Chapter 1

Medora had walked the length of prisoners several times just out of curiosity. His warriors seemed able enough to sort out the weak ones and he felt he had nothing to add. He had spotted the boy right away though and he admitted to himself that he had walked up and down a few more times just to look at him again. He had cast a few glances at him every time in a most subtle way; at least he hoped so. They boy had not noticed it anyway, he had not once met his eyes. He had been too busy looking about him with fear and bewilderment in his wide eyes. Medora had liked what he had seen. Of course he knew they would not keep him, he was obviously too weak to be of any use and as such could not be permitted to further decrease their already meager rations, the weak ones must die! He could save him though. He could use his authority and claim him for his own, keeping him as a piece of personal property. A bit of luxury of course that the warriors might not look kindly upon now as the times had been rough on them for a while. On the other hand, he had not lived in any over indulgence so far, he was popular among the men, and he had not taken nearly as large a part of the loot that some of the other officers had. He was quite sure his men would not begrudge him of such a small pleasure. Still he hesitated. He was tired; did he really want that trouble? If the boy was to be of any use to him whatsoever he would have to train him and tame him and this was hardly the place or time for such things. If they had been closer to home…but they were not. So he decided to give the idea up. That boy was probably better off dead anyway. He could not have been important even among his own kind, looking starved and scabby already when he was taken here. He turned to leave and watched at the corner of his eye how two warriors grabbed him and took him away. >>> * <<< He let himself be pushed to his knees having lost all strength, bot physical and mental. He yielded now completely to the inevitable fact of his immediate death and strangely enough he found some comfort in thinking that there would be no one mourning his death. It was highly unlikely that no one would even remember him, like as if he had never existed. And is death really such a horrible thing for a man that has never existed? >>> * <<< Medora turned suddenly on sheer impulse to return to the line of prisoners but he didn’t stop there but followed his men around the corner of the tent. One of them had already pressed the boy’s skinny neck onto the slippery pillory while the other felt at the edge of the axe with his thumb, a disapproving look in his eyes. He kept an indifferent look walking up to them. "How’s it going?" He asked with a smirk. The man with the axe looked up. "This blade is so dull you might as well try to chop his head off with the ridge of your hand." He complained. "I’ll spare you the trouble, I thought we’d let this one live." They seemed to be surprised. "What on earth for?" The man holding him down asked and the other one added plain and simple facts. "We’ll have no use for this one and he’ll bring in nothing at the market." Medora nodded as if indeed agreeing with them but insisted. "My part of the loot was small and now I want me a slave." There was silence for a few seconds but then the men started grinning and winking at each other. "Ah, you old devil you…" They all laughed as if in on a private joke and the boy was jerked to his feet and the axe was put down. "Just tell us when you tire of him and we’ll come by and get him!" They promised as they threw the boy on the ground at their officer’s feet and left to single out another victim. He was still in that strange place of total indifference toward his own fate that he had managed to drift into the moments before his execution as he now was pulled to his feet and walked off. They met another struggling, screaming victim being taken to the pillory on their way back but he didn’t much notice it. The big man now holding him and leading him away must have somehow saved him but he didn’t remember how and didn’t understand why. He was taken into a smaller tent and forced onto his belly on the chilly and damp earthen floor. But he acted not against it and let not a sound come over his lips. Somewhere in his hazy mind he knew he was being hog-tied. He felt his arms being pulled backwards and felt coarse ropes chafing against the tender skin of his wrists. He felt the same sensation at his ankles and he registered the very uncomfortable feeling of his bound wrists and ankles being tied tightly together. But it was all like it happened to someone else and he had not the strength to feel sorry for that poor bastard. He was left alone. He had no idea how long he had been in this tent, tied up like this but in time his full state of mind returned to him and he was again as clear-minded as he’d ever been. That didn’t make him happier at all. Thousand kinds of anxiety now plagued him. The indifferent state of his earlier shock had been much more preferable. Now he fully realized just how near death he had been and now he fully realized just how much he did want to stay alive. These two feelings proved hard to deal with right now because he was not at all sure his life was really spared and if it was what now instead laid in store for him. His body started to ail him in many ways. He hadn’t slept for days and he hadn’t eaten for days. The threadbare rags he wore could not protect him against the chilly ground he was lying on and the way he was bound started to pain him. He tried to ensure him self that this was not going to last forever. Nothing was, but it wasn’t much of a comfort. He tried to think of something to distract him from his sufferings. But all that came to his mind was an attempt to try to figure out why he was still alive and what that big man wanted with him. He could not think of a single good reason and was pretty sure there really wasn’t one. Maybe he just wanted the pleasure of torturing him to death with his own hands? The hours went by and at times he could stand it