The Prince's Pet

"L
ot Five!" The giant
man shouted, his voice ringing out in the warm, misty air. He stood on the
wooden platform, looming above where I huddled with other slaves. We were
joined together by chains attached to our metal collars, each of us with our
hands bound.

There were six of us lined up,
cowering in our dirty rags. I was in the back, so that meant I was next - but I
barely registered the auctioneer's words until another slaver came up behind me
and took hold of my chains.

The slaver, a big, brutish man
like all the rest of his kind, deftly disconnected me from the slave in front
and yanked on my chain as a signal to follow.

My bare feet stumbled and
scuffed on the wooden steps as I was pulled up on to the platform. I was weak
from hunger, tired to my core and completely devoid of spirit. The ride... I’d
been packed into a wagon with the others and and we traveled for what may have been
weeks on end – I lost track of time. It had sapped me of hope. I was far from
home now, and there was no one to rescue me.

The auctioneer took the end of
my chain, shortening it so that I was forced to stumble up and stand beside
him. He looked me up and down, and angled the chain higher - forcing my chin up
and turning my head to the audience. I looked at the crowd for the first time.

It looked like any other
marketplace. There were food vendors at their carts and textile sellers with
fine fabric. Jewelry merchants and spice sellers. Mothers laughing with their
young children. Young men loudly hawking their wares. Street urchins running
by. The slave market was right in the middle of it all, and had drawn a good
portion of the crowd.

I didn't recognize the manner of
dress the people wore. To my eyes they looked wealthy - dressed in silk and
fine linen, brightly dyed. Their hair, done in elaborate styles and caught up
in head-dresses, ranged from light to black, and their skin was pale like mine,
though their features were of a different cast. They were a sharp contrast to
the swarthy, rough and vulgar raiders who had invaded my village – the ones who
now sought to sell me.

There were also merchants from
other nations among the group. Easily distinguishable even to me, they wore
bright colors and many jewels, and towed behind them servants or slaves, laden
with their packs and goods.

The auctioneer spoke to the
audience, in first my language and then another, strange tongue. "Lot
five!" he repeated at the top of his considerable lungs. "This girl,
taken from Thessia. She is delicate and fair, and most obedient." I didn't
know where he had got that last part. I had kicked and fought with all my will
when I'd been taken.

She will make a fine house
slave..." he continued, prodding me hard to make me stand up straighter –
"or bed-warmer." He said with an oily smile. He repeated it in the
foreign tongue, drawing a few more laughs and jeers.

"See her hair – golden-red
like fire." The brute said, gesturing at me. I could see one golden tooth
among others broken and rotted, revealed at the edge of his mouth when he
spoke, and I shuddered.

"And her soft, shapely
body. Good for childbearing, if you wish to breed more exotic fire-haired
slaves – or merely for pleasure."

I swallowed hard, trying to shut
out his words. I was well aware of the possibility of ending up as someone's
bed slave. If someone wanted hard labor, they would buy one of the men. I was a
young foreign girl. That alone was likely enough to determine what my purpose
would be as chattel.

"She is covered in
dirt." A man's voice called out in the gutter language so many traveling
merchants used - a mixture between Thessian, Geonaic and others. "I can
not see this red hair you claim. Anyway. she does not look so beautiful to
me."

There was some sniggering at
that. I tried to find the speaker, my eyes scanning the crowd. It was only when
he spoke again that I identified him.

He was an enormous, rotund man
dressed in red and gold robes and wearing a turban on his head. He had dark
hair, a long braided beard, and walked with a cane. His accent was thick and
his skin brown behind an unhealthy sallow tinge. In my sheltered life, I had
never seen anyone that looked like him.

"Strip her." The fat
man commanded, with a wave of his fingers. The crowd parted for his massive
girth as he waddled a few steps forward, clearly waiting to be obeyed. I felt a
wave of nausea at his words, and swallowed hard against my panic.

The auctioneer took another look
at me, perhaps regretting not cleaning me up a bit first. He hissed a curse low
enough that only I could hear. Then he turned his greasy smile on the merchant.

"At sir's command." He
said, sketching a little bow.

He snapped foreign words and one
of the slavers came up behind me. I flinched as I felt his hands on my ragged
clothing, and the auctioneer came to assist. They were sawing at my rags with a
knife, ripping my filthy dress from my body.

I would have liked to resist,
but I was afraid. They had beaten me brutally the first time I'd fought them,
and I still had the bruises on my back. I knew there was nothing I could do
except close my eyes, accept the humiliation, and perhaps hope against hope
that I would be purchased by someone relatively kind.

The tattered cloth fell to the
ground, pooling around my feet, and I held my bound wrists against my chest,
shielding my breasts. The auctioneer jerked on the chain, pulling me so that I
stood up straight, and returned to his spiel.

I kept my eyes tightly shut, not
wanting to watch as the crowd of potential buyers stared at my exposed body.
The auctioneer poked and prodded me, speaking to the crowd in a language I
couldn't understand.

