Dare Quest - Free the Slaves

by Brian Smith

7

  Isabella’s mother was called Elvira. After being forcibly separated from her daughter the heartbroken Elvira was taken across the country to a large city where she was forced to work as a washerwoman. She had to sleep on a hard stone floor along with other slaves and at the first light of dawn they were rudely awakened by shouts and even kicks. Then she had to work and toil all day long washing clothes by hand. By nightfall she was so tired and exhausted that she simply dropped on the hard floor and fell asleep. Gone were the comforts and happiness of home. Her past life seemed to be no more than a distant dream. Now her once pretty hands were sore and raw, sometimes bleeding from being in water all day long while rubbing clothes. Her knees were in agony from kneeling on the stone floor for hours and hours and her poor back was in excruciating pain from being bent all day and then lifting heavy loads of washing.

  Heartbroken Elvira is led away

  When Elvira first arrived she complained about how bad she felt but the other slaves soon made her keep her misery to herself.

  “No use moaning,” they said. “You’ll only get beaten if you complain.”

  There were slaves from Portugal, Spain and Italy, there were slaves from distant lands Elvira had barely heard of such as England, the Slav countries of northern Europe, and there were black slaves from Africa who had been taken across the desert sands of the Sahara.

  Elvira did not know it yet, but she was slaving away in the palace of Caliph Yaqub al-Mansur and not so far from her Isabella was working too.

  Isabella’s lot was not as hard as her mother’s. She had to serve the Caliph and his family. She brought food and drinks to the Caliph and his wives, she helped to dress his wives who would simply stand like little children while Isabella put clothes on them, and when there was nothing to do she stood in a corner waiting, waiting to hear someone clap hands which was the signal for her to come and do whatever she was told.

  Unlike her mother Isabella received enough food, she slept on soft straw and she was allowed to wash and keep clean as she had to be in the presence of the Caliph. And yet in another way Isabella felt worse than her mother who was too tired to think about anything. Isabella had a lot of time to remember her happy past, her blissful home and her loving family, and she wanted it back. This was the one thought on her mind day and night and it tormented her.

  This went on for over a year until the Caliph embarked on another military expedition. For the first time since her capture the palace fell silent and there was little to do. Isabella spent her days wandering around the palace and walking in the garden. One day she saw two bearded men standing in front of a woman sitting on the ground.

  Orraca

  Feeling curious Isabella walked towards them. The two men were talking rudely about the woman who was muttering to herself. When Isabella was close enough she heard the woman was speaking in Portuguese. Delighted to hear her own language Isabella knelt by the woman and took her hand.

  “What is it?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”

  The woman stopped muttering and looked at Isabella with sad mournful eyes. Before she could answer one of the bearded men gave Isabella a kick and said “You, slave, what are you doing?”

  Still kneeling Isabella turned and put her forehead on the ground in front of the man’s feet.

  “I speak this woman’s language, merciful master, and came to see if she needs help.”

  The man looked at her for a minute in silence before he said “She has left her duties. Take her back to the washerwomen or she will be whipped.”

  “Thank you, merciful master,” Isabella said. She took the woman under one arm and helped her to stand up.

  “Let’s go,” she whispered urgently in the woman’s ear, “or we’ll both get beaten. What’s your name?”

  The woman sighed and led the way towards where the other washerwomen were toiling.

  “My name’s Orraca,” she said. “Come with me and you’ll see how lucky you are.”

  “Lucky?” Isabella was shocked. “How can I be lucky when I’ve been a slave for this past year since I was taken from my parents and my home in Lisbon?”

  Orraca looked at her sadly. “So you too are from Lisbon? “I knew it when I first heard you speak. Just see my hands how they’re rough and sore, look at my clothes and then look at yourself.”

  They entered a low dark building. Isabella saw what Orraca meant by being lucky. The air was dank and smelly. There was a dimly lit hall with row after row of women all busy washing clothes with their hands in large troughs.

  Suddenly one of the poor women jumped up with a cry and threw herself at Isabella.

  “Isabella!” she cried. “My dear beloved daughter!”

  It took Isabella a moment to understand that the filthy person in front of her with the torn rags on her body and the messy hair was her mother.

  Mother and daughter hugged each other tightly. Moments later there was a loud ‘thwack’ and Elvira cried out in pain.

  “Back to work!” a woman shouted. She was holding a stick threateningly in her right hand with which she had just hit Elvira so painfully.

  Orraca was already back at her trough and Elvira hurried to her work too.

  Isabella was shocked.

  The woman with the stick was the overseer of the washing women. She was dressed from head to foot in loose garments and even her face was covered leaving only a narrow slit for her eyes.

  “And you,” the overseer said to Isabella, “what are you doing here? Be gone and back to your duties or I’ll make you…”

  She took a step forward and lifted the stick to strike at Isabella who ran out of the building.