Rachael Slave Of Emarukistan Ch 02

Recap of chapter 1: Twenty-year old Rachael and her siblings are unwittingly involved in helping their father overthrow the city warlord. As the daughter of a slave concubine, Rachael has lived her life as a slave. However, during her father's drunken celebration, he commands that his slave offspring be given their freedom. Anticipating he would retract his command when he was sober, Rachael makes a late-night dash to the nearest temple to have her manumission registered in the temple records. There she overhears a plot that tests her loyalty to her father. She returns home to warn him, only to find her father's legal wife has other plans.

Chapter 2: Rachael and the Warlord

After several hours locked in this tiny cell, my arms are beginning to ache. Chaining my wrists tightly to a waist chain is an unnecessary and cruel addition to my confinement. But my few hours as a free woman must have incensed Lady Gülnihal into her spiteful act of revenge. Unless I can persuade the guards to let me see my father so I can warn him of the imminent attack, Gülnihal, and everyone else at Wadi-Halaf, may be joining me in slavery before much longer. Emarukistan is a world where the strong will enslave the weak without hesitation, and what few laws there are only protect the strong.

My father's brief rule as the new city warlord may come a sudden and violent end if Lord Mustafa's mercenaries succeed in their daring plan to rescue their imprisoned employer. A plan that I overheard last night and can help to thwart if I can pass the details onto my father. But Gülnihal wants me out of the way while she ensures my father retracts his order to have me and my siblings freed from slavery. An order he gave during a drunken celebration which I'm sure he'll regret once he is sober. Even my having my manumission papers registered in the temple last night isn't a guaranteed protection of my freedom. I know my father's legal wife well enough to know that Gülnihal won't do anything that will jeopardize her unborn child's position as heir to my father's wealth.

It strikes me as bizarre that the man I helped my father to capture, and who is the prize the mercenaries seek, may be sitting in the cell adjacent to mine. The thick stone walls and solid reinforced wooden door make it impossible for me to see the adjacent cells or to identify more than muffled sounds. I can only await my fate.

The tiny, barred window in my cell saves me from total darkness and it gives me a rough indication of the time. If the mercenaries' scheme is going to plan, then the three I met last night will have joined the rest of their gang working as guards for one of the many merchant caravans which pass through the city. From what I heard last night, the caravan in question should reach Wadi-Halaf around midday when it will make its usual stop for supplies. Having gained access to the inside of Wadi-Halaf the mercenaries intend to overpower my father's guards and take my father captive.

Midday comes and goes. I hear muffled voices and sounds of people moving about but it could easily be a trick of my imagination. Nobody comes to give me food or water. There's no bucket in my cell and eventually I am forced to relieve myself on the floor. I'm past caring about the trouble that will get me in.

It must be mid-afternoon when the door to my cell is opened. A guard I don't recognise orders me to follow him, although that's very difficult for me to do with my leg manacles joined by a short chain. But I know better than to expect any sympathy from a guard. Indeed, the guard doesn't fail to take the opportunity to give my tits a good groping and my arse a good rub.

I'm taken to one of the large rooms my father uses to conduct his business meetings. My father isn't alone and I recognise his guest as a merchant called Hassan. They deliberately ignore me despite the length of time it takes me to shuffle across the room. The guard places me facing the two men and promptly leaves.

I'm left standing naked except for my iron collar and copper rings through my nipples and clit. My loin cloth was removed when I was put in the cell, along with my manumission parchment. I obediently stand still with my head bowed.

"So, this is the slave who saved my caravan and your hide, Rahim," observes Hassan. "You have a strange way of showing your gratitude."

My father simply grunts in response. I suspect he would rather walk barefoot over rusty nails than offer me any words of thanks. At least it seems the mercenaries attack on Wadi-Halaf has failed even if I don't know the details. Hassan waits for my father to say something, but a grunt is all he is going to say on the matter.

Hassan is one of many merchants and caravan masters who periodically stop overnight at Wadi-Halaf. Invariably my sisters and I are sent to entertain them and service their needs. Now that we are adults, we are well versed in the sexual preferences of most of Wadi-Halaf's regular visitors.

"So, what has this slave done to be punished like this, Rahim?" asks Hassan, obviously perplexed by my father's treatment of me.

"Disobedience and getting ideas above her station," replies my father before turning to address me.

