Artam woke just before the brink of dawn.
It was a sixthday .
The sky was grey and passionless.
His body, on the other hand, felt as if he'd toiled away at a mine for three days straight.
He breathed deeply. His side should have been hurting with pain, but he felt only a lingering soreness.
The lacerations, wounds, and cuts had been mild with redness. And there was a scab where Julan had torn open the skin of his cheek.
It had been a whole three days, and his body still ached a bit from the beatings.
His head throbbed, though; it seemed he had a headache.
"Wake up!" the crow said, then it cocked its head and cawed.
"Wake up!"
"I'm up!" He said with a groan, rising from the straw bundle he called bed.
The crow didn't seem to hear, it flew and landed on his face.
"Wake up!"
"Tone-deaf squawker!" Artam cursed and tried to hit him, but Vyde flew away and cawed again– its usual weak caw was high-pitched this time.
Artam was positive it laughed.
He slept in a cellar under one of the towers of the castle, the only window was the tiny slit close to the ceiling.
He groaned and tried to get up.
Surprisingly, it was easier than expected. His wounds weren't as bad as he thought too.
Vyde landed on his shoulder,
"Treat." The crow asked.
"No, none for you. Not yet, at least." Artam answered.
The crow shrieked in protest, flapping his wings violently and threatening to take off.
"Alright! After a bath, we'll get something to eat." Artam finally gave in.
Vyde ceased his tantrum and cawed in approval.
Damn bird, Artam thought, then his stomach grumbled.
"Ha!" Artam laughed, "Even my own body betrays me!"
Then he reached for his second chiton under the straw bed. It was a rule in the castle that every slave had a pair of clothes.
Tidiness and cleanliness were expected to be shown in the presence of royalty.
He made his way out of his closeted room, under the servant stairs, and adjacent to Julan's quarters.
Out to the courtyard, he received many stares.
He bit his lip, groping for a face to don.
He felt the face forming. His mannerism changed as if he couldn't give less of a damn.
He made his way to the public bath of the castle.
"Off with you now." Artam shooed the bird and it flew, cawing in annoyance.
Soon he was among other crows, his cousins on the wall cawing excitedly at his arrival.
The public baths were for slaves and servants. But naturally, they divided themselves.
The servants, slaves, and Naldeans.
Artam took off his clothes and stepped into the water feeling his wounds sting when they kissed the water, sending jolts of pain through his body.
"Tch," he hissed.
The others in the baths had noticed him and gave him queer stares.
Artam ignored them, scrubbing the dirt and grime off his body.
Once he was clean, he changed into his other chiton.
The problem of his soiled chiton was solved by washing his clothes in the public fountain that sat alongside the bathing house.
He returned to his cellar and hung the chiton to dry by the window.
He reached under his bed again, where he found half-eaten corn, a biscuit, a piece of cheese, and a small withered brown apple.
There was salt beef as well as bacon he'd filched from the kitchens. He wanted to save them for the morrow, but the grumbling in his stomach made it impossible.
Artam ate his biscuit and cheese while his crow was walking back and forth across his shoulders, muttering, "Corn, corn, corn."
Artam took a bite off the half-eaten corn and offered the rest to the crow, and it did its best to leave no kernel uneaten
He kept the apple for last. It had gone a little soft, but the flesh was still tart and juicy.
The sun was starting to rise, and the bell rang announcing morning prayers in the next quarter hour.
Soon, the Morning prayers were over, and men, women, children, and slaves spilled from the temple.
It didn't take Artam and the rest long to reach the castle manor again.
Artam grimaced, as he remembered there was work to do. He sighed and carried a pail from the storage.
The carrion crows wheeled about the gatehouse in raucous unkindness and quarreled upon the ramparts, screaming and cawing at each other and taking to the air whenever a guard passed.
Sometimes the ravens joined them as well, flapping down from the rookery on wide black wings. When the ravens came the crows would scatter, only to return the moment the larger birds were gone.
When Artam went to the well to draw fresh water for Julan's basin, he had to pass beneath them.
The hunger was still with him, stronger this time. And the aching in his head too.
I should eat again. Maybe I could flinch another bacon, he decided. Food would settle his stomach and clear his head.
The pail was heavy once full. He was turning to bring it back to Julan's quarters when one of the Ravens nearly shat on him.
Damn bird.
The Raven seemed to have found it funny, for it laughed manically. Even one of the crows laughed, but Vyke pecked it on the head violently and it ceased its laughter.
Suddenly Artam remembered the crow dreams.
He said nothing, but he certainly remembered possessing Vyke.
If his nights were full of crows and nightmares, then his days belonged to the bastard.
The bastard's bedchamber was crowded when Artam entered. Wicked Drehyn was in attendance, and Kaloc in his mail shirt and greaves, plus half a dozen stable boys who'd become guards.
Julan lay abed, "… invitation to come to court today. And you shall accompany me."
"Aye, what of your mother? Who's to watch her, milord?" Drehyn asked.
Julan replied flatly, "Mother will handle herself. No need to worry about her."
Artam mixed wood ashes with the water and filled the washbasin.
Then he brought Julan a damp washcloth to wipe down his soft hairless body.