no longer and sobbed and cried violently while he desperately tried to free himself, or just find a more comfortable position or simply just a way to scratch because the itches all over his body made him almost crazy. But he only wasted the little strength he had left and realizing that he would stop it and try to be as still as possible, tried to float away in his mind and forget what state he was in. He didn’t succeed very well. Then it got darker and he realized he’d been lying like this all day. It worried him a lot that he might be left like this for the entire night as well, he was sure he would lose his mind, but then his thoughts were interrupted by a sound outside the tent and soon its owner returned. He froze as the big man walked in and nearly stopped breathing as he soon could see his booted feet next to his head. He was just standing there, looking down at him. It didn’t exactly soothe his worries. He dared not move an inch or utter a sound. After some time one of those feet moved and started to poke at his ribcage as if to check out if he was still alive. He proved he was by moaning with pain, the foot retreated. Then he could feel the man leaning over him and suddenly there was a jerk at his arms and his feet fell to the ground. It took him a while to understand that the ropes were cut and he was free. Free? Well, at least not physically bound at the moment. It took him several minutes of careful moving, moaning and grimacing with pain and a bit of rubbing and stretching before he was able to move at all. And then he slowly dragged himself up in a sitting position leaning against the tent post at the middle of the little room. The big man allowed him his time. By then he got aware of a rustling sound and suddenly a chain fell to the ground next to him with a snake like movement and he startled and looked up at the man towering above him. He couldn’t really make his face out in the obscurity of the tent and couldn’t remember his looks from before. But it wasn’t really important. This man held his life in his hands, a sorry excuse for a life by all means but the only one he had and he wanted to keep it as long as possible. Whoever that man was, whatever he looked like, no matter what he wanted with him, he intended not to annoy him. "On your feet" The man ordered simply. It was a deep and commanding voice that showed no traces of insecurity. Used to command, he thought and he intended to obey but wasn’t sure his body would aid him in his intentions. He felt very, very weak and shaky. He tried to drag himself up by the tent pole but wasn’t very successful. Finally the man seemed to tire of his fruitless efforts and simply pulled him up by his arm. "Now, do you think you can stay on your feet?" He asked contemptuously but really not particularly unfriendly the boy noticed. He nodded; he could, because he held on to the tent post. "You don’t really look in any shape to run away," he said, "but just in case…" He took one end of the chain, put it around his neck and locked the links together. The other end was promptly fastened around the tent post. The chain weighed heavily and coldly at his neck and he sank to the ground again. "Are you hungry? Thirsty?" The man asked looking down at him again where he clung to the pole at his feet. He looked up in amazement. Oh Gods, he pleaded inside his head, let this not be a cruel joke. He nodded carefully. The man turned then and rummaged around in a corner before returning with a piece of bread and a water flask. "Here you are then but eat it slowly, I don’t want you throwing it all up in here!" He added strictly and watched with a certain amusement how the boy reached for the crumbs greedily, still with fear in his eyes, fear of being cheated of it. Medora was tempted to tease him a bit, holding it out of his reach, making him beg for it but decided he was too tired to play games and just gave it to him. He gnawed into it like a starved animal. Medora threw an old blanket at him for the night but he was still so occupied with slowly chewing the stale piece of bread he had given him that he hardly noticed it. Medora went to get some sleep. >>> * <<< Next morning the big man was gone when he woke up. He yawned and stretched and got slowly fully awake. At first he felt a bit better. A long and deep sleep had done him good. The bread and water he’d got had done him good. The warmth from the blanket had done him good. He felt still very weak and achy but not nearly as much as yesterday. Rest and food for a couple of days was all he needed really, he told him self, to become his old self again. He laughed a small and bitter laugh at those thoughts, as if he had ever been particularly strong. He had always been small for his age… and weak. But he had been better of than the last few days and he was better this morning than yesterday. It all was a matter of comparing he supposed. So at first he felt rather good but then the worries returned. What was to become of him? So far that man had been suspiciously nice to him. Why? Nice, yes, in a way, but he still treated him like a dog. He felt the weight of the chain around his neck and the itch from its chafing his skin and sighed deeply. Chained to the pole like an animal. Poor and propertyless he had been but he had at least been human. Seemed he had lost even that now. It made him cry he couldn’t help it, it was such a despairing thought and so humiliating. Not until now it dawned upon him that he was not a prisoner anymore, but a simple slave. Dead he would have been a dead prisoner of war. Alive he was property. Of course he knew that that was what would happen to the ones they let live. They would be sold into slavery. But not until now he actually understood it. He started to think he would have been better of dead after all. He stopped crying and dug into the rest of the bread. It had been an old and stale piece of bread but it had at least been a rather large piece and he had saved half of it for this morning. He could not be sure when he would get more. To be able to eat and drink only comforted him