"You are fortunate that the captain of my guard belatedly remembered to tell me that Lady Gülnihal had sent you to the cells. I was beginning to think you had foolishly run off. The captain also mentioned that you provided him with a warning that Wadi-Halaf was going to be the target of an attack. I had anticipated the bandits would attack Mustafa's compound and I didn't think the mercenaries had the numbers or audacity to make an attempt on Wadi-Halaf's fortifications. Luckily the captain took heed of your warning and called for reinforcements. But he also tells me that you left Wadi-Halaf last night without my permission for which Lady Gülnihal is perfectly correct in ordering you to be severely punished. So, what have you to say for yourself?"

"Yesterday you ordered that I be released from slavery, Dominus," I say respectfully. "Are you now refusing to recognise my manumission document?"

"I was drunk when I ordered your release. That senile old fool who calls himself a seneschal should have known better. I've already retracted my order. Your brothers and sisters have surrendered their manumission papers and accepted that what happened was a mistake. But you, it seems, thought to outsmart me and register your manumission in the temple. A clever move which means I must ask you to go to the temple and have the registration cancelled. Will you do that?"

"Are you ordering me to go, Dominus?" I reply.

"The temple won't delete the registration unless they are convinced you genuinely want to remain a slave. I can't force you, but I think it will be in your best interest to do so."

"How so?" I ask.

"Let me describe the two options that you have. Then you can decide.

"Firstly, I can accept that you are now a free woman. I will have your collar and rings removed and the slave tattoo on your shoulder modified to proclaim your freedom to anyone who bothers to check. I will even persuade Lady Gülnihal to give you something to wear, although I can't promise the clothes will be to your liking. And then you can walk out of Wadi-Halaf and go... where? No respectable citizen will offer shelter to an ex-slave with no money, and your manumission document may not be recognised outside of this city. You will have nowhere to live, no job, and no protection from the street scum who prey on the weak. Living in the gutter starving to death would be your likely fate. Either that or you end up working as a prostitute in some back street brothel. At best you will find yourself enslaved once again.

"Secondly you can do as I ask, and willingly surrender your freedom. You can be back inside my harem by this evening with no lasting consequences."

I am obviously expected to respond to what he has just said, but I can't say I'm enamoured with either of the options he's portrayed. If you think living in a harem is all about lying around looking pretty, then you've never been inside the harem at Wadi-Halaf. The women work fifteen hours a day in the kitchens, the laundry or cleaning the many rooms and cells of Wadi-Halaf. Either that or they are helping the male slaves carry heavy sacks and crates into and out of the warehouse. Resupplying merchant caravans is back breaking work. Because I'm strong and well built, I'm often assigned to helping my half-brothers with the heavy portage. My only relief is when I'm called on to provide entertainment for my father's guests.

"May I ask a question before deciding, Dominus?" I ask, keeping my tone servile since I'm not really sure of my father's mood. So far, he has made no move to unlock my shackles and protesting about being a free woman will get me nowhere.

"Ask your question," replies my father.

"If I agree to surrender my freedom, what becomes of me and sisters when Lady Gülnihal's child is born. Will we be sent to the slave market, like Zoe was sold when Lady Giselle produced an heir for your brother?"

"I refuse to make promises about any slave's future."

On the surface his reply is evasive, but I can tell from his words that my fears are justified and whatever I choose, my time at Wadi-Halaf is coming to an end.

Like her sister, Giselle, Gülnihal doesn't want any of her husband's concubines' offspring around. She has an unnecessary fear of us. My father will never recognise my siblings and I as his heirs. We are simply chattels to be used as he thinks fit. Besides, my half-brothers have been gelded, so they cannot produce heirs in their turn. And my sisters and I are effectively barren. We have been taking the herbal concoction we are given to prevent pregnancy for years. A lasting side effect of the herbs is to make pregnancies unlikely for several years after ceasing to take the concoction. It could be five years or more, possibly never, before I could bear a child. Any potential husband isn't likely to want to wait that long for an heir.

"If I may offer a third option, Rahim," says Hassan.

"I'm sure Rachael will be willing to listen to what you propose," replies my father.

"My caravan must resume its journey north in the morning. But I'm eight guards short thanks to Mustafa's mercenaries breaking their contract. This girl is strong and healthy. I would be happy to pay for her services until my caravan reaches its destination."

