The Surrogate by Ann Somerville Page B

with excitement, licking his lips as he watched the violation of the god’s surrogate. Three more guards took their turn at Jaime, and then Minas took the cane again and slashed it down Jaime’s bleeding hole. Three times he hit him thus, then delivered ten or so blows across Jaime’s buttocks, the same again across his shoulders, each strike horrifyingly loud, Jaime’s screams echoing in the stone chamber.
    Finally, Minas tossed the rod away. He dragged Jaime’s head up again. “Will you learn now? Learn how unimportant you are except to serve Lord Paon? Speak!” He shook Jaime’s head.
    Jaime coughed, then whispered something that sounded like, ‘Seve’. At his word, the god cried out again and renewed his struggles. Minas slammed Jaime’s head down on the table, and then clicked his fingers at his priests. For all his feigned anger, he was still flushed looking, and his expression seemed more smug than anything else. I wondered if he’d come just from watching, the old pervert.
    The priests released Jaime from his bonds, but he didn’t get up—I wondered if he even could. Minas gestured at me. “You, get him out of here.” I was suddenly freed, then I could move to Jaime’s side.
    Jaime’s face was smeary with sweat and tears in equal amounts, and he was shaking. I got my arms around him to help him stand—he groaned piteously as I touched the fresh welts, but he managed to get up, swaying a little. Walking was clearly agony for him and we could only hobble slowly towards the door which the guards opened for me. The door of the bathroom was also opened as I dragged Jaime into it, and then we were alone.
    He collapsed almost immediately. I tried to get him over to the bath, but he just couldn’t—or wouldn’t—move. I gave up and fetched a wet cloth. He jerked away as I tried to wipe his face. “Jaime, let me help you. Please. You’re bleeding, and we need to get back to the rooms.”
    He shook his head, and used my shoulder to help himself stand. “Clo’s” he slurred, as he stood there, swaying like a sapling in the wind. I’d have only had to tap him and he’d have fallen over again, I knew.
    I handed him the cloth and hoped he would wipe a little of the marks of his torture from him while I dressed quickly and brought his clothes over to him. Despite his stubbornness, I had to help him dress—blood began to seep onto his trousers immediately. I pulled his cloak around him and then put my arm under his. “Lean on me. I think I know the way now.”
    He really could hardly walk at all, although whether it was the pain in his beaten feet or from his torn anus, I didn’t know. I managed fairly well, although he had to correct my direction once. It was the only sign he was paying any attention to our movements at all. The stairs were very cruel to him, and he had to stop more than once and get his breath back, the pain was so bad. “Just a little further,” I murmured to encourage him. “Come on, you’ll be safe soon.”
    He lifted his head and sneered at me out of his tear-streaked, miserable face. “Safe,” he whispered and the sarcasm was obvious.
    “ Come on,” I said, ignoring the bitterness. He had every right to it, I knew.
    I was more or less carrying him by the time we got back to his rooms and he made no more movement than a sack of wheat would have done when I laid him on the bed. He didn’t protest when I removed his bloodied clothes—I knew then he was probably close to unconsciousness. I fetched several wet towels, laying the cold material against his shoulders and thighs, wrapping more around his poor damaged hands and feet. I wiped his buttocks clear of blood, although he continued to bleed, then used the soothing ointment which I had not yet needed because he was always so gentle. He made no sound, didn’t try to stop me even though this was the first time I had ever touched him in this intimate fashion. I knew he must hate that I was, but I had to try and ease his