Bound & Bound – the Curse and the Captives – - 12. Chapter 12: Complex Feelings

Chapter 12: Complex Feelings

Two lit wicks of rush fibres sputtered a sooty and dancing light onto the ceiling of the slaves' cell. The small saucer of rough earthenware contained a murky pool of bear fat – refuse from the kitchen because it had gone rancid. By rights, the chill of the cell should have turned the fuel solid and white, but the close proximity of the flames kept it warm and fluid.

In the same efforts of effective heat utilization, the two Turks had collected scrap wood and built themselves a bed. It elevated them off the floor, and boxed in a mattress stuffed firm with straw. Contented with their labour, the men sat on top of it, side by side, and each shouldered their respective horse blanket for warmth.

The lamp was on the edge of the headboard and its slow hissing flicker of illumination added to the drowsiness of the men as they chatted. Their tones were low and mellow because the day was winding down, and their tired brains and bodies were getting ready for an all-restoring sleep.

Ahmed pulled his blanket tighter under his chin with a shudder. "It's getting colder and colder at night, dervish."

The professional soldier watched Junayd cast his eyes upwards. He followed them and saw the younger man was glancing at the barred opening near the top of their subterranean vaulted space. The dervish suddenly turned a radiant smile on him. "We're the lucky ones, Kapikulu. Our chamber is mostly underground, so the temperature stays even and warmer than the lord's state apartments higher up in the castle."

"But, his 'lordship' has a fire, and we do not."

"Perhaps, but we still have a better room than he has."

Ahmed was slightly amazed. His companion really did think of the true conditions of situations. Maybe that was part of his spiritual 'blessing.'

The soldier joked with a slowly building chuckle, "All right, holy man. Let's me and you try to see if we can convince his lordship to trade quarters with us."

Junayd's eyes scanned Ahmed's face. The older man was struck by how grounded they were in the sputtering lamp light. Junayd was fully open to him in the way in which the cautious Ahmed never allowed himself to be.

"If anyone could, Ahmed, you can. I've taught you good enough Hungarian to talk the shirt off almost anyone's back!"

The soldier laughed. "You may teach well, dervish – but I learn better! Anyway, I've been thinking…" Ahmed wondered why he suddenly felt shy. He hoped Junayd could not perceive the flush of heat rising from his chest up to his ears. "We should conserve our body heat."

"How?"

"We can layer our blankets together." He suddenly pulled out his hands and spread one flattened palm over the top of the other. "Like this. That way, we'll have double the protection from the damp and chill."

A sneering smile crept across Junayd's lips. "Then we'll have to sleep side by side."

"So?"

"So…what happened to your 'stay away from me?'"

"I'm cold," Ahmed said flatly. "And whatever, I trust you will keep your dirty, well-digging paws to yourself while I sleep."

Junayd laughed. "You're in no danger."

Ahmed was surprised to feel a momentary sting to his self-image, but he let it pass. Instead, he tried to lighten the mood with a conversational tone. As he put his own 'well-digging paws' under his blanket, and under his chin again, he asked, "Tell me, dervish, what is your family like?"

"My family..?"

The older man watched Junayd's expression sink into a malaise. "Yes, tell me, and I will tell you about mine."

"My father," Junayd sighed. "Is a drunkard, and gambler and a beater of my mother. My older brother ran away when I was eight and he was twelve. I do not know what happened to him. My sister was married off to one of my father's gambling associates to clear a debt he owed."

"How old was she?"

"Fourteen. I'm the youngest."

"And how did you get involved with the Mevlevi dervishes?"

"Being at the mosque was about the only safe place I could be away from my father. My mother encouraged it, and when I became a young man, I began to be initiated into the teaching of our sect founder."

"You mean, Rumi?"

"Yes, Rumi – and the Lord."

Ahmed half-chuckled, "Of course, the Lord too. So, how did your father force you to join the army?"

"Another gambling debt, only this time it was to the local magistrate. He and my father convinced the impressment official to pay cash and draft me into the military. The magistrate sent the local law keeper to the mosque and arrested me. The next morning, I was handed over to the army not as a free man, but as debt-owing servant to the Sultan. They told me that if I lived twenty years in his service, then I will have repaid the money 'I owed him.'"

