Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Heislin halted abruptly on the doorstep. There was someone in his library.

Well, it wasn’t really his library, of course, but the one he found standing with his nose in his most recently sorted bookcase should definitely not be in there in any case.

It was one of those creatures from His Lordship’s harem. Judging only by the dark brown hair hanging down the slim back, he would have been hard pressed to tell if it was male or female at first sight, but one small detail told him it was a boy. The male harem slaves, he knew, wore a locked chain around their waists and between their legs, which – though it didn’t hinder all natural functions – kept them from using their… members, when they weren’t allowed to.

Heislin pushed his spectacles farther up his long nose with a likewise long and thin ink-stained finger and flushed red. He didn’t want to think about the harem slaves’… members.

What in the name of all gods was wrong with letting them be covered at least minimally? It was very hard not thinking of such things, after all, with just such a minimally covered… thing invading his safe space, sticking his bare ass in the air in the most scandalizing way while bending over to look at the books at the lower shelves.

Heislin wasn’t the only young man the new lord had employed around the palace.

Two years ago, the king had given His Lordship this province to rule, and he set about shaking some life into the sleepy surroundings right away. There had been constant renovation going on since, and there seemed no end to these activities in sight. The people of the region had had to get used to a lot of new rules and regulations, too, some of which they were happy, others of which they were less happy, all of which they endured.

What else was there to do?

For Heislin, though, and many other young men of varied and much wanted, skills, the arrival of the new lord, with all his new ideas, had meant good times.

These young men of the palace were, most of them, a rowdy bunch who usually spent their free time together, but Heislin had trouble fitting in. This wasn’t new to him; he’d never really fit in anywhere. He’d been pushed and bitten when his mother put him in the play pen with the other toddlers. He’d been mocked and teased in school, and he’d been made fun of since he’d first arrived at the palace.

Nothing out of the ordinary at all.

If the others ever expressed any honestly meant friendliness it was only to pity him he’d got the most boring job in the whole palace, but… that’s where they were wrong. Heislin wasn’t sad at all to be ‘trapped’ in the stuffy dusty old library among all the stuffy dusty old books. He wasn’t at all bored having to sort through all these thousands and thousands of documents and volumes.

Heislin had had such a good head on his shoulders already at an early age that the old village school teacher had taken him under his wing, and had helped Heislin’s mother financially. Instead of becoming a farmer, like his poor dead father and his two older brothers, Heislin had studied with the school teacher while assisting in teaching the younger children.

He suspected his mother’s well-rounded figure and welcoming bosoms was another reason the unmarried schoolteacher had been so eager to help him out. He didn’t blame his mother for this. She’d been lonely since becoming a widow, and it wasn’t an easy life. Neither did he blame the school teacher. He was a kind old man, and, in many ways, the only friend he had had.

Be that all as it may, Heislin had become quite well read in the end, and had been prepared to leave the village for the city to find work fitting of a budding scholar. Few such jobs could be found in these parts, and he couldn’t make a decent living assisting the old school teacher in the end. However, that was before the new lord had arrived.

Apparently, the lords before hadn’t cared about the palace’s extensive library – Heislin had never even known there was one – but luckily the new lord did. He’d cared enough to hire a full time librarian to take care of the mess, and Heislin had got the job. He’d been very relieved about that. Heislin might not look it, being tall and thin compared to his broad-shouldered stocky brothers, but the farmer was still deep in him. The thought of going to the city had scared him. He was sure he would be unmercifully teased in such an environment. At least here no one teased him for his thick accent.

His Lordship now and then showed some interest in the young men he’d hired. Still a vital man himself, though no longer very young, he enjoyed surrounding himself with athletic youths on hunts and informal parties. Heislin was therefore not very surprised that His Lordship pretty much ignored him. The lord never sought him out unless he really had an errand to the library, needing some information, or an old document that concerned his affairs, but he did still treat them all fairly, and Heislin couldn’t complain about the contents of his employment contract.

He was allowed to reign unchallenged over this big hall and everything in it, and His Lordship never questioned how he sorted the books or archived the documents, or how long it took. Heislin’s future would be secured for years to come, and that doing what he liked doing best – be by himself, reading and studying, no one around to taunt him for his social failings and all around awkwardness.

