Page 16 of Brighter Than Gold

I caught only a glimpse before turning away with a pained look. The man’s cock was crooked and mangled, and a rough scar marked the place where his testicles once were.

“A fucking eunuch!” Lazio laughed.

Embarrassed, Douland re-tied his trousers and somberly walked away.

“That doesn’t mean he won’t hurt her,” Callan argued.

“He won’t,” Lazio scoffed.

“She stays with me at all—”

“YOU DON’T GET TO MAKE THE RULES! YOU FOLLOW THEM!” Lazio’s temper flared and the whole camp turned to watch. He smoothed his short, rough beard in his hand several times. “You’re a soldier, you’re used to taking orders,” he spat.

I protectively tucked myself behind Callan who remained stone-still, looking as though duty and reason were warring inside of him.

“We have an agreement,” Lazio said calmly, patting Callan’s chest. “If you go back on your end, your wife pays the price. You will watch every man here take his turn with her until she is so loose your own cock will slide right out of her.”

His menacing words were abrupt and jarring, and sent a surge of fear coursing through me. Callan trembled with rage, it looked like it took an immeasurable amount of strength to dip his head into a single, surrendering nod.

“Good,” Lazio sneered. He spat on the ground and left us.

I stood frozen with terror, watching the men establish their hierarchy like a pack of wild dogs. I was suddenly just as afraid of Callan, as red-hot ire seemed to be rippling off him.

“I’ll be all right, Lazio will make sure of it,” I whispered keeping my eyes cast downward. “He needs me to be all right so he can use you.” Though my words were harsh, he knew I was right. It was in Lazio’s interest to keep me safe, and Callan knew if he didn’t complete whatever disgusting tasks he needed to tonight, he would be risking my safety.

Lazio’s men erected a few dismal tents and lit a fire as they waited for the sun to set before heading out for the tannery.

We sat on a log by the fire, watching the orange glow grow brighter in the fading daylight.

“Mm—ma’am,” Douland stuttered.

I nervously looked over to him. He held out a small tin cup, piping hot with a sweet-smelling tea. I accepted it, and as if noting my discretion, Douland poured himself a cup from the same small pot and drank it, letting me know it was safe.

“Thank you.” I looked up to Callan, asking his permission, and he gave me a weak nod. The first sip burned my upper lip, but the sweet drink was renewing. I could have sworn I’d never had such a delicious cup of tea. I savoured another sip.

“Would you like some?” I offered Callan quietly.

“No,” he said curtly. “Thank you,” he amended, perhaps remembering who I was to him. I could tell a bitter sense of failure loomed over him. This was not how the short trip was supposed to unfold, and I suppose I pitied him.

“Are you all right?” My words seemed to catch him off guard. He looked down, becoming aware that he had been twisting his leather gloves so tightly in his hands that they were beginning to stretch out. He took a deep breath to regain composure.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked, disregarding my question.

I shrugged. I knew it was cold out, I could see Callan’s breath.

“Ma’am, p-p-please,” Douland stuttered. “F-for you.” He motioned to his own small tent behind us, a wool blanket lay just inside, and another spread over the ground.

“Go on,” Callan urged. “It will keep you out of the wind.”

I rose and walked toward the tent, Callan following behind. I sat inside and Callan draped the green wool blanket over my shoulders.

“Do you trust Douland?” I whispered.

“Yes, I think so. I don’t know how he ended up with these men, but I doubt there is a mean bone in that man’s body.”

“How can you be sure?”

“You learn how to pick up on subtle clues when you’ve been interrogating people for as long as I have.”

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