by SL Figuhr
“What the—? Jenfry! Get him a wet cloth! I wouldn’t have to discipline her if you hadn’t tried to make the stupid slut think she could fuck you the way the other whores do. I told you, he wants her untouched! Besides, I need the foreign slut outta my tavern. You should be dealing with her!”
“It’s ended,” the sheriff replied in snarling tones. “Don’t know where the damn foreign whore learned to fight, but she better watch her back. Damn bitch nearly cut me face off.”
A deep, oily voice sounded near Mary Elana’s ear as the two men continued to argue. “I see by the Great One’s grace you shall live. We must pray and thank Him, for He has sent me to help.”
Priester Joseph launched into a long prayer as the girl blinked her lids painfully, vision starting to come back. Some of the things he said had her frowning, but she didn’t want to interrupt.
“Start at the beginning of the night and go until you get to the parts you are unsure of. Think of it as a cleansing, and believe the Great One is merciful, my daughter. If you are free from sin, he will grant you your memories back.”
Mary Elana took a breath, which made her ribs ache. Her parents seemed to have forgotten about her for the moment in their argument with Jake. Haltingly she went through the night, bits and pieces floating up until with a flash she could recall it all. When the girl began to describe the assault upon her by the sheriff, the priest interrupted with an enraged yell.
“But-but I didn’t! I-I never said or did anything! He-he pushed himself on me! He always does,” Mary Elana replied in bewilderment, tears starting to leak out.
She tried to deny any thoughts or attempts of luring the sheriff, but the vitriol Priester Joseph spewed at her made her do as she was told. Priester Joseph was satisfied with her attempts, demanding, “What happened after?”
It seemed he had not heard her. How dare she tell me lies?! The yard silent except for the sound of breathing. Her father raging at the priest and Brother John. His daughter barely aware her father and the sheriff were trying to force the two holy men out of the yard.
Why had Priester John not helped her? Two pairs of strong hands yanked her off the ground, unmindful of her bruises and hurts. The girl briefly blacked out, held between two slaves.
“Fuck you, whore! You get outta here before I have Jake arrest you for smashing up my husband’s tavern and harming our patrons,” Jenfry spat back.
An amused laugh was the answer as Mary Elana cried. Tears dripped down her face falling on her clasped hands. She didn’t understand why no one would believe her. Priester Joseph was always going around telling people he met he could help them. Why wouldn’t he do the same for her?
“’Tis no more than any of your other patrons have done before. As for the sheriff, I doubt he is going to be so foolish to try attacking or arresting me after tonight. At least for a little while. However, if it will ease your mind, I shall pay for the damage done.” Coins clinked.
“I take it she is troublesome to you, not worth what it costs to feed and clothe her. I am in need of a house slave. If she can clean, I hope to engage her services, either as an indentured servant or slave.”
“Noooooo!” Mary Elana moaned, weeping harder. Why was this happening to her? How could she have been so wrong about the woman? Was there no one she could trust? Was it fate because she hadn’t warned the noble lady about what her father planned to do to her?
“I am told such things are of little consequence here. She is your daughter . . . your property . . . thus you may do what you desire with her.”
Jenfry would not be put off. "Why would you want a troublesome slave? I heard you already got yourself two of ’em; one of them used to work in the stables here.”
“Why’s the slut still here?” Tom complained.
“Hush!” his wife replied. “The lady," she sneered, “wants to buy your daughter. She’s nicely compensated us for the damage she done to the tavern. I’ve a mind to consider it."
“Here now! Youse can’t! Youse two know the slut be promised to Him! Youse know what’ll happen if youse try a double-cross Him.” The sheriff hawked, spitting as he glared at the composed woman. His humiliation at being outfought silenced him.
Tom snatched the coins from his wife’s outstretched hand. “Quit your sniveling, slut; you’ve caused enough trouble for tonight. Well now, it’s a right nice gesture on your part to pay for what you did to my bar. An’ even nicer if I don’t ever see you in my tavern.”