It suited Heislin very well that people so seldom came to the library, and the few times they did, he usually couldn’t wait for them to leave again. At least when people did come here, they had a real reason to. This one though…

What could someone like that possibly want in a library?

Heislin coughed loudly and demonstratively, wanting to express his annoyance. The slave, who had obviously not heard him before this, jumped a foot in the air and spun around.

“What are you doing in here?” Heislin demanded. He’d always found it hard to talk to people who were supposed to be his equals, or stand up to the other young men teasing him. Not to mention the stuttering mess he turned into around his betters. However, to the servants, and especially the slaves, he felt he could assert himself a bit.

“I… uh…” The slave waved his hand lamely before the shelves, and was clearly unable to explain himself. “I was only… Sorry, Sir.” He silenced and looked down.

“Are you even allowed in these parts at all?” Heislin continued, not remembering having seen any of those around these corridors before.

The slave hung his head deeper. “I- I… don’t know, Sir. Probably not, Sir. I just always wanted to… Please don’t tell, Sir, it wasn’t even two weeks ago they caned me last.”

Heislin couldn’t help feeling a bit appeased at the slave’s pitiful appearance and he stepped over the threshold. “You wanted to… warm yourself?” he asked, curious of what the slave had been about to say.

It would make sense, he guessed. The harem itself was well warmed; he knew, so the scantily clad slaves would not catch the fever and die. The palace on the whole, however, was much too big to keep all of it warmed up during the colder months. To save money and work only the important parts were. Heislin was glad His Lordship considered the books and documents important enough to have the library sufficiently warmed up, as he also lived in here, and he hated to be cold.

He’d seen naked harem slaves hurry through the cold corridors on several occasions, though. They always did look desperate to return to their simple, but warm, rooms, having served the lord, his family, friends, guests, or the employees especially deserving of such a treat. He could very well understand they would hate the cold, as well. Maybe, he thought, this one had simply slipped into the library on his way back, to warm up a little.

“It… It’s very warm and nice in here, Sir,” the slave agreed, still staring at his feet.

Wait a minute, though, Heislin thought. That wasn’t quite what the slave had said, was it? He’d said he’d always wanted to… something. “What is it that you’ve always wanted to do?” Heislin asked, suspicious now.

The slave squirmed a little; didn’t he look sort of guilty? “Oh, it was nothing, Sir. Never mind, Sir.”

Heislin frowned and stepped closer. Slaves shouldn’t talk like that to you, should they? “Don’t tell me what I should mind, or not,” he said. “Now, what sneaky business are you up to? Well? I’ll see to it that you’re punished.”

The slave at once got to his knees on the chilly flagstones and bowed deeply. “Oh please, Sir, please, I meant no disrespect. They’ll cane me so badly. Please?” There was a near sob in the slave’s voice and his back trembled.

Heislin felt more than awkward, looking down at the slave cowering on the floor. It was easy enough to speak like that to a slave, when you dared not speak up against anyone else. However, this satisfying feeling vaporized in a second at this boy trembling at his feet. The very real fear was no fun at all, and of course he didn’t want this poor thing beaten just because of him. Heislin felt bad at his harsh manners.

“Um… I’m sure you didn’t mean it the way it came out,” he said trying to sound gracious. “I… forgive you. You can… um, stand up again.”

The slave obeyed, slowly getting to his feet. Heislin couldn’t help noticing how gracefully and lithely he moved. They trained them to move like that, he thought, to… be pleasing, or some such. The other young men in the palace often enough talked of the harem slaves and what they could do, so, he knew some things. Too many things Heislin thought, blushing again.

Pushing aside all thoughts of why these slaves moved so well, Heislin still felt a bit envious. One of his many very non-charming traits was his darn clumsiness. He always stumbled over things, or dropped things, or ran into people, or knocked things over, or… How many laughs had his twitchy way of moving about, and his overlong legs and arms generated through the years? No wonder he preferred not trying any sorts of sports, but rather sat still in a chair and turned leaves, or dipped a quill in an inkwell. No one wanted to watch him do that, and didn’t stay around to see him spill ink on his lap, or stain his nose as he pushed his spectacles up.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Heislin assured the slave further. “I only want to know what you’re doing in here.”

