Beast of Burden Ch. 01

The meal was eaten in silence but the barely repressed anger of the host filled the room as one harried servant took the place of many.

At the head of the table the host sat on a lowered, cushioned couch, his back utterly straight as he glared at his food. Despite the small size of the room and the meager trappings, the meal itself was rich. Plates of fruits lay in an elegant pattern between bowls of thick, rich stews. Two long baskets of bread edged the table and a large pot of scented rice dominated the center.

Spiced coffee steamed to the side of the guest's plate. He waited patiently until all was set before bowing from his seat.

"It is, indeed, a feast, Omid," the Englishman said. "I'm honored that you would choose to sit with me this evening."

"Please, eat," Omid said, waving his arm. "I know of you. I know of the Levant Company with which you're employed. I've traded with them before-"

Grunting, the host stroked his short beard, tugging it briefly to hide the snarl that briefly arose on his face. He ignored the plates set before him as he focused on his guest.

"Your Persian is quite good, Oswyn," the host continued after a moment.

"Thank you," Oswyn replied, raising his glass to show his respect. "I've spent many years in court and trading with your beautiful country. It has been a privilege given to few and I'm eternally grateful for it. It's a beautiful language."

"Trading," the host grunted again with a sour look. "With our enemies."

"With anyone," Oswyn said carefully. "Luxury goods. Nothing suitable for war and I pay heavy dues to all in order to travel freely. My commission-"

"I'm aware," Omid said, ending that thread of the conversation. "But, understand my frustrations."

Oswyn nodded as he broke a piece of his bread to show his lack of affront.

"Un usurper lives in my home," the host continued. "I have been given this- this domicile as we work to reclaim our lands. It is nothing. A fraction of what I had. Filled with what little I could take in the night."

"Your loss pains me," Oswyn told him, softening his expression to show his empathy. He wasn't fooled, despite the truth in the words. "But, the court whispers that you're a skilled merchant. One such as yourself could trade a fig for a bag of rice and the rice for a bracelet until you've secured a fleet - all with a humble fig as your seed."

"Bah," Omid said, sipping at his coffee to hide his smile. "You seek to feed my ego but words will not feed my family."

"No," the Englishman agreed. "Gold will, however. Traded in kind for the silk you took with you when you were forced to flee your home."

"Good quality silk," came the reply as the bearded host held his sleeves back to eat from a bowl of thick stew. "Finer than what you would find from my fellow displaced countrymen."

"Indeed," Oswyn agreed. "But, my own clients are not as cultured. I could sell them a bolt of cotton and claim it was silk - they would scarcely know the difference. I've been approached by others, selling their own stock of far less quality for a pittance."

"Desperation drives a poor bargain," Omid said, his jaw flaring as he stared at his guest. "I'm aware of it. Just as aware as I am of the exquisiteness of my goods."

The Englishman directed his eyes to his food, giving his host a moment of silence to think on his position.

"If not for that thief," the bearded man groused. "I would-"

The servant stood from his place in the corner to refresh their drinks and the silence continued.

"Do you know his name?" Oswyn asked, his voice as even as he could make it.

"Yes," the host said. "Yes, of course I do. Afterwards, I spent coin to learn of it. A Sipahi cavalryman. Granted my land for his timar. He sits there still now, a pig wallowing in clean sheets. Davud bin Musa."

The name was spoken with a sudden, intense fury that made Oswyn look up. Frowning, he glanced back down at his food while pushing a piece of bread around with his finger.

"The Shirvan province?" he asked.

"Yes," Omid answered, the flesh around his tired, dark eyes tightening as he became suspicious of the direct questioning.

"I trade near there next," the Englishman said, biting at his bottom lip. "Before appearing before the Sultan."

"Where are you going with this?" the host asked, scratching at his beard. "Not to prod me, I think. Not to goad me with thoughts of my homeland."

"No," Oswyn said. "No, not that."

"Speak, then!"

"I could bring him low," he told his host. "In exchange for a very, very favorable deal today, you would see your tormentor dishonored in front of front of-"

"How?" Omid asked, leaning forward eagerly.

"My Lord," the Englishman said uneasily. "I don't wish to-"

"How?!" Omid demanded, slamming the table with his fists and causing the servant to jump.

