Men In Chains

by Virginia Reede

  Determination bloomed in Delinda and she turned to face the auctioneer. “Six thousand,” she said clearly. She knew this sum was unheard of, even for famous breeders from the best houses in the cities. She did not turn her head to see the Ra-drine’s reaction, but held her breath. She was ready to bid again the instant Bloduewedd raised. She counted the seconds, watching the auctioneer’s face.

  “Are there any other bids?” asked the auctioneer after an interminably long time. The crowd was absolutely silent. Only the faint sound of the torches flickering could be heard.

  After another wait, when Delinda thought her heartbeat must be audible in the unnatural silence, the auctioneer quietly said, “Sold.”

  Immediately, a murmur rose from the crowd. Almost against her will, Delinda turned to see Bloduewedd’s reaction, and was surprised to find she had already turned away, followed by Grenda and a smattering of what must be Reliants. Delinda exhaled. She had not thought the auction would be such an ordeal and she was suddenly very, very tired.

  “Ostyn and I will get the wagon and the carriage,” said Letta. Delinda nodded and Korin squeezed her hand.

  “If you do not mind, dear, I’ll go with them and say my goodbyes to Letta on the way.” She took Ostyn’s arm with one hand and Letta’s with the other, and the trio headed off in the direction of Korin’s house and the stables. A few women glanced meaningfully at Korin’s hand on Ostyn’s arm, which, after Jeryl and Delinda’s display, may have been remarked on as more evidence of unusual behavior regarding the treatment of men. Delinda hoped so.

  She turned to find Jeryl waiting. “Do you not wish to go with them?” she asked.

  “I thought you would not mind some company,” he said. “Paying for ten slaves purchased in the same evening may invite an audience.”

  “I am starting to get used to that,” said Delinda, and Jeryl noticed she did not seem entirely displeased. Deciding it fit her mood, he held his arm out for her and, after a moment’s hesitation, she followed Korin’s example and took it.

  The transaction went smoothly, although it took time to sign and witness all the appropriate documents and bring out all the slaves. The final sale had more than made up for any earlier shortfalls, and Selia was in an expansive mood. She had earned a sizeable commission tonight and was well pleased.

  When Duwall was led out, he immediately strode toward Jeryl with arms extended. “Outlander!” he shouted exuberantly. “I saw you in the crowd, like a prize rooster ruffling the feathers of all those hens.” He grasped Jeryl’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder. “I see you did your employer a great service by recommending me. My Ra, you will not be sorry.” He made one of his extravagant bows.

  “Please do not call me Ra,” said Delinda, obviously charmed. “I am Delinda, or Miss, if you are more comfortable with that.”

  “Delinda! A beautiful name, appropriate for a woman with the face of a goddess. I am honored to be allowed to use it.” He would have bowed yet again, but Jeryl found himself becoming annoyed by the man’s overstated flattery. He grasped Duwall’s shoulder firmly and turned him in the direction of the wagon, which had pulled into the alley during the exchange.

  “Come along, honey-tongue,” he said to the smaller man. “We have a long way to go tonight and the moon is setting early.” He practically lifted Duwall into the wagon, where that man spotted Letta and started praising her extravagantly, to Ostyn’s consternation.

  The rest of the men were distributed between the vehicles, with three uncomfortable men sharing Delinda’s carriage. Luckily, they had been issued some trousers upon departure and would not have to endure the awkward ride naked.

  Once underway, Delinda explained to her traveling companions she was their employer, not their Ra, and did her best to get them to speak. One of the trio was the old sheep expert, and she was able to coax him to answer a few questions, and even to volunteer that one of the dogs at his last owner’s farm had recently whelped a litter of pups that might be worth acquiring in a few weeks. Delinda promised to look into it. Despite her progress, she was grateful when the carriage pulled into her drive. She was too tired to cajole these terrified men into believing their lives had just undergone a change for the better, and much too tired to use the rahnta to calm ten men. Nine men, she corrected herself. She had a feeling Duwall had never been frightened in his life.

