31
Queen Kushanna frowned at the man kneeling before her. The guards had made a half-hearted effort to clean him up at the well, probably by throwing a few buckets of water over him. They knew better than to bring someone filthy into her presence. Nevertheless, the wretch still showed the thick black bands of dirt under the chipped and cracked nails on his hands and feet, and no quick scrub with a rag could remove all the grime imbedded into his face. His thin arms and legs had almost no flesh on them, and the unruly shock of black hair already streaked with gray nearly concealed his face. Death from either hunger or exhaustion would have taken him soon, she realized.
“Are you sure this is the one, Sohrab? I’d hate to think you brought back the wrong man after all this time.”
Sohrab had departed nearly a month ago, and had returned by boat at dusk yesterday.
“Yes, Queen Kushanna. It took some time to find him. The original buyer sold him to –”
She waved her hand to silence him. “Hand me the whip.”
Her chief spy removed the leather lash from his wrist and offered it to Kushanna. She used the stiffened plaited leather grip to lift the man’s head so that she could read his eyes. A man’s eyes revealed so much about him, much more than a woman’s. This one’s gaze appeared dull and listless, the eyes of one grown accustomed to the brutality of others. The ability to think would have been beaten out of him long ago. Now only fear of the whip could motivate a slave this far gone.
“What’s your name, slave?”
The man stared at the whip. No doubt Sohrab had used it often enough on the slave’s back.
The voice was properly humble, the brown eyes downcast. He’d been a slave for more than three years, and the gods must have blessed him to keep alive so long at the mine.
“Look at me when you speak,” she commanded. “Where are you from? Who was your father?”
The eyes blinked, as the man struggled to remember. His mouth opened, but no words came. Kushanna struck him across the face with the whip, not hard enough to break the skin but sharp enough to raise a welt. Almaric flinched at the pain, but knew better than to raise his hands or protest.
“Carnax, mistress. I’m from Carnax.” He glanced about, but saw no mercy from Sohrab or the two guards.
“And your father?”
“Ahhhaaa . . . my father was . . .” His brow furrowed, as he struggled to recall the past.
Kushanna raised the whip again, but before she could strike, Almaric found the words.
“Sargat, mistress . . . my father was Sargat of Carnax, advisor to the Village Elder.”
Any imposter or properly coached slave might know those facts. Kushanna, however, had spoken at length to Drusas the slaver. Even facing the usual threats, he’d recalled little about Almaric, not even the boy’s name. But Drusas remembered a wealth of detail about a young girl named Trella, how she was offered for sale as a virgin who could count and read the symbols, even that she possessed the healing knowledge. He’d sold her to a trader named Nicar on his way home to Akkad, now Eskkar’s Chief Justice.
More important, Drusas recalled having Trella kneel naked before him, while she read the symbols and counted her numbers. “Tell me about your sister. What’s her name?”
The question startled Almaric, but Kushanna lifted the whip again.
“Trella, mistress. My sister’s name is Trella.”
“Good. Very good, Almaric. Perhaps you would like some water.” She gestured to the guard, who filled a cup from a pitcher and handed it the prisoner.
Almaric gulped the contents down in a few swallows, spilling a good portion on his chest and the floor between his knees.
Kushanna forced a smile to her face. If a servant had spilled that much water, she would have had the unlucky offender whipped. “Now describe your sister to me, slave. All you know of her.”
The story required many promptings, but Kushanna only used the whip once more. Eventually, the detail Kushanna sought emerged, as the brother recalled a small brown mole beneath the sister’s left breast. Drusas had remembered the same mark on the slave girl he sold to Nicar. No one else would know that fact, not even Sohrab.
Satisfied at last, Kushanna handed the whip back to Sohrab, then turned to the guard. “Take him down to the slave’s quarters for now. Feed him well, and give him some ale. Tell my master steward Almaric is not to be whipped except by my order.”
She waited until the guard removed the slave, then turned to Sohrab. “You’ve done well. That is indeed Trella’s brother. We were doubly fortunate to find him still alive. In his condition, I’m surprised the mine’s owner didn’t have him killed.”
“Yes, Queen Kushanna. He knew the symbols, so at the first dig, he was put to work helping count the sacks of ore. That kept him out of the pits. After two years, he was sold to a second mine. They had no need of a slave who could count or read the symbols, so he went down into the mine. He would have been dead in a few more months. They sold him for a single silver coin, and were glad to take advantage of me.”
“You could have taken him for nothing,” Kushanna said. “They would have given him up fast enough at my order.”
“I thought it best not to use your name, my queen. This way, no one knows of your interest in such a laborer.”
She smiled at Sohrab’s ingenuity. He was learning to anticipate her commands. “I see I chose wisely when I sent you to find Trella’s brother. Now we have to make use of him. His wits are addled, but perhaps with rest and good food and plenty of time, he may recover. The healthier Almaric is, the more value he will have. For now, take him to my farm south of Sumer. See to it that he is given only simple tasks and treated well. And watch over his progress. If he remembers how to think, we will send for him again.”
“Yes, my queen. And you think he will be useful in the coming war?”
“Perhaps. He is the only one of Trella’s kin that remains alive. Who knows, she may care more for him than her husband. At the least she’ll pay well to have him returned to her.”
“Shall I send such a message to Trella of Akkad?”
“Not yet, Sohrab, not yet. In due time you can deliver the message yourself.”