by Susan Wright
It made my blood run cold. Perhaps this was what Lexander felt when he killed his own kind.
The slave master seemed familiar with the girl, commenting on her docile nature. I wondered if he had been the huscarl of the pleasure house.
Their bargain was soon concluded and the man mounted his horse. The slave master put the girl on behind him. She clung to her new master as best she could, her legs bared to her hips.
I was ready to follow them, but the slave master got into his cart. He whipped the donkey and ambled off with the slave boy in the back. I ran after the cart, figuring it would move slower than the horse. But in the end I lost sight of the slave master as he turned onto an open road leading out of Chivasso.
Exhausted by my fruitless dash, I returned to the marketplace to find Bene had been searching for me. His fingers closed on my hand too tightly. "Where have you been? I thought I’d lost you!"
"I tried to follow the slave master. Did you see where the wagon went?"
Bene shook his head. "It left town, heading to the coast. I’m sorry, Marja, but I couldn’t keep up."
"Neither could I. We failed them."
"It’s not our fault," Bene protested. "They could have jumped off the cart—their legs weren’t bound. But they just sat there."
"You can’t blame the slaves, Bene. We’re trained to yield. You wouldn’t have escaped with me if Vanais hadn’t goaded you into it."
He frowned at that, but still insisted, "We did all we could for them, Marja."
I remembered how I had used the olfs’ concealment and stolen Canille’s jewels. If I’d had more time, I could have taken what I needed to buy the slaves myself. The olfs would have surely helped.
One thing was certain—Lexander didn’t care what happened to the slaves. He had only saved Niels and Qamaniq because he felt responsible for luring them into slavery.
I was not sure what we would find when we reached Veneto. I only hoped we got there before Lexander.
16
By the expedient of claiming we were going in the opposite direction, toward Kristna’s Holy City, that night we were given shelter at a small sanctuary.
The kind cleric who oversaw the sanctuary gave us flat bread his wife had baked in a brick oven. He was the sort of cleric who did not shy away from women, making me feel more comfortable.
We were allowed to stay inside the sanctuary itself. Both of us had trouble sleeping, thinking of the slaves we had just missed saving. It was deep winter in my homeland, but here, even without a fire, the air was as mild as spring.
When I awoke in the morning, Bene was not beside me. He was sitting outside in the sun with our morning meal in hand. "I found a ride to Veneto for us. And the cleric gave me this," he offered, handing me the larger hunk of bread.
"A ride?" That news was more welcome than the food.
"I wondered why there were so few travelers on the road. They told me that trade goods are taken to Veneto by barge. We’re near one of the feeder rivers, so I made a bargain with a barge master."
"But you can’t speak to them," I protested.
He lowered his eyes and moved his shoulders in a suggestive manner. "Sometimes it doesn’t take much talking. You know that."
I gave him a hug, beset by gratitude. "I hope you know what you’re getting into," I murmured.
He patted my back. "Let me take care of this, Marja. It’s about time I did something to help."
Bene handled everything. The barge master was a burly man who paid no attention to me, which was a relief. Bene stayed near him as if he genuinely liked the man. They spent each night under the canvas, rutting next to the large ceramic jars containing wine. Bene claimed it was easy to please him.
I lay on the deck in the sun, dwelling on what Lexander had done. I had never deceived myself about Lexander—he was ruthless. He was still very much the heartless master, to allow those slaves to be sold at market. He was blinded by his desire to destroy the masters, while I wanted to stop them from enslaving us.
So the days slowly passed with the rolling hillsides covered with vines and fields ripening despite the season. Under such mellow sunshine, it was odd to think that winter storms beat down on the summits and lands beyond. I felt disjointed, as if we had been transported to a place untouched by time.
Eventually we reached a vast marshland where the salt water sent its tendrils inland. I sensed the moment the river spirits gave way to the sea. I opened my eyes to see a city rising from the water before us. We were surrounded by rippling waves with the marshy grass-lands behind us. At first I could see only the peaks of the tallest buildings, the distinct Kristna spires on round-topped towers. Then there were others, peaked and domed, crowding close together. Everything was bathed in a misty, golden light.
Bene appeared by my side, his own mouth opening in awe. The vibrant blue sky stretched impossibly far to the flat horizon, with the island city before us. Boats were approaching from every direction, crisscrossing the bay and heading to the sea beyond.
Even when we drew closer, the buildings seemed to float on the glassy surface. The water mirrored the flat sides, painted white, yellow, and green, creating a perfect wavering reflection of the walls.
"It’s magic," Bene breathed.
From the clamoring of the sea spirits, they claimed this city as their own. I was overwhelmed in trying to respond.
The barge wound its way up a wide channel that undulated like a serpent through the city. Many channels branched off it, passing between structures that were partially submerged. The stone foundations descended deep into the murky green water.
Stonecutters filled the air with the sound of saws and chisels, making blocks from the large slabs resting on barges. Boats were being constructed in shipyards from logs of wood corralled on the water. An enormous hull with three towering masts was supported in scaffolding. Other ships equally large were moored at docks and wharfs lining the channel.
