Game of Queens (13 page)

I walked down the smooth brick stairs. The gaudy spectacle, the brief hour of amusement, was over. It was time to go back to work.

*   *   *

I did not remain more than half a year at the Phoenix Garden, for one patron desired me for his own—not so much for my fine eyes, but for my connection with Lord Orodes. The man seemed to believe I could imbue him with Lord Orodes's virtues. I had prayed he would tire of me, but he did not, and at last offered so much gold that the Phoenix Garden consented to let him purchase me outright. I would far rather have remained in the brothel.

The man to whom I now belonged owned a fortune so new almost all of it was in coin rather than land and livestock. His name was Isqanqur, and he was everything Lord Orodes had not been: sleek, well-built, handsome.

Lowborn, hard-hearted, crude.

Isqanqur displayed his wealth lavishly in his dress and in his dwelling. Too lavishly.

He had paid an extravagant sum to obtain me, and he treated me as he treated any other expensive creature he purchased. As something without a mind, without feelings. Something to be used.

I despised Isqanqur, and he knew it. He knew I thought him crude, untutored. Oh, not because I ever said a word against him—no, I was more subtle than that. More cruel; only later did I realize how cruel and how foolish I had been. I merely let my distaste lurk in my tone of voice, in the tilt of my head, the slant of my eyes. I had thought I feigned all my affection with Lord Orodes. Now I realized how much true fondness I had for him, and how far I still had to travel to be even half as successful as the courtesan Zebbani, for I could not pretend even to like Isqanqur, let alone to offer up to him a passionate desire. No, not even to save myself from a whipping. I learned that the hard way, when Isqanqur made a sneering remark about Lord Orodes and I could not keep the scornful curve from my lips, conveying all too clearly that I thought Isqanqur less than the dust on Orodes's grave.

That was my first whipping, and after it Isqanqur made me crawl over to him and kiss his feet.

I did as he ordered, and as I set my lips to his feet, I learned an invaluable lesson—although it was not the lesson Isqanqur wished to teach me. I learned that he could not shame me, because I did not care. Yes, I despised him. But I did not
care
. I did not even care enough to hate him. He could abuse my body; he could not touch my soul.

I learned another lesson from Isqanqur as well—I discovered what Haman truly was. For Isqanqur was hot-tempered and unkind, but he was still a man. Not a good man, perhaps—but he was no less and no more than man.

Now I understood what Haman truly was: a monster. Oh, not because he killed an unfaithful wife—any man might do as much. Isqanqur would not hesitate in the same circumstance. Had Haman caught his wife with her lover and slain her in hot rage, or had he learned of her betrayal and executed her in cold anger, he would have done no more than was his right.

But to tell her the day and time of her execution was to be in seven years? To let her live, and raise her bastard child; to treat her to all outward appearances as a pampered wife, and only then draw the blade across her throat? That was cruelty of no mean order.

And then, as she knew she drew her last breath, to tell her that my fate would be far worse than a clean death …

Yes, Haman was a monster.

Even if I could have forgiven all the rest, to tell her that, to send her into the afterlife knowing what awaited her cherished son—that I could never forgive. If only for that cruelty alone, Haman must pay. Someday and somehow, I would find a way to make him suffer as my mother had suffered.

*   *   *

But understanding that Isqanqur's wickedness fell far short of Haman's did not endear him to me. As I have said, Isqanqur regarded me as nothing more than an expensive pet, of less worth than his dogs and his horses. He had purchased me because I had belonged to Lord Orodes, and Isqanqur longed to be as highly regarded. Isqanqur could not grasp the truth—that he could not buy what Lord Orodes had possessed. For a man whose god was wealth, this failure baffled and angered him.

Sometimes I wondered why he had bothered to buy me at all, for after the first month or so he seldom called me to his bed. When he did, I knew I would spend the days afterward nursing bruises and trying to forget what I had been forced to do. It was not so bad after Isqanqur bought himself another gift: twin sisters.

Padmavarna and Padmavati. Girls from the easternmost, the richest, province of the empire. Hindush, where rivers ran bright with gold. I had never seen anything as lovely as those two girls. Small, light-boned as doves, but full-curved at breast and hip; skin the pale gold of ripe wheat and hair that rippled like black water to their knees. Green glass bangles glinted on their wrists and silver bells chimed on their ankles, and I lusted after both girls.

