Meghr the Mute Slave

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Foreword

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This is a companion story to the four stories in the Rachael of Emarukistan series, which are set in what today is Armenia, around the ninth century CE. Meghr is introduced in Rachael and the Warlord (part four of the series) when she is around nineteen years old. This stand-alone short story provides Meghr's back-story, and what becomes of her after she leaves Rachael's caravanserai, Wadi Halaf. This story can be read without previously reading any of the Rachael of Emarukistan series.

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Chapter 1: Early life

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My name these days is Meghr, although it isn't the name I was given at birth. In fact I've been called several names over the nineteen years of my life. I've never had a say in what name I am called, and by whom, so I won't confuse my story by switching from one name to another. Of course there have been those who call me 'bitch' or 'whore', but I suppose any woman in my position has probably been called those names at one time or another. I'm happy to be called Meghr, which means 'honey', being the colour of my hair.

Like most people, I can only remember brief disjointed moments from my early childhood. My memories didn't become connected and coherent until I grew older. By that time my parents and siblings were either dead or enslaved in far off lands. I've never been able to discover their fate, and in truth, any who still survive would be complete strangers to me now.

Father Siegfried once claimed that I am descended from one of the pale skinned, blond haired tribes of the extreme north, where the sun doesn't shine in winter. I think he intended his comment as an insult to me, but he missed the mark. He offered no proof of his claim other than my physical appearance fits his description of the peoples who once inhabited that area. I confess that I have fragmented childhood memories of living through freezing cold winters, sheltering for days at a time inside a wooden hut, kept warm by a roaring fire. During the long days of summer I remember playing in the nearby lakes and forests.

I didn't like Father Siegfried, but he was a fountain of knowledge. He helped me comprehend the way our world works, the brutality of which was beyond my understanding when I was little. The land where my tribe lived was coveted by the Nenets, a large tribe from the east. Bloody raids bordering on outright war became commonplace. The frequent attacks of Nenet marauders gradually weakened my tribe to the point that many chose to flee south to safer lands. Father Siegfried didn't know whether any of them ever reached a safe haven. Certainly none returned to the land that they had abandoned.

Apparently my own family chose to stay, and with others, they built up a fearsome reputation as warriors prepared to die in defence of their land. Unfortunately, that's precisely what happened to most of them. The Nenets who wanted our lands had an almost inexhaustible supply of fresh warriors to replace those killed in battle. It was a luxury our rapidly diminishing tribe did not share.

My most vivid memory of that time was the occasion when my parents, siblings and I were captured by the savage Nenet marauders. I must have been five or six years old at the time. It's an episode I don't need Father Siegfried's help to interpret. The marauders who captured us were looking for our tribe's chieftain. They presumed that my parents knew where the chieftain was located, and the marauders were prepared to go to any length to extract that information. When my parents denied any knowledge of the chieftain's whereabouts, the marauders brutally murdered my older brother before our eyes. Then they turned their attention to me.

Forcing a burning ember from the fire into a young girl's mouth has predictable consequences. Mercifully, I passed out almost at once. When I awoke I was somewhere else, and in the care of two elderly women. My tongue was gone and my ability to speak was lost forever. Father Siegfried later told me that it was a miracle that I survived the ordeal, although it felt more like a curse at the time. It took a long time for me to recover, but eventually I regained the will to carry on.

The willingness of the two women to tend to my wounds, and provide me with a home, wasn't entirely selfless. They were very old and frail. As soon as I was able, and despite my young age, I was put to work doing most of the daily chores that kept us fed and warm. I suppose their insistence on me working for my keep helped with my recovery. I wasn't allowed to mope and feel sorry for myself.

The women never saw fit to tell me their names, and I had no means of asking. I didn't understand their language, so instructions were given to me by simple signals. Lifting the axe and a piece of firewood was the signal for me to collect more firewood. Pointing to the cooking pot meant I was to start preparing a meal. Our diet consisted of whatever I could forage from the forest. I already knew how to fish, and to set snares to catch rabbits and squirrels. Similarly, I could distinguish edible berries and mushrooms from the poisonous varieties. My parents had started teaching me many survival skills, rightly anticipating that one day I may be on my own.

