Within hours the novelty of getting to ride rather than walk wore off. Bethany felt sick as the wagon jostled this way and that, her body colliding with the side of the wagon and the other bodies with each jolt. As the day progressed, the heat in the large wagon increased until Bethany was sure she would suffocate to death. Breathing became a chore until she finally drifted off to sleep.
When she woke, the temperature was still stifling. Bethany groggily looked about, wondering what had woken her?
“I need to pee!” shouted one of the slaves near the back of the wagon.
Bethany felt a blush rise to her cheeks as she realized she had the same issue. From where she sat, she heard Nigel yell back before the slave yelped in pain. Bethany couldn’t see what happened, but knew it would be best to keep from repeating the same mistake. It wasn’t many minutes later before a foul, stale smell began to waft through the confines of the covered wagon.
The smell made Bethany want to gag as she slowly realized where it came from. One of the slaves had been desperate enough to wet themselves.
Despite her determination not to degrade herself to such a level, the next day Bethany followed the example of the others and urinated on the rough boards of the wagon.
What would her mother say about her now? she wondered as she tried to cry, but her body was still to dehydrated.
The stream of her urine was small, just enough to wet the back of her dress and make her feel the uncontrollable shame of what she had just done.
And to think, had I been home we would have been celebrating my birthday today, she thought bitterly.
Bethany lost count of the days and nights that passed while she continued trapped in the putrid wagon. Long after any of the slaves had stopped looking for a release, the wagon began to take sharp turns as though it had entered a city. Bethany tried to peak out through the flaps of the wagon’s coverings, but all she could catch were the occasional glimpses of passing pedestrians or stone buildings. She quickly slumped back against her neighbor’s shoulder and let the wagon carry her away.
A few minutes later the wagon came to a sudden stop and the back flap of the wagon opened, bathing them in spring sunlight. Like the other slaves, Bethany blinked her eyes furiously, trying to give her eyes a chance to adjust to the unusual brightness after countless days in the dark. The light made her head ache, and though she tried to cover her eyes with her hand, the slavers immediately started dragging the blinded slaves out of the wagon. Before Bethany’s eyes could adjust, she began to crawl toward the tailgate of the wagon.
Bethany dropped clumsily to the ground, barely able to stand. She was in a small courtyard surrounded by high walls topped with spikes. The other captives were shaking in the heavy wind that whirled down among the walls. A gust of frigid air hit her from the side, causing her to tumble into the mud.
“Get up,” demanded one of the slavers while giving her a blow from some sort of staff, which forced her to scramble back to her feet. Evidently, the slaver had no desire to touch her. She couldn't blame him; she didn't want to touch herself either.
“Get them cleaned up,” ordered the same man to a plump woman in a warm shawl, and a heavy skirt that jerked around her thick ankles in the fierce wind.
Bethany was ushered into a small room with a long trough of water and thin towels. The woman prodded them into position with her own staff.
“Off wiff 'em rags,” she ordered.
Bethany glanced around, seeing the others begin to pull their clothing off. She swallowed the lump in her throat. She had been raised to be a modest, private person, as all her siblings had. Even those not of royal blood in Tokë were modest. No one was permitted to see her naked, not even her maids. That honor was saved for her spouse.
“What'd Ah jes say?” slurred the woman as she jabbed Bethany in the back with her stick.
“Please, ma'am,” Bethany begged, trying to put as much deference into her voice as she could, desperation forcing her to be diplomatic. “May I have some privacy?”
Bethany glanced at the other slaves, hoping for their support. They had stopped in their efforts and were watching the confrontation. Their eyes grew wide, just as Bethany felt a blow to her side hard enough to knock the air from her lunges. She doubled over, wrapping her arms around her filthy stomach.
“Ye'll git nak'd right here an' now, an' clean yerself good, ye hear!” snapped the plump woman.
Bethany blinked the tears from her eyes and with shaking fingers began pulling at the laces of her gown. She forced her eyes to stay focused on her own task, refusing to be witness to the other people's shame. She just hoped they'd do the same for her. The hum she heard from the man next to her suggested otherwise, but he was quickly silence by a hard jab from the woman's staff.
She didn't try to wipe the tears from her cheeks as she pulled the sodden dress from her body. Though she had experienced horrors beyond her wildest dreams during the last month of captivity, this new degradation was a distinct breaking point. With her gown, she discarded the last hope of ever returning to the life she had known. No man would marry her now that this gift had been stolen by another. Not only would she never marry, but she would never fulfill the one role she had been raised to do: bring wealth and alliance to her family through marriage.
While they cleansed themselves with pungent smelling powder and filmy water, another woman entered and removed their discarded robes. When they were finished, thin unisex garments were slipped over their heads and bound to their waists by worn leather belts. The one given to Bethany was too long and she found herself tripping over its hem.
