When he joined her, she pulled the blanket over them both.
He felt her naked body against him, and couldn’t resist reaching out his hand. She flinched at his touch, then lay still, submitting to his caress.
Tammuz, his member painfully stiff, hesitated. He remembered Trella’s words. “Be patient,” she’d said. Taking a deep breath, he took En-hedu’s hand in his, and told her to sleep. He waited a long time, staring up into the darkness, until her breathing grew rhythmic and he knew she slept. To his surprise, he found her presence comforting.
And distracting. He felt her warmth under the blanket, and his erection refused to subside. For someone who’d never had a woman-now to have a girl in his bed seemed a dream come true.
To take his mind off En-hedu, he started thinking about Korthac.
Like many others in Akkad, Tammuz had gaped the first time he’d seen the Egyptian walking about the lanes, often with only a single bodyguard. But after a few days, the novelty wore off, and Tammuz, like most of Akkad, forgot about the man. Nevertheless, Lady Trella sensed something odd, something dangerous, about Korthac, and she seldom made mistakes in such matters. Tammuz tried to remember all the things he’d heard about the foreigner.
Korthac spent most of his day at the inn he’d chosen for his home.
His men stayed close by, never wandering about alone, not drinking in the ale shops, not doing much of anything, staying inside even in the light of day. Tammuz realized how odd that was. Servants, whether bodyguards or porters or household slaves, were always wandering about, trying to avoid work and their masters.
Tammuz knew all about the petty thefts servants and slaves engaged in, either from their masters or neighbors. Clothing disappeared, sandals, trinkets, dozens of small items often vanished and reappeared at the local alehouses, sometimes traded for a single cup of ale. Many brought such things to his establishment to sell, or to those traders in the marketplace who didn’t ask questions. But as far as he knew, none of Korthac’s men had ever entered his or any other alehouse in Akkad.
He wondered if Trella had noticed this. No, she would have mentioned it. Something like that was probably too insignificant a detail for Trella’s spies, something that should be, but wasn’t. Tammuz wondered if he’d noticed a small detail Trella hadn’t… and what that might mean. He put the thought aside for later. Lady Trella, he knew, had a keen interest in small details, always asking for more and more information. Tammuz made a mental note to ask her about it.
Tomorrow he’d take a closer look at Korthac’s inn. Tammuz could ask one of his patrons to approach Korthac’s men, looking for something to buy. If he could get one of the Egyptians to sell some trinket, he might be able to learn something useful about their master.
This whole business could turn out to be nothing, just misplaced curiosity on Lady Trella’s part. Still, she had summoned him to her house and asked for his help. Never before had she, or anyone, for that matter, asked him for anything. He’d passed on bits of talk he heard, men grumbling over their ale, but nothing of importance had ever come to his attention.
This Korthac might actually present some small danger to Akkad. Tammuz determined to solve the riddle, if for no other reason than to justify Lady Trella’s asking him.
With that decided, he drifted off to sleep, again thinking about the warmth of En-hedu’s body brushing against him, as she turned in her sleep.
It would be difficult to restrain himself. Still, if Tammuz had learned one thing since smashing his arm, it was how to be patient.
They woke together at dawn, bodies curled against one another. Tammuz hadn’t shared a bed with anyone, let alone a woman, in months. Since the day he and Kuri moved into the alehouse, he’d slept alone in the back room, enjoying the luxury of privacy he never experienced before in his life.
Nevertheless, despite the shared bed and the shortened night, Tammuz slept deeply. Turning toward En-hedu, he saw that she’d pushed the blanket down during her sleep, exposing her breasts to the morning light.
En-hedu, conscious of his gaze, closed her eyes and turned away. She didn’t try to cover herself. She said nothing, simply lay there, waiting for him to take her. Be patient. Trella’s advice echoed in his mind. He pushed himself up off the bed and dressed before speaking.
“The chamber pot is there. I have to wake the customers. Kuri is never much help in the mornings.”
She sat up in bed, and once again he found himself looking at her body. In the light he could see scars and lingering bruises from her former master. He must have enjoyed hurting her. No one should be beaten like that. To carry bruises for so long… her old master must be a savage, worse than any barbarian.
Tammuz remembered the countless beatings he’d had growing up.
Like all boys, he expected to be beaten, and not only by his father. The older boys took advantage of the younger, the same as the strong took advantage of the weak. He’d learned that fact of life early. When he’d grown old enough to steal, he’d received a few more beatings, this time by his victims, until he learned not to get caught.
But even the worst of these chastisements left no scars on his body more punishment than for the pleasure of inflicting pain. Then he’d joined Eskkar’s men as a stable boy. He worked with horses before, knew their ways, and made himself useful to the soldiers. A few weeks later Tammuz begged his way onto the captain of the guard’s first expedition against the Alur Meriki. Tammuz remembered how thrilled he’d been when Eskkar asked if he wanted to care for the horses.
Now he’d grown into manhood, and, crippled or not, no one would beat him again. The knife he wore every moment of the day insured that. When Kuri fi rst saw him fumbling with the blade, the former soldier showed him how to use it. How to hold it, how to move with it, how to strike and counterstrike, how to retreat, and the parts of the body where a thrust would do the most damage. Most of all, Kuri taught him how to read his opponent’s eyes, and how to wait for the right moment to strike. Be patient. Trella and Kuri apparently shared the same beliefs.
As Kuri explained, a knife fight often turned into a bloody affair for both combatants, and even the victor could bleed out. Practice hard now, the old man advised, and stay alive later. Since he’d taken over the alehouse, Tammuz spent an hour or more each day practicing, handling the knife, moving and thrusting with it. He found he had to work extra hard to compensate for his nearly useless left arm.
The patrons helped instruct him. Some had plenty of experience handling a knife, and their nimble hands and feet moved far quicker than the aging Kuri could ever do. Tammuz felt the strength and coordination of his right arm grow each day, and the quickness of his feet soon made up for his weak left arm. Those who frequented the alehouse took notice of his growing skill. No one considered him a boy anymore.
Putting such thoughts aside, he unbarred the bedroom door. Tammuz worked his way through the inn’s only other room, using his foot to nudge those still sleeping awake. Kuri, snoring loudly, slept against the door, the sword at his side. Each morning Tammuz had to wake the old soldier. Depending on how much Kuri had drunk the night before, getting him awake could be a chore.
“Get up, Kuri. It’s past dawn.”
By the time he had the old man on his feet, the other patrons had reached the door, mumbling and shuffling out into the lane, shielding their eyes from the already bright morning sun, to relieve themselves against the nearby walls. Tammuz turned to find En-hedu standing beside him and looking about.
“Is there food here for your breakfast, master?”
There might be, but nothing he would offer to her. He shook his head, and reached into his pouch. “Take this to the market, and buy enough for the three of us,” he said, handing her a few copper coins. “Kuri, go with her, and keep her safe. Make sure everyone knows who she is.”