A floating city was beyond my wildest dreams. Yet the drawling phrases sounded comfortingly familiar, and I soon realized the sea spirits had acquired some of their fondest tales here.
When the barge was docked, Bene bounded away from the barge master with hardly a farewell. He didn’t have to deal with any of the messy possessiveness that the Frankish shipmaster had shown for me.
I quickly discovered it was nearly impossible to travel around Veneto without asking the way. A shopkeeper pointed us toward the pleasure house, Castropiero, but a curving maze lay between us and our goal. The narrow alleys between the stone walls twisted and turned, ending abruptly at waterways. At each open square, usually the site of a public well, we asked directions so we didn’t have to search for the footbridges over the channels.
There were boats moored everywhere, sometimes several deep along the stone quays. Where there were no wooden bridges arching over the water or a walkway alongside the canal, we got into a boat and stepped from it to another, and in that way passed between cobbled lanes.
Bene and I both tried to beg rides from passing boats. Most people made a gesture with their fingers, asking how much coin we could give. But we had none. So we scurried along in the gutters along with the numerous rats.
In this manner we finally came to Castropiero, the pleasure house of Veneto. To my everlasting relief, it stood intact.
The great square house was situated on a wide channel among other imposing mansions. I counted eight windows with rounded arches on each of the upper two floors. The lowest level had only two small windows and a double door that opened onto the channel. The high waterline was clearly marked above the threshold.
An alleyway ran along the side of the house, ending at the channel. The facade of the mansion was highly ornate, but even the back had numerous windows. The rear entrance was up a wide flight of steps to the second floor, where a balcony stretched. A marble urn carved with grapevines sat in the center of a tiny courtyard. A row of modest houses was across the lane.
A boy hurried out from under th
e arches that led to the first floor. I could tell at a glance that he was not a pleasure slave. He didn’t have that smooth grace instilled by the poses. He ran down the alleyway and jumped into one of the narrow boats moored there. Other servants called to each other and occasionally opened the windows to toss refuse into the channel.
I stayed and watched the house until the sun started lowering in the sky, striking the flat stones and turning them red and orange as if they were on fire. Bene returned from his ventures up the lanes, taking advantage of the help Kristna followers gave him because of his peregrini staff.
"We shall have to cross three bridges to get to the sanctuary," Bene told me. He had begged for food, and as the prize, he proudly handed me a slightly withered pear. I seized it with delight, desperate for a taste of fruit. I ate it right there, chewing it down to the core as if I could consume the sunshine it had basked in.
To please the olfs, I gave them the core. Sea spirits liked sacrifices of food, but they adored stories even more. I had much to tell after our long journey over the summits, but I decided to dole out my tales carefully to get the information I needed from them.
I followed Bene through the maze of the city to the sanctuary. As it grew darker, the lanterns hanging from the boats lit our way.
When we arrived in the open square of the sanctuary, I was impressed by the majesty of the colonnades down both sides, with slender columns supporting round arches. The wide facade of the sanctuary was a series of arches decoratively carved around the edges. Slender towers made entirely of columns rose from the upper level.
Some clerics noticed our staffs and we were quickly ushered up to the altar. We were asked for an oblation, but had nothing to give. The clerics did not believe us at first, but our battered, hungry appearance lent credence to our claim that we had walked all the way from the Frankish lands without a coin. After that, we were celebrated for our feat, and received much praise. I got enough food to fill me for the first time since Fasia had surreptitiously refilled my bowl at the inn.
I pretended to understand less than I did to avoid answering why we had chosen their sanctuary as our destination rather than the Holy City. We joined in their prayer session to show our goodwill, and eventually were taken downstairs into a vaulted hall where some of the clerics slept. The walls curved into the low ceiling, forming a long tunnel. I could feel the sea spirits through the layer of mud and a retaining wall holding back the sea, and hear their echoes in the trickle of moisture that ran down the curved walls.
After our first evening, we were accepted as members of the fellowship. We received exactly the same food that the clerics ate in the morning. I never saw them take an evening meal, and indeed some of the men were so thin they were near to starving. They scattered throughout the city by day, begging for food and oblations.
I returned to the pleasure house every day. Bene begged or stole food, and scrupulously brought me half of what he acquired. He told me about the things he saw, and quickly picked up the words he needed to get by. I stayed near Castropiero and learned the rhythms of the house.
The mistress was statuesque with a strong-boned face, like all of her race. With a fetching cleft in her chin, I would have thought Renata was beautiful, but her pale green eyes were rather fixed and flat despite their inhuman glitter. The master, Tomaz, overindulged in rich food and the ceaseless attentions of his slaves. He was a sour-faced, bloated man, torpid from satisfaction.
A large number of guests came under cover of darkness, mostly men whose equipage and dress indicated they were very wealthy. Shadows passed before the windows that glowed with lights. During the day, the servants moved about cleaning and bringing in supplies for the revelries.
There was no sign of Lexander.
One night I woke in the pitch-black vault of the sanctuary. The dripping of the water carried the sea spirits’ voices. I pulled the blanket over my head for warmth, thinking it had nothing to do with me.
But they were calling Bene’s name.