  * * * * *

  Beteria heard the carriage and wagon on the drive and glanced nervously around the room. She was quite sure that she had put all of Delinda’s papers and ledgers back exactly where she had found them, and no trace of her explorations would be found. Spying, she reminded herself. Call it what it is. You are spying on this woman—on these people. You are a spy. Guilt made her nervous and once again she looked around, sure her real motives must be written on her forehead and Delinda would walk in and say, “Aha! Bloduewedd’s spy!”

  She swallowed hard and took several deep breaths to calm herself. She considered walking out to meet the arrivals, but her knees felt wobbly. Instead, she walked to the window and stared out. She counted the forms silhouetted in the wagon and then emerging from the carriage and realized Delinda had bought nine—no, ten slaves at the market. She was surprised, but the corridor where Jeryl and Ostyn slept would house twice as many, and once the old quarters near the stable were repaired and upgraded, many times more than that. She had overheard Delinda and Jeryl talking about buying men with carpentry and masonry skills.

  It was all very exciting, and Beteria had found herself imagining the changes and restorations Delinda spoke about in so animated a fashion. She even asked Beteria’s opinion, listening attentively when “Lora” made suggestions about beehives and the planting of herbs. Even her mother did not know Beteria was interested in bees.

  She sighed, thinking about her meeting with Grenda the night before. She had slipped out after dark, climbing easily down from her balcony and running across the field to meet with Grenda in the wood. She had not had much to tell, other than Delinda planned to buy more slaves so she could restore the buildings and plant a small crop. Grenda had taunted her, saying her mother would be disappointed in her as usual.

  At the end of that conversation, Beteria had walked back to the house full of determination to prove her worth to her mother, and to show Grenda she was mistaken. She had been so distracted that she had almost run into Jeryl, who was apparently taking a late night walk out to the stables. Delinda let her men go anywhere they wanted and did not even lock them up at night.

  When she had awakened this morning, Beteria was unable to summon the resolve that had been so firm the night before. When everyone had left for town and she was finally alone in the house, she went into the office and took out all of Delinda’s notes, ledgers and papers and tried to make sense of them. She had felt terrible—unclean somehow. If only Delinda had not been so unfailingly kind to her. Her last words upon leaving were of confidence and trust.

  In Lora, Beteria reminded herself. Not me. She doesn’t even know who I am. Not that her spying had done much good. The notes included a lot of plans for the estate, but Delinda spoke openly of these all the time. There were other things, about treating men with dignity and teaching them to value their abilities. Although this sounded like something Bloduewedd would disapprove of, it was all too vague to be formed into any kind of solid accusation. Beteria also read some startling pages about the steady decline of pregnancy rates in women of this sector as compared to the rest of the land, and wondered if this was true. Even if it was, she did not see how the possession of this information could be considered a danger to anyone.

  She heard voices in the front room and readied herself to go out and greet Delinda and the others. As she entered the room, she saw the last of several men mounting the flight of stairs that led to the gallery onto which Ostyn and Jeryl’s rooms opened. Jeryl was behind them, telling them they would be allowed to pick their own rooms or could share them if they preferred. Delinda was already collapsed on the large so
fa near the fire and was urging Letta to do the same. Ostyn was presumably unhitching the horses. Delinda spotted her.

  “Lora! How was your day to yourself?” Delinda smiled and beckoned her to join them. “Come help me persuade Letta she can sit down and relax for a few minutes before planning breakfast for fifteen.”

  “It’s not just breakfast,” argued Letta, but she sank gratefully into a large chair. “I do not think there are towels in all the rooms. I was expecting seven or eight new employees, not ten. I need to see if I have enough clean linens for everyone.”

  “You know perfectly well they were all bathed before the auction and it is unlikely anyone will want to do so again before breakfast,” said Delinda. “They are all so accustomed to being told what to do, none of them is going to head off to the bathhouse on his own on his first morning.”