I see you shake your head, disbelieving—for after all, am I not a eunuch? How can I ache to caress a woman? Well, I was not cut until I was nearly grown, and Haman's final poisoned gift to me was a night that taught my body what it was for. And I remembered. Oh, yes, I looked upon Padmavarna and Padmavati and I burned to possess them as any man might.

And I had them, too. At first I saw them only at a distance. Isqanqur amused himself with his new toys, and then grew bored with them. He had long since grown weary of pretending he wanted me.

One night he summoned all three of us to his bedchamber. I remember standing at the door into that room, the two sisters beside me. They held hands, their fingers so tightly laced the skin paled. And in their night-black eyes I saw the same hopeless contempt that I felt.

“Endure. He cannot enter here.” I pressed my hand over my heart, hesitated, and then reached out and brushed my fingertips across the swell of their left breasts. “Not here,” I said as I felt the hard beat of their hearts. I learned later they barely understood Persian, but that did not matter, for they grasped my meaning well enough.

We needed endurance that night, for Isqanqur demanded services from all three of us, and when that palled, he ordered us to perform with each other. We obeyed, of course. We touched what he told us to touch, kissed and caressed and fondled as he ordered. I locked myself away; I felt nothing, not even shame. Padmavarna and Padmavati later told me they had done the same. A vital skill for those whose bodies belong to whoever pays. I wondered if Isqanqur even noticed that none of us displayed any sign of passion. No smiles, no sighs, no gasps or moans. We followed his commands in silence; our faces as unrevealing as painted masks.

When at last Isqanqur tired of watching his toys at play, he sent us away brusquely. Perhaps he had noticed after all; I did not care. The twins and I fled his bedchamber, and without a word spoken among us, hastened to the bathhouse. None of us cared that it was late in the night. We stripped off the gaudy ornaments Isqanqur had us wear and helped each other bathe, scrubbing and rinsing until at least our bodies were clean.

Then I began the task of combing out Padmavarna's thick black hair, while she did the same for Padmavati. The silence began to oppress me; I dipped the sandalwood comb in oil, and as I coaxed the comb through a tangle, I said, “I am sorry.”

“Is not your fault.” Although the bathhouse was warm, Padmavarna shivered.

I put my arms around her and she curved around and buried her face against my chest. I felt her tears hot and wet on my skin. I pressed my cheek against the top of her head as I held out one hand to her sister. Padmavati too came into my embrace. How long we sat curled into each other, offering silent comfort, I do not know. I do know that night was the turning point, as if the gods decided I had learned enough, suffered enough, to be ready for the next move in their eternal game.

Isqanqur had pushed us past fear. Now Padmavarna and Padmavati and I became, not friends, but allies. I taught them more Persian and they taught me the language of Hindush. That was not all they taught me. The twin lotuses—for they both were named for that flower—were supple as serpents, and knew erotic tricks that would have made the famed courtesan Zebbani blush.

The pleasure we gave each other's bodies was enhanced by the knowledge that each honey-sweet kiss, each shuddering delight, each smile and soft laugh, we stole from Isqanqur.

*   *   *

The precarious balance of life in Isqanqur's house could not last. My contempt for him became too obvious; reveling in deception, I became careless. If I angered Isqanqur, he would whip me. I had suffered that before; the threat of it no longer troubled me. I did not realize how deeply Isqanqur's anger ran, and I was not nearly as clever as I thought I was.

Of course, it was my contempt, and my failure to conceal my scorn, that opened the gate to the future I needed. First, however, I received one last lesson. Much later I realized the value of that beating; I needed to rein in my pride and to curb my tongue.

*   *   *

On my last day as Isqanqur's slave, he decided to have me accompany him as he paraded through the streets to the slave market. For such a sober task, Isqanqur had donned garments more suitable to a royal banquet, while I had been weighed down with half a dozen gaudy necklaces, earrings so long they brushed my shoulders, and bracelets so heavy I could scarcely raise my hands. As I followed Isqanqur through the streets toward the market district, I wondered if he truly thought flaunting his wealth in this fashion impressed anyone. Lord Orodes would have despised such a tasteless display.

