King Nordman eyed him up and down for a moment. The two men were of an age. Where Ervin was tall and sturdy, the new king was a shorter man, rounder, and already going to fat from overindulgence.
“You helped me attain this, Ervin, and I shan’t forget that it was your poison that took Athelmas the Altruistic.” He practically spat his father’s moniker given to him by his grateful people. “Nor will I disremember it was your knife that cut the bindings of the Crown Prince Ardman’s saddle or your hands that loosened the railing that conveniently gave way and sent Hermann, his next heir, and a pain in my royal ass, tumbling to his death. I have you to thank and also to blame for all of these treasonous acts. What say you about that?”
“I say we both have each other over the proverbial barrel, my king, but add respectfully that I live only to please you.”
Nordman eyed him at length, both men clear in the understanding that each had the other by the ballocks. A slow grin transformed the king’s pudgy face. “Such a circumspect answer, Ervin; you always were a sly one. I shall endeavor to keep you on my side. You shall have Lancore as you’ve wanted, my friend, both in reward and as a reminder that if word ever gets out, both of us will topple from our lofty positions.”
“I understand, sire, and will take the knowledge of how this night was arrived at to my grave, as I know you will as well.”
Nordman chuckled, covering his mouth to muffle the growing sound as his joy bubbled. Ervin, as pleased as the king, joined him in silent celebration.
Chapter One
Eight years later…
The steady clip-clop of hooves droned in Emilia’s ears mingling with the rapid thudding of her heart, which continued to race out of fear. Blindfolded and gagged, with her hands bound tightly behind her back, she was stiff from being restrained for so long, her muscles aching and her body bruised from being jounced and battered in the hard, unforgiving wagon bed. She had no idea how much time had passed since she’d been taken. It had been hours, perhaps a day, she couldn’t say for sure, having no concept of minutes and hours, or daylight and dark. Ceaseless sobbing and moans told her she wasn’t alone in her suffering. However, the thick wad of cloth in her mouth prevented her from talking to the others around her. Her mind reeled as she wondered who had taken her and where they were going. More important, how would her family ever find her?
The cart lurched suddenly, throwing her into the body beside her. A muffled grunt emanated from behind her gag as something sharp, an elbow perhaps, caught her painfully in the ribs. As she tried to right herself, she noticed that the wagon had stopped.
“We’ve got ourselves a full load, sir.” The deep, gravelly male voice came from somewhere nearby, from the driver of the cart she assumed.
“Good, good!” came a distant reply.
“Another hour until we reach Burnsley inside the Lancore border. We’ll make camp and I’ll have this lot sorted and tagged appropriately before dawn. You can make your inspections anytime thereafter.”
Lancore? Emilia’s body stiffened as a wave of sheer terror rolled through her. Oh, dear God, no!
“How many red?” the distant voice asked.
“Three,” came the quick response from the man in the front of the wagon.
“Excellent! I have a few more stops to spread word of the auction. I’ll see you in the morning.”
In stunned silence, she listened to a horse while it galloped away, the rhythmic pounding on the hard ground jarring her as terror set in her bones.
Short of hell, she couldn’t image a more terrible destination in all the kingdom than Lancore. Run by a tyrannical, despotic lord, it was purported to be the most vile and depraved district in the realm. The people were known for their vice and debauchery, and slavery was rampant.
Her initial presumption was that the group of vagrants her father had recently spotted lurking near his holdings had captured her. This was worse… far, far worse! A poor lot, the vagrants would have surely sought to line their pockets with a ransom from her father in exchange for her return. If the rumors were true, and these men were of Lancore, they would much rather enslave and debase her than give up their fun for mere money. In Lancore, a slave’s life was harsh and there was no prayer of escape.
Emilia shuddered, recalling the stories mothers and fathers back home told their children to get them to behave. No need for monsters, dragons, or frightening creatures of myth and lore; if they didn’t deport themselves accordingly, the loathsome earl of Lancore would come snatch them away and make them rue the day they acted naughty, and they didn’t want that now, did they?
