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Facing the fire.
Jul. 11th, 2015 07:33 pmSinric lay snuggled between Ragnar and Athelstan, enjoying the warmth of them. Their company and their kindness helped to keep the nightmares at bay. He lay with Ragnar’s arm around his waist, Athelstan’s lean body against his back.
But sleep would not come to him; however they had worn themselves out with pleasure and play. As safe as he felt in their arms, he could not find rest.
The kindly doctor’s words echoed in his ears. Leo’s attack had been a message. A message written on Sinric’s skin. But Sinric had taken the message away and with each passing day the lines of it faded from his skin
Would Leo send it again, on the flesh of another? Probus with his dark curls. Octavo and his too swift wit. Or tender little Lukas, so new to their company that the Emperor had not yet taken him.
The doctor was right. None of them were safe.
He slid out from between the two northman, carefully not to wake them as he returned to his room. He stood before the great mirror there, clearer than any glass he’s ever seen. In it he could see all of him, all of the body others have worshipped and enjoyed.
The bruises had fading somewhat, drifting from the dark shadows of black and red to shades of purple and yellow. The gash down his back had healed to a raised line of scar by Rae’s kindness, for all the panic it caused in him. His breasts still bore the marks of much mishandling, some of which he fears would never heal and mar his smooth skin for the rest of his days.
With care he probed his innermost portal, still tender but no longer torn. Even his own touch triggered a panic in him that he pushes back with much effort.
His body was no-longer the ruin it had been when first he returned from the palace but nor was it healed of that that had been done.
It had to be now, while the marks were still on him and the message could still be read. He had to go.
He dressed with care, covering the worst of his injuries with a long pale blue tunic and cloak of grey wool with a mantle of wolf fur. In that he could slip through the palace almost unseen, his golden mane hidden from view until he came to his master’s rooms.
He stopped to pen a message for the north-men, in Latin so Athelstan could read it. He could not wake them and tell them what he planned to do. For he knew they will try to talk him out of it. His own mind had railed against it but the words of the doctor had work in his mind.
I have gone to my master. There are things he must know. I will return, you have my word. And my thanks.
With the hood of his cloak high, he made his way to the door.
***
When he left the palace last he had been almost insensible of his surroundings. A day and a night in the care of the Varangian’s women had brought him only partly back to himself, enough to walk with unsteady steps. Now he walked the ways of the palace with confidence and purpose, his mind clear.
The Emperor’s personal Spatharioi guard the door, their spears crossing the closed way as he neared them. “The Emperor is in conference. He is not accepting petitioners at this time.”
They Sinric trusted, and knew well. Most of them had served the Emperor for longer than Sinric so he had known them all his life. He lowered his hood as he stopped before them, lifting his still blackened eyes to them. As much as he hadn’t wanted others to see, the Emperor’s guards watched over the Emperor’s property, his little birds included. “Then I will wait.”
Castor, first of the guards dropped his spear in sudden shock at seeing Sinric so abused. “Aureus! Then it is true?” He reached for Sinric but still gripped by a fear that has healed slower than his wounds, Sinric pulled away.
“Forgive me, Aureus.” Castor stepped back, aghast. “I did not think. Go in, he will want to see you.”
Within, Constantine paced the richly decorated floor, railing in anger as Gunnarr the Proud knelt before him. “How dare he! How dare he touch my golden one!” The Emperor turned on his guards. “Gif, Mehrak, go with the Varangian. Fetch my boy back to me. I want my Aureus.”
“I am here, my master.” Sinric called, stepping out of the shadows of the door.
Constantine rushed to him, gathering Sinric up in his arms. “My golden child. This Varangian has told me such terrible things. He said you had been maimed and yet here you are.”
“He has not lied.” Sinric whispered, lifting his face to his master’s view. “But with the grace of god and the care of his women I am much healed.” He did not want to lie but the truth of the week that has passed in the beat of a heart was not a story he was ready to tell.
Constantine cupped Sinric’s cheek and examined him, turning his face up to the light of great candles. “Tell me truth, my boy. Who has done this?”
Sinric pulled away, his face pale. “The Spatharioi of co-emperor Leo IV. On their master’s orders.”
Constantine held him tight, his face the iron of the great general he was. “All of them.”
Tears welled in Sinric’s eyes, shaking like a leaf in the wind. “All but two, my lord. Varangian called Gunnarr the Proud and his fellow. They came back from me and brought me to their women for care.”