I lived with the two women for about three years before the infirmities of old age claimed both of them in the space of a few months. Their deaths meant that I no longer had a home. Three hunters turned up one day and told me to leave. Although we lived deep in the forest, we weren't completely isolated. Further down the valley was a small village that belonged to a tribe that paid tribute to the Nenets in exchange for being left alone. It was an uneasy arrangement, but at least both sides kept the peace. By that time the lands that had once belonged to my own tribe were part of the Nenet's ever expanding territory.

The village boasted a small Christian church, with Father Siegfried as its pastor. It was he who took me in when I was evicted from my forest home. Like the old women before him, Father Siegfried's generosity had an ulterior motive. The woman who had kept the church clean, and Father Siegfried fed, had recently left the village to get married. Although I was only nine years old at the time, I was considered to be a suitable substitute.

Most of the villagers treated me as a simpleton because I was unable to speak. Father Siegfried was more astute and realised that I was intelligent, and not without skills. He helped me understand his language along with teaching me a sign language, albeit a very limited one. For the first time since losing my tongue, I was able to ask simple questions. I started to understand more about the world around me and the dangers it posed. As much as I hungered to learn more, Father Siegfried was a busy man, so his lessons were infrequent. Despite all my chores, I still had many hours to myself.

My parents had taught me how to defend myself with a knife. They also taught me a few unarmed fighting moves, although I was far too small at the time for any of their training to be of practical use. However, I kept practising whenever the opportunity allowed. It is during one such practise session that my efforts were observed by Brak, a local boy about my age.

"You are holding the knife too far from your body," said Brak.

That was the start of a friendship that lasted for five years. We regularly sparred together, and he taught me what he knew about fighting. Of course, my training was done in secret, deep in the woods. Most of the villagers still regarded me as a simpleton, and unsafe to be trusted with a weapon.

As Brak and I grew older, our friendship started developing into something more intimate. Unfortunately, our budding relationship was difficult to hide from the other villagers. Brak's father didn't approve of his son's relationship with a 'mute simpleton whore', a phrase I didn't properly understand until several years later. Father Siegfried reluctantly agreed to send me away. As fate would have it, a Bulaq trader called Aafiq passed through the village a few days later. After some lengthy negotiations, I was told to pack my belongings and go with the trader.

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Chapter 2: Life on the road

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I was fourteen years old at the time, and my monthly fluxes were already becoming regular. I'm not sure what motivated Aafiq to accept the villagers' proposal, but the prospect of sex with an attractive adolescent girl wasn't the reason. I soon learned that I was the wrong gender for Aafiq's sexual tastes, although he wasn't blind to my blossoming body. He even went as far as to provide me with herbs to prevent a pregnancy, although I remained a virgin during the entire time I was with Aafiq.

Aafiq was a moderately talented artist in his spare time. Whenever he acquired something suitable on which to paint, he would have me strip naked and pose for his work. His artwork of me was soon a profitable sideline to his regular trade. He even painted my picture on a warrior's shield. I wonder whether the sight of my naked body displayed on the warrior's shield ever fatally distracted an enemy.

My status with Aafiq was ambiguous. I wasn't a slave, but nor was I free to wander too far on my own. I suppose I was some form of indentured servant. In addition to being an artist's model, my duties were to help with selling goods from Aafiq's wagon, and attended to the cooking and laundry. At first Aafiq was misled by the villagers claims that I was a simpleton. It took a few weeks for me to convince him otherwise. I taught him the sign language that Father Siegfried had developed, to which Aafiq and I added a few more signals. Aafiq also expanded my understanding of several different languages, even if I couldn't speak any of them.

We travelled widely for most of the year. We even ventured into Nenet territory at times. Aafiq knew the best towns and villages to buy and sell wares. Generally we bought goods in the larger towns to sell in the more remote villages and settlements. Aafiq adhered to many Bulaq customs and practises wherever we were. As winter approached, we travelled south, to spend winter in one or other Bulaq town or village. It's during those extended winter stays that I acquired the habit of dressing in the Bulaq style, and adopting their mannerisms and customs. That wasn't entirely by choice.