As the driver snapped the reins with a ‘giddap’ to the team, a hitching sob arose from her chest as the wagon rolled on, taking her closer to her inescapable and ill-fated future.
They drove on, for how long she didn’t know. When they slowed a long time later, the dampness in the cooler air and the sounds of croaking frogs and crickets told her it was night. The wagon had no sooner stopped when she and her cohorts in this nightmare wailed and pleaded for mercy from their captors as they dragged them out with rough hands. Their entreaties fell on deaf ears, even when several women came to aid the men. They were as harsh and hardhearted as the men, talking amongst themselves and casting aspersions on their charges as if the women they cared for so callously couldn’t hear or understand.
They proceeded to remove her dress, the one with the ugly brown paint stains. She’d been experimenting with linseed oil and beeswax to make a new kind of paint, but it had turned out like something found in the pigsty, at least according to her brothers, who began tormenting her as they usually did. In a temper, she had stormed out of the house, intent on taking a walk to cool her head before returning home. Instead, she’d been seized from the road in front of her house, her unsuspecting family none the wiser. She’d been warned not to run off more times than she could count, but she’d always felt safe in and around her home. Until that moment, she had naively thought nothing could touch her.
As unseen hands stripped her bare, scrubbing her tender skin with rough cloths and stiff brushes, using icy cold water and harsh soap, she cried helplessly into her blindfold. They poked and prodded her with their fingers, dipping into intimate places that no one had ever before touched. Both male and female, their voices rose, echoing in the night as they disparaged their ‘pathetic offerings’ and speculated as to who would bring the highest price.
The only time they removed her blindfold was when they washed her hair. Yet, with several pair of hands scrubbing and dunking her head in the trough, she wasn’t allowed a single glance at her surroundings.
After the humiliating cleansing, she was left naked and bound, shackled at the ankle to the other captives, her vision once again taken by a tight black cloth. They were then led in a shuffling line to what Emilia could only assume, by the smell and rough straw beneath her bare feet, was a barn. Without a blanket, they had huddled together in the prickly straw, trying to keep warm, and although she thought it was impossible, somehow she’d slept.
She awoke stiff and sore to the door banging open. What followed was a series of humiliating examinations as a man came to inspect each of them. Her anxiety grew to alarming heights as she listened to the others ahead of her ordered to open their mouths, arch their backs, spread their thighs, and bend over, crying out from the occasional slap when they objected.
Emilia’s turn came last and by that time her captor’s patience was waning. Taking out her gag, he demanded she open her mouth, squeezing her jaw and forcing her to when she didn’t comply fast enough. He inspected her as one would cattle. Her skin was rubbed all over, the muscles beneath were pinched and squeezed, her body turned this way and that. Then it got worse; she was bent over. She resisted mightily, sobbing as loudly as the others had during their ordeal, especially when her bottom cheeks were spread wide. As she twisted and jerked from his probing, he’d had enough, and slapped her bottom harshly.
“Cease fighting me, slave, or I’ll hav
e four of the men hold you down. They’ll enjoy watching as I finish my inspection, which I will, whether you cooperate or not.”
What choice did she have? Soon his fingers had delved inside her. After several moments of that painful degradation, the man proclaimed, “This one is a dove.”
Emilia didn’t know what that meant, but didn’t think it boded well for her when the man gave a sly chuckle and drawled, “Excellent.” Then he clapped his hands once, startling her. “These will do nicely. Prepare them for auction.”
Handlers came in to groom them next. Her long hair was brushed without concern for the snarls and tangles, a cold substance that she assumed was a skin cream of some sort by the floral smell was smoothed all over her, including between her legs, before she was slapped sharply on the behind.
“This one is ready,” a woman shouted by her ear. “Bring on the next!”
