by SL Figuhr
“Ah, madam! As lovely as ever!” The slaver Gri leapt up at my entrance to escort me to another chair close by the crackling fire. I was more chilled from my unexpected mud bath than I realized. The heat felt good. Bre choose to seat herself near the left corner of the room. My gowned status, even borrowed, along with the elaborate hair style the slaves gave me, and the delicate scent, seemed to mollify the men enough they started treating me as a noble lady instead of a potential suspect.
“Your Grace, I would be remiss in my duties as a lawman if I didn’t insist you forget about questioning the slave and let me see to his punishment.”
I sat calmly, saying, “If you wish to profit at all from my business, you will have him brought in at once.” I watched the smile turn into a grimace as he bowed, giving a brief command while I waved off another several slaves proffering food and drink.
“I trust the females I sent in to serve you exceeded your expectations?” he delicately probed. One of them had to after you dismissed four of them for fighting and kept five to wait upon you.
Soon the strange-smelling man was brought in by no less than half a dozen guards, clanking from the addition of wrist and ankle chains attached to a central chain running from the iron collar around his neck to between his bare feet. Saizar was the last to enter the room. He made his displeasure known before coming to stand by my chair, ostensibly to protect me if the slave tried another escape attempt as the guards forced him to kneel before me.
The room was silent as I studied the man, noting he met my gaze boldly. I could have sworn he had been more badly beaten the first time I saw him. It must have been the mud. I had ordered him cleaned up for my benefit. Lean and muscular, dark brown hair and eyes. A straight Roman nose, strong brows, a thin oval face and high cheekbones with little hollows below them made his face arresting.
“By what name am I to address you?” I coolly asked.
His eyes narrowed as he replied, “Eron.”
“Very well, Eron, tell me why the guards lie.”
I held a hand up to halt any more blows, watching as he turned his head slightly to the side to see who had delivered it before he looked back to me. His expression told me the man who had hit him would be dead if Eron got his chance.
“You seemed eager enough to have your story heard when we stood outside in the mud. It appears I was wrong.” I turned to the seller in dismissal of the man before me. “Ask the corrupt toad of a sheriff, or the men I was with if the pig hasn’t killed them or sold them into slavery also.”
“You won’t be so mouthy swinging from a noose.”
I interrupted their bantering. “What inn were you at?”
“The Bloody Knuckles,” he ground out.
Bre hesitated, glancing swiftly around the room before saying in cautious tones, “It’s both a tavern and a brothel, and its owner is said to be good friends with the sheriff. Sheriff Jake sees to it his men keep an eye on the property as some of the town’s rougher elements have been known to frequent it.”
Eron’s eyes glittered in suppressed anger. “One of my employers had invited me to sup with them in the common room. As we sat there, the sheriff and his men came up with some made-up story about the other merchant having stolen some horse. As he was not back from trying to see the king, we couldn’t ask him. The sheriff decided to hang the man I was with, and me, as sufficient compensation. I fought them to give my employer time to get free and go for help.” He stared defiantly at me.
I deduced he wouldn’t speak more on the subject. “Your tale should be easy enough to verify.” There was something intriguing me, even though the man could be lying if I hadn’t been inside the Bloody Knuckles myself and seen what went on. I turned, saying, “Saizar, you are the sheriff’s man, I have been given to understand.”
He turned to me after glaring in disgust at the chained and kneeling man. “I am, madam, although I was not on duty that night and have no personal experience of what he speaks, nor have I heard anything about it.”
“Surely you don’t believe a word of his story?” Gri protested. “It sounds the wildest tale ever. A bunch of lies told by a man desperate to escape his well-deserved reward for his crimes. I only buy from other reputable slavers.”
I contemplated the man. I should just forget about him, and the odd flashback. Instinct had me saying, “Surely there is some place he can be placed temporarily while inquiries into his story are made?”