My thoughts showed plain on my face, which was a mistake. Isqanqur glanced back at me; turned and grabbed my arm. “Stop that,” he snarled. “You don't belong to that soft, overbred idiot Orodes now. I won't permit—”

I never learned what he wouldn't permit, for words seemed to come out of my mouth of their own will. “At least Lord Orodes knew what to do with a boy, or even a girl. Of course, his slaves were willing to go to
his
bed—”

Even as I said the words, I knew I had gone too far. So swiftly I had no chance even to turn away and run, Isqanqur grabbed me by my hair and hauled me to my knees before him. Then he began to beat me. His fist hit fast and hard as a stone, and all I could do was try to protect my face from his furious blows. I tried to withdraw into myself, distance myself from what my body suffered, but there was no rhythm to Isqanqur's wild attack. He struck in maddened rage, and I was unable to separate myself from the harsh pain. I could only endure, and pray he stopped before he killed me.

I barely noticed when my prayers were answered. Isqanqur slammed his fist into my cheek; pulled back, readying to strike again. I waited for the next blow, wondering how many more he would slam into my body before he tired, how many more I could endure before he damaged me beyond repair. I raised my hands to protect my face, and waited—and slowly realized Isqanqur's next blow would never land. A man grasped Isqanqur's wrist and Isqanqur had released my hair and rounded upon him.

“There's no need to kill the boy.” My savior spoke in the mildest of voices; he opened his hand, freeing Isqanqur's wrist. That, I thought dazedly, was a mistake.

“I'll do as I please with what I own,” Isqanqur told him, and turned back to me.

“If you do kill him, it will be murder, you know.”

This time Isqanqur lifted his fist to add emphasis to his anger. “And if you don't pull your nose out of what does not concern you, I'll—”

“I really wouldn't advise doing that,” the man said. He did not move, and no fear showed either on his face or in his voice.

“Oh you wouldn't?” Isqanqur stared at the man, who was plainly dressed and wore little jewelry. I could see Isqanqur dismiss him as someone of no importance, with nothing about him to impress or fear. “Who are you to give
me
orders? Be off before I teach
you
manners as well!”

But where Isqanqur saw only an interfering passerby, I saw a man whose plain garments were made of the most finely woven linen—linen dyed a pure sky blue, a color difficult to achieve and costly to acquire. As jewels, he wore only earrings and a bracelet—the earrings exquisite silver doves, and the bracelet a wide band of hammered gold. I judged his garb at least twice as costly as Isqanqur's flashy robes and gaudy jewels.

All this I swiftly noted even as Isqanqur ordered the man away, and I acted even faster. Ignoring the pain throbbing through my body, I flung myself at my rescuer's feet. “Please, my lord…”

The man bent, grasped my arms. “Can you stand?” Although I didn't know whether I could or not, I nodded, and gasped as the pain lanced sharper as he helped me to my feet. I clung to his hands, trying desperately to find the words that would snare him, make him claim me from Isqanqur.

But all I could manage to say was, “Help me. Please.”

The man looked at me intently. Very gently, he touched my battered cheek. “Yes,” he said, “Of course.” Then, to Isqanqur, “What is the price?”

“Oh, he's not for sale.” Isqanqur grabbed my arm hard; I flinched and bit my lip to keep from yelping as his fingers clenched over bruises. “I have plans for him.”

“I see. I have plans for him, too, so shall we say … one hundred darics?”

Isqanqur's expression changed, for of all things under the sky, he most loved money. One hundred darics was a huge sum, and I was only a slave, after all. Replaceable. “One hundred darics? You carry such a sum with you?” Isqanqur sneered.

The man's tranquil expression didn't change. “Of course not. You can collect it at the palace.” He waited, and then, as Isqanqur gaped at him, sighed and said, “All right, two hundred darics.”

Apparently struck dumb, Isqanqur nodded. The man gently set me aside, and I leaned against the nearest wall for support as he pulled off his seal ring and held it out to Isqanqur. “Take this to the office of the king's treasurer and tell him to give you two hundred darics, and that my ring proves the request true and valid. Leave the ring with the treasurer and I will claim it back from him. Oh, and have him write out a receipt for the sale for you to sign.”