After they were prepared, she and her fellow unfortunate captives were shackled and bound, then taken to a small tent. That was her best guess, at least, having little to go on since she was blindfolded and gagged once more. They were left there for what seemed like an eternity, the awful dread and anticipation mounting.
“Green goes up on the block first,” the gruff-voiced man announced.
The block! Saints in heaven save her, would this nightmare never end?
With no other choice, she sat and listened helplessly to the jumble of voices outside as the slave auction began.
“Our first offering is this fine-looking young male! Who will open the bidding at fifty?” A shudder swept through her as she recognized the auctioneer. He’d been the one who’d inspected and handled her so roughly; she could still feel his harsh and intrusive touch.
“Is that the best green you’ve got? He’s scrawny,” an impatient man called.
She thought about what the color green could mean for a moment, before recalling the man last night had asked how many red. The different colors must place them into groups, somehow. Shifting positions on the hard bench, she wondered what color she’d been assigned and what manner of horror it would bring.
“He is indeed all skin and bones, like he’s been starved,” complained one.
“Agreed,” said another. “I’d probably have to nurse him back to health before seeing a decent day’s work for my coins and trouble. I’ll pass.”
“He’s a bit thin, yes, but surely that’s rectifiable.” After a brief pause, the auctioneer added, “Come now, folks. Even though these shoulders may be youthful, they have the promise of strength to work your fields or labor in your hall.”
Still, there were no takers.
“What say you?” the auctioneer prompted. “Have you need of a stable boy?”
“Seems more suited to be a serving boy or chambermaid; he’s frail like one,” a man scoffed.
“How ‘bout as a chamber boy, Jerwain,” someone called out. “I’d heard they were yer taste. Think Britha will notice if’n ya slip ‘im in the bed with ya?”
“Fie upon you, Hadden Jones. I’m no pederast,” the first man sputtered amidst a round of raucous laughter.
“Perhaps with a pretty harness, he might pull your wife’s cart. Oh, but he’d have to have greater heft to budge it an inch what with her burdensome weight.” He chortled loudly at his own jest.
A brief scuffle broke out after that with shouts, a few grunts of pain, and some folks urging the combatants on. It soon died down and the auctioneer got back to business.
“Good people of Lancore, however you choose to use a slave, bought and paid for, is up to you as the owner. Do I hear forty?”
His pleading went on for a bit, but the harried auctioneer couldn’t get a nibble, which brought up questions in Emilia’s mind about what became of the slaves that weren’t sold. As untold horrors crept into her thoughts, an offer came at long last.
“Twenty-five, not a penny more.”
A brief pause followed before the auctioneer gave in with a grumble. “Sold, though I feel like you’ve picked my pocket at such a low price. Bring out the next.”
After that, things went faster as slave after slave was brought to the block. The hearty voice of the auctioneer grated on her nerves and hatred brewed in her chest each time he called “sold!” She imagined him silently counting his growing pile of coins as one by one innocent men and women were hawked, their freedom taken from them without care, so many that eventually she lost count.
She sat in hopeless misery wondering how long she had before she was dragged naked before the crowd. While breathing in the stale air and the scent of rancid hay, she tried to ignore the itch on her nose that she couldn’t scratch, since that was the least of her worries. Exhausted, she closed her eyes and tried to set her mind on more pleasant things like home and her family. Those thoughts, and the fear that she might never see her loved ones again, ended up making her desolation worse.
Hours later, when the flaps of the tent flipped open and metal jangled inside, she knew her group’s time had come. Her heart thumped wildly as someone moved past her, sending a rush of cool air across her skin. The clank of chains and a thud in the hay told her a manacle had been released.
“Come on, girl, time to go.”
A muffled cry came from beside her and the bench shifted as the man took the other girl away. Overwhelming anxiety overtook her as the crowd began to whistle and cheers of “red, red, red,” started outside.
“How lovely. Our first pleasure slave of the day and isn’t she a beauty,” the auctioneer cried.