Among the Bulaq my social position was one step above that of a slave. I was expected to be obedient to the whims of my betters, and I was punished for any infractions. My worst misdemeanour was fighting with a village merchant who tried to force his attentions on me. For that crime I was confined to a cell for two weeks, with my wrists chained to the wall above my head. Unlike a slave, I was supposedly permitted to refuse overtures of sex from any males who lusted after my body. However, the law wasn't applied uniformly, as I had discovered to my cost. Despite that incident, and being treated no better than some of their animals, the closeness of the Bulaq community gave me a sense of belonging.

That brings my story up to recent events. By my calculation, I'm now eighteen, perhaps nineteen, years old. Aafiq and I set out in mid summer to start on our usual trading circuit. In previous years, we left several weeks earlier in the season, but the past six months have been exceptionally wet and cold. While bandits have always been a hazard on the more remote sections of the road, Aafiq has always managed to bribe or cajole our way out of trouble. This year is different. A poor harvest last year, followed by the harsh winter and wet spring, means that the bandits are more numerous and desperate. Our first confrontation is disastrous. If Aafiq had simply allowed the bandits to rob us, he might have lived to tell the tale. But he chose to fight against impossible odds, and he died for his trouble.

Aafiq never allowed me to carry a weapon, even though I can fight with a small sword or knife. I can only watch in horror as Aafiq is cut down. I suspect that it's only my fair hair and youthful looks that save me from the same fate. My captors obviously decide I'm worth selling as a slave. If they realise that I'm mute, they may reconsider, so I'm careful not to advertise the fact.

My captors take me to a Tatar village to the south of the Bulaq lands. The journey is more uncomfortable than I have previously endured. They keep my wrists and arms bound behind me, and a rope around my neck is used to lead my like an animal. The bandits soon discover that I'm a virgin, and the extra profit to be gained from selling a virgin slave encourages them to preserve my maidenhood. That doesn't stop them from ramming their cocks down my throat or shooting their cum over my face and body. My tits come in for a lot of attention. I endure the indignity with fortitude, and I'm thankful they're too overcome with lust to notice that most of my tongue is missing.

We arrive in a small village three days later. The bandits are clearly known to the villagers who take charge of me. I'm locked in a dark basement with my hands and upper arms bound behind me. My restraints make simple tasks difficult, like eating and relieving myself. Apart from a daily bowl of food and a bucket of water, I'm left alone for several days. My ordeal ends when I'm taken out of the basement, dowsed in water to wash the filth off me, and shackled with five other slaves who are in no better condition than me. The six of us are marched along a back alley to a dilapidated stables devoid of horses.

The stables serve as a makeshift slave market. A village this size doesn't have a regular slave market, and transporting slaves to the nearest town would be costly. Besides, these backstreet markets are ideal for disposing of kidnapped travellers and the like. Both buyers and sellers understand that the transaction is on a no-questions-asked basis, and that legal documents like a bill-of-sale aren't provided.

Several prospective buyers come to inspect us. Although the buyers mustn't ask questions of the trader, a few ask questions of a slave. They don't always receive an answer. Although I know enough of the local language to understand the gist of the questions, I have no means of answering in a way the prospective buyer will know. After what seems like a fruitless day for the village slave trader, a merchant enters and offers a paltry sum for the six of us. I suspect the timing of the merchant's arrival is deliberate ploy, to encourage the trader to accept a low offer, rather than go to the expense of transporting us to a larger market. The trader accepts the offer, but only after bemoaning how he is being robbed. Quite why he bothers complaining is beyond me. Nobody is interested in his misfortunes.

It's soon apparent that the merchant is an experienced slave trader and that he knows how to handle a coffle of slaves. Our wrist and arm bindings are replaced by a simple waist chain that links the six of us together. We are then marched through the late afternoon and evening to another village. The merchant leads us into a barn and fastens the end of our waist chain to a stout post. He disappears for a while before returning with water and food. Everything is on a first come first served basis, and stupidly the four men knock over the bucket of water in their fight for the food. The other female slave and I are at the end of the coffle chain, and we can do nothing other than wait for any scraps of food that might be left.

