The Unfortunate Son by Constance Leeds

Then bring him to my room. And keep Cat away from my songbirds. I don’t want to see that infernal creature, Bes. Ever.”
    “Yes, master,” said Bes, who waited until the old man was gone before he kicked Luc once, grabbed him by the sleeve, and dragged him to the kitchen. It was a high square room, separated from the house by another courtyard, where there was a garden of vegetables and herbs and a large cistern to collect the rare rainwater. A wide hearth with a large chimney took up one corner of the kitchen. The deep shelves that lined the walls were crowded with baskets, bright copper pans, heavy earthen pots, and red and yellow glazed jars. Bes pushed Luc down on the stone floor near the hearth. He tore off a large hunk of bread and tossed it to the boy. He poured milk into a small bowl that he set down in front of the white-and-ginger cat. Then he poured Luc a cup of water and handed him three olives. The bread was fresh and smelled yeasty and clean, and the water was sweet. Luc gobbled and gulped. For the first time in weeks, he was washed and fed. He closed his eyes for a moment and savored his relief. Bes squattedwith his arms wrapped about his knees, and watched the boy. He threw Luc another big hunk of bread. Luc finished and waited for more, but Bes winked and gestured for him to follow. They passed through the central courtyard to a double-wide doorway.
    Inside the large room, thick, colorful woven rugs covered the tile floor. The old man sat in a carved chair behind a long table strewn with jars and cloth packets tied in string, instruments and tools. On the floor behind his chair were high stacks of parchments and piles of leather-bound books. The old man beckoned Luc around the table; Bes shoved Luc from behind. The old man pursed his lips and shook his head at Bes.
    “Leave us, Bes. Go find shoes for the boy. And a cap.”
    “A cap?” asked the little man.
    The old man nodded. “And halvah for yourself. Maybe that will sweeten you, for a moment.”
    Bes bowed and smiled. “Am I not sweet enough for you, sir?”
    “No, you are not, Bes.”
    Bes backed out of the room, quickly turned and, with a skip, was gone.
    The old man motioned to Luc to come closer. He examined the boy from head to toe. Gently he prodded Luc’s scalp where the ear should have been and checked the other ear. He examined the boy’s eyes and his teeth, and he felt his neck and checked his spine. The old man dabbed ointmentwherever Luc had welts and insect bites, and he bandaged the sores where the shackles had rubbed off his skin. Then the old man fastened thin steel bands around the boy’s ankles.
    “These show you are mine. They will protect you.”
    Luc blinked and stared at the man. He was confused by the gentleness and care. He looked down at the metal bands. Though he understood nothing of the man’s language, he understood that the rings showed he was a slave, that they demonstrated that, despite the kindness, Luc was now the property of this stranger. The boy felt dizzy and swayed.
    The old man pointed to a cushion on the floor and motioned to Luc to sit. He began to speak. His words continued to be meaningless until, suddenly, Luc understood. For the first time in five weeks, he heard words that he knew, and he put his hand to his mouth.
    “Ah!” said the old man. “You understand?”
    Luc nodded. And then he wept.
    The old man twirled his beard and waited, tapping his fingers on the table. Luc sucked in a few breaths of air, wiped his nose on his sleeve, and was quiet.
    “This is the language I learned in the city of Marseille. I thought I would find your tongue. I have spent many years in different foreign lands.”
    The old man pointed to the table and his chair.
    “I have even learned to sit like a European, one of their few admirable habits. Now, I know you are not deaf, boy. You can speak. Yes?”
    Luc nodded.
    “You have survived the worst. Tell me one thing about yourself. Anything.”
    “My name is