The men protested, not knowing the tale had a greater ring of truth behind it than the one I had been given earlier, even without my being able to read it from his mind. He had none of the non-verbal tells most liars had when they spun their version of events. Of course, he could be a well-trained spy momentarily caught unawares, or an excellent liar. Eron and I had been staring at each other as the men argued around us, trying to convince me their way was best.
I gave each man a look. One by one, they fell silent. “I see not what the problem is. You claim he is a criminal while he does not. Saizar and these guards can take him to the jail while these so-called merchant men are found and questioned. If he is a liar, he can either be hanged or returned here to be sold.”
“If this man’s story is true, a grave insult has been done to him. He will be deserving of the king’s pardon; reparations will have to be made. You may inform the sheriff I shall be taking a very close interest in his case, Saizar.”
Bre crossed the room, kneeling beside my seat to speak with me in lowered tones. “Madam, I fear your decision is not entirely wise. I feel beholden to counsel you on this topic. As you are one newly arrived and not fully aware of our customs, I can assure you most all in the town will take a dim view of such rebellious leanings. Lord Nicky will see it as treason of the basest and vilest sort. He is not a man you want to offend; he is a personal friend and advisor to His Majesty.”
She leaned nearer. “Everyone in town gossips, at the risk of offending you; a foreign duchess is a rarity and a source of curiosity. If you continue insisting, you will be ignored, and life will not be pleasant nor enjoyable. You may even be asked to leave before having the opportunity to properly reequip yourself.” Bre moistened her lips. “Once put in jail, his fate is sealed, and not for the better—no matter what good intentions or motives you may have toward wishing to help.”
I sat back, contemplating her words before turning to the seller. “I will give you four silver coins for him, no more, no less; certainly more than you paid for him, along with his papers of ownership. Attempt to bargain with me, and I shall take my considerable business and wealth elsewhere; after all, I do have an entire household to staff.”
I should push for more coin if she’s hot for the bastard. She must have liked the feel of him beneath her when they tumbled. But what if she isn’t bluffing? An entire noble household, one belonging to a duchess? She will need a small village of slaves properly attending and supporting her higher status. Not to mention she will need guards she thinks she can trust. I can put spies if need be. But if the bandits got to her property, how has she the coin left for all this? Loans? Yes, she must have taken loans from the money-lenders. As long as I am paid in coin, it doesn’t matter to me if she bankrupts herself.
The seller hissed but sent for them while Eron glared at both of us. Paper and money exchanged hands as the guards hauled the man up. “Saizar, a word before you go.”
He turned to me with a barely concealed grimace which changed when he saw the silver I held out to him. “I expect you to discreetly inquire around for me. May I trust you?”
Trust her, she brings much-needed change,“I . . . It is extremely foolish and ill-advised. I fear you put your life in danger. I ask once more to please forget about the subject of his arrest.”
“Your objections are duly noted. Take the silver anyway with my thanks for your honest counsel. I trust you to escort the man, as is, to the stables at the Silver Thorn.” I dropped the coin in his palm, turning in dismissal. “Now, as to my household needs . . .” I dire
cted to Gri.
The day was well-advanced when I and my now-enlarged party returned to the inn. The slaver was not glad I only bought a handful of people, taking it as further proof I was unfit for the station I held. I was considerably weakened by now and in need of a brief nap.
I hope she does not stay here long, not with her anti-slave sentiments.I held out more coin. “I shall need lodging and meals for my slaves. I will want hot water for a bath in several hours. Until then, I am not to be disturbed.” I ignored his gaping mouth and continued upstairs.
Chapter Eight
T he small room was dark when I woke. For a moment I couldn’t remember where I was. It came flooding back. I needed to feed. My exposure to direct sunlight had left me weakened. I rose as a soft tap came upon the locked door. I opened it to behold my new body slave.
The woman headed back down the hall, several minutes passing before she returned with several bundles and a lit candle. “The owner of the tailor shop, Mistress Emilee, had these delivered. Where shall I put them?”