Constantine kissed him then, softly despite the rage the boiled in him. “My sweet, sweet child. How you have suffered.”
He held Sinric still, looking up at the waiting Castor. “Send for my son and his guards. Have them brought to the hall. Wait for me there.”
He turned back to Sinric, pressing his lips against the curve of his brow. “My gentle child. I will see justice done for you.”
“He broke no law, master.” Sinric’s lips moved even as he buried his face in the cloth of Constantine robe. No gentle touch of Ragnar’s or Athelstan’s could heal his heart as the scent of his beloved and those strong arms around him.
“He has broken faith with me.” Constantine growled, stroking Sirnic’s hair. “And for a petty slight done terrible harm to one who is dear to me. And I fear he did it because you are dear to me.” He kissed Sinric’s brow again. “You should go to my chamber and rest, I will be with you soon.”
Sinric shook his head. “I wish to go with you, master. To confront the men who did this to me. I do not want them to believe they have broken me by what they’ve done.”
Constantine cupped his cheek, bringing him up to look him in the eye. “My golden boy. You have the soul of a nobleman. More than my fool of a son has ever had.”
***
In the hall, Leo waited, looking proud and angry, his men gathered around him. “Why have you summoned me, father?” And then his eyes fell on Sinric, standing proud and tall by Constantine’s throne like a monument in marble. “It is bad enough you take these little whores to your bed. Now you must soil the throne with them.”
Constantine stepped down from his dais and crossed the space between them in long, fast strides. With the back of his hand he struck Leo hard across the face, his golden ring of office scoring Leo’s cheek.
Leo reeled, covering his bleeding cheek, glowering. “How dare you raise your hand to me! What right do you have to strike me?”
Constantine adjusted his ring, ignoring Leo’s outburst. “I know what you have done. I have been told by one of your men too noble to follow your orders.” He gestured to where Sinric stood like a monument next to the throne. “And I have seen the proof of it.”
“You dare to strike me, because of that.” Leo spat at Sinric. “A slave? Are you so weak that you would challenge me for what? Staining a carpet, breaking a cup. He is a slave, he is nothing. And as co-emperor, I have my right by law to use him as I may any palace property, just as you do -”
But his words were cut off as Constantine struck him again. His expression flat and dark. “You will not speak again.” It was an order and spoke as such.
Leo opened his mouth and Constantine struck him again and again, kicking his knees out from under him.
The proud emperor returned to his throne, looking down at the fallen man. “You may be my son but you are a fool. A petty child with no more wisdom or honour than a street brawler.”
Leo spat blood on the floor and moved to rise but Constantine’s look cautioned him not to.
“Aureus is not a thing. He is a man, a living creature of God. As is every slave in this empire. The law may permit you to call on his service but you do not seem to know the difference between what you see as your right, and what is right.”
“You have much to learn before you take my place. If you are to be at all worthy.” Constantine lent back in his throne, looking tired. “You will go to the Anastasian Wall and oversee repairs to the defences. You will not return to the city until all thirty five miles of it are fortified and manned. Is that understood?”
Leo wiped the blood from his lips and started to speak but Constantine raised a hand. “You do not have permission to speak. Just nod. You leave at once. Go prepare.”
Leo growled under his breath and got up, waving for his men to follow.
“They,” Constantine intoned darkly, “will not be going with you.” He gestures to his men who placed themselves between Leo and his Spatharioi. “These men have proved themselves unworthy of the honours they have been given here. They too will be assigned to other tasks more befitting their statue.” It’s very, very clear from his tone that their statue was lower than worms and their duties will reflect that. “Castor, escort these men to their new lodgings.”
Leo cast one look at his men and stormed away without another word.
Furious at both the Emperor’s orders and their lord’s abandonment, Leo’s disgraced Spatharioi vibrated with anger. The tall Nubian, the one who favoured knives and was the cause of the worst of Sinric’s nightmares shifted his weight.
“Castor, look out!” Sirnic screamed, surging forward as the man drew his blade and struck out. Moved by the warning, Castor spun, his short sword in his hand. The Nubian’s knife skittered across the captain’s shoulder, missing his heart even as Castor spilt the Nubian's guts across the tiles.
The blood ached into the air as the Nubian fell, splashing across Sinric’s face and chest. Sinric relished it, the heat of it washing away his fears as he watched the man fall in his own intestines. With vehement spite, Sinric spat on the man where he lay and returned to his Emperor’s side.
