It was not as if I really had much of a choice in the matter. I had always been big, athletic. My physique made it inevitable that I would be selected to be a soldier. And not just an ordinary soldier. Almost immediately a platoon leader, nine other men under my command. Within three years a battalion commander. Based on the ancient Roman system I now led nine other platoons. I was a Centurion, although that nomenclature was never actually used.
Over the past two centuries there had been more or less a permanent series of conflicts between the two states. The border had never been stable, moving to and fro as first one then the other side gained the upper hand. Nobody was quite sure what the latest series of skirmishes was actually about, lost in the mists of time. The main difference was that my state was fiercely patriarchal, females being regarded as little more than chattels. Our neighbours elevated women to a point where our leaders argued that their status threatened to undermine society. They were even allowed to vote!
It was in late August that the order came through for us to move up to the border. A few days later the fighting began in earnest. Then came the final battle and the disaster that befell us. Fighting had raged throughout the afternoon. At one point it appeared that we were actually winning. It was then the warfare took a new turn, they introduced cavalry. Men on horseback hunted down our infantry, slashing at them with their finely honed broadswords, hacking off limbs and in many cases killing with a single stroke.
Now it turned into a rout. We fell back and became no more than a rabble. Eventually what remained of our force was pinned back against a dense wood, the ridge before us where we had tried to make a stand was littered with the dead and dying. Survivors of our battalion retreated into the wood. We found a shallow ditch where we decided to lie low until nightfall before attempting our escape.
It was almost dusk when they came searching for us. A troop of men swept the wood systematically seeking out the fugitives. Mercifully the wounded were quickly dispatched with sweeps of their swords. They found one relatively uninjured man. I watched as his arms were bound behind his back and he was led away with a rope looped around his neck to a fate unknown. A few minutes later I was discovered. I offered no resistance.
Now it was my turn to suffer the humiliation of being bound. A heavy knee in the small of my back pinned me to the ground. His comrade stood over me, sword in hand, as the rough rope was wound around my wrists. The rope was drawn tight before being cinched. I could tell from the actions of the soldier tying me that he was enjoying the process, binding me cruelly and unnecessarily tightly. For some reason, possibly due to my physique or my obvious seniority or maybe just on a whim he felt the need to make me more secure. A second rope wrenched my elbows together until they touched before another connected elbows to wrists. I was led away into captivity.
There were six of us held prisoner in their camp. The following morning broke with bright late summer sunshine. We were all loaded onto a cart that was drawn along a rough, rutted road. We lurched slowly for maybe an hour until eventually we approached a small town set upon a rising piece of ground. As we drew closer the town gained features. Houses, in reality little more than wooden shacks lined the road to either side. Their inhabitants were eager to view the spoils of war. They watched us in brooding silence as we passed by. From the direction that we had been heading I guessed that the town was not far from the coast and indeed this would turn out to be the case. There was some talk as to our likely fate. One of our number claimed to have heard rumours that after an earlier skirmish those taken prisoner had been executed by means of crucifixion in a town square as a barbaric form of entertainment and that women who had lost their husbands had been allowed to castrate the men as they hung on their crosses. After this our journey continued in stunned silence.
There was a carnival air about the town. due to the scale of the previous day's victory, celebrations having gone on long into the previous night. As we arrived in the central square, normally reserved as a market place, our fears rose seeing the hastily erected timber platform. It had the look of a place of execution. Tension rose as soldiers ushered us up the steps to stand in a line. The only reassuring factor was the absence of any crosses or makeshift gallows.
One of the soldiers passed along the line with a brush and a bucket of purple dye. Each of us had a number painted on his chest. I was number 6. People drifted into the square in ones and twos, the crowd building until they were just a noisy throng. The soldier with the bucket returned with his dagger drawn. He hacked off any remaining garments until we stood naked in a line, humiliated for their delectation. It was then that the tolling of a bell began, clear above the hubbub of conversation and laughter.