“Yes, Sir, of course, Sir,” the slave said, still not looking up at him, his hanging hair covering his face. “I only thought it couldn’t be such a bad thing if I looked at a few books, and… only looked a little. I’m sorry, Sir, I wouldn’t have broken anything, and my hands are clean. See?” He put his hands out for Heislin to inspect, and he could see they were indeed immaculately clean, and as little of a worker’s hands as his own – minus the ink stains. “I would have made sure to put them back exactly where I took them, Sir. But- but, I’ll never do this again, Sir. Thank you, Sir, for not having me punished, Sir.”

The slave bowed deeply at these words, very much looking as if he wanted to step around him and flee the library, but Heislin was intrigued now and didn’t want the slave to leave just yet. He stepped closer still and assumed an, he hoped, authoritarian stance. “Wait! You snuck in here because… you were interested in the books?”

“Yes, Sir,” the slave answered.

“But, you can’t read them,” he said. That didn’t make sense at all, Heislin thought. What possible interest could one have in books if one couldn’t actually read them?

For the first time the slave looked up and met his eyes, a flash in them that wasn’t really anger or impertinence, but maybe a little bit of pride. “I can, Sir,” he said.

Heislin was, again, angry. “Now, watch your tongue, slave! What kind of manners are these? Lying like that could get you punished.”

Slaves didn’t read. Slaves were workers, or used for pleasure, and they didn’t need such knowledge. Who would ever waste time on teaching a slave something like that? Most farmers didn’t have the opportunity to study.

Heislin had been lucky to grow up in a village, which had a small school to teach the children the basics, at all, and to have had the opportunity to keep studying. He had sure never heard of a slave being given such chances. Besides, he would have thought most slaves couldn’t be taught such things in any case. Slaves were not quite as people after all. They were humans, of course, only a… simpler kind, sort of. He couldn’t imagine they had the brains for such, and especially not one of these bed-warmers. The slave must be lying. He frowned deeper, staring at the boy who at once looked down again.

“I’m sorry, Sir, didn’t mean to… But- but, I’m not lying, Sir, I can. I… can…”

Heislin was far from convinced. “Well, it’s the easiest thing in the world to find out what a liar you are, isn’t it?” he said. Determined not to let the harem slave get away with such blatant twisting of the truth, Heislin reached past him where he stood and picked a book from the case. He flipped up a random page and put it under the boy’s nose. “Read that, if you can!”

The boy took the book with a trembling hand and looked down on the page, brows furrowed. “It is rec… rec-o… recommended,” he started falteringly. “That… crop ro-ro…tation comes in threes. First year, wheat, second year… barley, and for the third year that it lay fallow…”

Heislin snatched the book back and stared at the page. It did indeed say exactly that. “Uh…” he managed, quite a bit embarrassed. “Do you actually also understand the words you just repeated from this page?”

“I think that was about farming, Sir? But, I’ve never farmed so I…”

Heislin irritably shushed him. “Oh all right, so, you can read. Where on earth have you…”

They were interrupted by the evening bell sounding from the tower, and the slave spun around at the sound and visibly tensed up. “Oh my God, oh my God… Please, Sir, please dismiss me. I’m not assigned to anyone for the night, and if I’m late for lock up, they’ll beat me half to death.” He wrung his hands in despair and stared at Heislin imploringly.

“Will you come back as soon as you’re able to and explain this to me?” Heislin asked. This all seemed to be a small mystery to him, and mysteries needed to be researched and explained.

“Yes, Sir, anything you say, Sir. Please, Sir, tell me to leave!”

“Oh… right. Of course. You’re free to go.” Heislin stepped aside and let the boy pass and he ran toward the door. “Wait!” Heislin shouted making the boy freeze on the doorstep, slowly turning around, fear written all over his face. “I… I’m sorry I called you a liar,” he said.

The slave stared. “Oh… Thank you, Sir,” he said, bowing quickly before turning to run off on bare feet.

