Chapter Four
Dutifully, Saka carried her, no Jacob's, bag and followed the intriguing male through narrow stone-covered streets to a building. It was unremarkable; the same color of the sand of the desert, with a small, hidden recess at the rear. There he attempted to secure Darghu, her horse, next to a fat, napping donkey.
Dropping the bag harder than intended, Saka fought a wince as she comforted her stallion, whispering to him in the language of her homeland. Rus was on the rough northern slopes of the Altay Mountains. As the years passed, her memories of the artic snow dunes faded, but the language remained in her heart.
Separating a handful of ties from the beaded belt at her waist, she quickly braided them, forming a thin cord which she twisted into a halter and slid over the stallion's grey nose. The rest hung from his jaw to the ground. He knew to stay so long as the braid hung low.
"What is his name?” Saka turned and saw the sparkle of curiosity in Jacob's tawny eyes. By his interest it was clear he had never seen a horse bred by her tribe.
Carefully, she considered her answer. The truth could mean the difference between punishment and deference—ultimately revealing the true nature of her new owner. “I cannot tell you his name, to know his name is to have power over him.” Jacob's shoulders slumped in disappointment and she relaxed.
"Is that why you told me not your name, but your nation and profession?” The question caught Saka unawares.
"I do not understand. I have called myself Saka and my father was called Ishkuzi.” Her brows furrowed in thought. At least that had been the tale her mother whispered in her ear as a child, lulling her to sleep. “When the Syrian bartered for me, he demanded my name and that of my sire. Is that how names are known here?"
His eyes went vague and distant. From his earlier behavior, she deduced he was lost in thought again. Saka found herself captivated by the male again. He worried over information like a camp dog with a bone.
"In a way you are right, we are known by our parentage,” he admitted. “This afternoon, I gave you a simple greeting sharing my name and that of my father, but our identity goes deeper still. In our land there were originally twelve tribes of Jews. Each had its own name and sign and duty. As we were driven from this, our ancestral land, taken into bondage, we also took on the name of our tribe."
Unthinking, she asked, “Is there more to your name's meaning, Jacob son of Moshe?” He smiled without the happiness she witnessed earlier and it hurt in her chest. One with the ability to bring joy so simply shouldn't be burdened with such sadness. She had a swift urge to bring pain and a slow death to the one who caused shadows to slide behind his eyes.
"I was born to a great name for one so small.” Saka frowned in confusion. He was taller than most of the men they passed, both natives of Judah and the mixed-race Seleucid squadrons. What could he mean by ‘small'?
"My name Jacob means ‘conqueror’ and my tribe ‘Kohen’ means of the line crowned of Kings. Properly I am called Jacob of the Kohanim, the lineage of the priesthood."
Instinctively, Saka fell to a knee. Here was a man with a great name, born of a royal family feeding her lowly horse and treating her, a meager slave, as an equal.
"No, please don't.” The blood flushing his cheeks indicated anger but his mien did not. Hands gripped her upper arms and she gasped in pain as he pulled her to her feet.
"What the...?” She stood still, lost and confused as the quietly important man removed her robe, revealing her shame. With gentle fingers, he undid the knot on the binding covering the wound and stared in shock and disgust.
"Who did this to you?” Anger tinged his pleasant voice, turning it into something snarling, making her drop again to her knee. Somehow she had offended him. “Stop that,” he snapped. “Rise and answer me, Saka."
"The Syrian slaver knew of our pride in our tamgas, symbols of our nation, our people.” Lightly, a battle-rough finger reached out tracing the lightning bolt-shaped brand on the front shoulder of her mount. “This is the sign of my people, it represents the way our arms look when drawing our bows in battle."
Jacob grabbed the swollen flesh of her upper arm and demanded, “And this, what is this supposed to mean?"
"I ... I do not know.” Saka was aghast. From the half-understood Syrian words, she was led to understand it was the symbol of the man's tribe who bought her. “The Syrian called it the Seal of Sulayman, the mark of your people."