Finally, the row of newly-dressed slaves were led out of the bathing room and back into the courtyard, which had begun to fill with wealthy men dressed in warm furs despite being the middle of May. The slavers herded them up onto a rickety platform, made more unstable by the fierce wind. Bethany began to wonder what torment they would invent for her next when one of the slavers lifted his hands and the noisy crowd grew silent.
After a short introduction, the bidding began.
Cal walked along side Éimhin as he entered the sprawling city of Tolad. The city spread out over numerous hills and valleys in a wide swath surrounded by the peaks of the Southern Mountains. Even in May, the mountain city was cold with a sharp wind that came down off the snow-covered mountains. Cal had begun to sweat on the last trek up the mountain side, but as the ground leveled off and the wind swept through the streets, he felt the liquid cause his skin to sting.
The scarred knight was just beginning to near the castle itself when he heard a loud voice call his name.
“Cal is that you?” asked the recognizable voice.
Cal turned to see Prince Féderic Eberhand, eldest son of King Wolfric, approaching on his sleek horse. Fed always did prefer speed over power. As much as Cal despised the prince, he had to admit Federic was a handsome man, with sunny blond hair that nearly reached his shoulders, a long formidable nose that somehow didn’t over power his face, and thick muscles. Though Cal didn’t try to eaves-drop as a rule, he had often heard the women of court fawn over the prince’s good looks. And Fed was a master at using his charm. Cal knew the prince had enjoyed countless encounters of the sexual variety with nearly every woman of court, married or single.
In his younger days Cal would have felt as certain admiration for the prince. Now he just found him annoying.
“You’re back!” said Fed as he pulled his horse to a stop.
Beyond the prince, Cal spotted the prince’s attendants following at a comfortable distance.
“Indeed, my lord. Just arrived.”
“I’m going to the slave market. Join me.”
It wasn’t a request. Though Cal would have much rather returned to the castle and relaxed, he obediently mounted his horse and followed Féderic to the nearby slave market. The crowd was thick as Cal entered behind the prince. The buyers deferentially stepped out of the way, allowing the pompous prince to ride right u
p to the platform where the unsold slaves stood, shaking in the wind.
Cal dismounted at the back of the crowd, handing Éimhin’s reins over to an unwary worker. The worker hadn’t made it three steps before Éimhin took a chunk of flesh from the man’s shoulder. Sir Caldry chuckled to himself as he weaved his way through the crowd toward the platform.
Fed was just dismounting when Cal reached his side.
“Prince Federic,” groveled the head slaver. “How may I serve you?”
“I'm looking for a maid servant—a pretty one,” he added as his eyes ran across the mass of huddled bodies.
“All women step forward,” barked the slaver.
Cal glanced up, immediately noticing one thin woman hidden behind one of the men, her eyes focused resolutely on the wooden slats of the platform. The slaver noticed her too and quickly dragged her to the very edge of the platform. Féderic climbed the stairs to the platform, oblivious to the fact that his presence had completely halted the sale; the other buyers stood back silently, waiting for the prince to make his choice.
Féderic’s eyes shifted to the woman who had tried to hide, a smile forming on his lips. He sauntered to where she stood, occasionally stopping to look at another woman as he passed. Cal forced his attention onto the young woman. Something about her looked familiar, but he couldn’t exactly say what.
She was thin, too thin in his opinion. He liked women who didn’t look as though the lightest puff of wind would knock them off their feet, but this was a usual look for slaves. Most of the slaves standing on the platform looked underfed.
Féderic reached the girl’s side and stalked slowly around her, his eyes running up and down her thin frame. Fed grabbed a swath of her matted hair and lifted it away from her neck before running his hand down her neck and shoulders, feeling the atrophied muscles and shape of the bones.
Cal smiled as he spotted the woman straighten her spine, as though she were determined not to be broken by the degrading experience of being purchased. The prince motioned for her to open her mouth, but she refused. Cal’s smile increased. He liked the fire he saw in her stormy gray eyes, though he knew it might one day be the death of her.
Fed ignored her obstinacy and shoved a finger into her mouth, making sure she still had all her teeth. Once he had finished examining her mouth, he grabbed her hair and gave it a jerk until she looked up at him. From his position, Cal couldn’t see the look on the prince’s face, but he wasn’t surprised to hear Fed say:
“I’ll take her. Pay the man.”
Bethany stared up at the prince. What had just happened? her mind screamed.
They had tied her hands, attaching the lead to one of the attendants’ horses before her mind could work through it. She had been sold to this man, and he wasn’t just any man. He was a prince of Tolad, a son of King Wolfric.
Princess Bethany Kavadh was the property of Prince Féderic Eberhand, the heir to her family’s greatest enemy.
To Bethany’s astonishment, she found a new reason to cry as she followed the horse through the prosperous city of Tolad.
Look for the continuation of Bethany and Cal’s story in Torn;
Book 1 of the Dothan Chronicles.
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