AKKADIAN EMPIRE
2130 BCE
Everything hurt.
Utua’s back, legs, and knees were achingly sore from running. The boy was very quick on his feet. Of course, a slave’s work is never truly finished, as they say. His brothers and uncles and parents had repeated this to him ever since he was old enough to walk. But to have additional aches on top of a day’s labor was too much to bear. And even worse, Matthias was furious with him. He wheezed he secured the crying boy in his arms, who was continuously trying to squirm his way out of them. Utua struggled to catch his breath.
He couldn’t help but wonder how the boy could have so much energy, despite not having anything but water for the last couple of days. One thing he was sure of—he needed to find a way to get the child off his hands—keep away from the Master. He couldn’t take him out and abandon him in the woods, as his conscience would never allow, nor find a way to return him to the trader. The boy was a representation of his failure; of lost wages and time and effort. A missed opportunity to please his master.
A disappointment.
By the time he had reached the bottom of the hill, a plan had formed in Utua’s mind. Sweat spilled down his forehead and leaked into his eyes, which burned. He could feel the gaze of the other slaves upon him as he made his way down to the very last row of the slave quarters; a shack more run down than the rest. Hirom’s screams were giving him a headache. He anxiously knocked on the door.
The child gave him a kick into his ribcage.
Cursing under his breath, Utua banged louder with his fist. There was a fumbling around inside the shack, and as the door spun open, a short, twisted woman peered out. Her hair was hidden underneath a shawl, and despite being thirty moons, permanent lines were etched into her dark face. She tucked it around her arms and scowled once her gaze fell upon Utua, who was struggling to keep the child into his arms. She folded her arms.
“Leonara,” Utua gasped. “You must—”
”After you have blatantly borrowed from me and never returned to me what was mine?” the woman snapped. “You old fool. You owe me more debts than the remaining years in your life.” She moved to close the door.
”Wait!” Utua stuck his foot inside to block it. “Please, have mercy upon me. I ask that you stay with this child for a few days. I need to return the donkey and the wagon back to the stables. They are still upon the hill. I cannot take him with me for the night.” After a quick sideways glance, he spoke in a low tone. “I must go. Please. You must take him.”
”Why should I? Is he not your responsibility?”
”Yes, but—” Utua rubbed his eyes with his hand. “I will tell you all that I know later. I must return to the fields, Leonara. I cannot stay.”
Leonara wrinkled her nose at the boy, who was whimpering, but had finally calmed down. Snot was smeared across his nose and mouth. “Whose offspring is this?”
“If you do this for me,” Utua quickly said, “I shall pay you back in full. And I will double that portion. I only need a little more time.”
“But—”
”Please,” Utua whispered. Despite him only having one eye, Leonara could see the panic behind it. “Please. Matthias shall beat me raw. Leave me bloody. I’ve much rather me than the boy. Keep him out of sight.” He roughly shoved the crying child in the stunned woman’s arms. “The gods bless you.”
Leonara watched as Utua wearily stumbled down the dirt path. She shielded herself behind the cracked door as one of the overseers grabbed him by the arm and roughly led him down towards a wooden post. Upon shutting herself in the poorly lit and cramped hut, she was startled to see that the boy was already fast asleep. With a grunt, she laid him upon her tiny bed and tucked a thin blanket around his frail form. Carrying an oil lamp across the room, she returned to her work at the table and rubbed her sore eyes as she began to shell the large baskets of hardened peas. Time and time again she glanced at the child, who laid so still she had to check a couple of times to ensure that he was still breathing. His thin chest rose and fell.
She knew better than to get attached.
She didn’t dare to. All five of her children had been stolen away from her in the middle of the night, one by one. Her own husband had passed away a couple of years ago, dropped dead in the middle of a grueling day’s work. This boy was no different, and those who were fortunate enough to still have their children with them were only delayed the inevitable. In Leonara’s mind, it was far more merciful to have a child stolen at birth than to watch them grow only for them to be ripped away. She had nothing of her family. Only their memories, their hopes and dreams, all scattered amongst the fields like the dust that settled upon her clothes and hair each day.
Picking up a green bean with her calloused fingers, Leonora loudly chewed at its leathered surface until she scoffed and shook her head in disgust. Then she chuckled.
Utua. What a foolish man.
