Chapter 8

If Inanna possessed just a bit more historical knowledge than the average person, her expression wouldn’t seem so perplexing, nor would it be mistaken for disrespect. In truth, her grasp of history was only at an ordinary level.

This was hardly her fault. The Kingdom of Bytido had only been recorded in history books within the last century, having lain dormant and unnoticed among the ruins of Anatolia for centuries before that. Had one asked the most renowned historians in 1870 who the Bytido people were, they would have been able to infer only from vague references in the Old Testament that they were an insignificant Canaanite tribe living in the region of Palestine.

“Your Highness, the Prince,” one might say, “you could claim to be the Vice President of the Republic of Turkey, the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, or even the Crown Prince of the Byzantine Empire.” But to assert that you are the Prince of Bytido, bearing the singular title of ‘Tuhukonti,’ the sole heir and glory of that kingdom—such a claim would truly baffle any modern mind.

Though Prince Izmi was not an arrogant man, he had been regarded since childhood, alongside Manphis across the Great Green Sea, as one of the two most outstanding heirs to thrones of his time.

The only blemish was that Manphis had already ascended to power, while Prince Izmi remained in a position second only to one, ruling over thousands. Yet there was no doubt that he harbored no disrespect whatsoever toward his father, the king.

He disliked the flattery that came from all quarters, but he was equally unwilling to play the role of history teacher before a face so ignorant it bred displeasure.

Inanna sensed the shift in atmosphere and lay motionless on the ground, too fearful to move. Had she known what awaited her the next day, she might have dutifully kissed the ring on the prince’s finger, as devout worshipers do before the Pope of the Vatican.

The prince said nothing but summoned someone to extinguish the pine resin lamp. Under the full moon high above, the camp fell into complete silence save for the patrolling night guards.

Inanna slowed her breathing. Bound so tightly she could not move, she lay on her side with her ear pressed against the carpet, feeling the vibrations from outside.

The guards patrolled in pairs. Though she could not discern how many groups there were, the camp was small enough that footsteps circled back every half minute or so. Inanna’s hand could reach the bundle; if she were clever, she might retrieve a small knife from it—but she chose to wait.

Throughout the night’s upheaval directed at Inanna, the prince never intervened directly—his subordinates handled everything. Yet she could see from his calm, commanding demeanor that he was undoubtedly the expert among them.

Outside the tent, the camp was heavily encircled, and the terrain was unfavorable for a midnight escape. Since they had neither killed her outright nor left her bound without purpose, it was clear they intended to wait until she was fattened like a sow before taking action. Inanna felt she had time and decided to observe and plan accordingly.

But amidst this all-male entourage, Inanna instinctively worried about matters only a woman would. Yet, given the prince’s tacit allowance of her tearing her clothes to bind her body, perhaps this nobleman was more generous and civilized than she had imagined.

After all, the surrounding trees were centuries old and towering; even if she wanted to tear cloth strips to hang herself, she could not reach high enough.

The night in the deep mountains was terrifyingly silent and dark, and though city dwellers would initially find it difficult to sleep, Inanna was exhausted from days of travel. Her head rested on an incredibly soft, fluffy woolen carpet, and her nerves and muscles gradually relaxed until she softly began to snore.

Outside, Luka, lying on the ground wrapped in a blanket, sighed in relief upon hearing the female slave fall asleep, though he cursed inwardly at the lowborn woman’s snoring, worried it might disturb the prince.

The night flew by quickly. Inanna dreamed someone was pushing her; she tried to open her hand but felt a foot instead. Startled, she sat up and saw Luka looking at her with disgust.

She decided not to argue, for she noticed her bonds had been loosened; if not, her entire body would have been numb from being tied all night.

Rubbing her aching wrists, she was kicked again by Luka. Looking up, she saw the prince fully dressed, sitting at the bedside, barefoot on the carpet. His feet were strong and slender, so pristine that even the white wool seemed tarnished by them. Luka cleared his throat, and Inanna spotted a pair of odd leather shoes with high pointed toes at the foot of the bed.

Muttering to herself as if she were working at a bathhouse, Inanna hobbled over to place the shoes beside the prince’s feet, Luka closely following.