Muttering, Jacob released her arm. He reached up to a small lintel and retrieved two vessels. Brow creased in thought, he dumped water into the clay gutter for the animals to drink. “I've got it!” Again his eyes shone with excitement and for a small moment Saka found herself foolishly wishing she had been the cause of his excitement.
"Long ago our nation was ruled by King Solomon, Solomon was the name given him after his death. Not sure why, sounds better than Shlomo, I imagine.” His gaze went vague and he shook his head, “No matter. He was to have had dominion over demons.” Saka gasped in fear. “No, no, not demons as the Persians depict them, not the djinn but Godly spirits—on this we Jews disagree with the allied nations of Persia. King Solomon was supposed to have bound them to his will with different designs etched in metal or stone with ‘seals.’ This is one such but it is crudely rendered on your skin."
He lifted her arm and stared intently at it. “It would take a Syrian to do such a thing. My father would never have ordered such. To mark our bodies is considered anathema. This, this should deny you entrance to our community or tribe.” Again Saka found herself gaping in incredulity, no one raised a slave to servant status, let alone to inclusion as an equal. What kind of people were these people of Judah?
"But, why this tamgas, I mean to say sign?” Jacob seemed to relish questions and answers, plus the more he talked, the more adept he became at her language. She hadn't realized how much she missed hearing familiar words.
"When King Solomon died, there were fanciful rumors, but in the end he was old, weak and was toppled by death. Then, too, there is your name.” He paused as if uncertain whether or not to continue.
"What of my name?” Her mind awhirl, Saka nearly fell to the ground as her owner measured grain and dried grasses for the animals evening meal. This was work she should be doing, yet he said not a word. He seemed happy, almost contented in the work, turning her worry to shame.
"There is a djinn demon by the name of Sakhr, but I know little about it beyond that it is highly intelligent and found in rock. If you want, I can research it?” Thinking hard, Saka made a gesture to the negative.
"There are things worse than being branded like cattle? Pfft, it's better to know the good over the bad. The man feared something that was good.” She grinned suddenly, feeling a heavy weight lift from her shoulders, until she caught Jacob's wince and the lighter feeling plummeted. “Who knows? Maybe the man's fears kept him from selling my possessions to any but the one who ultimately bought me."
Jacob wished he could control his reaction to the unsightly appearance of Saka's brown-stained teeth, but he couldn't. Given the wound on her arm, it was imperative to get her into a bath and clean clothes so he could administer a healing poultice to the festering burn.
Without a word, he gathered up her belongings, then directed her towards the rear door. It wasn't that he was ashamed of Saka, he told himself, it was just the rear entrance was closer to the bathing vessel. This led to another conundrum—only women attended women at the bath and he was the only one present. Plus, the only clean clothes he had were men's attire.
"Saka,” he began hesitantly, “I am going to need for you to bathe in order to treat your wound.” She stood and stared at him as if he had grown horns and feathers.
"Don't worry,” he made a placating gesture, “I'll collect the water and herbs to scent it.” She glared and he slowly backed away, nearly tripping on the ornate tub she assumed he meant for her to get naked and wet in. “My mother is Egyptian and has father bring in pots of this material.” He proffer
ed a small container of fresh smelling soap, “It helps take the dirt away quickly.” He looked hopeful and scared at the same time. “I've found it helps to heal wounds as well."
The male seemed witless with fear. Mere moments ago he acted in accordance with his royal name, now he was cowering before a slave. Saka wasn't sure if she should be amused, disgusted or disheartened. There was much more to the comely man than the eye could see. Studying him would be a challenge and a pleasure.
* * * *
Looking at the mutinous expression on the strong-boned female face, Jacob was at a loss. Wait! He had the perfect idea.
"You are fond of your clothing, yes?” She glared but grunted in the affirmative. “I lack the ability to clean them, but another does. I, uh,” he rubbed his neck in embarrassment, “also lack the money to have the work done."