I sat up as the bells began ringing, summoning the clerics to prayers. The clerics were stirring around me as I reached over to Bene’s cot. It was empty.
I got up as the clerics lit their few candles, casting black shadows against the curve of the vault. They buried their hands in their sleeves and pulled their cowls far over their heads.
I stumbled past them, up the steps to the door. In the corridor that led to the sanctuary, I saw Bene. He was kneeling in front of a cleric.
The young cleric’s face was strained and his hands were buried in Bene’s hair, pulling the strands as if to tear them out. His jaw clenched, and with as much passion as anger, he shouted, "Damn you!"
Then he saw me, and froze in his confusion. Bene turned, his mouth wet and the cleric’s fat tarse clutched in his fist. The creamy seed spilled from it as I watched, and the cleric flushed near purple in apoplexy.
The other clerics were emerging from the vault behind me. They exclaimed in shock as the cleric hastily covered himself.
Bene leaped to his feet, protesting his innocence. But the clerics were denouncing Bene and their fellow, and my heart sank. The man who had been pleasured by Bene knew he was caught and he desperately confessed the deed. He fell to his knees, crying for forgiveness.
The clerics were incensed. All I could think about was the bishop in Danelaw piercing Olvid with his sword.
"Come," I ordered Bene, pulling him after me. The only way out was through the sanctuary.
Bene didn’t need to be told twice. He ran with me, leaving the startled clerics behind in the corridor. The sanctuary was filling with shuffling men, most still half asleep as they appeared for prayers. Some knelt on the stone floor and began rocking slightly as they chanted the ritual words.
Bene and I ran down the aisle, making them glance up in bewilderment. Then we were out the doors and on the wide plaza. The moon was shining down on the clear, chilly night. The lap, lap, lapping of the water echoed in the stillness.
"I’m so sorry," Bene panted as we ran down a side street. "I didn’t mean—"
I stopped, putting my hand on his arm to listen. There was no sound of pursuit. "Don’t be sorry. Do whatever you want, Bene."
He tilted his head. "I should have known you wouldn’t be upset. You realize we can’t go back there?"
"Definitely not." I shuddered slightly. "We took from Kristna for far too long without giving him worship. He’s shown a generosity of spirit in waiting until now to cast us out." Kristna was a dangerous god, patient in seducing his followers, lingering until they turned to him in need and accepted him into their heart.
Bene looked around with interest. "Where will we go?"
"Where we need to be," I retorted. "Near Castropiero."
17
That night we found a rickety bridge that we could sleep under. As it turned out, doxies haunted the bridges offering themselves to each passerby. We needed to rent a room, so I would have to earn some coins.
I soon gathered patrons from those walking over the bridge. My first was a working man who gave us his day meal in exchange for a quick suck under the bridge. He was fairly clean, and soon I discovered the city folk washed more than most. Living on the water, they thought nothing of stripping off their clothing and dashing buckets of water over themselves. Indeed, the mild days encouraged such bathing.
Perhaps it was having Bene nearby or maybe it was the mellow air, but the streets of Veneto were nothing like my desperate stay in Brianda. There I had been harried from place to place, ending up on the docks, where I had to serve the rough oarsmen.
I didn’t ask Bene to help, but he was eager to service a merchant or two and any lady who showed interest in him. Bene was not being satisfied by me, and his passionate drive was too intense for him to remain celibate like the clerics.
When I had an adequate stash of coins in hand, we returned to Castropiero. I went from one house to the next, asking if there was a room available. Our new prosperity bought us an undesirable
cellar down a flight of steps. The perpetual damp left mold on the walls and our garments had to be hung up at night or they turned white with mildew by morning.
I sacrificed a great deal of food to the olfs in exchange for their concealment as I peered through the windows of Castropiero and listened to the servants. The slaves trained, ate, and slept in their chamber on the uppermost floor, and were brought out only when they serviced the masters or a patron. One of the slaves had gotten pregnant despite the potion used to suppress our fertility for a full turn of seasons. She was forced to engage in the training despite her distended belly, and was sold to the highest bidder at night for games she sorely loathed to play.
Tomaz used the slaves for all sorts of personal care, ordering them to wash him and tend to his copious excretory needs while he lounged in the hall. Renata didn’t pay much attention to the slaves, but she was vicious from sheer carelessness, leaving a slave bound too long or locked on display inside a cage until he wept. I didn’t see Renata rutting with any slaves, but she did take a patron to her chamber. Judging by his abundance of jewels and loud, bragging voice, he appeared to be an influential man.
When he left Castropiero with the dawning light, I followed him. A boatman was waiting for him, and they rapidly melded into the darkness. I woke the boy I had paid to wait in a skiff, and with silent pushes of his pole, we trailed the councilor to his grand palazzo. By following Castropiero guests home, I got to see many great houses of Veneto. It usually didn’t take much for the serving boys to start talking to me about their masters.
When I returned to our cellar with the dawning, sleepy and ready for bed, I suddenly found what I had been looking for around every corner.
Lexander was striding down the lane toward the pleasure house.
I had mistaken men for Lexander before in my desire to see him, but I was always disappointed. The tall man with a smooth head inevitably turned out to be a stranger.
