Men In Chains

by Virginia Reede

  “No, you go on to the shop. There is no use getting anyone else into trouble with the Rahntadrine and if they haul me off to prison or something, I’ll need someone to look after Ostyn. Which reminds me, Ostyn!” she called. He came into the room, looking much better. “Ostyn, I need you to take all our parcels over to the stables and put them into the carriage. Then hook up the horses and wait for me. I may be in a hurry when I return.”

  “He could wait behind my shop, which is a lot closer to the slave market. You could always lead the outlander through my shop and out the back door, if you somehow manage to get Bloduewedd to agree to sell him to you.”

  “Thank you, Korin,” said Delinda gratefully. “Ostyn, will you do as Korin suggests, please?” He nodded his understanding and headed out through the door toward the stables. Delinda and Korin were right behind him, and they walked together until they came to the intersection nearest the market, where Korin continued to her shop and Delinda hesitated.

  “Good luck, Delinda,” said Korin, and Delinda turned at the lane that led to the rear of the sheds. She noticed that, to her disgust, a few women were already staking out spots where they would have the best views of the upcoming event, with slaves laden with chairs and cushions. One woman even had a group of slaves erecting a sunshade. “You needn’t bother,” she muttered under her breath. “There isn’t going to be anything to see.” Wishing she felt the confidence her words implied, she trudged down the lane.

  Coming around the corner, Delinda saw she would have little time to plan her strategy, as Grenda was already sitting in the outdoor office, drinking from a steaming mug and smoking a pipe. Several other mail-clad women milled about and Selia sat behind a desk, writing something in a ledger.

  Looking up and seeing Delinda’s approach, Grenda smiled her unpleasant smile. “Ye are early for the execution,” she said. “Are ye having a hard time waiting to see my expertise with a blade?” She patted the sheathed sword which lay on the table before her.

  “I am surprised you are so happy about it,” said Delinda, “considering that you stand to lose a lot of money. Do you mind if I sit down?” Without waiting for an answer, Delinda pulled up another chair and sat facing Grenda, who lost her smile.

  “Aye, I will not see a penny for all the trouble he has already cost me,” admitted Grenda. “But at least I’ll get to swing the blade that slices his cursed neck.”

  “A lot to pay for a few seconds of satisfaction. I’m sure the bidding would have gone quite high.”

  “Do ye think so?” said Grenda, scratching her head. “Why, did ye take a fancy to him yesterday? I saw ye touching his chest.” Grenda’s smile took on a leering quality. Delinda took her meaning and although she found her attitude distasteful, decided to play along.

  “Well, I did notice he seemed tall and well-muscled, and you know what they say about outlanders.” She smiled back, trying to make her expression match Grenda’s. “I thought I would probably bid for him and I was expecting I might end up paying, oh,” she paused, searching for a figure that would arouse greed without seeming ridiculous, “eight or ten thousand dorins.” She held her breath, afraid she had quoted too high a price.

  Grenda choked on her tea and it took her several moments for to regain her breath. Delinda was afraid she had gone too far, but Grenda said, “Would ye really have gone so high?” Delinda heard no hint of sarcasm in the big woman’s voice.

  “If I had to,” said Delinda. “I have always wanted an outlander. They just seem so…” She hunted for a word. “Virile.” Several of the women smiled, but Delinda did not see ridicule in their expressions. The idea of a noblewoman wanting a tumble with an unschooled slave probably seemed reasonable to them. She warmed to the theme. “I get so tired of trying to bed these weak, used-up men you see everywhere, and could use more of a, er…challenge.” She hoped no one noticed her blush.

  “He would be that, if he managed to knock down the Ra-drine,” commented one of the women before Grenda could silence her with a scowl.

  “Tell me, Miss,” said Grenda, leaning forward eagerly. “Would ye still be willing to pay so much for him?”

  “Of course,” said Delinda. “But it doesn’t look like I’ll have the chance now.” She sighed, not having to work too hard to look disappointed. “I do not think Bloduewedd likes me very much,” she went on, “so she will probably never agree to it if she thinks it’s my idea.”