* * * * * * *
Leonora woke up in the middle of the night with a start. She had fallen asleep with her head against the table, nearly completing eight baskets full of shelled peas. An awful crink had settled at the back of her neck, and she nearly shrieked upon discovering that the boy was standing right by her side, staring at her in the dark. She scrambled to her feet.
“By the gods!” she snapped. “Away.”
Upon her reaction, the little boy’s bottom lip trembled as a few tears escaped down his tanned face. As he sniffled, she noticed that a foul smell had settled upon her soaked sheets. Gagging, she flung open the door to escape the heavy stench. The cool night air seeped into her hut, and, after catching a few breaths, she struggled to light her lamp. Upon raising it up with her arm, she could see that the child was covered head to toe in vomit. Her eyes hurriedly wandered over to her pews—fortunately, not a single basket had been touched. Leonora wrinkled her nose. How could she allow such pestilence in her own home. What was she even thinking?
Deep down, she truly hoped Utua was getting his backside torn off for this.
“Come,” she declared.
The child suddenly screamed and tried to move away, but Leonara roughly caught him up in her powerful arms and marched outside. After filling up a wooden bucket with cold water, with a rag, she scrubbed him from head to toe, making sure to burn his filthy tunic in a fireplace, poking at it until it was ash. He cried and cried until he was pink in the face. Once he was dry and in some clean clothes, she rubbed olive oil upon his arms and legs, so that his skin would not crack. As she was dragging her filthy sheets from the bed, he watched her from the open doorway of the hut, his thumb into his mouth.
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Crickets chirped in the air.
“Ah, so you shall sit there and let me do all the work. Not only must I clean after Utua’s mess, but your own as well,” Leonara mumbled, placing a bucket of water onto the grass and scrubbing the stained sheets. She pointed a soapy finger at the child. “I do not know when Utua will return, but I do not allow idleness in my home. The city of Kish has no place for laziness. You will make yourself useful while you are here with me. Starting now.”
The child quietly continued to suck his thumb, staring at her. His brown sackcloth tunic was bunched around his waist—an effort to make it fit due to Leonara’s clumsy stitching. His eyes are much too large for his face she thought. He probably wouldn’t live long due to his size. No doubt he understood a word she was saying. She decided to try a simple question. “Where are you from?”
There was a brief pause, before he finally spoke. It was so quiet she could barely hear his small voice. “Ifa nimtza Angus?”
Leonara frowned. Aramaic? Hebrew? Latin? She spoke none of those languages—no doubt one of which was his mother tongue. If he was to survive, he must learn to speak proper. Wiping her wet hands upon her dress, she knelt down to his level and cleared her throat. With her finger, she pointed at her chest. The boy reached for her hand with both of his own, and a lump rose in her throat. No. She was doing this for him. He would be gone in a few weeks, no less then a few days.
His tiny fingers latched around hers.
“Leonara,” she said. “My name is Leonara.”
The boy blinked.
She pointed again. “Me. Leonara.”
The child pointed at himself. “Leonara.”
“No,” Leonara said, shaking her head. “That is my name.” Gently, she redirected her hands towards him. “You? Your name.”
For a while, the boy paused, like he was thinking real hard. A small smile broke across his face. “Hirom,” he whispered. “Hirom.”
Leonara stood up and firmly nodded. “You do not forget what they have called you before. That is a part of you that they can never take away.” With her hand, she pointed to the house. “Go inside and sit still. I shall make some tea when I’m finished out here.” The child remained still. “Go on,” she urged.
As he wandered back inside, Leonara rubbed her sore eyes with her hand. She glanced at the moon, which was just appearing through several thick clouds. In the distance, she could see a few mens’ shadows in the fields.
* * * * * * * * *
Within a couple of days, Hirom had picked up a few words of Akkadian, although he spoke very little most times. He was still much too ill to eat, but Leonara attempted to get him to swallow broth and water, which he both brought up. It is truly hopeless, she thought, cleaning up the third mess in a row during the day. He might die soon. But she kept Utua’s promise—making sure the child only came with her to the gardens and back.
To Leonara’s surprise, he did not seem to get distracted easily. He was an enormous help to during the next following weeks, taking delight in the small tasks she assigned to him, whether that was digging up round potatoes in the gardens, picking grapes from the vineyard, or gathering tomatoes. He always looked amazed as Leonara would swing the large baskets upon her shoulders, giggling and clapping his small muddy hands. Although he stretched out his tiny arms to help, she reminded him that one day, he would be strong enough to help her, though she wasn’t sure if that would be true.