He watched as she stared at him in consideration then opened the foul-smelling bag. Her square, strong hands took out a long wooden box decorated with intricate carvings and inlaid with brilliant enamels. The thought of what such an item cost to create turned his brains to mush. Next came out a long-hafted weapon made of wood mated to a golden metal that had to be brass or bronze. The design was like an axe for cutting wood but different, more lethal. It had cutting blades on both front and rear. Jacob gulped at the notion of it being used. A quick peek at the variegated colors staining the wooden shaft spoke too well of how often the weapon had been employed. Her hand dipped in and retrieved an oddly curved blade as long as her arm made of dark, hammered metal. From the wicked gleam in the sunlight, it appeared that both sides of the blade were sharpened to a deadly degree. A confusing array of wrist thick wood and bronze fittings accompanied by a vicious looking pointed head emerged next. Just when he was prepared to beg her to stop revealing more horrors of war, Saka dumped from the now nearly empty bag a number of braided metal devices and a clump of grimy gold chains with bangles.
"My hair...” she started as if worried on how to finish.
"You may leave your hair down to flow free, pull it back into a braid or,” he cleared his throat, “use a covering to indicate modesty."
"Which will lead to me being seen as a real person in your community?” Jacob had a sinking feeling this question would soon arise.
"It doesn't happen often, Saka. First you have to follow our ways, learn our language. It is very difficult and only the most devout of slaves have chosen to make the transition.” Or been permitted, he thought as nervous fingers tugged at his hair. “Perhaps you could do as others have and save up and pay back your slave fee, buy your freedom and go home.” Looking at the pile of gold at her feet, she probably had the price already. He didn't like the way his stomach fell to his sandals at the idea.
With the fluid grace of a predator, she closed the distance between them. The animal part of his brain was bleating in fear, but the male part was fully appreciative. The play of muscles under skin, coupled with the way she moved, walking on the balls of her feet with just the hint of a feminine sway. Hypnotized by the display, he didn't notice how close she came until the twisted belt at her waist bumped a part of his body that enjoyed her prowl too much. So much so, if she moved any closer there would be no way she could miss the thickness of his arousal against her belly.
A calm, analytical part of his mind registered her attributes in painful detail. Saka was tall compared to other women he'd encountered. With a flash he imagined them naked, her hands circling his swollen manhood as he pushed her against the wall, lifting a lithe, muscular thigh. Then she gripped his chin with her dirt-stained fingers and the daydream shattered.
"Do you see me?” Saka lifted her arms. All Jacob saw was the ornate vest molding a taut waist and comely breasts flaring beautifully above lush hips and toned thighs, but somehow he doubted that was the answer she was seeking.
"Better I think, than you know,” his voice came out huskier than intended and deep inside her blue eyes something contracted, then flared candle-bright.
"Then know this, Conqueror of the line of Kings. I fell in battle. I failed my people. It was they, not the enemy, who decided my worth lay in the slave market and not as a warrior. I cannot go home. There is no home for me with the Kimmeroi."
For a moment Jacob stood astonished at the heartlessness of her betrayal. Women were the core of his people. There was not a one without value beyond compare. Then he remembered his dream, white deserts tamed as he walked the land and a curious feeling of power grew in his chest.
"Wear your hair as our women do. Wear clothes as they do—but do not forsake your own. No one but Elokim, our God, knows what lies in the future. Now, if you'll give me your hair ornaments, I'll trade them for getting your garments and bag cleansed.” Jacob had meant the gold and silver beads and ornaments at the bottom of the braids decorating her hair, but Saka surprised him with those plus a heavy handful of other items.
The braided grungy items from the bottom of the bag had been hair dressings. Very feminine hair ornaments. Picking one up, he quickly noted it was of the type worn by Indian ladies of worth, another with formal enamel flowers was of the Far East. The rest were Persian, Iranian with a few odd torques and ropes. There was no way his father had seen this bounty. The wily old man would have sold them.
"Before I leave I will prepare your bath and leave a wrap you can wear until you dry.” He put the weighty ornaments into a woven bag. “You'll need to wash and comb your hair as well."
