Free Silk Dreams - Songs of the North 3 by Mia Marlowe

the emperor have many houses like this scattered about his empire?”
    “This doesn't belong to the Bulgar-Slayer,” Erik said in Norse. “There'd be a guard of ten with a decurion in command if it were a residence of the emperor. No, this belongs to the eunuch himself.”
    Valdis never thought of Damian as a landholder. As a eunuch, he was more a glorified servant, albeit one held in high esteem. Now it was clear he was a man of property, wealthy in his own right.
    “You see why noble families geld their spare sons in hopes of preferment,” Erik continued in Norse. “Eunuchs tend to rise high in Byzantine society.”
    “Parents do that to their own sons?” She was astounded. The mutilation still struck her as too bizarre to contemplate. “Do you suppose that’s what happened to Damian?”
    “No,” Erik said. “He's what they call a late-made eunuch. Those that are cut in their early years never develop a beard or have their voices drop. Some grow unnaturally long arms and legs. It's almost as if their bodies don't know what to do with what's become of them. They tend to carry extra flesh and some even grow breasts like a woman.” Erik shook his head. “It's not a life a man would choose willingly.”
    Valdis sensed Erik's revulsion. However ordinary neutered males were in Byzantine society and however highly regarded some came to be, she suspected Erik would die before he was forced to live as less than a man.
    Damian was talking again as they rode three abreast, obviously untroubled by the Norse conversation she had shared with Erik. She was grateful her master didn't seem to realize he'd been discussed so intimately. Valdis rode between the two men, puzzling over which secret vexed her most—Erik's murder of his own brother or the manner in which Damian fell under the castrating knife. She promised herself to discover the truth of each tale before she parted company with these men.
    For she did still intend to shake the dust of Miklagard from her feet somehow. Freedom called to her from the distant mountain peaks, whispered to her on each breeze and sang a siren's song with each blue wave cresting on the distant sea.
    Damian pointed to the villa nestled in the sheltered valley. She could see more details now as they looked down on it from the heights. It was fashioned in the shape of a square with a wide columned portico wrapped around each side. The tip of a cypress stabbed the sky from the open courtyard in the center.
    “Your room is on the east corner, he says,” Erik relayed Damian's message. “It catches the morning light but is spared the afternoon heat.” Erik's brows knit together as he listened to Damian's next words. “Your master says your room is right next to his—not adjoining, but close ... as a mark of his favor and his protection.”
    “Protection?” Valdis asked. Other than workers toiling in the surrounding fields of grain, she didn't see another soul. “What do I need protection from?”
    “From me,” he admitted. “Aristarchus is very pointed about protecting your virtue. He seems to regard all Varangians as rutting beasts who can't be trusted further than he can throw them.”'
    Valdis lifted a brow at him.
    Erik cast a wolfish grin back. “He could be right.”
    She laughed. His rough good humor warmed her. Being with Erik was like being whisked back to the fjords. His speech, his face, his way of looking at life all spoke to her of home. But in some ways he was even more of a safe haven than the fjords had ever been. Erik accepted her unusual malady without a qualm.
    As they neared the villa, a gaggle of servants scurried from the wide carved double doors and formed a line of greeting. Damian dismounted and strode to confer with his head caretaker, leaving Erik to help Valdis to the ground.
    “I can dismount on my own,” she said as he eased her to earth.
    “Maybe I wanted the excuse to span your waist with my hands.” He left his palms on the curve of her waist