  “That’s probably true,” said Grenda, frowning. Delinda watched her carefully. A quarter share of ten thousand dorins was likely more than she made in half a twelve-month.

  “Unless…” said Delinda, watching Grenda’s furrowed brow.

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless there was some way you could convince her it was her idea,” said Delinda. “Although I do not know how you could do it.”

  “Her idea.” Grenda mulled it over. “It might work, but it wouldn’t be easy.” She looked at Delinda speculatively.

  “What is it?” asked Delinda. “Do you have an idea?”

  Grenda felt a growing hope. She had already mentally spent her share—a much smaller share than Delinda was now proposing—of the auction’s proceeds. She had not dared show her disappointment in front of Bloduewedd, nor the women who were likely to tell tales.

  “Do you have an idea, Grenda?” repeated Delinda.

  “I might,” said Grenda. She thought about it for a few more moments. She looked Delinda over. This woman was right—Bloduewedd seemed to have taken an instant dislike to her. Grenda was too new to the sector to know about Morenna firsthand, but she had heard stories. Bloduewedd had reason to despise Delinda, and she certainly hated the outlander. What if she, Grenda, could convince Bloduewedd the outlander was sure to cause trouble for Delinda? It was probably true. If the powerful Rahntadrine could not control him, this woman certainly stood no chance. He would probably overpower her and escape and then Grenda would have the job of tracking him down. She could even kill him if he resisted capture, giving her both the pleasure of killing him and the weight of a half-year’s pay in her pocket. Grenda started to warm to the idea. Now if she could just convince Bloduewedd.

  “What have you thought of?” asked Delinda eagerly.

  “Never ye mind,” said Grenda, intending to tell Delinda to wait while she went to meet the Ra-drine. She had another thought. “Do ye have the money with ye?”

  “Yes,” responded Delinda. “I came to buy slaves, but I never made it to yesterday’s auction.”

  “All right, then,” said Grenda. “Wait for me here. No, go around the front like ye’re waiting for the execution. I’ll go have a chat with Bloduewedd and either bring her here or fetch you to her.”

  Grenda found Bloduewedd in the teashop as expected. The Rahntadrine was in a foul mood this morning, the combined effects of the blow to her head and too much brandy had created an ache that she said thudded in her ears. She was drinking some tea that was supposed to quiet such pains. It was a pity, thought Grenda, that those with the rahnta could not work it on themselves. Although in this situation, her Ra-drine’s condition might work to her advantage.

  Bloduewedd glared balefully through bloodshot eyes. “What is it, Grenda?”

  “Are ye feeling any better?” she asked, stalling.

  “I feel as one would expect,” she replied. “And you did not come to inquire after my health. What do you want?”

  “Well, my Ra-drine, I’ve been thinking,” started Grenda, not sure how to start.

  “Thinking about what?” snapped Bloduewedd.

  Grenda knew she’d have to get to the point quickly, as the Ra-drine seemed to be finding conversation an annoyance. But not too fast.

  “About the outlander,” she said, and seeing Bloduewedd’s eyes narrow, “and about that woman from yesterday, that Delinda,” she added hastily.

  “What about her?” asked Bloduewedd, less impatient now. “And what does she have to do with that cursed outlander?”

  “Well, ye see,
I heard this morning she had set her mind on buyin’ him at next week’s auction and all, and she has been going around this morning and saying how disappointed she is that she will not be able to.” Grenda watched Bloduewedd’s face to see how this was going over, but could guess nothing from her expression. “And that she would have been willing to pay ten thousand dorins for him, and—”

  “And you started thinking about the money your Ra-drine was about to lose for you,” purred Bloduewedd, her voice dangerous.

  “No, not that,” said Grenda. “Ye are perfectly right to want him dead after what he done, but I was thinking there might be a way to do that and still get the money and cause some trouble for Delinda, all at the same time,” she finished in a burst, eager to get it all out before the Rahntadrine got too far down the path of Grenda’s financial losses.

  “How?” asked Bloduewedd, skepticism clear in her voice.

