by Susan Wright
I would have to move slowly and reveal little until I understood the ways of Montplaire. I put an end to their questioning by declaring my exhaustion after my long journey.
I had to remove my tunic and leggings, and a sudden hush spread through the room. Even by the light of the one candle, the other slaves could see the remnants of Ukerald’s beating. Most of the scabs had fallen off, leaving tender pink lines and peeling skin, but a few of the deeper wounds still puckered my skin.
Their revulsion was clear as they pulled back from me, murmuring among themselves.
"Have you never seen a slave beaten within the last breath of life?" I turned to give them all a good look. "Have no doubt—you could be next."
Canille took charge of us in the morning. We filed down to the large room where the slaves did their lessons. The tables were pushed against the wall and they removed their clothing before lining up in the customary manner to do the poses.
I took off my tunic and leggings and assumed the lydnad pose with the others. I was glad I had revealed myself last night because at least the ripple of curiosity among the slaves was no longer tinged with outright shock.
The tiles were clean and pleasantly warm from the fire. Canille paced between us, murmuring instructions and correcting our poses. The slaves in front were praised. Likely they were near the end of their training and would be sent to Stanbulin soon.
One of them caught my eye. He was a tall, slender youth with wild curly hair and merry brown eyes. As soon as Canille’s back was turned, he shifted from the epitome of grace to exaggerating each pose. He lifted his chin to absurd heights or flattened himself in an effort to be perfectly straight. It made the other slaves smile and some shook with suppressed laughter.
Then Canille was standing next to me, and my pose was the only thing that mattered. I couldn’t see the correction tool she carried.
"Nice," she commented with an edge of surprise in her voice. "But you need to release the tension here," she said, placing both her hands on my shoulders, drawing them slightly down and back.
Her hands were firm, adjusting my pose. She gave a slight stroke to my back on either side of my spine, and I felt a corresponding release. My pose was much better.
She must have seen and felt the wounds left by Ukerald’s cane, but she didn’t react. The distinctive marks proved my story better than words could.
Canille moved on to the next slave. Throughout the session, she used only her hands on us. The poses became something new—a calming experience as I focused on stretching my body into pleasing lines.
The only time I saw Canille strike a slave was when she realized the young man in the front row was playing the fool. "Stop that, Bene!" she commanded, smacking the top of his head hard enough to make the sound ring against the stone walls. After that he ceased his antics and concentrated on the poses.
I received more praise from the mistress and gentle corrections, but all in all she seemed impressed. Or perhaps she was astonished that Ukerald’s technique had yielded one such as me.
After poses, we had a morning meal of bread and cheese. The bread was round and flat in both taste and form. But the cheese was as aromatic and full-bodied as those from home. I was glad to be rid of the bland Danelaw food.
After the meal, I was surprised when we were allowed to leave the house. I took one of the mantles hanging on the pegs that were used by the slaves. It was a clear day, chilly but not too cold. The slaves scattered, some heading down to a stream and others running to see the new horse in the paddock beside the barn.
Olfs were everywhere, diving into the wheel of the mill, playing among the trees in the orchards, and swinging from the mantles of the slaves. It was quiet without the regular cacophony of bells from the Kristna sanctuaries that had marked off the days in Becksbury in such a terrible, incessant march.
Only one girl stayed near the house. She silently practiced her poses on the flagstone terrace. She had been in the front row, so likely she was one of the elder slaves. Her long body was excessively thin, her bones jutting from her shoulders, hips, and narrow back. Her wide blue eyes had a glassy fervor.
She completed two full cycles of deliberate poses. I wondered if Canille had ordered her to do it. Perhaps the mistress’s punishments were more arduous than blows.
I was finally driven to ask, "Why do you pose after the training is done?"
From her reclining position, she answered, "I do it to better myself."
"You do it perfectly already."
"I have high standards."