Castor stopped Sinric with a smile, even as he clutched his scratched and bleeding shoulder. With his free hand, he wiped the blood from Sinric’s cheek. “You saved my life, Aureus. I will never forget that.” He took Sinric’s hand and kissed it. No small gesture.
Constantine rose and crossed to Sinric’s side, drawing the boy into his arm. “Come, let’s get you cleaned up. Castor, have your wounds seen to. The rest of you, remove this scum from my sight. And if any of them offer the least resistance, you have my permission to kill them.” He wrapped his arm around Sinric and led him away.
***
In the Emperor’s private chamber, Constantine bade water be heated and a bath be drawn, dismissing all his servants as soon as it was done.
He turned to Sinric, washing his face with gentle touches. “I must see you, my boy.” Constantine’s voice was gentle and so very sad. “I need to know what was done to you by those men.” He stroked back Sinric’s golden hair, carefully caressing the healing bruises around Sinric’s eyes. “I’m told this thing happened only hours after you left me last, these seem at least a week old.”
Sinric stayed his hand, very gently. “The worst of it is healed, my lord. You need not fret for me.” He swallowed and ducked his head, the lies that kept him up all night ready on his tongue. “I did not wish to tell you how, for I fear you will be upset.”
Constantine’s expression hardened. “Explain.”
Sinric ducked his head, making a show of reluctance. “One of the Varangian’s women has the gift of healing, old pagan magic. I know by law that the Varangian cannot practice their own ways when serving a Christian court but her kindness to me was great and I don’t wish harm to come to her for it.” He looked up at his master, pleading in his eyes. “Please don’t ask me to name her, my Lord.”
Constantine cupped Sinric’s face and kissed him slowly. “Why would I punish one who has done me such a service? When the Varangian told me of your injuries, I feared the worst. That you would never recover from what was done. And yet here you stand; strong and brave. I saw how you ran to Castor’s aid, how you stood over the man who hurt you without fear.” He smiled into Sinric’s eyes. “You are small, and beautiful, but let no man ever say you are weak.”
With his own hands, the Emperor stripped and washed Sinric, his touch the ever caring caress of a father and master.
Sinric closed his eyes, relishing each moment of this tenderness. Constantine’s love warmed him to the core, like the rising sun on a winter’s day with the promise of spring in the air. That night he fell asleep in the arms and bed on his beloved master.
Home.
But sleep would not come to him; however they had worn themselves out with pleasure and play. As safe as he felt in their arms, he could not find rest.
The kindly doctor’s words echoed in his ears. Leo’s attack had been a message. A message written on Sinric’s skin. But Sinric had taken the message away and with each passing day the lines of it faded from his skin
Would Leo send it again, on the flesh of another? Probus with his dark curls. Octavo and his too swift wit. Or tender little Lukas, so new to their company that the Emperor had not yet taken him.
The doctor was right. None of them were safe.
He slid out from between the two northman, carefully not to wake them as he returned to his room. He stood before the great mirror there, clearer than any glass he’s ever seen. In it he could see all of him, all of the body others have worshipped and enjoyed.
The bruises had fading somewhat, drifting from the dark shadows of black and red to shades of purple and yellow. The gash down his back had healed to a raised line of scar by Rae’s kindness, for all the panic it caused in him. His breasts still bore the marks of much mishandling, some of which he fears would never heal and mar his smooth skin for the rest of his days.
With care he probed his innermost portal, still tender but no longer torn. Even his own touch triggered a panic in him that he pushes back with much effort.
His body was no-longer the ruin it had been when first he returned from the palace but nor was it healed of that that had been done.
It had to be now, while the marks were still on him and the message could still be read. He had to go.
He dressed with care, covering the worst of his injuries with a long pale blue tunic and cloak of grey wool with a mantle of wolf fur. In that he could slip through the palace almost unseen, his golden mane hidden from view until he came to his master’s rooms.
He stopped to pen a message for the north-men, in Latin so Athelstan could read it. He could not wake them and tell them what he planned to do. For he knew they will try to talk him out of it. His own mind had railed against it but the words of the doctor had work in his mind.
I have gone to my master. There are things he must know. I will return, you have my word. And my thanks.
With the hood of his cloak high, he made his way to the door.
***
When he left the palace last he had been almost insensible of his surroundings. A day and a night in the care of the Varangian’s women had brought him only partly back to himself, enough to walk with unsteady steps. Now he walked the ways of the palace with confidence and purpose, his mind clear.