The slave was standing next to the entry door to the library when Heislin returned from dinner, and it all came back to him in a second. Oh yes, he had told that boy to come back and explain himself, hadn’t he? That was nearly two weeks ago, though, and Heislin had thought the slave wouldn’t come after all, and had all but forgotten about it.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said, as uncomfortable with this second visit as with the first one.

The slave bowed deeply. “I’m sorry, Sir. I tried to come earlier, and I didn’t know if I was allowed inside again, so I waited outside and…” He silenced abruptly and Heislin realized that the slave was probably ever as much nervous about this, as he was uncomfortable.

“That’s good,” Heislin said. “Uh, I guess you had better come inside then.”

A minute later, they were seated at either side of one of the many desks in the library hall, Heislin staring fixedly at a bookcase just behind the slave, slightly to the right, and the slave fixedly staring at the hands in his lap.

Silence reigned.

It might have been a mistake, Heislin thought, to ask the slave to sit down with him, judging from the way the former was perching stiffly on the edge of the seat, back straight as a fence pole. Maybe one didn’t sit down like this with slaves, at all, and he knew it? Heislin’s obvious lack of understanding of palace manners made him feel inferior. Even a simple slave knew what he didn’t. There must be a book about it somewhere, among the shelves and boxes he had not yet sorted through, he thought. He swore he’d find it and learn it by heart as soon as possible. For now he was, as so many times before, happy that no one came here.

“So,” he finally said, as it was becoming clear the slave wasn’t going to start this odd conversation. “Where did you learn to read then?”

The slave looked up. “I lived in the city, Sir,” he started. “My master was a merchant, and a fine gentleman. He was very rich, too, he was. I was born in the kitchens, but…” He looked proud enough. “The master took a liking to me.”

I bet he did, Heislin thought. He watched the boy as he spoke, and it was hard to deny how good looking he was. Naturally, he would be. They all were, or they would of course not be in the harem in the first place. However, it was one thing knowing this in theory, and only seeing their alluring forms from afar now and then. It was quite a different matter having one of them so close. Not so easy trying to not stare at the small pinkish nubs on the smooth-skinned chest and how the long silky dark hair brushed over them while the slave moved his head. Quite embarrassing how hard it was to try to pretend he didn’t notice how well shaped that head was, with the high cheekbones and the straight thin nose. How appealing the soft lips were, how pretty the dark eyes… Heislin had to pinch his thigh under the desktop to snap out of it.

He bet the slave’s master had taken a liking all right.

“Oh,” the slave said. “Oh, no! Not like that, Sir. He didn’t take a liking to me like that.”

Heislin flushed red. Was it so easy to see what he was thinking?

“I was just a kid, Sir,” the slave went on. “Maybe nine, or ten, and he was a really old man. Sixty… at least. He was very kind, he was, Sir, and never did such things to me, and he learnt me how to read.”

“Taught!” Heislin said, the school teacher within him waking up. The slave looked confused. “Taught,” he repeated. “You say ‘he taught me how to read’, not ‘he learnt me how to’.”

“Oh… Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir. He taught me how to read, Sir.”

“But that is very strange, isn’t it?” Heislin said, still suspicious of the whole thing. “Why would a rich merchant bother with something like that? Didn’t he have more important things to do than teach a simple kitchen slave how to read?”

The slave looked down in shame. “I’ve never thought about it that way before, Sir,” he said under his hanging hair. “I think… He didn’t do much anymore, Sir. My former master had a very bad back, and couldn’t walk for long or it hurt a lot, and he was much sick in other ways, too. He had a son who did all his business for him, while he was mostly sitting in his chair all day. But he liked me, Sir. He said I was a funny little boy, and he liked it when I was singing and dancing for him, and told him stories of what went on in the house and the streets outside. My master always laughed then, Sir, and gave me sweets.”

While he spoke the slave raised his head again, and there was a smile on his face as when someone remembers happier times. Heislin watched him speak, more fascinated by that fact than by the simple story in itself. It had never really occurred to him that slaves could have histories as well, and might look back on their childhood the way other people did.

“So, he was old and sick and let the little funny slave boy from his kitchens amuse him to make the days pass?” Heislin asked.