“Yes, madam.” She carefully laid the bundles down, before using the candle to light the oil lamps. She stood with hands clasped before her and head bowed as I came over to see what the seamstress had been able to ready for me.
I stopped at the sight of my once-muddy clothes, picking them up. “Have I you to thank?” I asked, knowing other slaves might have presumed to toss them out, as either not worth cleaning, or because in this town, a woman, especially respectable and/or noble, did not wear such things.
“The inn keep, Nathan, says one of the sheriff’s men, Saizar, has information for you of the utmost importance.” She had a frown, but she continued, “Lord Nicky requested an audience, as did Sheriff Jake, and the king!” Her tone became wondering though she sent me a sly-eyed look. “He sent a slave with a missive.” I held my hand out for it. Susafan drew the king’s missive and several others from the single pocket in her thin, worn, short dress, placing them in my palm.
I broke the royal seal to read what was written. “Damn the man!” I whispered to myself. I was being summoned to answer questions about my title and my family along with other rumors.
The bath and the rest of my items arrived together. Susafan was scrubbing me clean with more enthusiasm than called for as I tried to scribble a reply to the king using a wooden stool for my ink and penknife while balancing the parchment on the narrow lip of the tub.
I finished the note, folded it, and using the candle to melt the sealing wax I’d purchased today, sealed it with an imprint from my signet ring. Susafan sent it off with the little page, Rolf. She held a linen towel up as I rose from the tub, wrapping myself in it to dry off. She brought over the layers of my outfit. First was a low-cut shift. Next, the silk-lined corset. It’s a good thing I don’t have to breathe anymore, and my internal organs were impervious to the damage such a garment produced. To think, when the world went back to a second dark age, so did the clothes! Susafan helped slide fine silken hose up my legs, fastening them with garters. She placed the tight green silk-linen blend shift over my head and shoulders, tweaking it to get it to lay correctly.
Next came the medium-weight linen underdress, also green, over my head and into position. Lastly, the overdress of silk-linen blend dyed an emerald green, which highlighted the green in my eyes. Susafan fussed with the bodice of the gown as the neckline was squared off and quite low, showing off a wide expanse of bosom. The corset had pushed my breasts up into mounds. I would have to be careful not to lean over too far. The gown had long, tight-fitting sleeves; the bodice itself fit my torso like a glove but the skirt flared out slightly to a demi-train. The bottom two inches of the dress and the cuffs had been heavily embroidered with bright blue silk thread in a design of roses and leaves. I stepped into the low-heel shoes that matched the color of the dress and had the same pattern as my hem.
I sat at the small table as Susafan opened the various pots of crushed minerals and plant mixes passing for makeup in this era. I began the laborious process of applying them to my face, for I was unused to working with them and didn’t want to end up looking like a clown, as the slave began to brush my hair, pinning it into an elaborate updo.
“I belonged to an earl, but he was accused of treason. He was stripped of land and titles before he was killed. His lady eventually was forced to sell me back to the slavers. I had been in their service for twenty years, all of them here.”
I caught the hitch in her breath when she continued. I could tell tears would fall soon. “I wish I had never come here.” Her eyes grew large, and horror-struck, realized what she had let slip.
“What can you tell me about the king’s man, Saizar?” I asked. Slaves are the best source of information. They know everything going on.
“He takes his job very seriously,” she replied. “I heard he prefers whores, so he can’t be trapped into marriage and worry about supporting a wife and kids.”
I half-turned, arching a brow, as she hurried to hold a polished bit of metal up for me to inspect myself in as she continued. “One of my old mistress’s slaves tried getting him into her bed, and he turned her down. He was very polite about it, she says, and she demanded to know if he liked men. He said he will not dally with slaves of nobles or merchants.”
“Is that so?” I inspected my face, making a few adjustments to the cosmetics as Susafan continued.
“He is very dedicated, madam.”