  “Well, I was thinking how troublesome he is, and how he almost got the better of ye before I got there.” She hastened to add, “Not that ye wouldn’t have been fine without me, but ye have to admit he’s a big man and a lot for any woman to handle.” Bloduewedd still looked suspicious but nodded, and Grenda continued. “Now, this Delinda has no idea what a handful he is and if she were to try to take him on, surely he’d be more than she can manage. And I do not think she has anyone to help her, so he’d likely give her a lot of trouble.” She paused to see if Bloduewedd was in agreement with her so far.

  “Get to the point,” said Bloduewedd.

  Grenda was encouraged by the fact she had not yet actually said no, and went on.

  “Well, if ye were to sell him to Delinda, he would probably escape within the week. It would be too late for her to get her money back, and then me and the girls would go hunting for him, and if her were to resist—”

  “You’d get to kill him after all and we’d have Delinda’s money,” finished the Rahntadrine.

  Grenda could not tell if this meant Bloduewedd was agreeing. She decided to expand the story a bit.

  “With any luck, he’d beat her up real good before he ran away,” she said. “And then she’d be the laughingstock of the town for thinking she could handle him.” Grenda licked her lips in anticipation. “She’d be more respectful to ye the next time she saw ye at the inn, I’ll warrant.” This was a gamble, for Grenda knew Bloduewedd’s pride still smarted from the incident in the inn’s common room.

  Pressing her luck no further, she went to get another cup of the soothing tea for the Ra-drine from the counter, along with one for herself. She waited in silence while Bloduewedd mulled the idea over, hoping she did not look as anxious as she felt. In her mind, she counted off what the money could buy for her. Many trips to the breeding house could be in her future, and some of that fancy brandy Bloduewedd liked, and maybe a jeweled hilt for her sword…

  “All right,” said Bloduewedd, breaking Grenda’s reverie.

  “My Ra?” asked Grenda, afraid she had misheard.

  “I said all right,” repeated Bloduewedd testily. “If this woman Delinda still wants to buy the outlander, she is welcome to him. I have a terrible headache and do not feel like standing in the sun and listening to all the women in town cackle like crows while they wait for the sword to swing. I want to go home and have some peace and quiet. If you can get that woman here with her money within the next ten minutes, I’ll do it. Now hurry up before I change my mind.”

  “I’ll get her,” promised Grenda, rising so abruptly she overturned her chair. “I think I saw her with the women waiting for the execution. I’ll have her back her in a few minutes.”

  “I’m sure you will,” said Bloduewedd dryly. She had little doubt that Grenda’s primary motives lay in her own profit, but what she had said about the likelihood of the outlander causing trouble and running away was probably true. It might be amusing to watch her old rival’s upstart daughter get a lesson in humility. She almost smiled at the thought.

  Delinda had to want the outlander as a breeder—they were of little use for anything else, often having the mistaken idea they were too good to be slaves—and Bloduewedd knew from painful experience that this particular outlander seemed to have an aversion to the activity. No one, she reasoned, could match her own powers of seduction, which flowed from the dark rahnta and were magnified by the Eye of the Goddess. Even if Delinda had some power, it had come from Morenna, and her rahnta had leaned toward healing, not sexuality.

  She had just finished drinking her second cup of tea when Grenda reappeared, practically dragging Delinda behind her. The noblewoman looked nervous, which pleased Bloduewedd.

  “Grenda here tells me you want to buy the outlander. I am not entirely sure I think that is a good idea, but I would be interested to hear why you want him.”

  Delinda was wary—Grenda had refused to tell her anything except that Bloduewedd had agreed to the plan. When Delinda had asked what Grenda had said to convince the woman, she had told her it was not her concern. Delinda was so relieved that the Ra-drine had agreed to sell the outlander, she had followed the hurrying woman into the very teashop which she had vowed to never again enter only the day before. She hoped Grenda had not been mistaken about Bloduewedd’s intentions. She decided to stick to the same story she had given Grenda.

  “I have always heard that outlanders had certain talents,” she said. “And I always wanted to find out for myself, but I’ve never had the opportunity. I’m of an age where I should have been pregnant by now,” she went on, getting a little too close to the truth for her own comfort. “And I thought maybe with an outlander, I would have some success.” Bloduewedd nodded, and she inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Apparently this was close enough to what the Ra-drine had expected to sound convincing.

