In Troy's Company

Chapter 2

Chapter 2Captain Troy, commander of Troy’s Company, walked through the Yvet slave market looking for a rescue. He wasn’t really expecting to find anyone, but most Company commanders kept an eye open for a mercenary who had fallen into slavery after a battlefield loss, and would buy them and enable them to earn their freedom. This market, however, was mostly domestic, house slaves and such rather than field laborers, so unlikely to hold a captured fighter. His Company had always looked after those matters themselves, with troopers who could no longer fight but wanted to remain with their friends taking on the tasks of running the household side of things.

Troy wasn’t planning to stay much longer, but he looked down a final row of traders and his eye was caught by one man. He was tall and looked strong, with the build of a swordsman. He didn’t have any tattoos to mark a prior Company allegiance, but not every mercenary wanted a tat, and he had a couple of scars that looked like sword wounds, as well as marks of more recent floggings. He was unusual in his coloring and looks, dark hair cut short, but light skinned, with clean sharp features.

Troy was aware of a tug of attraction—looking at the man made his throat suddenly dry and his c**k twitch in appreciation; even naked and chained the man had presence. Troy walked closer, met his eyes and smiled, feeling that there was a connection between them. Briefly, the man looked back, but then Troy was surprised to see a snarl appear on his face. That wouldn’t attract a buyer. Still, he was the best prospect for a buy-in he’d seen here and, well, also very attractive. Perhaps he’d bid.

“When is the auction?” he asked the proprietor of the booth.

“Tomorrow evening, starts an hour before dusk. Not many people likely to bid for that one, but Ridley’s interested, so I’ll make my profit.”

“Ridley?”

“Aye, he runs a house, men who take their pleasures from blood go there. This one would last a long time, be worth paying for.”

Troy walked away feeling somewhat sick. Slave whores weren’t his preference at any time, and no one deserved the sort of death a house of pain provided. He’d bid.

The next day Troy made his way to the auction house, sitting through several sales to be sure he was there on time. The man he was here for was brought to the front of the stage, and not without difficulty. Most slaves had learned not to fight, it was wasted effort and only brought punishment, but this man was still resisting, despite the whip marks clearly visible on his back.

“Gentlemen, we present this fine specimen for your consideration. He’s strong and would earn his keep at any physical job. Bidding starts at five silver.”

“Ten,” Troy called.

“Twenty.” That was the man he’d had identified as Ridley.

“Fifty.”

“Seventy-five.”

“One gold.” That was plenty for a single slave, no matter how strong.

“One gold, fifty silver.”

“Two gold.”

“Two fifty.”

“Three gold.” This is getting ridiculous, Troy thought, three gold is more than the man could earn back in several years, which defeats the purpose of buying him. If he wasn’t so damned attractive, would I bid this much, even against filth like Ridley?

“Three fifty.”

“Four.”

The audience for the auction was silent, watching two very different bidders compete for the future use of a single slave with bids as high as those usually seen for a whole group.

Ridley paused, then bid, “Four fifty.”

Troy took a breath. “Five gold.” It was a significant portion of his discretionary funds, and potentially wasted if the man didn’t prove to be a fighter, once his buy-in was complete. He waited, holding that breath, and then Ridley sat down and conceded the purchase to him.

“Sold for five gold. Thank you, sirs.”

Troy walked up to the payment counter. He had the coins with him, although he’d never dreamed that he was going to spend it all on this one slave.

“Thank you, sir, a fantastic purchase you just made.”

“Yes, in both senses of the word.” The slaver didn’t get the slightly wry joke he’d just made, but handed over the ownership paper as the auction workers half-dragged his new possession to him, taking off the wrist manacles when he nodded at their question. Troy looked at him and thought he saw a flicker of relief in his eyes as he realized which of the two men had won the bidding.

Does he know what Ridley wanted him for? Troy wondered. And is he going to fight me now?

“Come with me.” Troy gestured to the man, damn, he had to get his name soon, and turned to walk away from the market, assuming that he’d be followed. He heard the sound of footfalls behind him and moved quickly to get away from the crowd. Once they were free of the crush he turned and looked into his new acquisition’s eyes.

“I’m Captain Troy,” he said. “What’s your name?”

There was a pause. For a moment Troy thought the man was either mute or a moron, either of which would mean a total waste of his money. Maybe he was just too tired from his ordeal to want to talk much.

Troy waited a moment longer. “Markus,” he replied in a deep voice.

“Markus, good. You now belong to Troy’s Company, with a buy-in debt of five gold, which is significant but not insurmountable. If you run from me, you should know that whoever finds you won’t give you any chance to buy-in, so I hope you’ll be sensible. Let’s go, the paddock is this way.” More discussion between them could wait.