No response was forthcoming; through her tears, Mary Elana could see the calculating look in her father’s eyes. The sheriff’s lower face, covered in blood from a diagonal cut running from beneath his right eye, over his nose, and to the left side of his jaw, made him even scarier. Tom crossed his beefy arms, facing the woman squarely. “What kind of price we be talking about?”
His daughter moaned, blood-laced snot dripping from her nose. She couldn’t even wipe it away, her father’s slaves had such a tight hold on her arms. The woman proffered an amount.
“I trust you will have more sense than your wife. The price is fair for one accused of being trouble. Given her current condition, I shan’t be able to make full use of her until she heals.”
Jenfry whispered something to her husband. He named another price. The lady countered the offer, still not close to what Tom hoped to con out of her.
The haggling went on; finally Tom gave in, only to bellow a moment later in outrage. “Papers! What you mean you want me to sign papers?”
“It is merely a precaution, nothing more. I should hate to have the sheriff show up on my doorstep claiming our transaction was invalid due to previous agreements. He seems convinced you made arrangements with a gentleman to have access to your daughter.” She gave a thin, sharp smile, causing more than one person to shiver in fear involuntarily. “I trust you are not trying to sell me another man’s slave.”
Tom hesitated a moment, clearly torn, not liking the request but with no real way out. He rubbed a hand over his thinning brown hair, scowling. An oily smile crossed his face. “I’m afraid we have no writing paper or ink. If you be true nobility, we can have a gentleman’s—er, gentlewoman’s—agreement on it, can we not?”
She merely smiled, reaching for another leather purse on her belt, “What good fortune I happen to have both upon my person. If there is some solid surface I may write on, the sheriff, as a king’s official, can provide witness.” Her tone made it clear that refusal was not an option.
Tom scowled even more, and with ill grace, muscled an empty beer barrel over. The note was written, wax and a taper fetched from the tavern. Seals and signatures affixed, coin changed hands. There were even a few silvers for Jake as a fee for performing his office’s function. It did little to ease his hatred of the woman.
The barmaids holding her captive laughed cruelly, shoving her toward the woman. Eagerly they took the bronze pieces she gave them for their efforts of restraining the girl. Mary Elana thought of fleeing. The lady’s slim hand closed with surprising strength around her elbow, dragging her, stumbling, away from her parents. She began to cry again, not caring if it made her face ache more.
The trip away from her home became a blur. Hands hoisted the girl up into the saddle of a black stallion, Mary Elana clutching desperately at the mane as the woman led them out of the yard into the dark, narrow streets of the town. She would have tried to jump and run, but the horse was so big, the ground so far away, and the pace seemed faster than a walk. The girl was hardly aware of amazed stares, curious comments of the palace guards at the bridge. Nor did she notice the clop of stone under the horse’s hooves after a turn into another courtyard.
She felt herself hauled down, this time by work-roughened male hands. A concerned, masculine face surrounded by wavy black hair glanced pityingly at her as he whispered, “Don’t cry; she is as nice a mistress as we could hope.” He and the horse moved off.
“Very well. See it is done as soon as they awaken.” Without another word, she hauled the s
till-crying girl after her into a small room tucked under the eaves. Shutters blocked the approaching day from a frostcovered window.
Mary Elana didn’t know how long she sat, stunned, silent, morose, before a knock sounded on the door. An older woman in a thin, patched dress with a slave collar entered, momentarily shocked.
“As you can see, the girl has been much abused by her family. I have sent for a bath and broth. You will make sure she is cleaned up and fed. If any of her injuries need professional attention, send for the doctor. I will have to impose upon you further, Susafan. She will sleep on the floor of your room until we move into my new dwelling.”
She lifted the tear-, blood-, and snot-stained face up. “Do not cry, little one. I do not harm those under my banner without reason. Be that as it may, you will not attempt to run away. I doubt you would care for the dungeons or the attentions of the head questioner.”
Mary Elana said nothing, too disheartened over losing her freeborn status and becoming a slave with no rights when she had been almost certain the lady wanted to hire her. She let her head fall onto her chest when the woman let go of her chin. She stared numbly at the smooth, clean wooden floor as the two women exchanged words before the door shut. She was barely aware of a pair of patched and tattered brown shoes in front of her.