One morning, he accompanied her to the house, proudly balancing his own basket of apples and pears. It certainly wasn’t part of Leonara’s plan; but the mistress of the home, Sorana, was hosting a large party to celebrate one of her sons returning home from war. Matthias was out in the city of business. Leonara had still not caught sight of Utua anywhere, but she decided to not to burden herself with the thought. Besides, the multiple trips up and down the hill would do good for Hirom’s legs, as she was trying to work them as much as possible.
Upon approaching the front of the house, Leonara glanced down at Hirom, who was carrying a large basket of grapes. “Present yourself,” she said in a low voice. “Remember what I told you. Do not make eye contact with them. Do not speak unless you are spoken to. And do you remember what to say when they speak to you? For the master and mistress?”
Hirom looked up at her with large, round eyes. “My lord.”
“And?”
The child balanced the grapes in his arms. “My lady.”
“Good,” Leonara said in a hushed down. “Very good. Now, come around to the back. You must never let your presence known.” She pointed down. “Wipe those feet.”
Carefully, Hirom dragged his bare feet against the damp grass. Upon entering the house, the boy couldn’t help but gaze at the elaborately painted walls, tapestries, statues, and fine cushions. The dining room was elaborate, with a long, narrow table overflowing with food. Leonara cleared her throat, beckoning with her hand. “Here. Put those grapes here.”
Straining under its weight, Hirom managed to lift the basket up over the edge. An apple fell and rolled out to the ground, and before Leonara could say anything, Hirom chased after it. He crawled out from under the table, just to see it stopped in front of two leather sandals. A pale hand wrapped around its surface and grabbed it.
Slowly, Hirom looked up.
In the patch of sunlight, a white haired boy stood in front of him, still holding out the apple expectantly. “Here you go. You dropped this.”
Startled, Hirom rushed behind Leonara, fleeing to her skirts for safety. With one large brown eye, he peeked out, only to hide his face once more. Leonara bowed her head, heat rushing to her face. “Master Telal. I wish you and your family good health. I thank the gods for your brother’s safe return.”
To her surprise, a disappointed expression crossed Telal’s face. What on earth could he be wanting in this place? she thought.
“What is his name?”
Leonara glanced down. “You must forgive us for our manners, my lord. This is Hirom. He is shy. He knows but little Akkadian, as I am in the process of teaching our language.” After gently tucking her skirts free from Hirom’s grasp, she knelt down next to him. “Remember what I told you when addressing your master. Speak clearly.”
The boy hesitated.
”Go on,” she ordered in a sharp voice.
“My… my…lord,” Hirom whispered. He took a few timid steps forward, his bare feet silent against the fine carpet, before attempting a bow and rushing behind Leonara once more. His heart was pounding as he leaned against her.
Leonara released a sigh. “I apologize, my lord. He is a bit shy, and only understands a few words. He shall be more improved the next time, I promise.”
“Can he stay for supper?”
”I do not believe the mistress would allow it.”
Telal looked down. “Oh.” He took a few steps toward, a hopeful look appearing in his large blue eyes. “I…I can teach him if you—”
”You must excuse us, my lord. We have much to do today, and your mother is expecting company very soon. Once more, I am so very happy for your brother’s return.” Leonara grabbed Hirom’s hand, wanting to escape Telal’s longing gaze. She wondered why he kept staring at them so much. What is so interesting about two slaves? He’d been around them each day. “Come along, Hirom.”
In the corner of her eye, she could see Telal quietly following them through the rooms that they pass through, still clutching the apple in his palm. He kept glancing at Hirom, like he had never seen another child before.
Upon exiting the house, the warm sun beat upon Leonara’s back, although she was shivering, covered in a layer of cold sweat. She didn’t dare stop walking. Hirom toddled beside her, his hand still tightly wrapped around hers. Upon reaching the cornstalks, she did not let go until they reached her hut and she slammed the door behind her, breathing heavily. Hirom, comforted by the familiar surrounding, eagerly skipped forward to help shell the peas on her table. Leonara didn’t realize her hands were shaking until she looked down at them.
She would return the boy to Utua.
Tonight.