Men In Chains

by Virginia Reede

  Having no map and no idea where he was going, he followed the shoreline. He had no plan, other than to be under cover before morning. The beach gradually became narrower, until he came to a stream flowing down from a thick growth of trees, widening into an inlet a little too swift and deep to safely cross on horseback. He turned and followed the stream inland, following the rift in the trees and the resulting band of moonlight its path had created. After about an hour, the stream narrowed and ran faster, then leveled out to a wide, shallow pool through which he could see a sandy bottom gleaming. He decided to risk crossing and did so without mishap.

  He turned to follow the stream back to the shoreline, where at least he had something by which to navigate, misguided as it may be. Now the shoreline changed, becoming more like the place he had originally come ashore. Again a cliff rose on his right as the beach became narrower and narrower. He came to a place where the cliff reached out into the water, and he realized he would have to backtrack to a place where he could climb the hill. As he turned his horse, he noticed something odd about the face of the cliff near the water. Curious, he led the horse closer and saw that behind an outcropping of rock, there was a narrow path with steep walls that looked wide enough for a man and a horse to pass.

  The horse, however, refused to cooperate until Jeryl dismounted and took her reins, leading her as he found his way through the dark passage. There were many twists and turns, and Jeryl was afraid they would come to a dead end and be faced with the dilemma of getting an increasingly skittish horse to back up in a narrow passage. After a particularly tight squeeze which Jeryl had almost despaired of coaxing the animal through, they turned a corner and again found themselves in the open, on a sandy beach. Emerging from the crevice, he turned just as a stray scrap of cloud passed in front of the moon, plunging the beach into shadow.

  From what Jeryl could make out in the dim light, he was in a small cove shaped like a horseshoe. High cliffs ringed the half-circle, making it invisible from the shore above and below this indentation. The wall behind him was sheer and topped with evergreens. He could see the outline of the cliffs opposite, and they seemed the same. A large and jagged formation loomed in the darkness near the other cliffs. As Jeryl tried to make it out, the cloud passed away and again the moon shone out bright and clear. Jeryl gasped and almost lost his footing, grabbing at the horse’s saddle to keep his feet.

  Across the cove, half out of the water and listing heavily to one side, lay the Sheeling.

  * * * * *

  Jeryl walked toward his beloved ship like a man in a dream. As the clouds continued to disperse, he saw her more clearly. Her silhouette was wrong—some of her masts and rigging were missing. As he got closer, he could see the outlines of jagged holes in her hull. He rounded an outcropping and saw a flicker of flame to his right. He stopped, realizing it was a small fire, in a spot sheltered from the breeze by the rocky formation he had just penetrated. There were men sitting and standing around the flames. A shock ran through him. His men were alive!

  He walked toward the fire, wanting to run but too stunned for his feet to cooperate. He shouted, “Hello!” but his voice came out in a croak. He tried again, as his uncooperative legs finally began to move. “Hello there!” Though still not the shout he intended it was loud enough, because faces turned toward him. As he grew closer to the firelight he first saw shock and then joyous recognition as they ran to meet him.

  “It’s the captain! The captain is alive!” They surrounded him, and everyone seemed to want to touch him to make sure he was real.

  “We thought you was drowned,” said Wilfer, tears streaming down his face. The youngest member of the crew would probably be teased unmercifully for this display, but as Jeryl looked around he saw some of the hardened salts with more than twice Wilfer’s years were not dry-eyed. He felt a hardening knot in his own throat.

  “I thought you were all lost, and the Sheeling with you,” he said. “I do not remember going into the water at all, just waking up alone.” Voices shouted, each competing to tell the story of the storm, creating a cacophony from which little information could be gleaned. Raising his voice, Jeryl shouted, “One at a time! I cannot make out a thing if you all talk at once. Where is Herund?” Jeryl looked around for his first mate.