“Yes, Sir,” the slave said. “He was always nice to me, and reading with him was fun. He said I was really clever, too, and could learn things very good.”

“Very well,” Heislin automatically corrected the boy. “You say ‘very well’, not ‘very good’. But, I’ll say… I never actually thought a slave could learn such things.”

“Why not, Sir?”

The slave looked honestly bemused, and Heislin discovered, to his chagrin, that he no longer had an answer. Yes, why not indeed.

“How did you end up here then?” he asked instead, changing the subject.

“When I was fifteen, Sir, my master died.” The slave hung his head, in obvious sadness. “It was really sad. We all cried, because he‘d been so good to all of us. Then the son came. He moved in with his family, and… Many things changed then, Sir.”

“He sold you?”

The slave nodded, still as sad. “He said, looking like I did, I would be of much better use in other places than in a kitchen. I- I didn’t want to go at all, Sir. I liked working in the house, and my mother was very sad to lose me, and cried a lot, and… Well, I soon enough got to know what it means when free men take a liking to you in that way, Sir. I was trained as a harem slave, and later I was bought by the great master, His Lordship.”

Heislin was oddly touched by the story and felt he should say something comforting. “But he is a great lord isn’t he? You must be proud to be owned by him, and get to serve such a man?”

The boy looked properly shamed and not comforted at all. “Yes, Sir, of course. I apologize, Sir. I- I’m very proud, Sir. I didn’t mean to be ungrateful. But the great master didn’t buy me for himself. I’m not good enough for that. I… get passed around a lot.” There was no mistaking the bitterness in his voice.

Heislin felt bad now at his earlier thoughts, staring at the slave’s pretty face and bared body. Here was yet another thought that had never occurred to him, that the harem slaves might actually not like what they had to do. He’d always assumed they wouldn’t be chosen for such work if they weren’t kind of… inherently lecherous creatures.

Also, this boy had had a mother who had been sad to lose him.

Heislin thought of his own mother. She was a simple illiterate farmer’s wife, boisterous and gossipy. Sometimes – when he’d just started studying with the school teacher, and had slowly come to learn other ways – he’d been ashamed of her. Well, what if he would be forced to leave and never get to see her again?

He felt his eyes water at the mere thought. His warm and kind-hearted mother who loved them all so dearly and never had a harsh word for her sons, ever. His mother who had always worked so hard to keep food on their table, and who was bursting with pride every Sunday when he came walking down to the village to give her of his earnings.

Maybe this boy had loved his mother ever as much, and she’d been as kind and caring. Maybe she had been as proud when her son came down to the kitchens, once again having made their good master happy in his old age and illness.

“Sir? I- I’m Sorry, Sir; I said something wrong again, didn’t I?”

Heislin shook his head, forcing himself out of his sad thoughts. “No, that’s all right, and I’m sorry. You must miss your mother very much.”

“I do, but… It’s the same for all of us, Sir. No one in the harem can see their parents again, if they ever even knew them at all, because that’s…” The boy silenced at Heislin’s consternated look, misinterpreting it. “Sorry, Sir, I’ll be silent now. The handlers always slap me for talking too much. No one is interested in a slave’s babbling, they say.”

Heislin changed the subject again. “What’s your name?” he asked, with a friendly smile, to show that he was not annoyed at the ‘babbling’ at all.

“I’m Aris, Sir.” There was a cautious smile in return.

“And how old are you, Aris?”

“Twenty winters, Sir.”

Only a few years younger than himself then, and not really a boy at all, Heislin noted. “And you came here because you wanted to read a book, like you did when you were a boy and had a happier life?”

The slave nodded. “I’m sorry, Sir. I wouldn’t have broken anything.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t have. Um… How often do you think you could come here?” Heislin was surprised at the words that suddenly jumped out of his mouth. Was it really him saying this? Inviting someone to the library?

The slave shone up like the sun. “I- I…” he stuttered excitingly, “I don’t know, Sir, but- but now and then for sure. I’d try to come as often as I could, and- and, I could be of help, Sir, I could. Whatever you would have me do. Clean and- and make you tea, and… I can do such things, too, Sir. I remember it all from when I worked in the kitchens, I do.”