a bit and strengthened him. He started to feel angry. With what right had these men raided their village? What gave them the right to kill and burn and plunder? To rape women and execute the old and weak ones and sell the rest? What gave that man right to chain him like this to a tent post? For a while he reveled in thoughts of defiance and revenge. But after a while he could do nothing else than laugh at his own thoughts, as if he would ever dare. And besides, the very proof of these men’s rights lay in their victory. They had been stronger and that kind of right was really hard to contradict. For the same reason he must realize that defiance was sheer stupidity. For some reason that man had saved him, that was true, but he wouldn’t need much to change his mind. He could really not afford to be proud if he wanted to stay alive, he told himself. Ha, his defiance would only be laughed at anyway, before they would slay him. He would not be able to put up more of a fight than a mouse against a cat. He laughed again, a sort of hysterical cackle in sheer bitterness. It got stuck in his throat at once though when the owner of the tent suddenly flipped the tent covers aside and walked in. He seemingly ignored him at first, going to fetch a cloak hanging in a corner, yes, it started to get cold outside. The tent was sturdy but he could still feel the chill from the ground and the covers shaking in the gusts of a freezing north wind. "So, what’s so funny?" The big man suddenly asked turning towards him, towering over him. He automatically shied away a bit. He just shook his head at that question though, looking down, keeping quiet. The man then took a hold of the chain and pulled it forcibly upwards forcing him to either stand or choke. He cowered still though and put his arms up to protect his head, thinking that his bitter laugh might have seemed a bit provocative and that he was now going to be beaten up. But he had honestly not meant it that way and he was prepared to beg and plead to show it but the man seemed not angered. Instead he felt the chain being removed and tossed to the ground. He was taken by the arm and led out of the tent. The big man’s strides were big and fast and it was all he could muster to keep up. He had no idea where he was taken or why but a big cold lump seemed to grow bigger in his stomach by the seconds. First he was afraid he was to be taken back to be beheaded but soon realized they were walking in a total opposite direction. It didn’t calm him down much though. That man could probably dispose of him in a number of other horrid ways. They stopped at the brink of a wide creek flowing through the soldier camp, was he going to drown him? The big soldier let go of his arm and he swayed when he lost the support but soon found his balance again. "You stink worse than a sewer!" He remarked and made a grimace that showed with full clarity just how foul that smell must be. He felt himself going red. Of course he did. He hadn’t been all that nice and clean to begin with and the fact that the filthy rags that he wore were now stained with his own piss didn’t exactly help. Now he remembered vividly losing it with mortal dread the day before and now felt the shame he had been too scared to feel then. "Go in!" The big man commanded and pointed at the water in front them. He understood what he was telling him all right. He wanted him to clean himself up. But surely he didn’t mean for him to do it in that creek? He looked at it in horror. There was a thin layer of ice spread out along the edges of the riverbanks and only the middle where the water was streaming a bit was free. He was freezing like hell already. Just walking this rather short distance wearing these rags, in this wind, trampling frosty leaves with bare feet had him shivering like the tail of a rattlesnake, and his teeth making the sound of it. He couldn’t possibly expect him to get naked and go into that water? He shook his head slowly. If he wanted him cleaner, he would clean himself, sure he would. Just let him get some water in a bucket and heat it up a little. In fact, that he wanted him to clean himself up was a very good sign he told himself. Of what matter was a dirty corpse? No, this meant for sure that he meant to keep him alive, at least for a while so he should be relieved, but in this way? No, he couldn’t be serious? "Didn’t you hear what I told you? Get in and clean yourself up!" He commanded again, this time clearly irritated. His tone of voice did scare the boy but he thought that if he could just show that his intentions were not to disobey that order really, just suggesting another solution to the problem. A sensible solution really, and if he could just be allowed to explain he was sure the big man was going to see it his way too. He opened his mouth to talk but that was about all he had time for before the big man suddenly grabbed him by the arm again, pulling him to him and before he knew it he flew through the air and landed in the water! The flight and landing just took a second or so but he lived through every horror of it in slow motion it seemed. The fright of feeling himself being lifted into the air with no bigger ease than had he been a puppet. The clawing wind he was being hurled into and which took his own wind out of him making him gasp. The horrifying feeling of loosing all control as he helplessly flailed and screamed. As he fell into the water the chock and pain totally numbed him for a few seconds and he thought himself almost dead but then pain seared through his whole being. It had been like hitting a rock more than water and he was sure he had been ripped open by the jagged edges of the ice layer. Total panic gripped him as he had lost all sense of direction sinking towards the bottom of the creek and then rolling out of control in the streaming water. He knew not what was up and down and water got in his lungs and it felt like they were going to burst. He kicked and flailed and waved his arms about to try to reach something, anything that would help steady him. But could find nothing