  “Over yonder.” Wilfer pointed to four mounds in the sandy ground, well above the high-tide line. Sobered, Jeryl took a more careful look at the group surrounding him. There were seventeen men. Besides the first mate, there were six men missing. “You had better tell me all of it.” Jeryl held up his hand when they all would have begun talking again. “Cristof, you tell it. The rest can fill in anything you’ve missed when you are done.

  They seated Jeryl on a log with a mug of steaming tea—at least some of the ship’s stores were intact—and Cristof told the tale.

  Jeryl well remembered the sudden storm that had come upon them just before nightfall, and their futile attempts to outrun it, but he did not prevent Cristof from starting at the beginning, and the story soon reached the last moments Jeryl remembered before waking alone on the rocky beach.

  “I was starting to think we’d beat it, sir. It was still blowing a gale, but the direction was steady and we’d finally gotten the Sheeling turned into the waves. Then, there was a terrible sound of wood breaking and tearing, and I looked up and saw the main mast come crashing down on the deck, right where you were standing.” Cristof paused in his narrative, seeing Jeryl’s closed eyes. “Are you all right, Captain?’

  “I’m fine,” said Jeryl, opening his eyes. “It’s just the sound you are describing—the wood rending—is the last thing I remember. I hear it in my dreams. Please go on.”

  “Yes sir. I saw Herund get swept right off the deck, and Bortis too. The mast was trying to slide off into the ocean, but lines were attached to the deck and caught on things, and pulling stuff everywhere. Men were getting caught up in it.” He nodded toward a man with a heavily bandaged arm. “Ferd there nearly had his arm cut off. Everyone who had a knife started cutting the lines as fast as we could and finally it fell away. We looked around and you were gone. The wheel was spinning free and the Sheeling was keeling over and we hit rocks, hard. Gorman went over the side then.”

  As Jeryl listened, Cristof finished the tale, occasionally assisted with details from the others. Luckily, the waves had lifted the damaged Sheeling over the reef before she took on too much water and began to founder, and then tossed them up onto the shore in this cove. When the morning came, eight men were missing including the captain. The ship’s doctor, who had survived the ordeal, tended the wounded. The men who were able-bodied had attached ropes and pulleys to the Sheeling and hauled her high into the shallows so the high tide would not lift her into the ocean and take her out far enough to sink. Four bodies had washed to shore, and been buried. This had taken the better part of two days, and they were making plans to send a party around the cliffs and look for help the next morning.

  “You have no idea how happy we were to see you coming to rescue us.” Wilfer’s shining face changed when he saw Jeryl’s expression. “Did not you, Captain? Come to rescue us?”

  Jeryl sighed. “No, Wilfer, I’m afraid I am the one in need of rescuing.” He looked at the disappointed faces. “I think, Cristof, someone had better pour me a little more tea. I’ve learned a lot about this place in the last two days, and I think you had all better hear it.” The tea was duly poured and Jeryl watched their faces change as he related the events, leaving out the details of what happened in Bloduewedd’s house, saying only that he had been taken there and had knocked down the Ra-drine in his effort to escape. When he was done, he sat back. “So, you see, I have not come to rescue you, but to help you repair the Sheeling and sail out of this place.”

  The group was silent. Finally, Cristof spoke. “Begging your pardon, Captain, but you have to go back.”

  “Back?” Jeryl was incredulous. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

  “No, Captain,” said
Cristof quietly. “But you haven’t seen the Sheeling by daylight yet, sir. We have a spare mast, of course, and some lumber and tools, but what we carried aboard the ship was intended for light repairs only.” He hurried when he saw the alarm on Jeryl’s face. “Oh, we can repair her, sir, but without a proper shipyard we are going to have to build a cradle and scaffolding. We are going to have to cut and finish boards without a sawmill. There’re good trees on the top of the cliff, sir, but if what you say is true we are going to have to be careful not to cut down too many in high places or someone might notice an empty patch on a ridge. All the hammering will make noise, so we have to post lookouts, which means less hands working.”