  “Except that one, what is his name?” asked Letta. “That Duwall. I will wager he will have no difficulty adjusting to making his own decisions. Lora, is something wrong? You are as white as a sheet.”

  “I-I’m fine,” said Beteria. “I was just thinking about those new…those new people all arriving at once. It must be strange for them.” She looked at Letta. “What were you saying about the man named Duwall?”

  “Oh, him!” laughed Delinda. “Jeryl met him in the sheds before he came here, and it seems they struck up a friendship. You would certainly never know he had spent his whole life in bondage. He is quite as fearless as Jeryl, and twice as charming.”

  “And not bad to look at either,” said Letta, looking around to make sure Ostyn was still outside with the horses. “That smile! It could melt butter.”

  Beteria’s mind raced. Duwall! A slave by that name had lived in her house from the earliest days she could remember. Four or five years older than she, he had been her playmate and only friend until Bloduewedd sold him just before her fifteenth birthday. He would recognize her instantly and would certainly tell Jeryl, if not Delinda herself. Duwall had never feared anyone, not even Bloduewedd. The fact he had survived in the house for years before incurring the Rahntadrine’s wrath was a feat in itself. There was only one chance, and Beteria had to take it.

  “I will take the towels up,” she said. “I had little to do today and am wide awake,” she lied. She had slept little the night before and her state of nervous agitation today had left her exhausted. But she had to get to Duwall before he came across her in front of everyone else and blurted out her name. “Let me just go get a stack from the laundry, and I will see who needs them.” She rose to her feet and hurried in the direction of the laundry room.

  “Well, if you are sure,” said Letta gratefully, removing her shoes.

  Beteria climbed the stairs on shaking legs, a large stack of clean white cloths in her arms. She rapped quietly on the first door then entered. Two startled-looking men sat on their beds and dropped their eyes. “I was just making sure you have towels,” she said, and seeing the stack already on the cupboard, left the room.

  She repeated this maneuver in the next several rooms, skipping those she knew belonged to Jeryl and Ostyn, and still saw no sign of Duwall. Goddess! What if he has decided to share a room with Jeryl? Finally, she entered the last room at the end of the hall and found Duwall standing with his back to the door, looking with approval through the large glass doors onto the balcony. She swiftly dumped the rest of the towels on the bed and stepped forward.

  “Now this is my idea of appropriate slave quarters,” he said merrily and turned, probably expecting to face Jeryl. His eyes opened wide and his mouth curved into a smile of genuine pleasure. “Beteria! What are you doing here?”

  “Please be quiet,” she hissed. “And please do not call me Beteria! No one here knows who I am.”

  Duwall’s mouth was still curved by a smile, but puzzlement furrowed his brow. “What do you mean? Why not? And how in the world did you convince your mother to let you leave her land?”

  “I did not…I mean she did not…” Beteria was frantic to make him understand before someone else arrived at the room. She took a breath, steadying herself. “She does not know I am here. I told her I was going away to the city.” She blurted out the half-formed story even as she formulated it.

  “She and Delinda hate each other,” she continued, deciding it was better to include as much truth as possible, “and I was afraid Delinda would not hire me. So I told her my name is ‘Lora’ and I come from a farm in the north, and I left because I have too many sisters and not enough land and I will never be able to receive my mother’s rahnta.”

  Beteria sat down on the bed, as much to prevent collapse as to give herself a few seconds to consider her story. “And anyway, you know the last part is true, Duwall. You know Mother will never give me the rahnta as long as she thinks there is any chance she can draw one more breath keeping it for herself.” She was on the verge of tears, afraid he would not believe her.

  Duwall sat next to her and took her hand. “Steady there, Kitten.” At this, Beteria felt a glimmer of hope. This had been his name for her when she was a little girl. He had said she looked like a kitten with her slanted eyes and small nose. She had loved the pet name and took secret delight in how angry it made her mother.

  “I am happy you finally got up the strength to leave that place and that horrible woman who does not deserve a daughter like you. I will not give you away, if you do not wish it.” He put his hand under her chin and lifted it so that she looked into his eyes. “But I think you underestimate Delinda. From what little I have seen, she is a woman who makes up her own mind about people. She will not condemn you for your mother’s deeds.”