Heislin grinned at the obvious enthusiasm. “It’s a deal then,” he said.

As Heislin closed the door behind the slave a few minutes later, he couldn’t remember ever having made anyone this happy before, except maybe his mother. It felt rather nice.

Heislin had a period of regret. Why had he told the slave he could come here? It would surely only be very annoying having that thing around, disturbing him, and distracting him with all that… nakedness, and all. Surely, the slave couldn’t really be of any use. He could make his own tea, thank you very much. Why was he so stupid to have risked his peace and quiet, even if it would only be for a few hours now and then?

Oh he knew why. He’d felt sorry for the slave as he’d told his story, but that was stupid, too, wasn’t it? The harem slaves had a relatively good life, after all. If he should feel sorry for a slave, it should be a field worker. Now they had a harsh life.

Heislin put a large stack of books on a desk and blew the dust off the top one, forcing himself to stop thinking of such things. Life was harsh for so many, free and slaves alike. What could a simple farmer, turned a likewise simple librarian, do about such a natural state of things? Nothing, that’s what he could do, not a single bloody thing. He should sort books, not worry about things he was powerless to change anyway.

This, in its turn, didn’t change the fact he’d made a careless promise that he now regretted. The next time the slave came around; Heislin would tell him to go away. He would use the time until then to come up with a good excuse as to why the slave couldn’t visit again.

A few days later the slave… Aris, Heislin corrected himself, was again waiting outside the library entry when he returned from dinner, and he looked so excited that Heislin didn’t have the heart to tell him to go away. With a deep sigh, he let the slave in.

“What can I do for you, Sir,” Aris asked as soon as they stepped over the threshold, smiling like the sun, eager, it seemed, to be of help.

Heislin looked around the hall.

When he’d first started to work here, the library had been in a terrible state. Not having been warmed up in years many books and documents had been destroyed by the damp and mould. Everything had been covered in a thick layer of dust and shelves had come loose from their cases, the books fallen to the floor. Several windows had been broken, too, winds having blown documents all over the hall, birds having built nests under the trusses. At some point in time people had also obviously stopped caring about actually keeping a system, and there had been numerous boxes and piles of books stacked on the floor against the walls – all of it simply thrown in here without any sort of care, no detectable attempt to sort anything.

Heislin had spent the last one and half year trying to save what could be saved.

At his shy and stammered request, His Lordship had sent carpenters to the library to take care of the broken shelves and windows, which had meant a few noisy and stressful weeks. However, with the library finally repaired, he’d been left in peace to turn his attention to the actual books. Heislin had worked out a system for how the books should be sorted, according to their subject matter and the name of their authors, and then he’d started going through them one by one. He’d written a card for each item, cleaned them, repairing them if possible, archiving the ones too damaged to save for later copying, and had found the rest a final place of their own on the shelves.

It was work that was taking an awful long time, partly because he was the only one doing it – and he was being very thorough – and partly because he so often picked up a book with the intent of putting it on a shelf, and then started to read it instead.

Looking at Aris now, Heislin felt very reluctant to let someone help him. He doubted anyone else would be as thorough as he was or that they could judge as well as he could if a book was worth repairing or not. They wouldn’t be familiar with his sorting and card filing systems either. He dreaded to think about what kind of mess a harem slave could cause let loose in here, no matter if he could read or not.

Thinking it over, he supposed Aris couldn’t really do that much damage with a dust rag in his hand though, and so he walked over to the cupboard where he stored his cleaning equipment. The slave followed close on his heels.

“Why don’t you clean all those empty book cases over there,” Heislin said, and gave Aris a rag in his hand, and a bucket with some water left in it.

Aris, his smile not fading for a second, got right to it and Heislin thought he’d never before seen anyone looking so eager to clean something. He sure wasn’t. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad arrangement after all.

Lost in a book, it was as if no time at all had passed until Aris suddenly stood before him again. “Sir? Sorry to disturb you, Sir. What more can I do for you, Sir?”

