfully.
‘He’s coming back,’ hissed Robin. He slipped into the room, and made a show of collecting up his night-shirt and other belongings that he needed to move to his brothers’ room to make way for Barard.
‘Here we are,’ said Da cheerfully. He placed a flagon and some drawings on the bedside table, and dropped a towel onto Tom’s belly. ‘I’ll find you a small bottle to decant some into; it’s more convenient like that. This one has rosemary steeping in it; very good for healing is rosemary. Another time I’ll explain the different herbs, or you can read Meriadoc’s book on the subject. Now, move over a little, Barard. I’ll show you how to use it. Don’t worry about making a mess of the sheets - it’s unavoidable really - but you’ll probably be glad of the towel by the time you’re finished, to mop up.’ He sat sideways on the edge of the bed and lifted Tom’s foot into his lap to spread oil over the underside. ‘Now, if you circle your thumb just here, it’ll have a calming effect.’ Tom’s heart slowed, and he swallowed. It felt good, not like Barard’s frantic probing a moment ago. Da smiled at him, then looked back to what his hands were doing. ‘Whereas here will help the pain in Tom’s chest. Tell me when I hit the right spot, son.’
Tom gasped; a warm glow was spreading along each rib in turn. ‘There,’ he whispered in disbelief as the glow settled over his cracked rib, dispelling the pain a little.
‘Barard! Pay attention! Look how I’m moving my thumb, just pressing in and circling. It’ll take some practice, mind, but I’ve brought you the charts I drew up for Meriadoc. I suggest you avoid these areas, here and here, otherwise you’ll have Tom all dressed up with nowhere to go.’
‘Sir?’
‘He’ll be as horny as that ram of your father’s that tries to hump everything in sight. What are you laughing at, Robin?’
‘N - nothing, Da.’
‘Good. You come with me, then we won’t embarrass Barard when he’s trying it out. There’s nothing worse than having someone look over your shoulder all the time when you’re learning. If you would like, I’ll give you some lessons in massage. You’d be amazed at what you can do with feet.’ He herded Robin out, and shut the door behind them.
Barard bowed his head to the bed and shook with laughter. ‘Your father... your father is such an innocent. I don’t think it even occurred to him that I might have been doing anything other than massage your foot.’
‘I can think of other uses for the oil,’ said Tom huskily.
Barard rubbed Tom’s cock through the cloth of his night-shirt. ‘Mmmm, so can I. But first I’m going to see if I can bring that imbecilic look of bliss back to your face, and then I’m going to see just how horny I can make you with no more than your foot in my hand.’
Tom closed his eyes. It wasn’t as expertly done as his da’s, but it was still deeply relaxing. No wonder Ma swore by Da’s foot massages. Barard started on the other foot, and without meaning to, Tom fell asleep.
Tom smiled to himself. No wonder that memory was so clear: he had woken that time feeling refreshed as well, after having a broken night’s sleep of pain before Barard arrived. Suddenly he was shaking with laughter. He’d not thought back to the start of Barard’s love affair with massage - or rather his love affair with massaging Tom - for a long time. They had been the innocents, believing his da had no idea of what they were doing, or the help he was giving them. He’d shown Barard the exact spots to arouse Tom; he’d even told Barard to pay attention. The laughter bubbling up made Tom snort into his pillow. You’ll probably be glad of the towel by the time you’re finished. Oh, Da!
‘That sounds better, little bird.’
Tom rolled half onto his back and opened his eyes. Faros was sitting on the edge of his own bed, smiling at him. Tom glanced to the other beds, but they were empty, and the bedding had been folded back to air. He looked out of the room to the garden, and saw that the shadows were very short. He sat up. He had slept through the night and morning. ‘It nearly lunch time,’ he said.
‘It is nearly lunch time,’ Faros corrected him. ‘And that’s a good sign; if you’re measuring the day by meal times, I’m thinking you must be hungry. If you’re able to get up, the family have all gone out, and we are going to eat together in the long room. The mistress said we were not to disturb you, but let you wake in your own time, and feed you well when you did.’
‘Mistress not know Halflings eat much food.’
‘The mistress does not know that Harflings eat a lot.’
Tom pushed back the covers. ‘That as well,’ he said.
‘You do not want me to correct your mistakes?’
