The backbreaking work continued day after day. Lethervale delighted in making Arthur serve him meals. Boar took any excuse to cane or beat him. Before long, Arthur had to call everyone master.
They never let him around weapons or near the gates. Not that it would have mattered. His leg never healed. All he could do was limp.
Boar had done his job very well.
"Slave!" Boar snapped.
Arthur dropped the scrub brush he was cleaning the floor with and sat up slowly. He didn't have the energy to do anything faster than very slow. "Yes, master?"
"The king demands luncheon."
Arthur stood up and trudged out. He followed Boar to the kitchens and grabbed a fully laden tray of beef pot roast. The beef roast made his head spin. Although his mouth watered, he couldn't remember what a beef roast tasted like.
His steps weaved as he made his way through the hallways. He barely entered the hall upright. He was so close. He just needed to put this tray down on the table.
His legs buckled. The tray flew out of his hands, clattering on the floor. The beef roast rolled onto the stone.
"You clumsy fool!" Lethervale stormed forward. "You imbecile!" He grabbed Arthur's hair and wrenched his head up. "You can't have the food for yourself so you made sure no one could eat it, is that it?" He smacked Arthur.
Arthur shook his head. "I'm just…tired." Weak.
Lethervale grabbed the beef roast and shoved it in Arthur's face. "Do you want this? Is this what you want?"
Arthur's arms trembled. Before, he wouldn't have dared to eat food that fell on the floor. Saliva pooled in his mouth. He would devour that beef roast if he could. But he was so tired of being beaten.
"Then eat it! Eat it!" Lethervale grabbed Arthur's hair and shoved his head down to the beef roast.
Arthur cringed away. This had to be a trick. Lethervale wouldn't just let him eat the beef. "I don't understand."
"You wanted the beef? Now you get to eat it! The whole thing, slave," Lethervale said.
Arthur frowned. Lethervale was dead serious. Perhaps he thought eating off the floor would be shameful for Arthur. But Arthur needed no further invitation. Even if he was beaten afterwards, at least he would be full. He seized the beef roast and devoured as much as he could until his stomach was full for the first time in a while. A little over half of the beef roast was left. He set it down, sighing.
"Don't stop," Lethervale said. "You're not done." He pulled a whip off his belt and snapped it against Arthur's back. "Finish it."
Arthur flinched, pain radiating through his back where the whip had hit against wounds from a fresh caning. Perhaps he could eat a bit more. He bit into the tough hunk of meat. It wasn't as appetizing as it had been before. He kept eating until his stomach pressed against the floor, far too full. About a quarter of the roast was left.
"Finish it," Lethervale ordered. He whipped Arthur.
Arthur shook his head. "I can't." He would throw up.
Lethervale knelt down next to Arthur. He pressed the whip handle under his chin and forced his head up. "I could lure your father here with you in my grasp. I'd rather not, but if you force my hand, I will. Perhaps I could make him an obedient slave where you are not."
Arthur shuddered. His father was his last hope. If he lost that… "I'll throw up."
"I didn't command you to keep the food down, I commanded you to eat," Lethervale said.
So that was it. Lethervale believed Arthur sabotaged the beef because he wanted it, and so he would get it—all of it. He dug into the beef, each bite congealing in his stomach. He downed the last bite, then rested his forehead against the cool stone floor.
His stomach heaved. He vomited onto the floor, his throat burning. His sides ached with the force of the heaving. Unbidden tears sprang to his eyes.
"Get him up," Lethervale snapped.
Boar hauled Arthur up by his collar and held him steady as Lethervale lashed him. Strength gone, Arthur cried out as the leather bit into his back. Pain consumed him.
Finally, Boar released him.
"Go retrieve more food," Lethervale said. "And, Boar? Perhaps some chains will better teach the slave his place?"
Boar bowed. "Your will be done, my lord." He snapped his fingers. "Come on, slave."
Blood trailing down his back, Arthur followed.
Arthur trudged into the hall with another laden tray, his manacles and fetters clanking with every step. The mess he had made was already cleaned up. He slid the tray onto the table, then grabbed the wine pitcher from the accompanying female servant and filled the hateful king's cup.
"Very good, slave," Lethervale said. "It seems you can do a good job when you set your mind to it after all."
Arthur hated how his shoulders straightened at the rare non-deprecating words. He shuffled to the left of Lethervale's chair.
"Not like that." Lethervale snapped his fingers. "On your knees."
Arthur hung his head. He sank to his knees, his manacle chains clattering against the metal pitcher. Father, you have to hurry. I can't take this much longer.
Instead of dragging Arthur back to the floor he was scrubbing, Boar took Arthur to the courtyard.
"The carthorses are not feeling well at the moment," Boar said. "Yet we have many cartfuls of supplies that need moving. Good luck we have you to fill in, eh?" He clapped Arthur on the shoulder.
Arthur stumbled. Good luck, his foot. It was unlikely that the horses were actually unwell. But he followed Boar to a closed back gate, were about a dozen heavily laden carts stood without a beast of burden to carry them forward. Gerald stood near the wagons, a harness clearly made for a human in his hands.
Great. The man had lived. He would not look kindly on Arthur for stabbing him in the stomach.
"Come here, little slave." Gerald grinned.
"Haul these over to the kitchens if you know what's good for you," Boar said as he strolled away.
"Yes, master." Arthur stood still as Gerald strapped him into the harness. Warm blood ran down his back. The straps dug into the welts and cuts from his beatings.
Gerald chuckled as he strapped the harness to the cart. "Good luck, little slave." He pulled a whip off his belt. "Better do good work."
Trembles took over Arthur's body, all his weaknesses clamoring for attention. He couldn't take another beating, he just couldn't.
He stepped forward, straining against the weight of the cart. The harness straps cut into his shoulders and ribs. An image of his father standing on the cobblestones flashed before him. If Uther could see him now, he would be so disappointed at how far Arthur had fallen.
Gerald snapped the whip. "Get going!"
Arthur arched his back, choking back a cry. He pulled as hard as he could. The cart lurched forward. With the momentum rolling, Arthur was able, with shaking steps, to pull the cart over to the kitchen.
"Oh, you've got a new beast of burden!" the cook said. "Boys! Get the supplies! There's a lot more where that came from."
Gerald patted Arthur on the head. "Good slave. You make a good beast."
Arthur stood, tethered to the cart, one tear slipping down his cheek. He didn't bother to wipe it away.
When Arther was dragged back down to the dungeons, the look in his eyes unsettled Merlin. He looked almost shattered.
"Arthur, what's wrong?"
Arthur collapsed next to Merlin without a word. He buried his face in his arms. His shoulders shook.
Merlin reached through the bars and laid his hand on his friend's back as he sobbed his heart out.
"I want to go home, Merlin," Arthur said. "I just want to go home."
"We will, Arthur. I promise." Though how, Merlin didn't know. Without access to his magic, there wasn't much he could do except be there for Arthur until Uther—hopefully—managed to ransom him.