  “Grenda says you will pay ten thousand dorins for him,” she said, “and I would as soon have the money as see the execution. Do you have the money with you?”

  Delinda nodded, taking her purse from her pocket and unfolding the notes. Grenda smiled greedily and licked her lips while Delinda counted them out on the table. Bloduewedd watched impassively then spoke again. “The laws of this sector say any slave that is to be auctioned must first stay in the sheds for a week, to be sure he is sound and not being sold because he is sick and his owner wishes to be rid of him.” Delinda frowned, not wanting to wait a week to claim her prize. “But in this instance,” the Ra-drine went on, “the circumstances are out of the ordinary and as long as you will consent, in writing, that this sale is final and you accept him in whatever condition you find him, I think we can make an exception.”

  Grenda borrowed paper from the proprietress of the teashop and Bloduewedd dictated as Delinda wrote out a bill of sale, which they both signed with Grenda as a witness.

  Delinda had a hard time concealing her relief and delight and was relieved when Bloduewedd stood, obviously wishing to be gone now that the transaction was complete. “Take that paper to Selia and she will turn him over to you,” she said. “Grenda, go tell the vultures there will be no show today, and they can go about their business. I am going home.” She swept out of the teashop, Grenda right behind her.

  Chapter Six

  When Delinda, clutching the precious bill of sale in her hand, returned to the slave market, she found Grenda had already come and gone. Eager to get her cut, I expect. Some of the spectators had already packed up their cushions and chairs and dispersed, but many still stood in groups, speaking in angry tones. Not everyone believed the execution had really been called off. Delinda walked to the back of the building, hoping no one would notice her. Had Grenda told the women the reason there would be no beheading? Delinda sincerely hoped not.

  A few heads turned her way curiously, but no shouts or gestures ensued and no one made as if to follow her. She moved as quickly as she could without arousing suspicion, and came around the corner to find the slave merchant pacing agitatedly in front of her desk. As soon as she saw Delinda, she rushed over.

  “I have ha
d about enough disruptions for one day, I can tell you that,” said the woman breathlessly. “Do you think it is easy to keep the men calm with all this talk of executions and outlanders and irregular sales transactions?” She paused to breathe and Delinda cut in.

  “I am sure it is all very difficult,” she soothed. She touched the woman’s arm lightly and, sensing power, quickly withdrew her hand. She would have to use words and deeds to calm this woman, not rahnta. “I hope you will accept two hundred dorins as a small token of my appreciation for your patience throughout this ordeal.” She slipped the money into the woman’s hand.

  Selia looked at the money and, mollified, seated herself behind her desk, all business. “I’m glad you appreciate what I have to deal with here, Miss. Now, I understand you have a document entitling you to take possession of the slave. May I see it, please?” Silently, Delinda passed her the bill of sale and she scanned it. “Everything appears to be in order.” She looked at Delinda. “Usually we bathe them before sending them out. He was bathed yesterday, but I’m afraid at the moment he’s rather the worse for wear. What with his condition and all of the excitement, we did not have the opportunity.”

  “His condition?” Delinda was alarmed. “What is wrong with him?”

  “Well, there was some sort of altercation last night and Grenda had to, um, subdue him.” When Delinda’s eyebrows rose, Selia hurried to add, “Just a bump on the head, nothing to be alarmed about, and he was reeking of spirits, so we thought it better to let him rest. He has not been permanently damaged.”

  I’ll just bet she had to subdue him, thought Delinda, but she was eager to complete the transaction and get away from this place and this woman. “A bath is not necessary. Can he walk?” she asked.

  “Oh, yes, I’m sure he can,” said the woman, but her face betrayed a lack of confidence. “Rest here and I’ll have him fetched. Alun!” A slave appeared at the door. “Shackle the outlander and bring him out here.”

  “No!” Delinda rose. Both the slave merchant and Alun turned toward her. “I prefer you do not put shackles on him.”