Before moving on again, Troy looked at Markus, noting the goose flesh on his naked skin as the air cooled rapidly in the evening. He pulled off his cloak and swung it around the other man’s shoulders. “Come.”

* * * *

Markus pulled the cloak around him, still warm from Troy’s body, the first clothes he’d been given to wear for days, ever since the slave convoy pulled into the market. He hadn’t understood much of what Troy had just said, but had learned enough from his time with Jarvis to gather that the captain had warned him against running. He walked quietly behind Troy to a paddock, his relief that it was this man and not Ridley who’d bought him, making him almost lightheaded. The horses were small to his eyes, barely more than ponies, but looked rugged and strong. Markus watched Troy pay the paddock minder, and mount a nice bay. The captain rode out the gate and reached down to Markus, who grasped his hand and pulled himself up behind the man with ease. Markus shivered again at the touch of Troy’s hand, not with cold but some other sensation, unexpected and inexplicable.

He looked around as they rode through the outskirts of the town. It was getting cooler but between Troy’s warm back in front of him and the cloak on his own back it wasn’t bad. Once they left the town they sped up, reaching a well dug-in camp after a ride of perhaps a quarter hour. It was getting dark and details were hard to make out. There was a palisaded enclosure, and he could see what looked like stables sprawling across the ground, outside but nearby. The front fence was taller and included a second story, under which the entrance passed. Troy passed through the challenge at the gate and dismounted, handing the reins to a groom.

“Markus, come with me,” Troy ordered, gesturing to him to follow. The inside of the encampment showed a tidy, organized area with multiple large room tents arranged up against the wall and further away many small sleeping tents. They went into a large, herbal-smelling room on the right side of the gate. Troy called out something, and then left just as someone new came in. He was tall and slender, with light blonde hair worn in a tail that reached to his shoulders. His eyes were blue and his face delicate enough to be almost pretty. He looked both gentle and intent as he said something, but as usual Markus didn’t catch a word of it. The man looked at him keenly, then stared right into his eyes.

Markus felt something strange, almost like someone else was using his brain, then heard, “Hmm, language problem? Let me see. Yes, you’re lucky, I can do something for this.”

The man put his hands on either side of Markus’ face and looked at him for some time, a hint of strain appearing on his face. The strange feeling intensified; Markus couldn’t move, he felt as though he were drowning in words as they swirled through his mind, meanings and definitions falling into place.

After an interval Markus couldn’t measure, the man took his hands away, sighed, and relaxed. He looked tired but stretched himself, saying, “There, do you understand me now?”

“Yes! Powers, how did you do that?”

“Wizardry—don’t tell anyone! In fact, I’m going to make sure you don’t. I apologize, but unless I break this geas you won’t be able to discuss what I just did for you with anyone. I can see that you’re not from around here at all, but don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about you, not even the captain. We all have our secrets.”

Markus stared at him, but the memory of what he’d said flowed out of his mind and was gone.

“Now, drop the cloak and sit on the table. I’m Gen, by the way, junior medic with the Company. I’m just going to check over your physical situation, don’t be afraid.” Gen started a full physical exam, making occasional mm-hmm noises to himself. Markus tensed when Gen ran his hands down the scarring on his back, and when the healer smoothed a cream over the marks he grimaced and hissed at the flare of pain. For a moment he felt as though his skin was being torn open again.

“Sorry, does that hurt?” Gen asked. “It’s a salve I make for scars, it’ll help the healing.” A warmth followed as the pain eased, and his back felt better than it had since the flogging. After Gen had gone over Markus from head to foot, an older man came in. “He’s fine, Filip. Significant signs of recent trauma but not as bad as it looked at first. He’ll regain full use of his back muscles; in fact, overall, he’s in great shape considering he just came from the slave market.”

“Thanks, Gen, the captain wants a report, so take him to the wash house on your way. He said he’d find him there an hour from when they got in.”

Markus followed Gen, grabbing the cloak on the way by and they walked out of the medic’s room. As they left, Markus realized that he was able to ask questions now, although just how he could manage that was unclear. Still, the opportunity was too good not to try.

“Gen, what is going to happen to me?”

“Ah, yes. You’ve been bought, and once you’ve earned enough from working for the Company as a rescue-slave to retire your debt, you’ll be given a knife and freed. Then you can give your oath and join the Company if you want to, taking the badge. Do you know how much it cost the captain to buy you?”

Markus thought back to the auction but he hadn’t been able to follow the bidding at the time. He was going to answer, but Gen started talking again, gesturing around the compound as they walked across it. “So, as you see, the medical tents are just inside the gate, so the wounded can get care as soon as they get here. We have room for up to twenty percent of the Company in the worst-case scenario, but rarely have more than a few in at a time, fortunately. Captain Troy is a good commander, one of the best in the field, but he is also careful with his men and insists on the best care for the wounded. You’re lucky he chose to buy you.