‘Oh, yes. Please, yes.’
‘Then you will learn more quickly if you repeat what I say.’
Tom searched back for the words. ‘The mistress does not know Halflings eat a lot.’
Faros nodded. ‘Good. What are Harflings?’
‘Hobbits, Holbytla, Pheriannath, the Little People.’
‘Who calls you all those names?’
Tom ticked off on his fingers. ‘Us, Rhohirrim, Gondorians, Ents.’
Faros’s eyes widened and his smile faltered. ‘You come from the barbaric north!’
Tom was not sure what the word Faros used meant, but barbaric seemed a good translation judging by the look on his face. ‘And you... I not know words. Not believe intheOne and paint your bodies.’
‘Ilúvatar is the One! And I do not paint my body!’
‘And the North not bar - baric... is not barbaric. Do not believe all tales. Hafar is long way from how I think it to be, before I here.’
‘Everyone knows the northern king is a devil, a demon.’
Tom stood in front of Faros, overflowing with indignation. He liked Faros very much, but there was a point of principle here. ‘You speak what you told. He good friend of my father, good friend of me. He good - he is good man. I from north, but not barbaric; I live in hole, but not imp; I small, but not sweet; I dangerous if you try hurt my mate. I am me! Look of things not good to tell what is real, stories not good to tell what is real. You good man, I think; that is real. I good hobbit; that is real. My father see soldier of the South, dead in big fight; he not think “There bad man.” He think “What lies bring him here, to die strange place; maybe he rather stay home with family.” My father very wise. He understand we all just people. My name Tolman. Friends name me Tom.’
Faros stared at him with his mouth open, and Tom patted him on the knee. ‘You my friend, I think. You name me Tom, yes?’
Faros shut his mouth and cleared his throat. ‘Thank you, Tolm. I... I’m sorry if I caused offence. You speak much sense, and I apologise for thinking you... well, that you... that...’
‘That I stupid, yes? You think I not very clever, because I speak bad.’
Faros nodded. ‘A little, yes. I’m sorry.’
‘No problem. You help me speak better.’
‘You will help me to speak better.’
Tom grinned. ‘You will help me to speak better.’
‘Good. I’d like that, Tolm. I’d like to be able to talk to you more easily. I think you can teach me a lot, but come and eat now.’ Tom’s stomach rumbled, and Faros laughed. ‘Follow me.’ They walked out into sunshine. The garden was bathed in sunlight, and the heat met Tom as though it were solid. Tom had not paid any attention to where they were in the house, but now he found the slaves’ quarter was in the wing furthest from the front entrance. The kitchen was to the right, but they turned left, past a room with more beds, keeping to the shade of the covered colonnade. The long room took up the rest of the wing, and the view of the garden was restricted by tall plants grown in pots between the posts that supported the roof. Here was an elderly man - the occupant of the fourth bed in their room, Tom guessed - who Faros introduced as the gardener, and three girls of varying ages, all with the same dark eyes and bold expressions. They all flirted shamelessly with Faros as he introduced them, and giggled when he ignored them. Their clothes were the same as Tom’s, only more shaped, as befitted the soft curves of their bodies. Like all the slaves Tom had seen, with the exception of those sold at the market, their hair was cut to shoulder length.
Tom was just wondering what had happened to Catos, when he appeared behind the cook, carrying dishes piled high with food. As soon as Catos had set his burden on the table, he danced around Tom with whoops of pleasure.
‘Steady, boy, steady,’ said the cook. ‘If you have our little bird turning round and round like that, he’ll be falling over again. Bring the rest of the dishes, and then get him some cushions, or he’ll not be reaching the food.’
As the cook bustled out again, Tom decided it was time to clear up one small mystery. He looked up at Faros. ‘Forgive me, please. I not understand. She is your mother, or no?’ He suspected not. She looked nothing like him.
‘She is the mother, Tolmos,’ explained Faros. ‘It is an honorary title, held by the eldest female slave.’ He shrugged, as though Tom had asked him why. ‘I suppose it comes from the fact that families are broken; I never thought about it before.’