The Emperor’s personal Spatharioi guard the door, their spears crossing the closed way as he neared them. “The Emperor is in conference. He is not accepting petitioners at this time.”
They Sinric trusted, and knew well. Most of them had served the Emperor for longer than Sinric so he had known them all his life. He lowered his hood as he stopped before them, lifting his still blackened eyes to them. As much as he hadn’t wanted others to see, the Emperor’s guards watched over the Emperor’s property, his little birds included. “Then I will wait.”
Castor, first of the guards dropped his spear in sudden shock at seeing Sinric so abused. “Aureus! Then it is true?” He reached for Sinric but still gripped by a fear that has healed slower than his wounds, Sinric pulled away.
“Forgive me, Aureus.” Castor stepped back, aghast. “I did not think. Go in, he will want to see you.”
Within, Constantine paced the richly decorated floor, railing in anger as Gunnarr the Proud knelt before him. “How dare he! How dare he touch my golden one!” The Emperor turned on his guards. “Gif, Mehrak, go with the Varangian. Fetch my boy back to me. I want my Aureus.”
“I am here, my master.” Sinric called, stepping out of the shadows of the door.
Constantine rushed to him, gathering Sinric up in his arms. “My golden child. This Varangian has told me such terrible things. He said you had been maimed and yet here you are.”
“He has not lied.” Sinric whispered, lifting his face to his master’s view. “But with the grace of god and the care of his women I am much healed.” He did not want to lie but the truth of the week that has passed in the beat of a heart was not a story he was ready to tell.
Constantine cupped Sinric’s cheek and examined him, turning his face up to the light of great candles. “Tell me truth, my boy. Who has done this?”
Sinric pulled away, his face pale. “The Spatharioi of co-emperor Leo IV. On their master’s orders.”
Constantine held him tight, his face the iron of the great general he was. “All of them.”
Tears welled in Sinric’s eyes, shaking like a leaf in the wind. “All but two, my lord. Varangian called Gunnarr the Proud and his fellow. They came back from me and brought me to their women for care.”
Constantine kissed him then, softly despite the rage the boiled in him. “My sweet, sweet child. How you have suffered.”
He held Sinric still, looking up at the waiting Castor. “Send for my son and his guards. Have them brought to the hall. Wait for me there.”
He turned back to Sinric, pressing his lips against the curve of his brow. “My gentle child. I will see justice done for you.”
“He broke no law, master.” Sinric’s lips moved even as he buried his face in the cloth of Constantine robe. No gentle touch of Ragnar’s or Athelstan’s could heal his heart as the scent of his beloved and those strong arms around him.
“He has broken faith with me.” Constantine growled, stroking Sirnic’s hair. “And for a petty slight done terrible harm to one who is dear to me. And I fear he did it because you are dear to me.” He kissed Sinric’s brow again. “You should go to my chamber and rest, I will be with you soon.”
Sinric shook his head. “I wish to go with you, master. To confront the men who did this to me. I do not want them to believe they have broken me by what they’ve done.”
Constantine cupped his cheek, bringing him up to look him in the eye. “My golden boy. You have the soul of a nobleman. More than my fool of a son has ever had.”
***
In the hall, Leo waited, looking proud and angry, his men gathered around him. “Why have you summoned me, father?” And then his eyes fell on Sinric, standing proud and tall by Constantine’s throne like a monument in marble. “It is bad enough you take these little whores to your bed. Now you must soil the throne with them.”
Constantine stepped down from his dais and crossed the space between them in long, fast strides. With the back of his hand he struck Leo hard across the face, his golden ring of office scoring Leo’s cheek.
Leo reeled, covering his bleeding cheek, glowering. “How dare you raise your hand to me! What right do you have to strike me?”
Constantine adjusted his ring, ignoring Leo’s outburst. “I know what you have done. I have been told by one of your men too noble to follow your orders.” He gestured to where Sinric stood like a monument next to the throne. “And I have seen the proof of it.”
“You dare to strike me, because of that.” Leo spat at Sinric. “A slave? Are you so weak that you would challenge me for what? Staining a carpet, breaking a cup. He is a slave, he is nothing. And as co-emperor, I have my right by law to use him as I may any palace property, just as you do -”
But his words were cut off as Constantine struck him again. His expression flat and dark. “You will not speak again.” It was an order and spoke as such.
Leo opened his mouth and Constantine struck him again and again, kicking his knees out from under him.