"Please," Oswyn said, pained as he raised his hands to placate his guest. "I hesitate to even bring it up. To mention details of it would- it's- I have someone in my employ. Please, I beg you. Ask for no details. Know only that if you agree, it shall be done and spare yourself the details. You are a righteous man and I am a man of honor. I will not dishonor you or your house with the details. We can come to an agreement you and I. Your silk for half of your asking price and, within a fortnight, Davud bin Musa will find himself exiled from court in shame. And that, my Lord, will be the most lenient sentence he can expect."

"Half," the bearded host said in disbelief. His knuckles whitened on the delicate mug set before him until it shattered, spraying hot coffee across his clothing and the table.

The servant leapt with a cry to clean the mess but Omid held a single finger up, staying the youth. Blood coursed down his arm as he stared at his guest.

"And if you- fail?" he asked, the unsaid word 'lie' sitting heavily in the air.

"I won't," Oswyn assured him.

"But if you do?"

"If Davud bin Musa has not been exiled in shame, or worse, within a fortnight, I will return your goods and pay you four times more than what I pay you tonight. No official record shall be made of this but my word is stronger than parchment. I have never broken an agreement."

"Then I agree," Omid said finally, nodding to his servant to clean the table. "Let us talk no more of trade until our bellies are full."

---

Four elegant oil lamps illuminated the large room. They stood atop slim pedestals at the corners of the room - banishing shadows with the soft pool of light.

She stood before one of her most prized possessions - an oblong Italian mirror with an inlaid silver and gold frame. Her feet and ankles, hidden behind her embroidered buskins, protected her feet from the cold stone beneath her until she stepped onto a plush rug with a dizzying pattern of black lines against a garnet red fabric.

Turning, she parted her dress to pat and smooth the šalvār she wore beneath. Her honey-hued tresses were pulled tight at her brow in a short, intricate pattern that loosened until her long hair tumbled freely to brush against her hips. Her lips curled at the edges as she admired herself and the huge room beyond.

Imported furniture lined the room from her enormous bed to the three chaise longues peppered throughout the room and the paintings lining the wall.

A servant knelt by the door. It bothered her that she could see him from the corner of her eyes. He'd entered a few minutes ago to invite her to dinner and she'd forced him to kneel and await her readiness. Davud was hosting an important foreign guest and she was being granted a rare honor to dine with him.

The woman's perfectly manicured nail touched her pale, white cheek as she leaned in to assure that, as usual, her makeup was perfection. Tiny white flowers dotted her hair at precisely chosen intervals made to look random. Her eyes, green mixed with gold radiating outward to grey at the edges, flicked around her face.

Finally satisfied with her appearance, she stepped back while gathering her dress in her small hands.

"Lead me," she commanded the servant while staring over his shoulder at the door of her chambers.

The man climbed quickly to both feet to open the door with a bow. She glided through her room with her back straight. As she walked, she focused on a spot forever in the distance over the man's head.

Laughter made the young woman pause.

"Wait," she said, as they approached an open doorway.

The servant flattened himself against the wall as she slid past him on her leather soled shoes. Conversation ceased as she entered the nearby room and two women glanced upwards. The youngest, a darker skinned girl displaced and discovered from an East India Company trading post, flashed a moment of annoyance that quickly vanished beneath trained obsequience. The second woman, older than both with a stately maturity, barely raised an eyebrow at the other woman's entrance.

Standing in the doorway, she regarded them both before allowing herself to smile, focusing on a complex appearance of pleasure, derision and haughtiness.

"Canhabibe," the woman said warmly, nodding her head towards the older woman. She turned to the youngest and inclined her head again. "Nefise. What a pleasant evening. I hope the air inside the estate has not grown too stale for either of you. I missed you both on my stroll today."

"Emine," Canhabibe said quickly, as Nefise opened her mouth to retort. Her ivory complexion matched her nearly white, blonde hair. It was rumored that she was distantly related to Rudolf II - a rumor Davud fanned vigorously. "Indeed, the air was fine as of a moment ago. I wonder how we missed each other as Nefise and I enjoyed the kiss of the sun shortly after breaking our fast. Rest is vital for our beauty and, my dear, may I say you're looking rather radiant today?"