I indicated my approval of her efforts with my hair, standing so she could finish adjusting how the dress’s demi-train lay. “What else about the man?”
“He is different from the other men the sheriff employs. They all want a feel or a quick toss from us slaves if we need their help, but not him.”
“Is it true, Susafan?” My eyes bored into hers. She stammered a bit but stood by her assertions. “What else of Saizar? Besides his bed habits?”
“Well, madam, I heard how he doesn’t extort money for the services he performs, which makes the sheriff angry. He almost never takes bribes, but occasionally he will accept small tokens or favors.”
“The king doesn’t pay the lawmen enough to live on. I suppose they think they have to make extra coin as they can. O’ course Sheriff Jake is careful only to extort from those he thinks will let him get away with it, and if he doesn’t, well . . .” Her shrug was very matter-of-fact.
“Oh, no one can say why with any certainty, madam.” She hurried to mollify me. “Most seem to think as long as he gets his taxes and whatnot, he does not care. It is also said Lord Nicky turns a blind eye toward any complaints against the man.”
I noted the small shiver Susafan gave at the mention of the name, and the surreptitious warding away of evil she made as well. Hrm, interesting. “What of Lord Nicky? What can you tell me about him?”
The older woman soberly replied, “He is the king’s advisor, an outsider who’s an orphan, although he doesn’t like to be reminded of the fact. If I may be so bold as to warn you, madam, he is a very powerful man, not one to cross lightly. The last family I worked for made the mistake." She hesitated before continuing in a rush, “I don’t wish to repeat things which may not be correct, but shortly afterward they lost their fortune, land, and lives. It was the king who ordered it, but at the time it was attributed to Lord Nicky. I shan’t say more, madam; I shouldn’t have said what I did. I’m just a slave who’s ignorant of the truth. Please forgive me.”
She bowed her head and curtsied in apology, falling silent, fearful I would order her whipped for spreading lies and rumors. I had no intention of doing so, but I let the silence go. Susafan tweaked the dress into place as I gathered the front up enough not to trip as she arranged the small train to hang correctly before opening the door.
She curtsied, murmuring assent as I swept past. It had taken nearly two hours to get ready. The little page was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs along with the inn keep. The small common room was packed with minor nobles and monied burghers who had completed their town
business and returned to dine with each other or any family they had brought.
“Rolf, tell Domiano I shall want Windstorm saddled and ready immediately. Stay with him and have him send you inside to get me when the horse is brought round.” I had purchased a sidesaddle that its owner had pawned earlier. I could only hope I did not have any more embarrassing falls off my horse.
tsk“Bread, cheese, meat, fruit if you have it and whatever wine is available.” His attitude was slowly warming toward me, no doubt helped by my gold and new wardrobe, unconventional though it still was.
He bowed as I made my way across the room, approaching from the man’s right side as he sat at a table near the fireplace. Saizar started when he realized I was near, hurrying to rise, making a deep bow.
I dismissed the inn keep, reseating myself while Saizar poured himself a cup, and tasted a few bites. “I do not mean to insult you with my questions, madam, but I am afraid I must ask them.”
“Why not? I hardly think it is an uncommon occurrence. In other lands I have been in, they were whipped or severely beaten the first time it happened, as a warning, and only killed as a last resort. Am I to understand that the slave has done such more than once?”
I watched his surprisingly sensual lips thin as he fought to retain his disapproval. Saizar replied, “Our laws are different here. Runaway property is put to death as an example for others thinking to follow. And he dared to harm a noble.”
“Forgive a servant of the crown his boldness in speaking thus to his social betters . . .” His hands clenched into fists briefly before forcing them open. “I do not mean to question your judgment, but I do not trust a word the slave said.” He hesitated again before venturing, “Sheriff Jake is not a man who takes accusations against himself lightly.”
Saizar shifted, not liking our discussion. I could see he wished he hadn’t brought the subject up. “That is the other thing.” He fumbled. “I should not be getting involved investigating my boss.”
