Men In Chains

by Virginia Reede

  As for Jeryl, he felt as if he had been here for at least a year. Between Letta’s endless list of tasks and his inability to sleep soundly, he was developing circles under his eyes. Begging exhaustion did no good—Letta expected so much from herself, she had little tolerance for idleness in others. Delinda looked as tired as Jeryl felt, and even Ostyn, who seemed to regard Letta as some kind of goddess, was beginning to show a lack of enthusiasm when, during their evening meals, Letta chattered excitedly about her plans for the next day.

  The only one who showed no sign of complaint was Lora. That enigmatic young woman had shown up the morning after Letta and Ostyn had returned with the farm equipment, saying she had heard there might be work to be had at the estate, and telling a tale of a farm with too many daughters and too few hectares of land. She was a pretty dark-haired girl who spoke little but paid fervent attention to every word spoken. She seemed to be unfamiliar with virtually any task assigned to her, but once she was shown what to do, toiled on without complaint. When Jeryl had asked her to help spread manure over a newly turned field and use the hoe to mix it into the soil, she had done so until her hands became blistered, then worked on until some of those blisters broke.

  When he saw her ruined hands, Jeryl had been horrified and took Lora to Delinda. Delinda had gently chastised her for not telling Jeryl what was happening, and then used the rahnta to ease the pain and quicken the healing. Lora’s eyes had grown wide when the power began to flow, but had said nothing afterward except, “Thank you.” Delinda had looked at Jeryl as if it had been his fault, but had not voiced the disappointment in her eyes.

  Jeryl would have thought that with all the work they were doing it would be easy to avoid Delinda, but it seemed every time he turned, she was directly in his path. She always seemed to be in the bathhouse when he needed to bathe, but he would not make the mistake of getting into the tub with her again. He had gotten into the habit of moving silently to the door and peeking in before entering, so he could slip away without her noticing if she was already there. No matter how quickly he glanced, however, he always seemed to get a tantalizing glimpse of pink nipple or smooth leg. At meals, they seemed to be forever reaching for the same dish and brushing their hands together, which sent a tingling shock across his skin that had nothing to do with rahnta. In the evening, the others always seemed to arrange themselves so he must sit closest to her and smell that damned perfumed soap that stirred memories—and his cock.

  But none of these daytime tortures compared to what he went through in his dreams, when the bed he lay upon always seemed to turn into her soft, supple skin and the pillow into her breasts. He had washed his sheets so many times Letta had complimented him on his enthusiasm for laundry.

  The night before, he had gone to meet Cristof and Wilfer at the appointed place. He had hoped to learn the work was going faster than expected, but he had been disappointed. The crew had only just finished gathering the logs they needed to build the cradle and the scaffolding, and had not yet started putting the structure together. The challenge of getting the wood back to their location had proved a large one. He had tried not to let them see his discouragement and thought he had succeeded, but by the time he got back he barely had two hours of sleep before Letta was calling him to breakfast. He told the men his visits would be every two weeks in the future, and not on the night before market day.

  Delinda was not faring much better. Jeryl’s apparent lack of interest in her still rankled, not that she had any intention of letting him see it. She had toyed with the idea of leaving him at home with Lora, but decided against it. He might conclude—correctly—that she was doing it out of annoyance, and in any case she needed him.

  They were taking both the carriage and the large wagon to town on this trip. Ostyn would drive the carriage, and Jeryl the wagon. Although Jeryl had no idea how to drive a wagon, Delinda did not want Letta to ride alone. Both vehicles were needed because Delinda intended to buy at least six men at the auction, maybe more. With three women at the estate, a newly confident Ostyn and, of course, Jeryl, she thought she had better hasten her schedule for phase one before phase two overtook it. She smiled to herself as she put a few small items she was taking to Korin into the carriage. She had given Letta a room on the same corridor as her own, and thought she had heard some quiet footsteps in the hall, followed by a door closing, in the middle of one of her restless nights. Since she was sure Letta had gone to bed at least an hour earlier and had not left the room, she concluded Ostyn and Letta had progressed beyond bathing together.

