The Tale of Oriel Read Online Free PDF Page A

them. Then he closed his fingers around the coins again, and wrinkled his forehead again, and bade the master farewell. “I am sorry to have troubled you,” he said. He turned, and moved three paces towards another group of huddled boys and their master. Then he turned swiftly around to ask, “I don’t think you would take five coppers for him?” pointing at the dark-haired boy.
    The master barely hesitated before agreeing, and taking the coins, and pushing the boy forward.
    He kept his eyes stony, so the master wouldn’t see his pleasure.
    As he led the boy away he asked, “Do you have a name?”
    â€œCarlo. I wanted you to choose me.”
    He didn’t answer.
    He thought the Damall must be pleased when he returned the silver coin whole, but the man said only, “There’ll be a reason he came so cheap.”

    NO REASON BECAME EVIDENT WHEN they returned to the island. Carlo made no complaint, learned his chores quickly, and performed them without error. Other boys, especially the smaller ones, would spend a sennight weeping and whining; and the Damall would whip their complaints out of them. Carlo never complained. He became a favorite among the littler boys, who vied to work beside him, and eat beside him, and sleep at his side.
    After a few days of this, the Damall called for the whipping box and called Carlo. When Carlo knelt naked and afraid, the Damall said, “I’m a little tired. Would anyone care to do this for me?”
    â€œMe,” Nikol said. “I will. I can.” A few of the other boys asked for the favor.
    He stood silent as stone. He thought, when he was the seventh Damall, there might be no whippings ever again.
    â€œHere, you.” He was the one to whom the Damall held out the whip.
    He thought, he might decline to take it. But even as that thought was in his mind his hand reached out for the wooden handle. He knew it would be dangerous to refuse. If he couldn’t wield the whip, to win order on the island, then it might be thought that he wasn’t worthy to be Damall.
    He had no desire to whip Carlo, who besides had given no reason to be whipped. “How many?” he asked, each word like a stone rolled from his mouth.
    â€œYou decide,” the Damall answered.
    Nikol watched, the firelight making his face red.
    He raised the whip and brought it down once, twice, not hard, not gentle, and then a final third time.
    Carlo cringed at the strokes, but made no sound.
    â€œThat’s enough,” he said, holding the whip now in two hands. He had shown that he could do it. He asked no more of himself.
    Carlo stood up, left the whipping box, and put his clothes on.
    â€œNow it’s Nikol’s turn,” the Damall said.
    â€œMe?” Nikol asked. “Turn for what?”
    â€œI saw your face,” the Damall said. “I know your mind. Do you think to defy my will?”
    â€œNo,” Nikol said. His face was pale now. “How many strokes?”
    â€œLet him decide,” the Damall said, and smiled.
    â€œYou don’t dare,” Nikol said to him.
    He would dare.
    â€œI’ll get you back,” Nikol said.
    â€œStrip,” the Damall said to Nikol. “Kneel.”
    Naked, kneeling, Nikol shivered, on his skinny arms and legs.
    He thought he would do one stroke, and get it over with, because Nikol’s fear made him feel ill in his stomach, and the whipping made him feel ill. Even though he knew he had to, if the Damall told him to. If he was to be the seventh Damall, he must. He raised his arm and brought the whip down, not gentle, not hard.
    Nikol whimpered.
    He felt like laughing at Nikol, whimpering now when just before Nikol had been telling him he wouldn’t dare. He felt like bringing the whip down again, and harder, to see if he could make Nikol cry and beg for it to stop. Thinking of the whip, and Nikol weeping and begging, his stomach tightened, and his loins. He brought the whip