The Kadin by Bertrice Small

wet disgusting kiss; and then, with his foot he knocked her legs from beneath her while he pulled up her skirts. They fell to the ground Straddling her, the Tartar fumbled with his breeches while his other hand held her down by the throat
    Struggling to escape him, she felt herself choking. Suddenly a voice cried, “Hold!” As his grip relaxed, she gasped great gulps of air to clear her head. Her assailant was pulled off her, and she was dragged to her feet before a tall Tartar on a horse.
    “Yesukai, you great fool! Can you not see that this girl is the cause of our good fortune? Behold, the bride!”
    “But Batu, why may I not have her?”
    The hetman dismounted. “Are you a virgin, girl?”
    She did not answer.
    Grabbing her by the hair, he cruelly twisted her face to his. “Are you a virgin?”
    “Yes!”
    “No little games in the mountain before the wedding?”
    “We met for the first time today.”
    “Bring a torch,” shouted the chief.
    It was handed to him. He thrust it toward Marya.
    “By the gods, a real beauty!” Turning to his men, he roared, “Hear me, all of you sons of the Devil. Any man who so much as glances at this girl is dead. She will bring us a fortune in Damascus. What a beauty! And a virgin to boot. Gather up the women and children, you idlers, and pen them in for the night We leave at dawn!”
    The church was the only building left in the village. Marya and the other survivors were herded into it but not before all the little boys were separated from them.
    “Why have they taken the boys?” Marya asked her aunt
    “They will castrate the prettier ones to be sold and trained as eunuchs,” said the woman numbly.
    Shortly afterward, most of the boys reappeared—frightened but unharmed. Three were missing, and their mothers cried out in anguish and tore at their hair as horrifying screams came from outside the church. Moments later, three Tartars entered, carrying the unconscious, disfigured boys to be cared for by the women.
    At dawn, they began the trek to Damascus. The Tartars rode while their captives walked. One of the castrated boys had died in the night
    Marya, now numb with shock, plodded along, speaking to no one. At first her fellow unfortunates had looked to her—their chiefs daughter—as their leader, but now they left her alone. Marya’s aunt walked at her side, glowering fiercely at any Tartar who came too near, bringing her food which she scarcely touched, and warming her with her own body at night.
    As Marya’s plumpness dissolved, Batu became frantic. He saw a fortune slipping through his greedy fingers if the girl died Appropriating a donkey from a farmer, he let her ride so that he might save her strength. Desperately he sought the choicest delicacies—newly ripe peaches, crisply browned doves, wine, and fresh breads—to tempt her. Finally he threatened her aunt with instant death if Marya did not eat She ate, but her young body remained thin and stark. Her lovely hair and bright eyes became dull and lackluster.
    Upon reaching Damascus, Marya showed emotion for the first time since her wedding day, when Batu removed her from the rest of the captives. Sobbing, she had to be forcibly separated from her aunt who along with the rest was sent to one of the city’s open slave markets.
    Leading his prize, Batu headed for a bathhouse, where on his orders Marya was scrubbed, plucked, massaged, creamed, and her hair braided Dressed in new clothes, she followed the Tartar chief to one of the better private slave merchants. But even a scrubbing and fresh clothes could not hide her dismal appearance.
    “No,” said the merchant “Virgin or not I will not buy her.”
    “Listen,” replied Batu, “you should have seen her when we captured her. A plump, silvery-blond pigeon! And look at those eyes! When did you ever see eyes like that? Pure turquoise!”
    “Batu, my friend,” retorted the merchant patiently, “she may have been all you say, but now—no. She is an