  Of course, one does not have to leave the bathhouse to breed, she thought sourly. Her memories of that morning, less than a week before, seemed like an impossibly beautiful, sensuous dream. It should, as she had continued to relive it almost every night since, when she lay amid her tangled sheets and tossed until her nightdress was around her waist and her pillow on the floor. Jeryl seemed to be doing everything in his power to ignore her, barely looking at her during meals and always trying to sit as far away from her as possible. He is disgusted by me because I threw myself at him, she thought, and this made her angry again. She had mentioned back washing with the hope that he would touch her, but she had not actually asked him to do anything, and he had seemed more than willing. Are free men so unable to control their mating impulses that I made him do something contrary to his principles? Maybe that is why he had become so cold.

  She shook her head. She did not have time to think about it today. There was much to do and they needed to get started. Ostyn was already on the driver’s seat and Letta and Jeryl were in the wagon. She turned to Lora, who was standing silently at the front door, her face as passive as usual. “We will try not to be too late. You are sure you do not mind staying alone?”

  “I do not mind,” she said. “I will take care of everything. Do not be worried.”

  “I am sure you will,” said Delinda. She liked this quiet girl who watched everyone and moved hesitantly, as if afraid of making a mistake. “I have complete faith in you.” She turned to the rest of the group. “Ready?” When they nodded, she started to get into the carriage then changed her mind and climbed up next to Ostyn. When she was seated, he gently prodded the horses and they began the journey to the village.

  It was a pleasant day, and the road was dry and not particularly rutted. Before too long they reached the stables, where Letta made arrangements with the owner before taking her leave and running off to visit Korin.

  Delinda told Letta she would join her shortly, but first turned to Ostyn and Jeryl. “You have your letters of permission?” They nodded and she continued, “I think we can have as many as eight men, if you can find some that are suitable. You know what to ask them.”

  They had all gone over this before. Jeryl and Ostyn had letters allowing them to go into the sheds housing the slaves who would be sold at today’s auction and speak with them, to see who had experience with farming, carpentry, horse breeding and other skills desperately needed at the estate. This was unusual but not unheard of, and Delinda had given Ostyn a packet with a few dorins to ease their way. The two men started to head off, Ostyn looking considerably less nervous than Delinda had feared, when Jeryl halted.

  “There is something I just remembered. There is a slave I would like you to buy, whom I believe is to be sold today. I met him in the sheds last week and he asked me to put in a good word for him. You probably noticed him—his name is Duwall.”

  “Is he the one who was teasing Selia so boldly?” Delinda had been curious at the time, but had forgotten about the incident with all the activity that had followed.

  “Yes. He said he had been sold more times than any other slave in the sector.” Jeryl grinned. “He seems like exactly what you are looking for.”

  At the sight of Jeryl’s smile, Delinda’s heart almost stopped. She loved that grin, so impudent and boyish. She had seen it all the time when he first arrived at the estate, but it was the first time she had seen it directed at her since the morni
ng in the bathhouse. She smiled back genuinely.

  “I am sure you are right,” she said. “Just point him out to me and I will bid for him.” Jeryl nodded his thanks and returned to Ostyn, clapping him on the shoulder, seeming to lend him strength for this first visit back to the sheds. What a contradiction this man was. One minute she wanted to strangle him and the next she wanted to hug him. And the next…well, she had no time for those thoughts right now. She headed off to enjoy a nice chat with Korin.

  * * * * *

  “Why is the slave auction held so late in the day?” asked Delinda over a cup of tea, still seated in Korin’s kitchen some hours later. “By the time it is over, we will be up half the night driving home.”

  Korin shrugged. “It has always been thus. Maybe it is easier to pretend one cannot see the chains and the scars by torchlight.” She glanced at Ostyn to see if the comment had disturbed him, but he was deep in conversation with Letta and had not heard. She dipped her head in their direction and asked Delinda, “Are those two…”

  “I think so,” replied Delinda conspiratorially. “They are seldom apart.” She looked at Jeryl to see if he was paying any attention to the conversation, but he was staring out the window. He had been quiet since returning from the sheds, other than to jot down a few notes for Delinda and giving her a short explanation of what he and Ostyn had learned.