She expected Luka to take over but was surprised when he didn’t. Hoping the prince would act was futile. Thinking of the fiery wound on her lower back, she lowered her head, gritted her teeth, and gently supported the prince’s foot as she slipped it into the shoe, quickly tying the laces before sitting quietly to the side.

She knew well that the prince, inscrutable as he was, was testing not her service but her attitude.

Seizing the moment when the prince and Luka left, Inanna quickly wiped her hands on the carpet with force.

The sun had fully risen over the mountain peak. The grand tent was dismantled and lashed onto the camels’ backs; the camp was cleared without a trace of occupation. Inanna sat on a rock, swallowing her last bite of white flatbread, then, after swallowing her saliva, she took her small bundle and walked forward under Luka’s intimidating gaze.

Luka led his camel, holding a rope to tie Inanna, but she smiled ingratiatingly and raised her bundle. Before he could speak, she quickly stuffed it into the pile of luggage hanging on the camel.

Luka took a deep breath twice before refraining from yelling at the pushy female slave so early in the morning. Yet when he tied her wrists, he had used considerable force. Inanna bore it silently until Luka climbed onto his camel, then sensed something was amiss.

Upon seeing Inanna’s suddenly sullen expression, Luka tied the other end of the rope to the camel and proudly urged it forward.

Though Inanna had applied the most effective method to stop the bleeding and bandaged her wound, without medicine or the ability to lie down and rest, being tied behind the camel and jostled along caused her wound to rupture, blood seeping through the coarse cloth bandage.

Before the sun rose over the plain, Inanna was drenched in sweat. The white, coarse linen stained dark across her chest and back. With her hands bound, she could barely raise her wrists to wipe her sweat. If she lagged behind the camel’s pace, she risked being dragged on the ground, where sharp stones could end her life.

Her knees and elbows, supporting her weight to prevent falling, were already raw and bleeding. The sweat made the pain burn fiercely.

At last, when the sun blazed overhead, the caravan rested in a shaded area near a water source. Luka remembered to check on her and, unsurprisingly, found a bloody figure.

Because he heard no familiar cries of begging, he had completely forgotten the female slave. The others frowned at the sight; if she died unobserved, dragging a corpse along would bring misfortune.

General Hazas called Luka over, admonishing him to watch her carefully. Though the prince cared little for a slave’s life, mere curiosity demanded that his men tend to such a lowly creature under his watch.

Embarrassed, the youth scratched his head, took some bread and water, and untied Inanna’s hands, urging her to eat quickly.

Yet Inanna sat weakly beneath a tree, licking her cracked lips without meeting Luka’s gaze.

Luka was furious. Acting under General Hazas’s orders, he had planned to let her eat, wash, and then ride the camel for the remainder of the journey. She could be rebellious, ignore him, but a slave who defied discipline threatened the prince’s safety.

If she could not serve the prince wholeheartedly, Luka was prepared to eliminate her himself, regardless of the prince’s judgment.

Losing patience, he threw the bread and water before her. Seeing no response, he suddenly pressed her face down into the bread, grinding it repeatedly. “Eat or don’t—you’ll never eat again if you refuse.”

Others in the group turned to watch the spectacle. Luka felt his authority slipping and feared he would fail to repay the prince’s kindness.

The bread soon wore thin, and Inanna’s head was slammed against a stone. Dehydrated, starving, and battered, she even thought that dying this way might be a release. Her hunger strike was a desperate protest, trying not to perish during the next leg of the journey. But if she ate and regained strength, she would lose any chance of mercy.

General Hazas shook his head and stepped forward to stop Luka. Pointing at the gasping Inanna on the ground, he said, “Luka, since you’ve followed the prince, your martial skills have improved, but when will you learn to use your brain?”

He mused that Inanna was somewhat skilled, well-mannered, and clearly unfortunate to have fallen into slavery. For such a person, Luka’s crude methods would never succeed; the proudest spirits must have their bones broken, feel the pain to the marrow—that is how you find their weakness.

“Luka, hitting her won’t make her eat,” General Hazas said, nodding toward the panting Inanna. “If she won’t eat plain bread, let her eat something tastier.”