Over the meal, Faros gave Tom and Catos instructions: no running and shouting, no short cuts through the garden, no speaking to the family unless spoken to. ‘If you need to speak to them, go and stand just inside the door until they give you permission to speak. And make sure you keep your eyes to the ground until then. Any money they give you is yours to keep, but any stealing and you will be in court. Yes, Tolm, what is it?’
‘You mean court is for slaves? Slaves get...’ he shook his head in frustration. ‘I not know the word. Court listen both sides and then say who right, who wrong?’
‘I think the word you want is “justice”,’ said Faros, and Tom tucked it away in his growing vocabulary. Ard, justice. The talked turned to the courts, and Tom soon had the word Ardeli for judgement and Ardelos for the judge. He tried to follow the rapid speech, but now that they were talking amongst themselves, words flew around him like the brightly coloured birds fluttering up from the garden, eluding capture. He gave up and concentrated on trying as many of the dishes as possible. There was rice, and meat skewered onto sticks with a smoky flavour, flat bread to eat with a creamy mix of cucumber and mint, small fish, salted nuts and olives, and a dish of tomatoes cooked with garlic and herbs. The gardener was truculent, and the cook called the girls “shameless hussies”, but had it not been for the fact he had no idea of where Barard was - whether he was hungry, in pain, or even still alive - Tom would have enjoyed the company. On one level, Tom could laugh at the girls’ antics as they teased Faros, but his grief lurked only just below the surface, waiting to catch at him like the remembered pain of a broken rib.
‘Is it not just our luck to be slaves in such a household!’ exclaimed the youngest girl, Lyria, as Faros ate studiously, ignoring the nuts she proffered him. By the laughter, Tom had the impression there was some significance to the offer that was hidden from him. The girl looked around and rolled her eyes. ‘An ancient, a beardless midget, a boy, and a man who would not know what to do with a girl if he came home and found her naked in his bed!’
‘Now stop teasing Faros, do,’ said the cook. ‘Tell us the gossip.’
The conversation veered into realms where names were scattered like petals at a wedding. It was a blur to Tom, until the pace slowed and even Faros showed an interest as talk turned to some mysterious noble who had arrived from the far south.
‘It is said that he is very rich; he arrived with fifty mûmakil as a present for Daros. Fifty!’
‘Not much good if he has no mûmak riders.’
‘No, didn’t you hear? Lord Sûlos gifted those as well. Fine looking men. Very tall.’
‘He has a large household, but no women.’
‘Maybe he is like Faros.’ The girls giggled.
‘He brought all his own slaves with him; the traders are furious.’
‘He has taken the old palace by the market place.’
‘That’s very run down.’
‘His workmen are there already; they say money is no object.’
‘He has taken his place in the courts, and they say he is truly interested in justice, that he will not take bribes.’
‘Hah! Then he will not last long! He will become one of the disappeared!’
‘What House is he from?’
‘I hear a different tale each time it is told. His slaves do not gossip, more’s the pity.’
‘Do you think,’ voices lowered to whispers, ‘that he is of the House of the Sun?’
‘He can’t be! Cyros hunted down the remnants.’
‘That was when my grandfather was enslaved, he went to the help of the Sun.’ This was Catos. ‘But there are prophecies, telling of the return of the House.’
‘Oh, prophecies! No one believes in them. Anyway, the prophecy always begins with the one who will come before and bring about the rise to power, and there’s been nothing like that. Everyone knows prophecies always have many meanings; that’s just a trick of the seer, if you ask me. However it turns out, they always seem to twist their prophecies to show they spoke true.’
Tom sipped at a deep red wine, mellow and full of flavours, and tried to keep up with it all, watching each speaker in turn.
‘That’s true of the modern seers, but this prophecy is ancient,’ said Faros with quiet authority. ‘It goes back to the Destruction. The Son of Justice will herald the return of the House.’
‘Maybe this Sûlos is the Son of Justice.’
Tom’s glass fell from his hand, smashing on the table, and splashing Lyria with wine. She leapt up with an exclamation, brushing at her clothes, but the red spread in widening stains.
‘Tolm?’ said Faros, but Tom just sat staring at him. ‘Tolm!’
‘Maybe it’s some sort of fit?’
‘Best get some salt on that, girl.’
‘You clumsy... imp!’
‘Tolm!’
Tom blinked at Faros. ‘The Son of Justice?’ he said, and his voice came out a hoarse whisper.