"Then I did well to keep these.” He turned and saw Saka cradling a pair of intricate metal combs in her hands. On the top, wrought in gold and silver, was a scene of a man on horseback spearing a foe while turned, piercing another with an arrow, but the silver tines below were clean, straight and well kept. As if she felt the weight of his eyes, she looked up at him in guilt. “They belonged to my father's mother."
"I wouldn't take such a thing from you.” With his free hand Jacob lifted hers to her chest. “Keep them, keep them safe. Perhaps one day you will have a daughter to pass them to."
Chapter Five
Moving faster than he thought possible, Jacob had the bathing vessel filled, drying garment placed on a chair then he turned and his eyes nearly fell out of his skull. It would seem in the Scythian clans, there was little in the way of modesty. Saka stripped off her clothes with a nonchalance that made him wonder if she knew or cared he was in the room.
Years of riding had corded her thighs with strength, just as training had developed the muscles in her arms, back and shoulders. Instead of finding the lack of soft, feminine curves repulsive, Jacob was harder and more uncomfortable than ever. Her breasts were larger than he'd imagined, the vest must have bound them close to her body. Freed, they drew his eyes along the pale swell of flesh to the dusky tipped nipples. Unconsciously, he began measuring her dimensions in addition to ogling her slim hips and rounded bottom as she stared dubiously at the shallow tub.
"Is there a problem?” He didn't mind looking at her body, not at all. There were spots where the ineptly cured leather left patches of discoloration on her skin and her hair was in utter disarray, but he couldn't imagine a lovelier vision to admire as the sun dipped towards the horizon. The lateness of the hour prodded him. If he hoped to make a good trade on the gold and buy her clothes, he had to move fast.
Biting her lower lip, Saka admitted her fear. “At home, to bathe is to risk death. Illness settles in the chest and throat. Our shaman says it is the sky god's wrath for wasting water. Here, in the land of burning sands, water must be even more precious."
Never having to deal directly with pagans and their gods, Jacob was at a loss. “But, Sukkot is coming.” By the Lord above, that was pathetic. Like a lost lamb she stared at him, half fearful, half hopeful. “At Sukkot we celebrate the harvest. This has been a plentiful year. You'll see the desert is not always barren. At the end of Sukkot, we pray for rain and Elokim, our one-god, will provide so long as we have been devout in our prayers."
"How can your god see you as devout when yo
u've taken under your roof an unbeliever?” Jacob stared in her cloudy grey-blue eyes, swearing he wouldn't look lower, no matter the strength of his desire.
"The God of the Jews does not judge us by the people we do business with, those we aid or the ones we shelter under our roof. He judges us by the way we treat those people. If we act with honesty and integrity, honor and respect, then He will listen to our prayers."
"Your father hoped to sell my horse and part out my things.” She had tried valiantly not to let her upset show in her voice, but Jacob heard the quaver under the strength.
"Greed was in his heart, but I hope to balance his misdeeds by teaching you our ways and by treating you with as much honor as possible.” A fine sheen of sweat covered his body under his clothes and gathered in his hair.
"Is that why you do not touch me or look at me?” The question was completely without guile. Looking at the small pout, Jacob made a spur of the moment guess.
"No other man has seen you without clothes, has he?” The sweat beaded and rolled down the side of his face. Hoping for a reprieve, he redirected his vision to the nasty wound on her left upper arm. That did it, instant erection kill, he was back to worrying about washing, dressing and treating his new ... what exactly was Saka? Then it hit him, he had a single pallet. All of his good intentions died as visions of her eager body, slicked with sweat, writhing under and over him in the dark, clouded his mind.
"It is my shame.” Saka hung her head, “no male has wanted to see me without my clothes."
Hoping he didn't shake or look lower than her bent head, Jacob lifted her face, cupping her chin. “I desire to see you without clothes and I hope by all I hold holy God knows I honor you by not taking advantage.” Her eyes turned an incandescent color that stole his breath. In a strangled tone he eked out, “I must hurry or I'll not see to your needs before the shops close for dinner and the night's prayer."
Babes in Toyland II Page 14