and every movement he tried to make was agonizingly slow and hindered by the water and he felt all of his sorry remnants of strength disappearing so fast that he was sure to die from simple fatigue any second. He was ready to simply give up. Though suddenly he got his head above the surface and was able to spurt the water out of his lungs that much that he could draw a very painful but nevertheless welcome sip of air. It wasn’t much but enough to give him back his will to live and his sense of direction. He saw the sky and knew what was what in a second and could now direct his kicks and swimming motions in a way that were less panicky and more helpful. Using his last reserves he managed finally to stand straight up. The water reached him to his navel and it wasn’t such a strong current at all but enough to take him with it if he lost control again and he stood with his legs wide apart. Trying to keep his balance at the same time as violently coughing the water up from his lungs took all his concentration for a while. But as he finally could breathe freely again (though with the pain of sticking a thorny twig down his throat) he started to notice the coldness of the water. It was so cold he couldn’t feel his toes and he shook uncontrollably. He felt warmth only at his right arm and when he looked at it to try to figure out what strange phenomenon would cause that, he gasped as he saw it covered in diluted trickles of blood. He quickly looked to the riverbank and saw a crescent shaped hole in the layer of ice. He knew he had crashed through it, he knew it had ripped him! He looked up to the man standing still at the riverbank, snugly hugging the warm cloak around his big body to protect him from the cold wind. He smiled at him, a smirk smile it was. Amused. The boy had not the strength to even hate him for it but just looked at him, his whole demeanor a plea. Here he was, numbed by the cold, soon freezing to death, fatigued, aching all over from hitting the water, hurt, bleeding…Why did he not kill him right away instead of torturing him like this? The soldier seemed not touched a bit by this pathetic sight though but shouted to him that the sooner he got those rags off and scrubbed all that dirt off, the sooner he would be allowed to come out of the water. He was still like turned to stone from the chock of it all but slowly it sunk in what he was told. And shaking and trying to make his bluish fingers obey him he tore the rags from his body and started to rub himself. Moving about proved a good thing even though it didn’t really proved efficient in keeping the cold at bay. He cleaned himself as best and as fast as he could and took the chance of relieving himself good at the same time. He inspected his arm too. It wasn’t badly hurt, it was just scratches and it had almost stopped bleeding already. When he thought he must be finished he cast another pleading glance at the big man and this time he seemed ready to be merciful. He stepped closer to the edge and reached out his hand to him, holding on to a tree with the other for balance. A revengeful thought arose in the boy’s mind as he in his turn reached his hand out to meet that of the big man. He wanted to take that hand and then pull him into the water and then he would have to see for himself what it was like to be hurled into ice cold water like that. But as the man simply lifted him onto shore as easily as he had earlier thrown him into the water he realized he would not have succeeded. He might as well have tried to throw a horse into the water. Out of the water he realized it was even colder on dry land now. The wind went clear to the bones it seemed naked and wet as he was. He almost started to cry from feeling that coldness bite at his skin and he wondered how in God’s name he was going to make it back to the tent like this. And when he was thinking that it wouldn’t help staying here either he did start to cry. He had no strength left now; he just sank to his knees, hugged himself and cried. He stopped though from sheer surprise as it suddenly got dark around him and he realized that the big man had shrouded him in his thick cloak. He was taken by his upper arms and made to stand again. But the grip wasn’t hard and the cloak was drawn tighter around his shivering body and he felt the man’s big and strong hands rub his limbs through the cloak and it hurt but still it felt good. It got his blood flowing through the veins again and he felt a bit warmer. Somewhere deep inside he felt a bit humiliated about letting this man rub him warm and dry. For goodness sake, this man had enslaved him, chained him and thrown him into a hole in the ice…Now, if he had some pride he should spit him in the face for now even trying to be nice to him. But he had neither the strength nor the courage. And no pride in the world could make him resist the temptation of getting what relief from pain and suffering he could get. "See? You obey me and I’ll treat you good!" Medora said while pulling wet strands of hair out of his eyes. The boy nodded, hardly noticing he was being talked to. He was so immensely tired now he could hardly stand up. He vaguely remembered feeling quite brisk this morning; it must have been a total misjudgment of his reserves of energy and stamina. He was not at all really; he was more weak and tired than ever. He felt himself sliding in the big man’s grip and had sort of a last memory of being hoisted into the air again and feeling panicky about it. Please don’t throw me into the water again he wanted to beg but before he could form the words everything went black. >>> * <<< Medora realized the boy had fainted. He sighed and lifted him up. He had to carry him back then. Could have woken him up again he guessed but who knows for how long he would stay awake? Might as well let him be. Damn weak he was, he thought. Weaker than he had thought. Again he felt doubts whether it really was all that smart to keep him at all. Well, he wasn’t heavy by all means and he did carry him back to the tent.

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