BooksBarbecue
Back Iron Winter Save as PDF
Chapters (89)
  1. Title page
  2. Contents
  3. Map
  4. ONE
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. TWO
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. THREE
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. 67
  74. 68
  75. 69
  76. FOUR
  77. 70
  78. 71
  79. 72
  80. 73
  81. 74
  82. 75
  83. 76
  84. 77
  85. 78
  86. 79
  87. Afterword
  88. By Stephen Baxter
  89. Copyright

But Anterastilis grabbed her wrists so the bottle fell and spilled on the floor. ‘Show me your hands. Show me!’

It took her only a heartbeat to discover the nail Rina had broken on the wall.

‘Look at that claw! Look at it! How dare you bring that anywhere near my body? And these nails! They are filthy. What have you been doing, woman?’ She peered at Rina’s face, and abruptly grabbed her neck. She was surprisingly strong. Rina resisted for a heartbeat, she couldn’t help it, then suppressed her instincts and yielded. Anterastilis dragged Rina’s face to hers, and sniffed noisily. ‘Wine! I can smell it on your breath. Where does a woman like you get wine from? From whoring – is that it, Northlander?’ She released Rina.

‘Madam, please—’

‘Out.’ Anterastilis began throwing jars at Rina’s head. They were too solid to smash, and rolled noisily to the floor. ‘Out! You will be whipped for this. Wait until my husband hears of it. Flayed! Get out, woman, out!’

Rina fled, in no doubt that Anterastilis meant every word she said.

45

Her punishment was delivered by the head of house: ten strokes of the whip. She had suffered three the time before, delivered by a former soldier who seemed to enjoy punishing non-compliant women. She forced herself not to cry out, not to weep – not to beg.

Later Thuth, the Libyan cook, rubbed in a solution of salt and unguents that she said would help the healing and maybe reduce the scarring, all the while berating Rina for her stupidity in fouling up such an easy job.

She had the evening to recover.

But when she showed up for work with Anterastilis the next day, the head of house sent her away. Instead she was put to menial work, sweeping floors, clearing the courtyard of the debris of yet another dust storm. It was harder than her work for Anterastilis, but not so degrading. And the steady labour might or might not help her back heal.

She slept little, those first nights after the whipping. She had to lie on her front, or try to sleep sitting up. The lack of sleep gave her time to think. You had very little time to think as a servant of the Carthaginians; your workload was heavy, your sleep and rest times short, the patterns of your days chaotic. Now she had time to reflect back on her brief meeting with Alxa, those unimaginably precious moments, worth ten times the whipping she’d suffered as a consequence. And time to puzzle out again exactly why it was Alxa had chosen to contact her mother at just the moment she had.