  “I will tell her later, when I am ready,” said Beteria, relief flooding through her. “But I beg you—let me do it in my own time.”

  “Of course.” He frowned. “I do not think I will have a problem not using your name, but ‘Lora’ does not really suit you.” He tilted his head, considering her. “I guess I will just have to call you Kitten,” he said, just as Jeryl walked in.

  “Watch out for this one, Lora,” said Jeryl. “If he is already giving you a new name, who knows what liberties he will take next.”

  “Oh, Lora and I are old friends,” said Duwall. Beteria felt a sudden panic until he said, “I told you I had been sold more times than any other slave in the sector. I spent a little time on her family’s farm a few years ago, before I wore out my welcome.”

  She smiled, weak with relief before realizing she was still sitting on Duwall’s bed. She jumped to her feet and picked up the remaining towels.

  “I need to see if Delinda or Letta need anything else,” she said, and hurried from the room.

  Jeryl watched her go then turned to Jeryl. “Kitten?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

  “I called her that when she was a girl,” said Duwall. “She looked like one. But it seems she has grown up since then,” he added, looking thoughtful.

  “She’s a good girl and a hard worker,” said Jeryl. “Tell me, what did you do to get sold from her family farm?”

  “Hmm?” Duwall wondered how much he could say without betraying her secret. “Well…actually it was because of her.” Jeryl looked mildly surprised, and Duwall decided as long as no names were used, there was no harm in telling the truth. “Her mother did not have much use for her, and left her to her own devices most of the time. I liked her. She was a funny, skinny little girl who was always watching everything.”

  “In that she has not changed,” said Jeryl. “She is very quiet, but I do not think she misses much.”

  “Indeed she was a great listener, and she took what I had to say seriously, forgetting I was a slave in her mother’s house.” Duwall smiled a little sheepishly. “Well, she was right at that point where a girl starts being a woman, and considering that I am so irresistible—”

  “Tell me you did not seduce her,” said Jeryl. He liked this man, but he had become fond of Lora and felt protective of the younger girl.

  “I did not,” said Duwall.
“But it probably would have happened eventually. Her mother would not have cared if the only thing she had to worry about was breeding—she was almost of age for that anyway.” Jeryl grimaced at this, but nodded his understanding. “But it was that she was starting to spend all her time with me, making excuses to have me help her with this or carry that.” He grinned. “You have been here long enough, outlander, to understand it is fine for a woman to want a man, but to befriend him is an entirely different matter. Busy as she was, Lora’s mother noticed, or others did and called it to her attention. I was at the sheds the following week.”

  Apparently satisfied with the story, Jeryl rose and yawned hugely. “Well, no one will mind if you are friends here. In fact, it is encouraged.” He was exhausted after the long day in the village and little sleep the night before. He bade Duwall good night, took a few moments to make sure the other new arrivals were settled into their rooms and took himself off to bed. He fervently hoped he was tired enough to get a good night’s sleep for once.

  Chapter Eleven

  “It is happening, Korin. It is really happening.” Delinda stood on the terrace of her bedroom and smiled with satisfaction. “It is almost exactly as I planned, only much faster.”

  “How proud your mother would be,” said Korin, looking out over the well-tended fields, the recently repaired fences and, especially, the bustle of men and women going about their duties. In one of the larger fenced areas, Ferth, the old sheep man, led a cavorting puppy around a wary group of sheep. The puppy seemed to be more interested in tugging on Ferth’s trouser legs, but the old man insisted he was making progress and would be a fine sheepdog by this time next year.

  To the right of the stables, pale new boards contrasted with weathered wood on the old slave barracks, and the new mason was showing another man how to repair weak spots in the foundation. A young man who had arrived only the day before yesterday was hanging clean laundry under Lora’s quiet instruction. Delinda had learned that the girl’s calm manner was especially effective with the more timid and abused arrivals.