  “Let us go,” said Korin, standing. Ostyn stopped speaking mid-sentence and looked at Jeryl, who came over to stand by him. Delinda saw something pass between the two men, some kind of silent communication. Ostyn gulped, nodded, and got to his feet. As he hurried to get the door for Letta, Delinda touched Jeryl’s arm.

  “What was that all about?” she asked quietly.

  “Today has been difficult for him,” Jeryl responded softly. “But do not worry, he will be fine.”

  When the arrived at the auction grounds, the torches surrounding the platform where slaves would be displayed and the auctioneer would stand had already been lit. As usual, three men who had been judged likely to bring large sums had been shackled to poles so they could be examined. Delinda knew from experience they would be auctioned last. Referring to Jeryl’s notes, she saw two of the three had been identified as having skills sorely needed at the estate. She sighed, thinking this was going to be a long evening.

  As usual, the crowd was thin at the beginning, as most women knew it was unlikely the early offerings would be of much interest. Delinda surprised a few people by bidding on an elderly man who, according to the notes, was an expert in all matters pertaining to sheep, including the training of sheepdogs. Since this was one of the few animals Ostyn had no experience with, it seemed like a good idea. She had little competition for this man, but as the evening wore on and bidding became lively, it soon became apparent that whomever Delinda bid on, she won. At first others tried to outbid her, causing prices to rise alarmingly, to the auctioneer’s delight. After a while, however, others stopped trying, and as a result Delinda paid much less for her next several acquisitions than might have been expected. Selia looked disgusted, but seemed comforted by the fact that Delinda’s choices seemed to have little to do with desirability, and she did not participate in the auctions for some of the more hotly contested slaves.

  Fairly late in the evening, Jeryl saw Duwall being led onto the platform. Though completely naked, he was unchained and stepped up onto the platform with the spring of an actor about to perform in a leading role before royalty. This image was made complete by an exaggerated bow to the crowd of women, many of whom obviously recognized him and most of whom were laughing. He feigned surprise at seeing the auctioneer, even attempting to hug her as if he had accidentally come across a dear friend, long unmet. She cuffed him and he made a great show of injury, but all could clearly see the blow had been halfhearted and he was grinning beneath his hand.

  Jeryl stood in the crowd next to Delinda, to the annoyance and consternation of many of the other customers, especially those who found themselves trying to see around his broad shoulders. Other women were accompanied by slaves, but most of these were small and stood quietly to the side, while Delinda made no secret of the fact she was consulting both Ostyn and Jeryl about her purchases.

  Jeryl spoke. “That is Duwall.”

  “I gathered as much,” she said dryly. A few faces in the crowd looked annoyed, but as many others were calling out good-natured jibes.

  “Were ye not just here last week?” called out one woman. “Or was it the one before?”

  “Both!” replied a loud voice from the other side of the crowd, drawing laughter from many, including Duwall.

  “If I did not know better, I’d buy him again,” said another. “Would he not make pretty babies?” Duwall bowed again, accepting the compliment then stopped when another voice answered.

  “He might, if ye could find him when it got time to making them!” General laughter and hoots of agreement greeted this commend. Duwall pretended hurt.

  “It might not be wise,” said a clear voice, devoid of humor, “to encourage his disrespect.” Every face turned and the laughter fell silent. Bloduewedd had arrived. “Eventually this cur will get into trouble from which his charm cannot save him.” The only one whose good humor seemed not to be spoiled by this remark was Duwall, who bowed one more time, facing Bloduewedd directly and in a way so proper and rigidly correct that no one could have explained why it felt insolent. The Rahntadrine’s eyes narrowed. “Get on with it,” she said, and the auction resumed.