An older man appeared, white haired and distinguished looking. He was expensively dressed and a gold chain of office hung about his neck. The people of the province spoke the same language as us, albeit with a distinct dialect. I realised that this older man was the town mayor, the gavel that he held in his right hand signified that he was to be the auctioneer. We were to be sold off as slaves, it made perfect sense. Torture and execution might provide a morning's gruesome entertainment whereas enslaving six fit young men would provide both money and a huge amount of valuable labour.
The bidding began with number 1, at the far end of the line. The bids rose quickly to three hundred and seventy Reals before the mayor rapped his gavel on the lecturn that had been brought out for him. Each successive man was sold for a slightly higher price than his predecessor. The man next to me was sold for six hundred and forty Reals. Now it was my turn. I was pushed forward by a soldier so that any potential bidders might examine my naked body. The bidding opened at six hundred and immediately went to seven. My future hung in the balance as an elderly man raised his hand to bid seven hundred and fifty.
It was now that my eyes fell for the first time on Athelnia. She stood further back. Perhaps significantly she had space around her, as if she was special. Our eyes met and a shiver ran down my spine. I thought that she was possibly the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Women in my province were valued for their ability to produce and raise children, she was nothing like them. Standing around average height she possessed a slim, svelte body with bright auburn tresses that fell over her bare shoulders. Unlike the women in the crowd with their ragged clothes she wore the most unusual garments. A tightly fitting laced bodice crafted of fine black leather was cut in a deep vee to display the cleavage that was formed by her neat, firm breasts. She oozed an air of confidence as she raised a leather gloved hand to register her bid of seven hundred and fifty. The elderly man raised his hand again and the bidding took off. At nine hundred and fifty the bid was with her. The auctioneer pointed to the man.
"Are there to be no more bids for this fine young man. Look there are many years hard work in him."
He cast his hand in my direction as the man registered another bid.
"One thousand Reals!" His voice rose clearly above the hubbub of the crowd and they quietened in expectation.
A cultured female voice cut through the now silent crowd. She was clearly a cultured and educated woman.
"One thousand and fifty!"
Her rival looked on sadly as he raised his hand once more. But this time it was not a bid, merely a signal to the auctioneer that his interest was at an end. The gavel rapped down on the lecturn. I was now the lifetime property of Lady Athelnia de Faverly, the young widow of a baron who had fallen in one of the earlier skirmishes between our two provinces. A series of disputes that had persisted for a period of time longer than the life of any person in that assembled crowd.
The people dispersed quickly after the auction and Lady Athelnia produced a small dark blue velvet bag from the front of her leather bodice, handing over to the mayor twenty one gold fifty Real pieces. She then came over to me to collect her purchase. No longer hidden amongst the crowd I could appreciate her beauty. What my eyes were drawn to however was her boots. Like the rest of her outfit they were of the finest black leather.
Created by the best craftsmen in the whole province they must have cost a fortune. They had unusual built up heels that boosted her height by about the length of her index finger. Around these were fitted a pair of exceptionally fine spurs, crafted of silver, once again the work of the finest and most skilled craftsman in the province. A wide leather belt with three silver buckles was drawn about her already slim waist and drew it in yet further. In a scabbard attached to the belt was a short jewelled dagger, both decorative and functional.
She approached me, her walk purposeful. It was almost a strut and spoke of her confidence as a powerful and independent woman. I cast my eyes down to the ground, a deference that I decided was the wisest course of action given that this woman was now my legal owner under the laws of the province.
"Follow me slave."
Her voice was commanding but surprisingly mellifluous, a voice that could enchant. We made our way from the town square to an inn. A much grander building than those surrounding it. Constructed of stout timbers, weathered by many years it had a handsome, bucolic style with diamond leaded windows with a wide jetty to the upper floor. A brightly painted sign depicting a cockerel hung over the door. Cooking smells wafted from inside where many noisy revellers were enjoying a festive lunch. This made me feel pangs of hunger. The innkeeper's wife met us at the door, her husband appearing moments later leading a magnificent pale grey stallion.