“Well,” the older woman said briskly, “no sense boo-hooing over it anymore. You understand me, you’ve had better luck than half the slaves in this town. I don’t know what she’ll have you doing, but if you do it well and without complaint you will have no reason for worry. Now, the king says he won’t allow a foreigner asking for citizenship to retain their titles, so we aren’t to use Her Grace’s title. But mark my words, she is a duchess, no matter what oddity she does or wears.”
The new slave girl still stared in silence at the floor as Susafan gave a sigh and walked away. There was the sound of water being poured, her voice chattered on, still brisk.
“Until the bath is brought up, the water basin will have to do. I suppose I’ll have to clean you as it looks like you haven’t the gumption to do it yourself. Mind you, it is the only time I’ll do it. You must be sure to bathe yourself daily. Lady Illyria requires it of us. She won’t have any insect-ridden filthy slaves in her house. It’s a queer request and takes time, but I confess I do feel better for it.”
Mary Elana let her face be lifted, automatically closing her eyes as a rough, wet, cold cloth was applied to her skin, and the worst of the filth removed. She continued to sit silently, letting her dirty hands and feet be cleaned in turn. Her extremities burned as they slowly warmed up. She didn’t know how much time passed. The little candle in the room was soon blown out. The weak morning sun streamed in with the wooden shutters folded out of the way.
Susafan chatted of unimportant topics mostly, some of her life of slavery, interspersed with what their mistress expected of them. The inn’s slaves hauled in a tub, buckets after buckets of hot water, and more wood for the little stove. The girl stood when tugged at and commanded, but made no move to help nor hinder the other slave when she removed the girl’s shawl, dress and shift.
“Now you just climb in.” The older woman guided her charge to the large wooden tub, helping the girl in and gently pressing down on her shoulders until she sat. The warm water felt surprisingly good on her cold, bruised skin and helped to soothe some of the ache inside her. Susafan put a softer cloth and a bar of soap into the young teenager’s hands. “And don’t forget behind your ears and between your toes and every little spot betwixt.” She peered closer.
Another knock on the door heralded a giggling slave with a tray and clothes which she placed atop a small table. She stared unabashedly. “Mother Moon Goddess! I heard your father beat you, but that’s the worst I’ve ever seen! Bet you’re glad to get away from him. Is it true he whored you out?”
Lisello sniffed. “You know she’s not a duchess, not according to the king. You shouldn’t call her that if you don’t want to be arrested and sent to be tortured by the head questioner.”
“Either way, leave the girl alone. I reckon she’s been through enough. Not everyone is lucky to have a master such as yours,” Susafan retorted.
“I suppose so. Well, the stable slave, the handsome one of hers? He said for me to tell you he put a straw pallet in your room for her.” On those words, the door to the room banged shut behind Lisello.
The bath continued in silence. The older woman decided she had done all she could for the girl’s hair, including washing and cutting out the worst of the mats and burning them. She got the girl out of the tub and dried before smearing some kind of ointment onto the bruises. Mary Elana was given some cast-off clothes deemed too worn for the inn slaves to wear but still serviceable for those who had nothing else. She watched her old clothes burn, not even given a chance to retrieve the coins hidden inside the hems.
The former tavern-keeper’s daughter ate mechanically. She distantly noted the beef broth was rich, hot and flavorful, the mulled wine strong with spices. She found herself unsteady after drinking it, following docilely behind Susafan down the slaves’ stairs and into the tiny room she now shared with the older woman. She lay down upon a clean, sweet-smelling, crackling straw pallet and drew the generous, heavy wool blanket under her chin.
She lay staring at the whitewashed ceiling, tears leaking out. Susafan stood over her a moment in exasperation, before saying in a kindly tone, “Don’t cry.”
“If you want to blame anyone, blame your father for being greedy enough to sell you. Now try to sleep. Life will look better after you’ve rested.”