The other five slaves clearly come from the same tribe. I know a few words of their language, but not enough to understand most of what they say. The woman tries to engage me in a conversation, but I have no means of speaking any words. She simply assumes I don't understand her, and she leaves me alone. The men likewise label me as a 'northern barbarian' on account of my looks. That doesn't stop one of them trying to fuck me, but he soon learns the error of his ways. After that the five of them generally ignore me.

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Chapter 3: Sold into slavery

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The next day the merchant resumes our journey to a nearby town. We arrive at a slave trader's compound around mid-morning and I'm promptly examined by several men. I presumed they're prospective buyers, although I can't be sure. In any event, the six of us are released from our waist chains and locked in a large cage. Later we are temporarily removed from the cage one at a time and taken to a small room. There the back of my right shoulder is tattooed with the some markings that I presume indicate that I'm a slave.

Over the next few days we are joined by other slaves until the cage becomes very crowded. Occasionally some of us, either alone or in groups, are removed from the cage and taken somewhere else. A few return later, but most are never seen by us again. I later learn that those removed from the cage are taken to a display room to be auctioned to the highest bidder.

Twice I'm taken from the cage and made to stand on a platform. Each time my clothes are removed and I'm made to stand in different positions. Communication is a problem, and when I never talk in response to their commands, the men running the slave market assume that I don't understand their language. Apparently that's a common enough occurrence, although it pushes down my price. Each time I'm put on display, the few bids for me are rejected, and I'm returned to the cage.

I'm not sure why the merchant who owns me doesn't accept any of the offers made for me. He clearly wants a higher price, but my apparent refusal to speak means higher offers aren't forthcoming. The other five slaves he acquired with me are all sold the first time they are put on display. After the second failure to attract an acceptable offer for me, the merchant removes me from the market and we take to the road again.

I'm not the only slave the merchant is marching south. He must have bought five other slaves while I was languishing in the cage. The others are all muscular men who would probably appeal to a quarry or mine owner. Those industries have a high fatality rate among slaves, so replacements are always in high demand. Certainly the merchant is taking no chances of them running off. Their wrists and ankles are kept in chains, and a heavy neck collar is linked to the slave in front. I am spared the chains and collar, but my obedience is ensured by stripping me naked. I'm given a small loin cloth to wear which seems to be the standard female slave clothing in these parts.

Being naked doesn't bother me. Ever since Aafiq had me pose nude for his paintings, I've been undressed in front of others countless times. Nevertheless, I'm careful to keep my distance from the male slaves. Despite their wretched situation, each one of them has lust in their eyes when they look in my direction. To be honest, I get a slight thrill when I notice them admiring and lusting over me. The size of their erect cocks arouses me in a way wholly inappropriate for my current situation.

The merchant is another who would like to fuck me. However, my virginity is something that raises my price, so he settles for an alternative. He has me give him a hand job every night before we go to sleep. I worry that it might be a prelude to him deciding to sodomise me. However, he again he shows considerable restraint once he realises that my arsehole is too tight for him to push his cock in there without doing considerable damage.

The male slaves are well aware of the nightly service I provide to the merchant. By the time I've finished with the merchant, more than one of the slaves has an erect cock straining against the confines of his loin cloth. I take pity on one of them who seems to be in more distress than the others. I wait until the merchant is asleep and slide over to the bound men. I check that they are securely restrained, and that they can't use their limited mobility to ravish me. I release the monster of a cock from the needy man's briefs. I marvel at the size of it, and have tingly feelings at the thought of it ploughing my innards. But taking full advantage of this beast is dangerous in the extreme. Instead I settle for taking it into my mouth. For once, my lack of a tongue works to my benefit. I can accommodate the cock far enough down my throat to excite the man even further. A few minutes later he tips over the edge and sprays his cum down my throat and over my face when I jerk back in surprise.