Ahmed, professional soldier, bit his lower lip. He gazed at the lamp light shadows for a moment, and meant it when he said, "Your own father sold you into slavery; I'm sorry that happened to you." He sighed and cast a sad glance at his bedfellow. "I wanted to join and fight infidels, but no one should be forced to do it if they have other ambitions."

"In legal terms, I was listed as 'servant' to the Sultan, but yes, it amounted to forced bondage. But what about you, Kapikulu? Tell me of your family."

"Four boys! I have two older brothers, both married and retired from the military now with families, and one younger brother, who last I heard, was fighting Persians on the eastern frontier."

"So, you were all raised to be warriors?"

"Yes. Our father ran a school where he taught sword training, combat strategy, hand-to-hand fighting – all of it."

"It sounds like you and your brothers did not have a choice in your careers either."

"It was not like that. Our father is a decent man; he always said the school was his profession, and that we were his children, not his students. But nevertheless, growing up surrounded by all the other young men having fun, it was only natural that his boys should join the training as soon as we could stand up for ourselves."

Junayd adjusted his blanket and pulled his knees up to his chest. "That makes sense." His smile for Ahmed was warm.

Something in Junayd's very warmth made the soldier lash out a bit. "Maybe if you had been taught combat, you could have fought off the magistrate's men who arrested you."

There was hurt in Junayd's voice as he replied, "Yes, I suppose."

Ahmed slapped his own knees in painful rebuke. "Look, I am not a smart man. If I say – when I say – the wrong thing, you tell me to go fuck myself. All right?"

A tiny smile flickered at the edge of one corner of Junayd's mouth. "When you do, I'll tell you. Don’t worry. I can defend myself when I need to."

"Yes, I bet you can. Dervish, let’s talk of happier memories than of our upbringings. Tell me, have you had many lovers? Your little Hungarian boy at the school – the one you nursed – "

"Kapikulu, it's late. I'd rather not discuss things I can do nothing about."

Ahmed scowled a puzzled leer at his compatriot. "Well, I don’t know about you, but I want to relive good times." The draft from the professional soldier's bellowing laugh flickered the light cast from the wicks all around them. "I have broken the hearts of many women and boys in my time. They all beg me to stay with them by the time the morning light cracks."

"But you didn't – you did not stay with any of them?"

"Nah. Why, when there are so many more hearts and rear ends to conquer." Ahmed felt his own eyebrows dance up twice, as he added with a grin, "I am a warrior, remember?"

"So, you have never felt love – been in love?"

"No; you?"

Junayd abashed with a tiny trace of colour and a chuckle, "That's not what I want to discuss – "

Ahmed cut him off. "I don’t care if it was a boy, or if it was a man – or, if it was a woman or girl either." In Ahmed's mind he wasn't entirely sure that was true; maybe he just had a desire for Junayd to feel safe in opening up to him.

The dervish only hugged his knees in silence.

To Junayd's sullen rebuff, Ahmed sighed. "Fine. Aman Allahim! But, so do you mind me talking about sex..?"

Junayd perked up. He rotated so his cheek laid flat against his blanket and kneecaps, and so he could watch the older man's animated face. "Not all at."

"In terms of boy conquests, most of them were when I was a young man and at my father's school. At the academy, the smaller boys looked up to us, and sex was bound to happen. I enjoyed it, and I enjoyed looking after the ones I became attached to."

"So, you've never been with a man?"

"Get fucked!" Ahmed was astounded.

"Either, fuck or take his cock."

"No, I have never submitted." In an instant, Ahmed added for reassurance, "Although I don’t look down on any man who has. To each his own – I don’t care." As the soldier intoned the sentiments this time, he was actually surprised to discover it was how he truly felt.

Junayd said dispassionately, "The world you grew up in was all about swords, flashing steel, and following orders. So do you really believe in equality between various people?"