Heislin looked up, pushing his spectacles up his nose. Aris looked quite… charming, smiling still, his hair tousled and his cheeks reddened from the work. There was a bead of sweat slowly running down his chest…

“What?” Heislin, said, forcefully pushing those thoughts aside. “You’re finished already?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Heislin kept a suspicious eye on the slave as he walked over to the shelves to inspect them. They were indeed very clean. He climbed a stepladder and inspected the top of the cases, too, and again his fingers came away clean as he dragged them along the old wood. Well, he supposed he did always lose track of time when he got immersed in reading something interesting. He looked down, and Aris looked up at him expectantly. Heislin nodded, fully approving of the work done. “Good job, Aris,” he said.

Aris got the expression of a happy dog at the praise, Heislin thought, if dogs grinned like that instead of wagging their tails, that is. He felt, again, bad for the slave. Aris was hoping he’d pleased him enough to be rewarded with being allowed access to the books, he thought. That’s what he’d come for, after all. Heislin could think of other things he wouldn’t mind having cleaned, while he still had the slave at his disposal, but he couldn’t deny Aris that reward. He climbed down from the ladder.

“If you want to,” he said. “You can look for a book to read in any of the boxes over there. They’re not yet sorted, so you can rummage about in them as much as you like, I suppose.”

Aris stared at the boxes as if Heislin was offering him a chest full of gold. “Really, Sir? I can really…?”

“Sure. Why not? Have fun!” Heislin grinned.

A few minutes later they were both immersed in their reading. Heislin had gone back to his desk and continued on the book he’d started on earlier, while the slave had put his naked ass directly onto the flagstones, leaning his back against a big box.

Heislin looked up from the pages now and then to watch him. Wasn’t he cold sitting like that? However, the slave seemed too lost in concentration to notice. He‘d found a very large book of maps, that he rested on his lap, and seemed to be completely fascinated by the richly decorated green and blue drawings. His lips moved as he silently spelled out the names of cities, rivers and mountains and now and then he lifted his hand onto the pages and followed the wriggly lines of roads and borders with a light finger.

It was so peaceful, Heislin thought, reading together. He’d never had a friend to just sit around and read with. Of course, he thought, frowning as he remembered, Aris was not quite a friend, and could never really be. Could he?

In any case, he’d quite forgotten by now that he’d decided to tell the slave not to come back.

During the coming months, Aris turned up often but irregularly. Sometimes he came in the morning, sometimes in the evening, staying an hour here and a few hours there. Often he had to leave in a hurry, his happy expression suddenly turning anxious and worried as he profusely excused himself to Heislin, and fled. Sometimes he turned up several times a week, and then suddenly he would be gone for days, or even a week or more. Sooner or later, though, he would stand in the door again, ever eager to help out in any way he could.

Heislin soon realized there was no risk at all letting the nimble and clever slave loose in the library. Before he knew it, Aris was everywhere, dusting here and cleaning there, making him tea, and finding him his spectacles as he for the millionth time forgot where he’d put them. Aris was constantly behind him to pick up the things he dropped, too, and quickly darted half way across the hall to pull boxes out of the way in the last minute, as Heislin was about to fall over them, carrying stacks of books so high he couldn’t see where he was going. It was quite remarkable, too, how quickly he learned where the books were supposed to go. Aris had been there for a couple of hours… and suddenly there were fifty new books on the shelf instead of ten.

Rewarding him was so easy, as well. An approving smile from Heislin and a book to read, and he seemed the most content person in the world.

It wasn’t long until Heislin became his teacher as well.

One day, while they sat silently reading, Aris hesitatingly came up to him and carefully asked if Heislin would explain a few things from his book that he didn’t understand. Heislin did, and encouraged by this the slave admitted there were many other things he’d wondered about, as well. He shyly asked Heislin to teach him more.

Heislin had never really enjoyed helping the old school teacher tutoring the children of the village. Most of the little rascals had been much more interested in whispering to each other, than listening to him. They would rather daydream, or shoot seed and pebbles, through a hollow piece of reed, at his neck as soon as he turned his back on them. The little imps had a very good aim, and were always quick enough to hide the reed when he angrily spun around, but could hardly learn their ABCs, Heislin thought, snorting contemptuously at the memory.