  Jeryl had a sinking feeling that Cristof, a promising young officer with a military background, was probably right. “Go on,” he said, seeing the man had more to say.

  “Well, Captain, this place is sheltered from sight but you got in here easy enough, and with a horse.” He nodded toward the gray mare, which had followed when Jeryl had dropped the reins upon seeing the Sheeling and now stood not far from the circle of men, quietly nibbling sea grass. “It doesn’t look like many people know about this place but if someone were to go out searching for you, they would find us eventually. If no one is looking we might get the time we need to get ready to sail before someone stumbles upon us. And we need that time, Captain.” Cristof stopped, his expression indicating fear that he had overstepped his bounds. The other men stood tensely, waiting to see what Jeryl would say.

  “How long will it take?” asked Jeryl, not yet ready to bow to the inevitable.

  “I was figuring about two or three months, sir.” Cristof looked apologetic. “Probably closer to three, what with having to post lookouts.”

  Jeryl stood, furious. He was not angry at Cristof, who was right, damn him. Eventually Grenda and her ghouls would come sniffing around and learn he was no longer at Delinda’s estate. Then they would come looking for him. He would have to go back and he had to leave soon if he was going to make it before morning.

  He stretched, bone weary, and turned to Cristof. “We need a way to keep in touch so you can tell me about the progress of repairs.” He turned to look for the trail through the cliff. The tide had risen and he wondered in alarm if he would be able to get back through. “Cristof, Wilfer, follow me. I will show you the path through the cliff.” From this side, the path was easier to find but it was no easier to navigate and Jeryl blessed his luck for a horse so placid and cooperative. They had to wade through the surf on the other side. He turned to the men who had followed. “I will come back in five nights. I’ll try to arrive at low tide, if it is not too late. Stay hidden somewhere you can see me.” He grasped each of their arms in a farewell. He was reluctant to leave but knew he must hurry if he was to reach the house before daylight.

  “Goodbye, Captain. Be careful,” said Cristof, and Wilfer waved mournfully. They watched him ride away before turning and heading through the cleft.

  The trip back took less time, as Jeryl did not have to look for a route. He was thankful the placid horse required little direction once they regained the wide beach closest to Delinda’s home. The moon had fallen lower on the horizon but still shed enough light to help them find their way back through the woods between the beach and the path leading to the back of the stables. Exhausted though he was, Jeryl took time to brush down the gray, give her food and water, and return the saddle and bridle to their places. He waited for the gray to finish so he could put the food and water bucket back where they were kept, leaving no evidence of his ride.

  Finally he stumbled toward the front door and considered the problem of a bath. He had bathed before dinner the previous evening and he knew it was impossible to spend several hours on a horse and not pick up the distinctive odor. A glow had begun to appear on the horizon and Jeryl wondered whether Delinda or Ostyn were early risers. With a sigh, he abandoned the attractive idea of crawling into bed and ignoring all entreaties regarding breakfast or chores or whatever it was they did in the morning here.

  Instead, Jeryl went to the bathhouse. If either of the house’s other occupants got up early, he could say he had so missed freshwater baths while at sea he could not resist starting his day with one. It was the only excuse he could think of.

  Like the more modest room in the slave sheds, Delinda’s bath was communal. This room, however, had tubs of varying depths. All were full because, as Ostyn had explained, they were constantly refilled by a system that used pressure from natural springs that ran under the house. It was designed so well and built so sturdily that it had taken almost no effort for Ostyn to get the system back into working order when Delinda had brought him to the house the week before. She had already cleaned the tubs and made them ready, Ostyn had confided. He was still awed that a grand lady had performed manual labor and lived here without any slaves for almost a week before acquiring him.

