Bronze Summer Read Online Free PDF Page A

shrugged and passed the pouch to the fellow behind him. One or two of the prisoners looked on longingly. The soldier looked Qirum up and down as they walked by the column. ‘What are you, a sailor? I can tell by the stink of salt under the woman’s perfume you’re wearing.’
    ‘We’re traders. A bit of this, a bit of that – you know. Who are this lot?’
    ‘Arzawans. Always a troublesome bunch. This action should keep them quiet for a while. We’ll sell some to the slavers from Egypt and Assyria. The rest are going to be used to rebuild some city up in the north.’
    That, Qirum knew, was the way of the Hattusa kings – to move whole captive populations around the country, to sell them on, or recruit them into the armies, or use them in the fields, or to repopulate empty cities or countries. The strategy of an empire always short of manpower.
    The soldier eyed Qirum. ‘As for you, I can guess what you’re sniffing around.’
    ‘Just one of these beauties in the robes,’ Praxo said in his own rough Hatti, and he licked his lips. ‘One for me and my buddy to share.’
    The soldier looked faintly disgusted. ‘Not this lot. Temple maidens. Or court servants. Something like that. Should fetch a high price.’
    Qirum grinned easily. ‘Your sergeant will get the profit, not you. You’ve come all this way, you’re at the gates of Troy itself, the city of traders. Why not make it worth your while? I know it’s against the rules. But look along the line.’ The soldier turned his head. All along the column the traders from Troy were doing bits of business with the soldiers. ‘Everybody’s at it. Nobody’s watching. Nobody’s going to miss one .’
    ‘These girls are special. They’ll have been counted.’
    ‘Then say she fell to a scorpion bite in the night. Oh, come on.’ Qirum dug into Praxo’s pouch and dug out a broken silver necklace. ‘Look at that. Egyptian. Made for the wife of a pharaoh.’ In fact, that was true. ‘You and your pal could have a fine night in Troy for that. Believe me, it’s not a pricey town.’
    The soldier’s comrade saw the necklace, and murmured something.
    The soldier laughed. ‘All right. Just get her out of here quick before the officers notice.’
    Qirum handed over the silver chain.
    The soldier reached back for the girl with the bag over her head, grabbed the bonds of thick rope that tied her wrists together, and pulled her away from the others. One of her companions called out. Maybe this was a sister, Qirum thought, or a friend, about to lose a companion she would never see again, but the soldier glared, and she shrank back. Praxo grabbed the girl’s bound wrists in one huge fist, and squeezed her rump with the other hand. The girl stumbled, instinctively trying to pull away. She turned her bagged head fitfully, this way and that.
    Qirum frowned. He had caught a whiff of corruption. ‘There’s something wrong.’ He had been sold sick slaves and whores before, or insane ones; you had to be careful.
    ‘Yes. There is something wrong with her.’ The voice, speaking Nesili, was commanding, clear – and a woman’s.
    Qirum turned. It was the older woman who had been walking behind the girls, her hands tied as theirs were. Now she shook back her hood to reveal a face of fine command, despite streaks of dirt and blood and a shaven scalp. Like an eagle, Qirum immediately thought. A downed eagle.
    The soldier who had spoken to Qirum strode over and aimed a punch at her.
    Qirum called impulsively, ‘No. Let her speak.’
    Praxo was holding the girl by her wrists at arm’s length. ‘What’s wrong with this one?’
    ‘See for yourself,’ the woman said. ‘Pull back that bag.’
    The soldiers looked at each other, and shrugged.
    Praxo pulled the bag from the girl’s head. Flies swarmed out, buzzing, and Praxo flinched, gagging.
    Qirum put his fingers under the girl’s chin and raised her face. Her eye sockets were pits of black corruption; he saw maggots