"The armed forces are structured: from lowliest foot soldier to grandest Vizier we're all servants to the Sultan. But that doesn’t mean I look down upon the man I'm giving orders to, just like I hope my superiors don’t hold me in contempt because I have a lower rank than theirs." He bumped shoulders with Junayd. "Look, my father raised me and my brothers to believe that hierarchy never meant 'better than me,' only that those giving the orders had more information that I did. That's all."

"But that regard doesn't hold true for you in terms of women?"

Ahmed was confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean some things coming out of your mouth are harsh about them."

"Dervish, I say this with respect, but fuck you."

The younger man slowly chuckled. "Do you know, Kapikulu, what the Holy Quran has to say about men and women?"

"Not off hand, but somehow I expect I shall soon hear about it."

"Haha – you shall indeed! It says women are not the personal property of men. The Holy Book says it is a husband's duty to satisfy his wife's desires for physical contact, where, when and how she wants them met. Not to do so, says God, is a sin. Holy Writ does not say that women have to do the same for men, and yet we all walk around and act as if it does."

Ahmed knocked Junayd's shoulder. "Well, to me a woman is still a woman, but I can't argue 'theology' with you."

"Anyway," the dervish said through a sly smile. "That's why I think the love borne between equals – men or women – is the only true love. It's the only one close to God's Truth."

Ahmed laughed, "Is that what you really believe?"

"Yes, I do. Men with each other often come to a natural point of fully trusting one another, and if they do not, then they can never explore a physical side of their friendship. Women don’t get that, and sadly, they do not know men within their hearts are kinder to each other than they are to women."

"That's because as men we're only taught to regard women in two ways: either a spotless virgin and saint who only can be fucked to make a man's heir and successor, or a total whore whose bodily lusts make her exploit poor hapless dolts who crave her dank and pay for it with coin, jewels, or other property." The soldier let out a cruel chortle. "Sluts is the reason the world is full of bastards! – At least that what we as men are always told."

"Well, everybody has it wrong. Know why?"

"Nope."

"Because that confusion you just showed is part of the common doubt that equality exists when people form bonds."

"Are you talking about love between men?"

"Not exclusively, but mostly, yes. The scepticism of the world about men really being able to love one another seems particularly strong among our mothers and sisters. It seems women specifically can only judge such relationships based on the way men treat them – so sadly, they can only conceive of love between men in terms of abuse, coercion, rape and the carnal slaking of lust."

"Well, when I was a youth, we boys had none of that." Ahmed felt he was letting his guard down. "Truth is, dervish, that when I was a boy in my father's school, I also freely 'lent' myself to some of the older boys who I most admired and wanted to be like. I feel no shame now at having given them relief by using my hand, or letting them fuck my inner thighs, in fact it gave me great pride then to know they fancied and protected me so lovingly for being their paramour. I think that's why I especially loved it when they wanted to be face to face with me – I could see their feelings, and kisses would come to me as they got closer and closer to climaxing. Later on, as I grew, I too felt great respect and caring for the boys who offered themselves to me in the same manner. I made sure I returned their vow to me with devotion and protection; it seemed all so natural, and innocent too."

"Thank you, Kapikulu."

"For what?"

"For telling me this and for being so honest."

Ahmed chuckled. "Hmmm, maybe someday you will tell me about your background…" He lingered tantalizingly on the last word, but when the dervish did not respond, he quickly added, "But I suppose it can wait."

"Good; I'll tell you, but it won't be tonight."

Ahmed knew Junayd had not intended to hurt him, but he was nevertheless. It's a hard feeling to have made oneself vulnerable and then to not receive reciprocation; it almost seemed to Ahmed like the opposite of the equality that Junayd had just been speaking about. He tried not to be angry, and wound up just plain sad.

Perhaps Junayd sensed this, for Ahmed heard him repeat the opening statement that "Love between equals is the only real love."

The soldier put on a false grin and knocked Junayd's knee in a friendly way. "More Rumi, holy man?"

Junayd took a deep breath, righted himself and leaned back on the headboard. "No, just words from my heart."

"Lots of people like to deny it, but do you think Rumi and Shams had sex?"