The proud emperor returned to his throne, looking down at the fallen man. “You may be my son but you are a fool. A petty child with no more wisdom or honour than a street brawler.”
Leo spat blood on the floor and moved to rise but Constantine’s look cautioned him not to.
“Aureus is not a thing. He is a man, a living creature of God. As is every slave in this empire. The law may permit you to call on his service but you do not seem to know the difference between what you see as your right, and what is right.”
“You have much to learn before you take my place. If you are to be at all worthy.” Constantine lent back in his throne, looking tired. “You will go to the Anastasian Wall and oversee repairs to the defences. You will not return to the city until all thirty five miles of it are fortified and manned. Is that understood?”
Leo wiped the blood from his lips and started to speak but Constantine raised a hand. “You do not have permission to speak. Just nod. You leave at once. Go prepare.”
Leo growled under his breath and got up, waving for his men to follow.
“They,” Constantine intoned darkly, “will not be going with you.” He gestures to his men who placed themselves between Leo and his Spatharioi. “These men have proved themselves unworthy of the honours they have been given here. They too will be assigned to other tasks more befitting their statue.” It’s very, very clear from his tone that their statue was lower than worms and their duties will reflect that. “Castor, escort these men to their new lodgings.”
Leo cast one look at his men and stormed away without another word.
Furious at both the Emperor’s orders and their lord’s abandonment, Leo’s disgraced Spatharioi vibrated with anger. The tall Nubian, the one who favoured knives and was the cause of the worst of Sinric’s nightmares shifted his weight.
“Castor, look out!” Sirnic screamed, surging forward as the man drew his blade and struck out. Moved by the warning, Castor spun, his short sword in his hand. The Nubian’s knife skittered across the captain’s shoulder, missing his heart even as Castor spilt the Nubian's guts across the tiles.
The blood ached into the air as the Nubian fell, splashing across Sinric’s face and chest. Sinric relished it, the heat of it washing away his fears as he watched the man fall in his own intestines. With vehement spite, Sinric spat on the man where he lay and returned to his Emperor’s side.
Castor stopped Sinric with a smile, even as he clutched his scratched and bleeding shoulder. With his free hand, he wiped the blood from Sinric’s cheek. “You saved my life, Aureus. I will never forget that.” He took Sinric’s hand and kissed it. No small gesture.
Constantine rose and crossed to Sinric’s side, drawing the boy into his arm. “Come, let’s get you cleaned up. Castor, have your wounds seen to. The rest of you, remove this scum from my sight. And if any of them offer the least resistance, you have my permission to kill them.” He wrapped his arm around Sinric and led him away.
***
In the Emperor’s private chamber, Constantine bade water be heated and a bath be drawn, dismissing all his servants as soon as it was done.
He turned to Sinric, washing his face with gentle touches. “I must see you, my boy.” Constantine’s voice was gentle and so very sad. “I need to know what was done to you by those men.” He stroked back Sinric’s golden hair, carefully caressing the healing bruises around Sinric’s eyes. “I’m told this thing happened only hours after you left me last, these seem at least a week old.”
Sinric stayed his hand, very gently. “The worst of it is healed, my lord. You need not fret for me.” He swallowed and ducked his head, the lies that kept him up all night ready on his tongue. “I did not wish to tell you how, for I fear you will be upset.”
Constantine’s expression hardened. “Explain.”
Sinric ducked his head, making a show of reluctance. “One of the Varangian’s women has the gift of healing, old pagan magic. I know by law that the Varangian cannot practice their own ways when serving a Christian court but her kindness to me was great and I don’t wish harm to come to her for it.” He looked up at his master, pleading in his eyes. “Please don’t ask me to name her, my Lord.”
Constantine cupped Sinric’s face and kissed him slowly. “Why would I punish one who has done me such a service? When the Varangian told me of your injuries, I feared the worst. That you would never recover from what was done. And yet here you stand; strong and brave. I saw how you ran to Castor’s aid, how you stood over the man who hurt you without fear.” He smiled into Sinric’s eyes. “You are small, and beautiful, but let no man ever say you are weak.”
With his own hands, the Emperor stripped and washed Sinric, his touch the ever caring caress of a father and master.
Sinric closed his eyes, relishing each moment of this tenderness. Constantine’s love warmed him to the core, like the rising sun on a winter’s day with the promise of spring in the air. That night he fell asleep in the arms and bed on his beloved master.
Home.