Chapter Thirteen
A slave escorted the sheriff into Nicky’s royal suite of rooms, boots ringing on the multicolored marble flooring. He knew trouble was brewing when the young man snapped out, “The Bloody Knuckles.”
The sheriff kept his head bowed a moment to gather his thoughts. Shit! Fucking cocksucker! Damn the thing with him. “No slight meant, Lord Nicky. I’s don’t wanna be a bother to youse lordship with me small knowledge.”
Motherfucker . “Yes, youse lordship, beggin’ youse lordship’s most humble pardon. The, uh, incident. Uh, well, which one we talking about?”
"Which one?” Nicky asked incredulously. "How many have you not told me about? Start with those and if your answers please me, I may not order you flogged for your insolence!”
The sheriff scowled, wishing he could shove his sword through the young man’s gut. “Most of ’em is petty stuff, not worth yer time; youse told me before not to bother youse with ’em. Slave women what won’t listen and have t’ be hurt, or some piece of scum causing trouble.”
Lord Nicky’s jaw clenched. Why was he surrounded by idiots? “Think, even though I know it’s hard for you to do. Think if there was another. An important one you have forgotten?” His voice promised pain.
“You can’t think of anything? YOU CAN’T THINK OF ANYTHING?” Nicky screamed in rage, tossing a nearby gilded chair at the lawman.
The sheriff ducked, bellowing, “I ain’t lying yer lordship! If’n youse just tell me whats one youse talking abouts, I can tell youse.” He dodged as a chunk of amethyst being used for a paper weight came at his head.
The young man slammed his hands flat onto the marble desktop hissing, “I don’t care about the number. What happened? DiJinn, help our man of law remember.”
The sheriff felt a wave of terror wash through him as the robed and cowled slave began to walk toward him. “Waits, waits, gives me a minute!” He put his hands out.
“I was in the tavern one night when three men come in looking fer rooms. Not the usual scum. They had on nice clothes, packs, and swords. They said they merchants looking to sell their wares.”
“Does it matter?” he snarled, but at the gleam in the lord’s eye hurriedly added, “I don’t remember. Theys so many of thems. They needed rooms fer the night. I toles ’em Tom had some. Mary Elana was serving ’em, and I warns ’em not to mess with her like you wanted. If’n youse be a l
ord, whys youse want her? She just a common tavern slut.”
“N-n-no youse lordship. They didn’t do anything that night. The next time I seen ’em, Tom sent for me. He said one of ’em was grabbing the wench and interfering in her work. So I go to warn them and learns one of ’em had stolen a horse offa one o’ our bandits, and he weren’t back yet. While taking care of the two tha’ was there, they gots uppity and started to threaten me and me men.”
“One of them fought back, and in the commotion, the faggy one gots loose, so I just took the one I did have and sold ’im to the slavers as a warning to the other.” Jake trailed off weakly, his eyes shifting to make sure DiJinn hadn’t moved closer to him.
Nicky interrupted to demand, “Why didn’t you send me word when it happened? How many times do I have to tell you, you don’t sell merchants to slavers in town?”
The law man shuffled his feet uneasily. “Youse said to sell ’em to the slavers with ships to take ’em elsewheres, or to the bandits to take ’em overland.”
The sheriff paused to think, his tongue pushing against the gap missing teeth made. “Uh . . . um, it been done bought a day or two, I thinks,” he lied.
“You dare to speak to your betters thus?” the young man screamed, and with a tremendous heave he overturned his ornately carved dark wood desk; it crashed to the floor, everything flying off to smash or spill.
Sheriff Jake jumped back as shards and papers headed his way. The slave sighed; Nicky grew more mentally unstable day by day. It might be a good idea to intervene. The fat, lazy officer of the realm could still have information.
The young man whirled, “How dare you! I’ll punish you later! What the hell good are you if you don’t protect my interests! Fix the mess this asshole left? There is no fixing the mess!”
Jake was beginning to get an inkling that more had happened than he realized. “Ain’t nothing wrong. One of ’ems a slave; I’ll just makes sure he put onna boat as a galley slave to some port far away from here.”