I sat down on a nearby wall. Stone steps led down to another terrace. On this side of the house there were a garden and a pretty walkway lined by hedges.
The slave smoothly went into another pose, rolling to her hands and knees, her toes pointed at precise angles.
"Aren’t they afraid that we’ll run off?" I asked. Becksbury had been a dangerous place to escape from, but I could slip away from Montplaire before they knew it.
She finally looked at me. "What kind of slave would do that?"
I raised my hands slightly. "There were some slaves in Becksbury who would have escaped. When people are in pain and frightened, they do things . . ."
She gazed at me uncomprehendingly, then went back to her poses. She tried to overcome the awkwardness of her knobby knees and sharp angles.
The saucy young man slowly approached, listening to us. I got up and walked around the house with Bene following me. "Anything you say to Vanais will be told to our mistress," he warned playfully. "Be careful."
I thought back over what I’d said, but I had stayed in my role.
Bene laughed. "I knew you had secrets. Your eyes are so different." He meant my almond-shaped Skraeling eyes. "And your hair is so bright. Does everyone in Danelaw look like you? We’re all wildly curious."
Perhaps he was the one who carried tales. "There’s mostly Noromenn in Londinium, but there’s also lots of Franks now."
"You must have seen the fighting, didn’t you?" he asked eagerly. "Do you think the conqueror will be able to hold the lands? I hear he’s paying a gold coin to any man who goes to Londinium to fight by his side."
I raised my brows. "I think the fighting is over for the winter—"
The tinkling of a handbell sounded, and slaves came running back to the house. Bene grinned and took my hand. "Come on. It’s time for our lessons."
I was expecting the usual instruction in bodily pleasure, but instead we were seated at the tables and lessons in rhetoric began. The slaves went up to stand next to Etien and recited off facts and figures about arcane subjects like Greek philosophy or the development of mathematics. Then another slave countered their assertions and they were given a chance to rebut.
I sat there with my mouth open. Even with the help of a few olfs hanging about, I couldn’t understand what they were talking about. Eventually I fell into an absent daze, hearing only the buzz of words around me.
I couldn’t understand why Etien went to such lengths with the slaves. Vidaris and Becksbury had only concerned themselves with our serving and pleasure skills. It must have fulfilled some purpose for Etien, for I could hardly believe Lexander’s people had need of slaves with greater knowledge and understanding.
The next morning, we filed down to the lesson room and stripped naked again. But instead of poses, Canille ordered us into pairs to practice the art of stimulating each other with our lips and tongues. She grouped the slaves in twos and threes, ordering, "Bene, you take the new girl."
I reclined back like the others on the clean, warm tiles. Bene had a wonderful, sleek body, but he was just enough younger than I to make me feel protective of him.
Bene made an absurdly leering face as he pushed my legs apart and crawled closer. I could hardly stifle my giggle, it was so silly. If he was going to treat this like a game, then I could, too.
Bene bent his head and nuzzled my crotch with his nose and mouth. It felt good, very good. I relaxed and spread my legs wider, opening
myself to him. As he began to flick his tongue against me, I tried to keep from groaning out loud.
After a moment he lifted his head. "Tell me what you like."
I realized the other receptive slaves were murmuring to their partners. "I . . . I’m not sure."
"Go on," he prodded, biting down on my tender flesh.
I writhed for a moment, and then he pressed harder. "That hurts," I gasped.
Bene released me and began to lick the offended spot. "Better?"
"Yes," I managed to get out. I wasn’t used to thinking or speaking in the throes of lust. But he forced me to describe everything I felt and desired.
Canille walked up and down making comments. She wanted our positions to be as appealing as possible, while ensuring we were being properly pleasured. She urged Bene to use his fingers to tantalize me more.
I tried to resist the lure of climax. But as one after another of the slaves cried out and thrashed in ecstasy, I realized that was the only way it would end. Bene was relentless, holding on to my thighs so I couldn’t wriggle away, his mouth never leaving my body.