“On the other side, weapons training, inside and out, cookhouse beyond that. Wash house between the salle and the gate. The men’s barracks are the back half of the compound, and the captain rooms over the gate so he can see everything inside and out of the place—and he does! Here is the wash house, go in and soak yourself clean. Is that the captain’s cloak? Grab a clean robe from the pile and wait for him to come for you once you’re done.”

Markus quietly hoped that Gen would come into the wash house with him but he was supposed to give Troy a report, and anyway, how difficult could a bath house be to figure out? He went in, finding three rooms with tubs already filled with steaming water. The water was hottest in the tubs in the furthest room so he dropped into one, grabbing a bar of what looked like soap as he went through the first room. The stuff worked, letting him clean off weeks of grime from his skin and hair, and he lounged in the warm but increasingly dirty water for a while.

“Markus, you’re in the soaking tub.” He jumped at the sound of Troy’s voice.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize.” I’ll be damned before I say master without being forced.

“No problem, but the trick is to scrub the dirt off in the first room, rinse in the second and soak out bruises and tight muscles in this room. The guys who run the washhouse will be shutting down for the night soon, so don’t worry about it.” Troy held up a large towel. “Come out, get dry, and we’ll go get some food.”

Markus wanted to trust Troy, but he wouldn’t have expected a captain to tend to a new slave of his Company like this, and felt wary. The brothel owner would have been the worst possible fate he could imagine, and he didn’t like having to worry about something similar happening here. However, there was almost nothing he could do except fight to get killed, and, despite everything, he still preferred to live. So, he took the towel, dried off, and then put on a loose robe from a nearby pile. Troy picked up the discarded cloak as they went out, folding it over his arm rather than put it back on. He followed Troy out of the wash house and back to the only two-story structure in the camp, through which the gate made the sole opening in the defensive wall.

“Meeting and planning rooms down here, my rooms are upstairs. Come on.” Above, the rooms consisted of an office full of papers and maps, a living room, and a bedroom. Standing in the living room Markus wondered uncomfortably if it was his imagination or whether the captain was in fact looking at him, ah, appreciatively. But Troy gestured to the table, where a meal was set, and the savory smells distracted him.

“Go ahead, take a plateful of whatever you like.”

Markus loaded his plate with fresh bread and stew, and took a beaker of red wine. He knew he had to be careful not to over-eat; this was the most food, and the best, that he’d seen for weeks, ever since this disaster had overtaken him. He ate slowly, enjoying the flavors, although the spices and the wine were both quite unfamiliar to him. Troy took a similar plateful and ate with almost the same appetite.

“I didn’t get lunch today and this is a late dinner. Luckily, I have the rank to get food out of the cooks even at this time of night! Gen tells me that you are in good shape overall and should recover from the effects of the market quickly, which is good. Tomorrow, we’ll get you some proper clothes and set about finding out what you can do for the Company while you buy-in. You have to earn back five gold before I can free you, and that’s a lot.”

Markus shook his head, Troy was talking, something about the next day, but with food in his belly, and feeling both warm and clean, the sleep he’d been too on edge to have properly for days was sweeping over him.

“Hmm, I was going to go over the rest of our arrangement, but I think you’d just fall asleep no matter what I did. Come on.” Troy pulled him up off the chair and put his arm around his waist, leading him into the bedroom.

“No!” Markus balked at the doorway.

“Yes. Just get into bed. I don’t r**e unconscious men, or conscious ones either. Lie down and sleep.”

Troy could tell that Markus wanted to protest, but he tipped the other man onto the mattress, and he was essentially asleep before his head landed on the pillow.

Troy looked down on his latest acquisition, hoping that things would work between them. Five gold was an enormous sum for a rescue to earn back before he could join the Company as a fighter. It was not unusual for a captain to expect a man who was buying in to sleep with him, ‘interest on the loan’ as it was known. Unlike some other commanders, however, Troy was only comfortable with an arrangement that both members enjoyed. It was hard enough for a man who’d lived as a slave to return to being a fighter, without submitting to unwanted s*x for a year or more, but, as he’d assured Markus, he simply wasn’t a r****t. He had to admit, though, that he hoped Markus would be agreeable, since he was truly gorgeous.

Sometime in the middle of the night Troy woke as Markus slipped out from the covers and lay quietly, as if in ambush. He heard him moving through the room in the faint moonlight and find the receptacle he needed in a corner of the room. After taking his relief Markus stood for a moment, looking down at Troy who was still feigning sleep. He then slid back under the blanket, turned away from Troy, and went back to sleep. Once Markus’ breathing slowed and steadied Troy let himself relax. He’d been well aware that Markus might try to attack and was ready to defend himself, but was very pleased when, after a tense minute, the other man simply lay back down beside him. They both slept quietly until the dawn reveille sounded.