"There's no doubt. In the order, part of our initiation ritual is the granting of secret knowledge, among which is where and when Shams and The Master first joined their physical beings here on Earth. But you are right, it's only sceptics and self-serving hypocrites who deny that those two great mystics expressed their love for one another completely."

"Sceptics and hypocrites…who are you talking about?" Ahmed wanted to make sure he understood.

"I'm talking about those who doubt that men make permanent bonds with one another. Those who deny that men did so in the past – even those who wrote volumes of poetry about their love – and deny that men alive today can form equal marriages with one another. These same deniers refuse to consider that their own children and grandchildren will love in exactly the same way they spend so much time dismissing and saying does not exist."

Ahmed chuckled. "Oh. Those people – the blind and stupid."

Junayd laughed outright. "Exactly!"

The soldier thought for a moment, and then said in a rather quick and crude stream, "Rumi was older and more experienced, so does your esoteric knowledge include knowing that Shams bent over to take The Master's dick?"

"We are taught that their love was true in all regards, and equal."

Ahmed felt his brows momentarily furrow. "So, Rumi took the kid's cock too..?"

The dervish laughed at him. "Rumi was in love, so why wouldn’t he?"

Ahmed expression went completely blank. "Oh. I guess I just never thought about it like that."

Ahmed instantly remembered something important. "Did I tell you about the bears?"

"No. The bear pit animals?"

"Yes. The supervisor told me today that we'll have to dig twice as hard in the morning because in the afternoon, the castle will be crawling with people."

"Why's that?"

"Some Romanian boys were caught stealing from the lord's granary. They are going to be tossed into the bear pit for execution by tooth and claw."

"These Huns are savage."

"Lady Gretza has standing orders that any stray dogs in the castle be rounded up and tossed to the bears. It's said she likes to watch them fight for their lives against the ursus."

Ahmed had said this only as an item of general interest, so he was surprised to see how sad this banter apparently made his younger companion. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry, Kapikulu. This line of talk makes me consider that serfs and dogs still have more power than we do, so – "

Ahmed cut him off. "So, perhaps unlike them and death in a bear pit, we are being compelled to dig our own grave..?"

Junayd's attitude brightened. To the soldier's eyes it looked like the younger man suspected he had gone too far, and was making amends with a grin and head toss. "Did I ever tell you about the prophet-saint Khidr?"

"Who?"

"He was a dervish traveling in India. One day he needed to cross a river, but the ferryman refused him passage on his boat. Khidr calmly laid out his prayer rug and prayed. The ferryboat passengers laughed, but just as they shoved off, the dervish followed on his rug. He floated above the water all the way to the other side with the non-believers doing all the work."

"A pretty story, dervish. But why are you telling me this? What am I supposed to understand out of it?"

"It means that one cannot always be in control, but one can still take control of one's self."

A breath escaped Ahmed. "You are an amazing one, Junayd."

"I do have a confession though…"

"What?"

To the soldier's gaze, it looked like what Junayd had to say was difficult to admit. The dervish said in slow and careful tones, "You know how Stefan Karolyi, our supervisor, is always looking at me..?"

Heat instantly rose within Ahmed. "Yes."

"Well, he's indicated that soon I will have to submit to him. He wants to please himself via my mouth, at least that's what he's said."

"And you will do it?"

"Not willingly, but I am a slave. You must not become upset when it happens and make things worse, either for you or for me."

"Is that why you told me?"

"Yes. I must do it to survive."

"We may be slaves, but we are not helpless. You've done right to trust me with this information."

"But, Kapikulu – when and if I do submit to him, will you look upon me differently..?" Ahmed heard the frightened quality of his companion's voice. "You said you don't care, but is that really true?"

The professional soldier was struck to his core. Were his words before a form of deceit, either meant for Junayd or for himself? Did he really care if a man submitted to another..? No, as long as they both wanted it, it was none of his concern. However, Stefan wanted to rape Junayd, and that was completely different; and that was not going to happen.