  Jeryl undressed and gave his clothes a sniff. The smell of horse was unmistakable. Here was a problem he had not considered—he had no other clothes and it would take too long for these to dry if he washed them. He looked around for an answer to his dilemma, opening a small door that led off the hall next to the bathhouse. Here he found a mound of dirty clothes and linens next to a series of wash basins that could be filled from the same source that provided water to the baths. Based on the size of the pile, Jeryl concluded neither Delinda nor Ostyn had experience with laundering. Finding no help, he turned and noticed a robe woven out of something soft and thick hanging on a hook. He held it up and determined it was long enough to be decent. It must be Delinda’s, he decided. He put his clothes in a basin and pulled a lever, releasing a stream of water. He would think of an explanation for his wet clothes later.

  Leaving them to soak, he returned to the bathhouse and eased into the deepest and hottest of the tubs. He hoped the water was too hot for him to fall asleep easily and he set about washing the scent of horse sweat from his hair and skin. He rinsed, noticing how the water continually cleared because of the way it flowed from one end of the tub to the other, pouring down to a drain in the floor. He leaned back against the side and relaxed, savoring the sensation of the gently moving water, and allowed his eyes to close. Resting his arms on the smooth top edge, he put his head back and lay it against a concave wooden support, several of which were mounted around the tub for the purpose. Almost immediately he fell sound asleep.

  * * * * *

  Delinda awoke to the early dawn. Normally she would wait until full light before beginning her day, but her sleep had not been restful and her whirling mind would not let her sink back into oblivion. She wished the memory of Jeryl riding off last night had been one of her troubling dreams, but she knew better. She would have to tell Ostyn, who would be as disappointed as she. She had noticed him watching the outlander after dinner. Jeryl was the only male Ostyn had ever met who had always been free and had no trace of the caution that all slaves, even those treated kindly, must always have around women. There was much Ostyn could have learned from the man, she thought bitterly, and others I bring here could have benefited as well.

  She knew Ostyn would not be up yet and would see to the animals before looking to his own breakfast, so she decided a bath might make her feel better. She had used Korin’s modest bath yesterday morning, but last night she had let the men use the bathhouse while she had started the struggle to prepare a meal. This morning she planned to luxuriate until she smelled tea brewing. Ostyn had at least mastered tea.

  She stopped by the laundry and winced at the stacks of dirty clothes and linens. She made a mental note to find someone with laundry experience when she went looking for a cook. Her plan to escape Bloduewedd’s notice by avoiding the slave auction seemed foolish now. She reached for her robe before noticing in the dim light that the hook was empty. She frowned, wondering if Ostyn had decided to try his hand at laundry after all. When had he had the time?

  Oh well, she could wrap herself in towels or put her nightclothes back on a
fter the bath. She closed the laundry door and stepped into the bathhouse. As she reached up to unbutton her shirt, she caught her breath.

  Jeryl sat in the tub, sound asleep. The morning light was just beginning to stream through the window, and glinted on the drops of water in his hair. His arms stretched out to either side, resting against the top of the tub. This position caused the muscles in his chest to lift and the angle of the light cast strong shadows against his skin, defining every ridge and indentation. She noticed it was not only the hair on his head that held drops of water—his chest had a fine covering of golden hair that trailed into a narrow line leading down into the water and what lay below. Delinda leaned forward, but though the water was clear it was still dark, and she could only see the line where his bronzed chest gave way to whiter skin below. He must stand on the deck of his ship with no shirt. The image made her shiver.

  What was he doing here? Where had he gone? Perhaps he had been planning an escape on a future night, and was surveying the local land. Maybe he had started to run away then changed his mind.

  Just then, the rising sun spilled more light over the windowsill and the room became brighter. Delinda watched Jeryl’s face to see if the sudden beam of sunlight would awaken him, but he slept on. She leaned forward to look into the clear water to see if she could get a better look at what she had only glimpsed before. What she saw caused her breath to shorten. His legs were so long and so beautifully defined, the edges of the muscles sharply contrasted. But it was what she saw nestled in the patch of hair, darker than the stuff on his chest, where those legs met that most fascinated her. What would it look like when he was aroused? And what would it feel like? Would it hurt? Obviously, if a baby could come out of the same opening, it would be possible to accommodate a large phallus, but would it be pleasurable?