I whimpered as he pushed my arms
away and squeezed my right breast roughly then tweaked my nipples until they
hardened painfully. Tears squeezed out of the corners of my eyes as he grabbed my
behind with his rough hands, mauling the flesh on my hips and ass for the
benefit of the audience.

After that, I withdrew into
myself, no longer caring what was happening. I paid little attention as the
haggling commenced. Bids were made, arguments started and were settled, and
finally, my new master came to claim me.

No... not him
. I looked
up as the grotesque merchant was handed my chain and the keys to my lock. He
passed over a sizable purse and the auctioneer tested the gold between his
teeth.

The deal was done, and the
merchant pulled me down off the platform, still naked. I could see the sweat
dripping off the back of his neck as I followed behind him, and smell his sour
stench.

All I could think of was this
hideous man touching me – doing unspeakable things to my unspoiled body.
No. No. I will find a way to kill myself before that happens,
I promised
myself.

He didn't say a word to me, just
pulled me along behind him through the crowd as the next slave was led up onto
the block. I felt so many eyes on me, boring into me, sliding all over my naked
body. Once, a hand even pinched me hard on the hip – but I was being led by the
collar and couldn't turn my head well enough to see my assailant.

The tears flowed unchecked down
my face. I shuffled behind the merchant, his servant leading the way, for a few
minutes.

We were out of the main crowd
when an ornate curtained litter, carried by four strong men, came up alongside
us. At first the merchant – my new master – paid no mind, maintaining his slow
waddle.

The litter kept pace, its
curtains parting.

"Merchant!" Came the
deep shout.

Finally, my captor turned, a
look somehow both confused and bored on his wide, sweaty face.

Leaning out of the litter was a
bald man. He wore fine trousers of cotton and was shirtless, and his eyes were
lined with some dark cosmetic, shadowing them so that it was hard to see his
expression from where I stood.

"What is it?" The
merchant snapped.

"How much do you want for that
slave?" Was the reply.

The fat man raised an eyebrow,
coming to a stop. I didn't miss the sharp gleam of greed in his eye. "This
one?" He asked, yanking on my chain. "Delicious, isn't she? I just
bought her. She is not for sale."

"Come now." The bald
man said, a knowing look in his eye. "You know as well as I that everything
has its price."

––––––––

T
he bald man was a eunuch, I
later came to know - named Ellys. I immediately preferred him very much more
than the fat merchant, and was not sorry when they struck a deal – for double
what the merchant had paid.

He allowed me to get into his
litter, helping me up by the hand and settling me on the seat opposite. He
untied my hands and wrapped a cloak over me, covering my nakedness. I felt like
crying all over again, just from that small mercy.

Mine was not his native
language, but he spoke it, and many others, well – which was why he was tasked
with the handling of slaves and trade for his master. I was shocked when he
revealed this master was the king of Cimbra over the sea.

We spent weeks sailing. The
collar remained fastened around my neck, but I was unchained, allowed to move
around the ship. I was given men's clothing to wear and was able to bathe in
salt water.

Ellys stayed near, watching me
tirelessly – evidently keeping me safe from the eyes and hands of the crew, who
had not been expecting a slave on board. This was a trade run, and the ship was
laden with cargo. I had been, the eunuch said, a fortunate find.

Luckily for me, Ellys was large
and intimidating, and the crew seemed to respect or fear him. I wondered about
the Cimbrites - people who would evidently make a man into a eunuch. What kind
of life would such a man lead? I couldn’t help but pity Ellys, though I never
mentioned it and he never brought it up.

He did not speak to me much, and
I sensed he was keeping a distance between us. He was, after all, the king's
chief eunuch, and I was merely a slave. He never even asked for my name.
Nonetheless, he wasn't cruel, and I was grateful for even his silent company.

The plain food on the ship was
far better than the meager scraps I'd had under the raiders' care. I gained
strength and put weight back on. Of course, this meant I had more energy to
devote to worrying.

Every night, I lay in the
strangely comfortable hanging bed they called a hammock - staring at the wooden
walls and rocking with the movement of the ship, and I silently cried.

During the days I mostly stared
out over the ocean. Sometimes I tried to talk to Ellys – to ask him questions
without provoking his ire, but it was skirting a fine line. If I pushed my luck
too often, he would scold me and send me below.

The Cimbrite King was a frail
man in his later years. He was known for being just to his subjects and
ruthless in war. That was the extent of my knowledge, sheltered farm girl that
I was.

I dared to ask Ellys the one
question that was weighing most on my mind. "Why did you take me? Am I to
be the king's..." I looked away from him, hiding my distaste. "Bed
slave?"

Ellys turned his gaze on me and
I looked back at him. His broad placid face was unreadable. I was scared he
would erupt with anger, but finally, his mouth twitched at the corner.
"No, child, you are not for the king." He said. "You are to be
presented to his son and heir, Prince Issander.”