The slave was different. Aris understood what a privilege it was to get to learn things. As Heislin showed the slave this and that, and explained things to him, he hung on his every word. It wasn’t only out of gratefulness that Aris listened so attentively, it wasn’t simply the dog’s ears perking up at the sound of a master’s voice. Heislin soon realized how naturally curious the young man was, how eager to know more, how greedily he wanted to feed his hitherto under-stimulated mind.

Aris was interested.

Such a student made teaching enjoyable in a way Heislin had never really thought it could be. He’d always wanted to be left alone with his books and quills, but now he became as eager to share his knowledge as Aris was to receive it.

There was this inner voice at the back of Heislin’s mind that tried to tell him this wasn’t right. He shouldn’t waste time teaching a slave things, which he would never benefit from knowing. Especially a slave that didn’t belong to him. However another, stronger, voice, told him it wasn’t fair, and that it was a waste in itself to keep such a mind from learning. Hadn’t he, a simple farmer’s son, been given the chance to become something that fitted his nature better than what he’d been born into? Then why must Aris be doomed to stay something that clearly didn’t fit him – other than by superficial looks that would soon enough fade – and be denied his true nature? Oh, he knew why. Aris was a slave, and such concerns weren’t wasted on such.

The more time Heislin spent with Aris the less he was inclined to accept this fact.

Voice number one was also telling him he shouldn’t use the slave’s services, at all. That Aris wanted to help out, happily so, didn’t matter in the least. The harem slaves’ service was a privilege, and His Lordship was the one deciding who should have it. They could both be in trouble about this, Heislin understood as much.

The other voice tried to quiet these worries as well. He wasn’t using Aris for sex, after all. The mere thought made Heislin blush. What the slave did here was beside and beyond his appointed purpose, and so, technically, Heislin was really not using something he wasn’t entitled to, was he?

Once, Heislin had asked Aris if he wasn’t taking a risk going to the library, and that he hoped he wasn’t escaping from his usual duties to come here. Aris had sworn he would never disobey his handlers, and that he came only when he wasn’t asked for by anyone, and so would have been left with nothing to do anyway. Heislin chose to believe then the slave knew what he was doing, but they both knew that Aris didn’t exactly ask his handlers’ express permission to go see him either.

Heislin couldn’t silence the worried voice completely, but he got better at ignoring it. Sometimes, he almost managed to forget that his young assistant and student never wore clothes, but had a chain around his waist and a ring around his neck. That he was in fact not a student or assistant at all, but an owned prostitute.

As the weeks passed, Aris and he slowly, but steadily, made the library come together as they worked, studied, talked and read. Heislin ignored the world outside the library, and let himself enjoy the company, enjoy having a friend.

Ignoring the world outside the library walls, though vastly preferable in Heislin’s mind, was not always that easy. He found it even more unbearable now than before to meet with his peers during dinner time, and endure their teasing. Tolerating their rude and lewd talk about the harem slaves, and what they would like to do to them, became increasingly harder, as well. Didn’t they realize it was people they were talking so carelessly about? Thinking about any of them forcing Aris into a bed made him both angry and uneasy, to say the least. He felt sorry for the slave girls, as well, of course he did, but he was secretly relieved that most of the young men seemed more interested in them than the slave boys.

Aris didn’t really let him forget these things either, though through no fault of his own. Heislin never asked Aris what he had to go through when not in the library with him, and Aris didn’t offer any such information on his own accord. However, Aris’ body spoke of the things his mouth wouldn’t, and as attractive and unclothed as he was, how could Heislin not notice?

Heislin couldn’t miss that Aris one day turned up with an upper lip swollen to twice its size with a reddening bruise at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t possible not to see the blackening bruises on his hips either, which came and went, and came again. He never got to know what Aris might have done to earn the welts that sometimes covered his ass and thighs, or why he sometimes seemed to have lost his usual gracefulness and walked stiffly across the floor, though no marks could be seen.

No, Heislin never got to know, but it wasn’t hard to imagine what might have caused these things, and it made him highly uncomfortable and sad. Heislin wished he could help Aris in some way, but he simply couldn’t imagine what he could ever do about it.

He said nothing.