"I sup with Davud and his guest tonight," Emine replied, ignoring the barb. "I shall miss the utter calm you both bring with your company."

"I'm sure," the older woman agreed. "We're needed elsewhere, later. A fine, delicate vase may be made for viewing alone but its austere minimalism means it should never feel the touch of the earth or the caress of a flower."

"And you-!" Emine began hotly before composing herself. "I'm needed and I won't keep the master waiting."

She turned and left without another word, her dress flaring as she spun. The waiting servant ducked as he caught up to her and passed her in order to lead the way. Emine fumed as she stalked down the hallway and she nearly turned back as she heard loud laughter from both women behind her.

The audacity of that- that- old crone! she thought to herself, struggling to contain her quick anger. They sit in their shared room and they think they're better than me?! Me? I have my own room! Davud forbids me nothing when I ask it. He visits me nightly and, and, and-

The woman's fingers curled into her dress until her knuckles whitened. She paused at the door to the dining room and relaxed, smoothing the wrinkles in the fabric that were caused with her grip.

"The lady Emine Hatun bint Hasan," the servant intoned as he opened the door and stepped inside.

Again, Emine paused for a brief moment before quickly composing herself and flashing her radiant, sly smile while slipping past the servant to dominate the room.

The foreigner, a middle aged man with a row of the wrinkles lining his forehead, stood and smiled with a slight inclination of his head. Despite the obvious distance of his travels, he was dressed impeccably in gray breeches with matching doublet. She raised her chin minutely in response to his measured bow.

"Please, sit," Davud said airily. He was a stocky, powerful man that projected an air of laziness. Beneath the relaxed exterior, his eyes tracked both Emine and the foreigner, noting how both were received. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

"Very much so," the foreigner agreed as he lowered himself to the ground. "I've of course heard talk of Circassian beauty but never witnessed it for myself. I'm pleased to note the rumors pale when compared to the truth. You're a very lucky man."

"Yes, I think so as well," Davud nodded. "She has been in my household for nearly two years now. A particularly strong convert to the true religion. Fierce and beautiful, indeed, but docile in strong hands. I had to have her as soon as I laid eyes on her. Expensive but worth her weight in gold. Which isn't much, hah! She's slim as a gazelle at the edge of an oasis."

Emine bowed her head as she settled herself at the table. As pleased as she was with her status, that period in time rankled her. She pushed the intruding thoughts aside as she studied the foreigner carefully, ensuring they began eating before she did.

"I had thought, however," the Englishman said, glancing at the young woman. "That this would be a private conversation?"

"Bah," Davud grunted as he picked food from his plate. "You can discuss anything in front of her."

"I serve at your pleasure," the man acquiesced. His eyes shifted fractionally as he looked up and over to Emine without betraying his scrutiny. "Indeed, she must be highly regarded to dine with us and hear of our affairs."

"Just so, Oswyn," Davud agreed with a toothy smile. "She is my jewel. Canhabibe and Nefise, they are both beautiful and intelligent but common types among my peers. Emine is, well, a rare find."

Oswyn, Emine noted as she grazed on her food. The earlier frustration from her conversation with the other two women melted away at the praise she continued to receive. She watched the Englishman as he seemed to have an internal debate with himself.

"You've put me in a terrible position, my friend," Oswyn final spoke. "You are a gracious host and the offer to accompany you on my journey to � āhanšāh is one I happily accept. I have many gifts, including the clock I've already given you. However, I brought none for the Lady Emine."

"It is nothing," Davud told him. "You couldn't have known. And, besides, she is mine to spoil. I still hope to introduce you to my Sanjak-bey and my fellow timariots."

"I may," Oswyn said with a small bow. "Yet I can't help but feel I've been an ungrateful guest. And honor dictates I make amends. Please. Allow me to present another gift. I know exactly the one needed to complement her beauty."

"You English," Davud sighed, shaking his head. He waved his hand before focusing on his meal.

Oswyn motioned for a servant waiting on the side of the room. Emine strained her ears while appearing disinterested but she heard nothing as the servant nodded and left the room. The meal continued in silence as they waited for the return.

He is handsome enough, Emine finally decided. Clean. Shaven.