Red suddenly made sense to her. At home, it was a harlot’s color. In Lancore, it was clearly the color assigned to a pleasure slave, what she would soon become. Panicked, she pulled at the restraints as she’d done a hundred times since she’d been taken. The binding cut into her already raw skin and as in all the other attempts, held firm. She was helpless, her situation hopeless as much as the woman now up for auction.
“Such long golden hair and bountiful tits…”
Emilia flinched, knowing without seeing from her whimpers and the raucous cheers and comments from the audience that she was being heartlessly displayed.
“Smooth, supple thighs and in between,” there was a leer in the auctioneer’s eager tone when he continued, “one of the tightest, sweetest cunts you’ll ever find!”
The image of the girl being roughly handled as her charms were peddled was forever imprinted on Emilia’s brain. She wondered if the blindfold would be removed while she was on the block. She didn’t think she could bear it, seeing the leering crowd and the men who made ribald comments.
They were doing worse than that now, hurling rude, vulgar questions at the auctioneer faster than he could answer.
“How old is she?” one man asked loudly.
“Where is she from?” called another.
“Is she pure?” demanded a third. “If I’m to pay a premium price, I’d insist on probing her cunt myself to ensure I’m not being rooked.”
“She is not more than twenty at best,” the vendor boomed. “And although she is not pure, she has never been with child, her slender hips will attest to that. Let’s start the bid at two hundred, shall we?”
“Two hundred,” came the first eager bid.
“Two twenty-five,” was the counter offer.
“Two fifty,” said yet another.
“Three hundred,” came a new determined voice and Emilia was shocked to hear it was a woman.
“You there, tavern keeper,” the obnoxious barker called, “what do you say? Three twenty-five? You wouldn’t let this fresh little tart go to the brothel for a mere twenty-five, would you?”
“Three twenty-five.” The eager man was back in the game.
“Four hundred,” countered a man; another soon topped it, and another after that. The bids were coming so fast now, she couldn’t keep up, until someone called, “Eight hundred silver!”
“Have her,” the other man shot back resignedly, “I’m out.”
“Do I hear eight twent
y-five?” the man prodded. “You there, madame. Too rich for your blood? Surely this lovely little lass would make a fine addition to your stable of chamber girls, no?”
“I’ll wait for the next, let the zealous man over there have her,” came the feminine reply.
“Sold to the gentleman on the left for an even eight hundred!”
She broke into a cold sweat, knowing there were only two of them left. Although it only delayed what seemed inevitable, she hoped for a miracle and prayed she wouldn’t be next. What would be the next girl’s fate? Would the tavern keeper want her, and make her serve drunken men their ale while touching, pinching, and doing God only knew what else to her? Would the madame bid again and buy her to serve as one of her chamber girls? She could only imagine what that would entail.
A whimper escaped her throat and she jumped as something brushed her leg. “Easy there, red, we’re saving you for last.”
The bench rocked and the other crying, struggling girl was taken away. She could hear her choking down sobs as the man hauled her out. He was telling her not to cry or she wouldn’t bring a good price. When she continued, muffled yelps were followed by the unmistakable sound of skin striking skin.
“Oh, we have a feisty offering next. Surely this one has never known the bite of the whip.”
Whip? Her body jerked with alarm. Did he say whip?
“Strong little filly, she is, I say,” the auctioneer chuckled as he continued. “Who is up for subduing this wild raven-haired beauty?”
“Two hundred,” was the first eager bid.
“Two hundred? Are you joking? The untamed nature of this one is worth a starting bid of at least three hundred.”
“Three hundred,” called a new male voice over the murmurs.
“Ah, very good.”
“Three fifty,” growled the next bidder.
“Four hundred,” countered another man.
The bids came faster, shouted from a variety of men driving up the price. For Emilia, it was like being trapped in a horrifying nightmare that wouldn’t end. All she wanted was to go home.
Innocence Enslaved Page 2
