We don't have a lot of time, and the surroundings are uncomfortable. I've had sex in numerous situations, and in many different positions, so I'm not put off by the less-than-ideal environment. What follows can only be described as a couple of 'quickies'. Both men provide a limited amount of foreplay, followed by my innards receiving three or four hard thrusts from their cocks. A minute later their cum is shot over my tits. I don't achieve an orgasm, but the sensation of a cock reaming my innards satisfies my immediate needs. We return to the caravan a few minutes later, ready to resume our journey. Much to the men's disappointment, I wrap a shawl over my shoulders to hide my tits as we approach the city.
There are a dozen wealthy families who collectively govern every aspect of city life. The five aldermen who form the city council are all appointed from the wealthiest of those families. My father's legal wife, Lady Gülnihal, descends from one of those families, although it is several generations since one of her forebears was an alderman. My father ranks in the next tier of twenty or so families who are prosperous merchants and tradesmen. Theoretically any free male citizen can be appointed an alderman, but the bribes and favours expected from the cabal of wealthy families are invariably beyond the means of the general populace. My father's political power, such as it is, stems from his position as city warlord rather than as owner of a large caravanserai.
Slightly less than half of the city's population are free citizens, whose numbers include skilled workers, market traders, scribes and city guards. The remainder of the population are slaves. Female slaves represent nearly four-fifths of the slaves residing within the city. A young female slave is more commonly used as domestic servant, or a pleasure slave in private harem. A few have the misfortune to find themselves working in a brothel, although that is an occupation generally reserved for destitute free women. Older female slaves usually end up working in commercial laundries and sweatshops where they labour until they die. Male slaves are often sent to toil in the mines and quarries, where life expectancy is even shorter. There's no such thing as an elderly slave.
Even though slaves are the lowest of the low as regards social standing, free citizens have a different attitude towards slaves depending on the slave's gender. A girl's or woman's enslavement is accepted as a simple misfortune in life. She is rarely harassed or humiliated in the street, and few owners will mistreat or punish a female slave without good cause. On the other hand, a captured male forced into slavery is regarded as nothing more than an animal. Men are supposed to protect their womenfolk from enslavement, or to die in the attempt. Captured males are looked down on like vermin. Male slaves born into slavery, like my half-brothers, Hugo and Prot, aren't treated any better. It isn't an attitude I support, but I have no influence on the subject beyond my own behaviour towards male slaves.
Mikheil's caravan enters through the city's north gate around midday, and we soon pass the large amphitheatre and arena. Fortunately the days when slaves were used for sport in the arena are long gone. The sight of hapless captives and slaves being torn apart by wild animals, or made to fight with blunt swords against trained warriors, was eventually considered to be a waste of resources that could be put to better use. Notably, it was economic considerations rather than concern over the bloodshed of helpless people that stopped the sport.
Wadi Halaf has a long standing reputation for being just and fair with its slaves. That's not to say that slaves are never punished. When I was a slave, I spent time in the dungeon on more than one occasion. My back has been marked by a lash at least a dozen times. My fiery spirit and inquisitive mind repeatedly got me into trouble. But unlike Dania's and Phoebe's late father, my father has never tortured or raped any of his slaves.
The city streets are crowded with people. A few are citizens going about their daily business. Many more are slaves, busy filling the runnels in the streets gouged by the rainwater. An unusually large number are travellers simply milling about like lost sheep. Fortunately our caravan has a destination. When it became apparent that the caravan would need to make an unscheduled stop to recover from the after effects of the storms, I persuaded Mikheil to call at my father's caravanserai, Wadi Halaf.
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Chapter 2: Arrival at Wadi Halaf
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I show Mikheil the way to the caravanserai. We soon pass through the stout gates and into the walled compound. Wadi Halaf is an old fortress that used to be part of the city wall defences before the city expanded outwards. Few alterations have been made to the fortress's structure, and if the city was under siege then Wadi Halaf could still be used as a bastion. The main building of the caravanserai is the old keep. The formidable walls of the keep are made of solid stone blocks with small slit windows designed for defending archers. The interior consists of five levels above ground and two below. The keep's cells in the lowest level are still functional, and are often in demand to hold prisoners and slaves in transit. A mixture of stone and wooden structures that form the stables, barracks and store rooms have been added in more recent times.
The forecourt is crowded with several caravans. I assume the muddle and confusion in the main forecourt is the result of one of the periodic mix-ups between competing caravan masters. Wadi Halaf can easily accommodate multiple trading caravans, although there are rarely more than three here at a time. However, it appears Mikheil's caravan is the fifth caravan requiring accommodation for tonight at Wadi Halaf. Normally the guards at Wadi Halaf quickly sort out any issues before fights break out. Somebody is going to suffer my father's wrath for allowing this shambles to go unchecked. The forecourt is packed with an assortment of merchants, caravan guards, porters, slaves, wagons, camels, donkeys, and an elephant.
"What's going on, Levan?" I ask one of my father's more seasoned guards.
"Mistress Rachael! Thank the stars that you're here. Aren will be needing your help. The recent storms destroyed the river bridge to the east, and caused a landslide that has blocked the road to the south. The city aldermen are trying to organise repairs. In the meantime caravans keep arriving from the north and west, but they can't continue their journey."
Even allowing for the unusually large number of visitors, this chaos could be better managed. Aren is my father's loyal seneschal, but he is long past his prime. His household duties have been extended to cover managing the arrival and departure of caravans whenever my father is absent. Aren is too timid when it comes to dealing with fractious caravan masters. Unfortunately, my father has nobody else at Wadi Halaf to call on to help.
My father's wife, Lady Gülnihal, has the social standing to command respect, but she has never demeaned herself by helping to run the caravanserai. Their son, Efrem, as the legal heir to Wadi Halaf, would be entitled to take charge, but he is only five years old. My half-brothers and half-sisters are in their twenties, but they are all slaves. They have never been allowed to learn any skills that would help Aren manage this situation. I only learned what I know because my cousin Zoe and I used to spend an excessive amount of time entertaining our respective uncles during their 'business meetings' before my manumission.
Although I'm eager to get back to my own home at the Halls of Valhalla, I sense that a quick 'hello, I'm back' to those at Wadi Halaf isn't going to be enough. Levan was right when he said that Aren needs some help.
My younger half-sister, Mia, intercepts me as I enter the main entrance to the former fortress's keep. She's dressed as all slave women in Emarukistan commonly dress; naked apart from a spotlessly clean loin cloth. I notice that her old iron slave collar has been replaced with a newer style of collar from which hangs a small disc with her name and 'Wadi Halaf' engraved on it. She's looking fit and well, but she is visibly worried.
"I'm really glad that you're back safe and sound, but we haven't time for a chat," says Mia giving me a quick hug. "You need to see father urgently. We don't think he'll last much longer."
This is the first indication I've received that the delay in resolving the chaos outside has something to do with my father's health. I haven't been inside his private rooms for several years, but I know the way well enough. I find him lying on his bed with my older half-sister, Jacinta, fussing over him. I don't need Jacinta's medical skills to know that his ragged breathing and sickly yellowing skin means that he is living on borrowed time.
Although I refuse to openly acknowledge that my father is lying on his death bed, I don't delude myself into thinking that somehow he will miraculously recover. Apparently Jacinta has been tending him since he was injured by an unknown assailant a week or so ago. Even her healing skills can't do more than provide potions to ease the pain of his wounds.
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