The spices from the food did little to hide the rough scent from Davud. He busied himself with training and walking the grounds or riding and the smell of sweat and earth clung to him. While he doted on her and was generally kind, he contained a cruel streak heightened by years of warfare and politicking. He was rough where she savored a gentle, loving hand.

After a short time, the servant returned, immediately stepping to Oswyn's side to kneel and present a leather wrapped object. The Englishman nodded his thanks while holding the item.

"There is a creature," Oswyn began as he slowly unwrapped the gift. "Gone now- hunted to extinction. On my travels through Almany, I passed a remote village where they kept one as a pet. They had no name for it. It's skin was said to have made the most supple leather. Comparable to silk, if you can believe it. I traded fairly with the villagers and they gifted me strands of its fur in return."

The merchant lay the square of leather on the table next to his bowl. A necklace lay centered in the hide. A fine, gold chain connected to a large ring wrapped with tight brown threads. Emine furrowed her brow as she frowned at it.

"It doesn't look like much," Oswyn admitted, as if sensing their disappointment. "However, realize that this creature no long exists. As you own a unique woman, I thought that a proper gift would be one just as rare. The creatures were thought to bring good luck and I'm sure it will do the same here."

"Good! It is good, Oswyn," Davud said loudly. "Emine, see how admired you are? Wear it. Let me see how it looks on you."

Before her hesitation could be construed as ungratefulness, Emine accepted the gift. She carefully reached back, conscious of Davud's lustful eyes on her bosom, as she worked the clasp. Finally, she settled the large ring above her breasts. The brown from the fur was dull compared to the vibrant colors of her dress.

"Is it not beautiful?" Davud asked, uncertainty in his voice as he tried to praise the unique gift.

"Yes," Emine said quietly as she stared down at the ugly necklace. "Thank you."

"Oswyn," the host said, turning the conversation away from the gift. "Tell me what you will bring for trade."

As the two men talked, Emine quickly slipped the necklace out of sight beneath her dress. It scratched as it slid against her skin but settled smoothly against her breasts. The move was a risk at insulting their guest but she was certain Davud was not impressed with it, despite its origins. Even with it pressed against her chest, she could feel the soft hairs with every movement. She resolved to take it off and hide it as soon as she was back in her room.

Hunger gnawed at Emine's stomach as she continued to sample her food. She ignored it as she always did, scratching at her chest while taking a small piece of bread to eat. The conversation was dwindling as Davud and the Englishman finalized their plans for the trip.

Her stomach rumbled. She frowned and grabbed a cotton cloth, bringing it to her face as if to wipe a crumb. Instead, she burped, breathing out as quietly as possible as a sour taste filled her mouth. With a quick look to ensure it wasn't caught, she wiped her mouth and placed the napkin down on the table.

"Master," Emine said during a break in the discussion. "May I be excused? If I am to accompany you to your Sanjak-bey, I wish to be well rested."

"Of course, Emine, of course," Davud said.

As she stood, she realized her master was leering at her openly and she knew he would be visiting her tonight. She sighed internally as she bowed and made her way from the room.

The hallway outside the dining room was silent. Oil lamps flickered tongues of steady flames along the passageway as she made her way.

Emine paused, resting her left hand against the wall as she raised her right hand to hide her mouth. She felt a pocket of gas moving through her stomach. As it rose, she tried to force it back and ignore it but, again, she burped, wrinkling her nose at the smell that came with it.

Quiet conversation drew her forth. She pressed her palm against her belly and then stood straight while continuing her walk. As she approached the still-open doorway, she pulled the necklace free from her dress and walked into the room.

"Ah, Emine," Canhabibe said while resting her hand lightly on Nefise's thigh. "Please, come in."

"Thank you," Emine said as she gathered her dress. She arranged herself as she sat opposite them in a gray chaise longue with her arm over the back and her leg tucked beneath her.

"What was the foreigner like?" Nefise asked eagerly, sitting up on her knees with her hands together.

"Slowly, Nefise," Canhabibe chastised. "It's like making love. You entice and draw him in slowly until he's whimpering in the palm of your hand. You don't simply straddle him right away. Well. I suppose that depends on your lover."

The older woman paused to look pointedly at Emine.

"And your skill," the older woman continued.