So I gave in and let waves of satisfaction ripple through me. I cried out finally, letting go completely. My legs tightened around him as I shuddered in release.
Bene collapsed on my thighs, supporting his head on my belly. "Turnabout’s fair play. Now you do me."
He must have thought I had purposely prolonged our scene, so he would hold off as long as he could. I let out something between a groan and a satisfied moan, knowing I would have to suck him until my jaw ached.
And I did. The silky black hair at his groin smelled fresh from the bath he’d taken the night before. I was looking forward to my turn in the tin tub that was set before the fire in the evenings.
I pleased Bene as mightily as he had pleased me. I used every trick I knew to make him spill faster, but he grimaced and resisted me.
Canille smiled when she realized what he was doing. "You look as if you’re in pain, Bene."
He gave an incoherent cry, trying to hold on.
Canille leaned over him, sinking her fingers into his thick hair. Her breasts strained her bodice, nearly tumbling out. The rich smell of her wafted over us, making me wish she touched me instead of Bene.
He couldn’t withstand her caress and he cried out in a frenzy of release.
That excited Canille. She whisked aside her skirts and mounted the last slave who had yet to climax, with the order, "I’ll let you know when I’ve had my fill."
The rest of us lay where we were sprawled, watching them. I stroked Bene’s sweaty skin, flushed and trembling from his feat. Thoroughly satiated, we cuddled together as Canille took her pleasure.
13
The days slipped by in Montplaire as quietly as leaves falling from a tree. Snow fell and blanketed the fallow fields. But a few days later it melted into the earth, leaving green grass behind. The olfs claimed the winter here would not get much colder than this.
Still Lexander didn’t appear, and I wondered if he was somewhere out there in the twelve towns plotting the destruction of Montplaire. In that case, he should have made his presence known to me. But I began to believe that he had gone elsewhere.
I was somewhat at a loss, having come to Montplaire with the righteous intention of freeing the slaves. But these young people were in no way oppressed.They lived in luxury and were expanding their minds and emotions. They were smart, happy, and contented with their slavery. Etien and Canille were benevolent masters, taking in those who asked to be trained in the arts of pleasure. One girl claimed she had waited two years before she was at last accepted. Those who had been saved from the streets, like Bene, were even more grateful.
The other slaves kept their distance from me, and I was excluded from many of the routines of the house. I continued wearing the drab slave tunic and loose leggings, which was a peasant boy’s attire in Frankish lands. And I was never summoned to serve the master and mistress. Etien clearly preferred boys rather than girls, and Canille never dallied with me even during our lessons, though she judged everything I did with a discerning eye. During our training, more often than not my partner was Bene. He was fascinated with me, and Canille indulged his desire to a remarkable degree.
I also didn’t serve at table, so I had no reason to go into the kitchen with its massive chimney hung with copper pots. Once I used the help of the olfs to sneak downstairs to glimpse the elaborate dining ceremony. The slaves carried bowls of water for the master and mistress to wash their hands at every course, and white napkins on which to wipe them. In Vidaris, Lexander hadn’t dined with Helanas unless there were guests. Usually he had eaten alone in his chamber with one slave in attendance.
I tried to explain the danger to the slaves in the evenings when we were free to talk and even rut together if we desired. The others would listen by the hour as I described the torture I had seen and endured. But beyond their titillated horror, my stories had no meaning for them. They had never felt the lash, so how could they truly understand? Canille would sooner cut her own hand off than hurt her slaves, while Etien used encouragement rather than punishments in his teaching.
Then one morning I woke from a dream with a start. The winged ship from Stanbulin was gliding toward me. At first it seemed like a nightmare, a manifestation of my greatest dread. But the olfs drifting overhead convinced me that a winged ship was sailing upriver to the Twelve Towns.
I sat up on my side of the bed. The girl I shared with protested sleepily as the cold air seeped under the blanket.