He spotted the mat and the incense burning on the holy table in front of it.
It was normal for nobles to have their prayers in a private part of their room.
As long as you were rich, you could afford it.
Julan smiled at the guards. "It is a fine thing to have so many valiant brothers in such troubled times. I shall call on you as I leave." His smile was dismissal.
The guards made their courtesies and shuffled out, leaving only Artam.
Julan beckoned him closer. "These four days and you're still as up as ever, It seems the Murmer is a resilient one."
Artam felt the mask slip.
He smiled, "Regardless get my breakfast from the kitchens."
Artam walked to the kitchens.
Egghead Lester said nothing as he gave him the bastard's breakfast. Today it was three poached eggs, with manchet bread and soft cheese and frumenty.
Artam tried his damndest not to spit in the food.
He wasn't sure the bastard would notice, but he didn't want to find out either.
Lester brought out a tray of meat pie from the ovens.
"Can I have one?" Artam asked.
The bald man scowled, "None for your dirty hands."
He filched one anyway and ate it on his way out. It was filled with minced meat, chopped nuts, and fruit, with a layer of cheese, all encased in a flaky crust that was still warm from the oven.
He burped when he was done, cleaning his mouth with the back of his hands, and then the mask slipped back on.
He needed to find a name for the mask.
Artam returned to the bastard's room and placed the tray by his bed. Julan walked out naked and grabbed a dry towel before using it to dry the droplets off his olive skin.
He dressed in some fancy velvet and embroidered silken clothes. With black hose pants and a handful of golden rings and accessories.
He wants to look flamboyant, Artam thought.
He shrugged. "Murmer, my fur cloak." Artam brought it to him.
Ah yes, Murmer shall be the name of the slave mask.
"Yes milord," Murmer replied.
"My chambers will be clean and orderly upon my return," he told Artam as he fastened it.
"Yes, milord," Murmer replied a second time.
The mask felt uncomfortable on Artam, but he donned it and played it nonetheless.
Then the bastard was gone.
Artam spent several hours attending to the bastard lord's chambers.
He cleared away the old rushes, spread fresh, fragrant ones, set a new fire in the hearth, changed the linens, fluffed the featherbed, and cleaned out the chamber pots after emptying them down the privy shaft.
He ate the remains of the bastard's breakfast with fervor zeal. His hunger subsided.
Then he took the plates and dropped them off in the kitchen.
Afterward, he gathered a load of soiled clothing for the washerwomen and made small talk with Cara.
Word was the prince's pageboy was down with a fever and the physician had disappeared.
"Hey, are you supposed to be moving around?" Cara asked as Artam was about to leave.
"For the hundredth time, I told you, the wounds aren't as bad as they seem." He replied.
She stared at him for a while then finally shrugged in acceptance.
He returned to the bastard's chambers after eating lunch. Seeing the candles nearly burned down, he replaced them.
Beneath the windows stood a sturdy table where the bastard lord penned his letters. He tidied up the books and arranged the quills, inks, and sealing wax in proper order.
As he finished arranging the last of the quills, the faint creak of the door behind him caught his attention. He straightened, his heart skipping a beat, but it was only one of the maids, bringing a fresh bundle of clothes.
She barely acknowledged his presence, setting the clothes down before slipping out again. The room fell silent once more, save for the occasional crackle of the hearth and the distant murmur of voices from the hall nearby.
He moved to the windows, drawing the heavy curtains closed against the encroaching dusk. The light outside had dimmed, and the first stars were beginning to appear in the darkening sky. The evening bell would ring soon, signaling the end of the day's labors.
The bell rang, and Artam left for evening prayers.
When evening prayers were over, the bastard and his small host had returned near nightfall.
Julan has had his ash bath immediately and changed into a new set of clothes.
He was seated by the hearth reading from a thick leatherbound book.
"Light some candles," he commanded her as he turned a page.
Artam placed the food at his elbow and did as he bid him, filling the room with flickering light and the scent of cloves.
Julan turned a few more pages with his finger, then closed the book and placed it carefully on the sturdy tabletop. He watched the flames dance across the hearth, pale eyes shining with reflected light.
"I will have no further need of you tonight," he said, never looking at him.
"At once milord," Murmer replied. The mask finally slipped.
Artam went, but not to his bed. Not long after he stepped out into the darkness of the yard, Mordine– Julan's mother entered the bastard's quarters.
The wind was gusting, flames swirling off the torches mounted atop the walls. He could hear angry voices coming from a window, mother and son talking and arguing all at once.
But there were pressing matters that needed Artam's attention.
He slipped into the stable house, in one of the empty stables underneath a stack of hay. He pulled out a sack. There was the clanging of swords.
Twenty gladii were hidden inside the sack. Artam hauled the stash and snuck out into the yard. hiding in the shadows of the walls.
Eryk was standing behind the well, arms crossed and head down.
Artam crept up quiet as a shadow, but he opened his eyes all the same. "If you were a thief, I'd have cut you a dozen times over," he said.
"Enough of that. Let's be on our way then." Eryk said as he walked away.
Artam followed closely behind, and Vyde flew and landed on his shoulder.
Tonight, he felt something stirring.