  Delinda was so busy watching Bloduewedd that several women bid on Duwall, reputation or not, and Jeryl had to nudge her. When she raised the bid, the other bidders looked disappointed but did not challenge. This time Duwall bowed to her exactly as he had to Bloduewedd, but the insolence was gone. “A woman who knows a bargain when she sees one,” he said. Bloduewedd scowled then turned cold eyes on Delinda.

  She probably thinks I bought him just to annoy her. Delinda refused to let her own gaze falter under the chilling stare. It seemed Bloduewedd was about to turn away when her eyes fell on Jeryl and she froze like a cat that had spotted unexpected prey. Her hand groped for Grenda’s arm, and she too looked at Jeryl.

  Jeryl had missed nothing of this exchange. Not moving his eyes, he turned his head so his lips were close to Delinda’s ear. “I think my unwelcome admirer does not approve of your choice of company,” he said and smiled, still looking at Bloduewedd. He knew that from a distance it would look like an intimate exchange at the expense of the Ra-drine, which he supposed it was.

  “I do not care what she thinks,” said Delinda, and would have turned away, except Jeryl placed his arm behind her back and grasped the elbow on the opposite side. “What are you—”

  “Shhh,” said Jeryl, cutting off her protest. “Work with me.” He removed the hand from her elbow and slid it up her arm, appearing to cradle her against him.

  Realizing what he was doing, Delinda did not know whether to be horrified or amused. Men simply did not handle women publicly, no matter their relationship. She was about to protest when she saw Bloduewedd’s face, white-lipped with fury. An uncontrollable laugh bubbled suddenly into her throat and she had to turn her face into Jeryl’s shoulder to stifle it. Jeryl stroked the back of her head lightly, still smiling smugly at the Rahntadrine. Delinda struggled for control, laying her cheek against his shoulder so her face was turned away from Bloduewedd. “If you do not stop, I will…I will…” she gasped, trying not to guffaw aloud. “I will stomp on your foot and spoil your little show.”

  Others in the crowd were starting to look at them with curiosity. Jeryl relented. With an almost imperceptible bow of his head, he turned his attention from Bloduewedd and dropped the hand stroking Delinda’s hair. He separated himself from her slowly, so as not to look abrupt, and stood so her shoulder touched his arm but there was no other contact.

  “If you are in control of yourself again, Delinda, you might recall you have three more men to buy,” said Jeryl.

 
“I am perfectly in control, thank you,” she replied, with only the slightest tremor in her voice. She could see from the corner of her eye that Jeryl was still grinning, and she dared not turn to face him directly. She looked straight at the auctioneer’s platform, avoiding the other puzzled faces turned to observe the curious behavior of this woman and her supposed slave. Even Letta looked like she wanted to ask questions, but Korin’s eyes sparkled wickedly in appreciation of the joke.

  The bidding proceeded smoothly, Delinda winning the next two auctions in which she participated virtually uncontested. The final auction of the night, for a muscular young man who was being touted as, “good breeding material”, but whom Jeryl wanted because of his experience with various grain crops, seemed likely to go the same way until the auctioneer, poised on the brink of again declaring Delinda the winner, was interrupted by a familiar voice.

  “Two thousand dorins,” called Bloduewedd, drawing gasps and then silence from the crowd. This was a considerable increase from Delinda’s bid, admittedly low because no one had been eager to bid against her—until now.

  “Two thousand five hundred,” said Delinda quickly.

  “Three thousand.” More gasps erupted.

  “Three thousand five hundred,” countered Delinda, before the gasps had settled. No one was looking at the auctioneer any longer.

  “Five thousand,” said Bloduewedd. An uneasy silence ensued.

  Delinda considered for a moment. It was not the money that caused her to hesitate—she had spent less on her earlier purchases than she had planned. It was the knowledge that if she increased this bid, it would amount to publicly declaring her lack of regard for—if not open opposition to—the Rahntadrine of the sector. Slowly, she turned her head to regard her mother’s betrayer. Reading this hesitation as defeat, a slow smile of triumph began to spread across Bloduewedd’s face.