"Dervish, how can I put this in a way that you will believe..? When I am speaking with you, when I am living and working with you, I feel like a small, mean and petty man. For a person like me, there is only one way to 'look upon you,' and that is with admiration. That won't change."

"I don’t know that I always deserve your respect, but I feel trapped by the supervisor; I don't know what to do." Suddenly Junayd sounded nervous. "You won't tell him, will you?"

"No."

"Then what will you do?"

"Think of ways so you do not have to do what you do not wish to do. I will take care of you, and you are not to ask how. Now, blow out the light."

Junayd hesitated, and to the professional soldier's eyes looked like he wanted to say more, but he did not.

Both men got off of the bed. While Junayd licked his fingertips and pinched out the pair of flames, Ahmed took their two blankets and stacked them together.

In the shadowy dark, the soldier motioned for the dervish to climb into bed. He did, and Ahmed settled night next to him, letting the blankets come to rest over their forms.

Junayd rolled away to face the wall, and Ahmed – with his back to his compatriot – turned to face the bars of their cell.

"Good night, Kapikulu."

"Sweet dreams, dervish. Dream of flying carpets."

Junayd chuckled softly.

In a few minutes, Ahmed heard the young man's breathing regulate off into sleep. In another moment, the soles of the dervish's feet curled up and rested on Ahmed's lower legs.

The professional soldier for his part was a sleepless rage of thoughts, and complex feelings for Junayd. Ahmed wanted to protect the younger man at all costs. The handsome, bright, and kind man – while different from any other person he had ever known, and so difficult to understand sometimes – was Ahmed's family now. He was a warrior, and would not let Stefan Karolyi, or any swine like him, hurt his brother. He would prevent that at all costs.

Ahmed swallowed down his nerve. Slowly, gently, with calculated deliberateness, he rolled over, and kept the blankets hovering over both of them.

Junayd was lightly snoring. Ahmed extended his left arm out flat. In his sleep, Junayd rolled over at this slight persistence of touch. He grunted lightly, and brought his head to rest on Ahmed's chest.

Ahmed relived what Junayd had said. "I am a slave; I must do it to survive." This statement, this confession, had raised unexplained consequences for Ahmed's heart. He was filled with a contemptuous fury that the overseer would try to soil this unlikely but beautiful companion of his.

Junayd's hand came up to settle on the soldier's abdomen. The younger man's snoring became deeper, and the weight of his head seemed to increase in his increasingly relaxed state of slumber.

In Ahmed's mind, first he had to admit to himself that he had grown fond of Junayd, and done so to the point of wanting to shield him from every external danger.

Junayd's palm opened flat and lay on the left side of his chest.

As Ahmed could feel his own heart beating in the form of an echoing vibration coming off of the young man's hand and resounding in the cavity of his chest, a flush of heat rose through his whole body. His pores opened up into a light release of scent as redolent as honey, and the gentle grasp of Junayd's fingers on his chest began to stiffen his cock.

So, what then was the root of this feeling? Was it just the closeness of their forced captivity; the shared nature of their experience?

Ahmed slowly raised his free hand and caressed the top part of Junayd's arm. The young man moved his mouth in his sleep – perhaps dreaming of magic carpets, or of Rumi and Shams alone and in love – and Ahmed thrilled to feel the scratchiness of Junayd's youthful moustache tickle the skin over his heart just on the other side of his linen tunic. The older man crooked his neck slightly and buried his nostrils into the young man's hair. He inhaled Junayd's scent, and his dick flared hard and insistent.

'No,' Ahmed had to admit to himself. 'I do not think of him as my brother.' Then he slowly shut down useless thought altogether; let his eyes close too – close in the almost unbearable headiness of having this incredible young man in his arms, in his mind, and in his melting senses.

Right now, Junayd was the only thing he had in his life that he felt proud of, and that made him swell with the desire to see it safeguarded. The dervish was the only person Ahmed had in his current existence worth fighting for, and he was a soldier after all. So he would fight for him.

While the young man slept, Ahmed enclosed his arms tightly around the boy and tried not to shed a tear; survival meant they must do what they must, but he refused to be helpless when it came to Junayd's safety.