I went to the window under the sloped roof. The walls were so thick that I could sit on the sill. The river was hidden beyond the hillcrest.
The other slaves stirred and began to rise. I stayed in the window until I was forced to go downstairs for our lessons, all the while considering what to do. As Canille called out instructions, I went through the poses with a distracted air.
Eventually a servant appeared and announced a messenger had arrived. I almost panicked and ran from the room to escape. But Bene grinned through his legs at me, sticking out his tongue. He had completed his training, so he would be one of the slaves sent to Stanbulin next. I couldn’t abandon him or the others.
I had a terrible fear that the slaves would summarily be gathered up and taken to the ship. But Canille dismissed us and the slaves happily ran downstairs for an extended outing.
I lingered behind. They would look for me outside, and Bene might come back to find me, but I had to risk it. I went down the steps without making a sound. At the end of the corridor was the fine hall. I kept close to the wall even though I was cloaked by an olf, creeping along quietly as I tried to listen.
There was a rustle of parchment as it was rolled. "Very well," Canille said, much louder than I expected. "We’ll bring the cart at daybreak. You can tell him there will be five slaves this time."
The messenger boy muttered an acknowledgment; then the outer door creaked open. Canille appeared in the doorway, and I held my breath, pleading with the olf to conceal me.
Canille was mightily distracted, chewing on her lip and wringing her hands together. She passed by with a swish of skirts as I crouched under the olf. For a moment, I wondered if she would rebel as Lexander had, releasing her slaves rather than sacrifice them to her people.
But Canille encountered a servant at the staircase and told her to prepare baths for the slaves that evening. She was much too matter-of-fact to be contemplating a revolt.
I waited until they were both gone before I slipped out the side entrance, pulling the mantle around my shoulders.
Bene was waiting impatiently on the terrace. "Where have you been?"
"Did you see the messenger leave?"
He was instantly alert. "You’ve heard something. Tell me!"
"A ship has come. The cart will take us away in the morning."
"Our training is complete." He stared in the direction of the river. "No more maps and stilos! We’ll finally get out of here and see everythi
ng we’ve learned about. I wonder who my new mistress will be."
I almost told Bene exactly what kind of monsters he would serve, but I bit my lip. "Tell me, Bene, what is the worst punishment you’ve seen here?"
He blinked a few times. "The worst? We usually have to stand facing a wall for a while. The mistress did make Filip sleep on the floor for the whole winter to break him of his talking back. And I’d have a lot more fun if there wasn’t the threat of dish duty hanging over me."
I closed my eyes at the enormity of my task. These pampered slaves had no idea what faced them in Stanbulin. I couldn’t imagine Bene being mistreated by a master like Ukerald.
"You must understand the danger you’re in!" I grabbed his arms, giving him a slight shake. He laughed, thinking I was playing with him. "What’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, Bene? Imagine it happening every day, every moment of your life. Soul-wrenching, hopeless pain because you can’t do anything to stop it—"
"That’s what I got away from," he interrupted, extracting himself from my grip. "When I came here, everything was different."
"Yes, Montplaire is a veritable paradise," I said, sighing. "But we’ll be given to vicious, heartless beings who care not whether we suffer and die. We have to get out of here."
"Even if it was true, there is nothing else for me," Bene insisted. "The only trade I know is farming, and I’d soon enough die than do that!"
It seemed there was no budging him. How could I frighten these slaves into leaving when Montplaire gave them everything they desired?
So instead, I proposed, "Don’t tell the others about the messenger, Bene. Let it be our secret. They’ll be surprised when they find out. You can laugh at them and say we knew all along."
Bene gave me a sharp look. He knew I had my own reasons, but it was just the sort of trick he liked to play. So he agreed and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.
Etien taught the afternoon lessons as usual. Instead of struggling to understand or dozing in a bored haze, I considered what to do. I had to convince the slaves to leave tonight.