"She has never handled a weapon, and I have no need of any more of your money, Hassan," laughs my father at Hassan's ridiculous proposal.

"You misunderstand, Rahim. It is Rachael whom I will pay. I offer the going rate for a caravan porter, one dinar a day. Some of my porters can handle a weapon, and it is easier to replace a porter than a guard. On arrival at our destination, I will have Rachael's manumission document registered at a Temple of the Shepherd so that it is recognised throughout the land. After that she will be free to go where she pleases."

"But until then she remains in your thrall, yes?" asks my father. "I will not have her left to fend for herself without some means of supporting herself."

I'm taken aback by my father's sudden concern for my welfare. For years he has treated me as his property to be used as and when he desires. Could I have misunderstood his motives for all of these years? Could his strict control over me be a form of protectiveness? I find that hard to believe, but then he has never let me go too far out of his sight. It might explain his over-reaction to my excursion last night.

"As you wish, Rahim. We will delay removing her collar and we can leave her slave tattoo untouched until we reach our destination."

"That would be acceptable. What do you say, Rachael?" asks my father.

As much as I would like Hassan to swear an oath that he will give me my freedom at journey's end, I know that making such a request would be regarded as an insult.

"I will accept Effendi Hassan's offer," I reply.

"Good," says my father with a hint of relief. "Now return to the harem and prepare for your departure in the morning. Hassan will look after this document for you."

My father hands Hassan my manumission parchment. Then he orders a guard to unchain me from my bondage and allow me to return to the harem. The guard can't be bothered escorting me the whole way, so I get the opportunity to make a detour through the kitchen. I haven't eaten for nearly a day, and as any slave knows, food and water must be consumed whenever the opportunity allows. Technically I could be sent back to the cells for taking food without permission, but none of the women working in the kitchen will betray me as we have all been in this situation before.

The harem is empty when I arrive. With Hassan's caravan needing resupply, every slave not working in the kitchen or laundry will be fetching and carrying whatever Hassan and his men need. I use my time alone to take a soak in the harem pool. It's the one luxury the slave women of Wadi-Halaf can enjoy, although it has a wider purpose to keep diseases under control. In the crowded confines of the harem, good hygiene is something expected of every slave here.

My peaceful soak in the pool is interrupted when my half-sister Jacinta enters the harem. She's splattered in blood, although thankfully not her own. Her skills as a medic are sometimes called upon and I suppose there are wounded guards in need of tending after today's attack on Wadi-Halaf.

"You picked a good time to go missing," says Jacinta.

"Hmm. It seems Gülnihal forgot to tell our father about having me locked up in a cell since dawn."

I relate my adventures of the last twenty-four hours to Jancinta.

Early the next morning I say my farewells to my mother and siblings. I'm not sure if I'll ever see any of them again. There are more than a few tears shed despite the hardened attitude to relationships a slave's life imposes. I have no belongings other than the new sandals and loin cloth I'm wearing which are a parting gift from my father. Hassan has insisted on changing my iron collar for the more generic style favoured by merchants. He offered to have my nipple and clit rings removed, but I said that I would prefer to keep them until such time that he sets me free. With my previous collar replaced, my rings are the only reminder I have of Wadi-Halaf. Despite the hardships of my life, I will miss my mother and siblings and the security Wadi-Halaf provides.

I join the assembled porters and caravan guards in the large forecourt just inside the main gates. The caravan is larger than usual with four heavily laden wagons drawn by teams of horses, and a line of pack animals already loaded with sacks. Including me, there are ten porters, six of whom are slaves. I'm the only woman among them, although I notice two of the well-armed guards are female. A coffle of five bound male prisoners is assembled to one side of the wagons under the supervision of two caravan guards. I notice one of the prisoners is the flute playing mercenary I entertained in the temple. The prisoners are naked above their waist but are otherwise clothed in trousers and stout sandals typically worn by warriors. A few show signs of battle wounds, both nothing which should hinder their long walk to wherever they are being taken.

The four porters who are freemen soon make it clear that they consider themselves superior to the slave porters. In Emurakistan culture that is nothing unusual. I don't doubt that they will get first choice of the tasks the porters are required to carry out. In that respect, I have no idea what is expected of me, and nobody seems to be in a hurry to tell me. The trade goods are loaded into the wagons or onto the pack animals so it seems unlikely we will be carrying goods.

My father appears, accompanied by Hassan and two other men I later learn are called Pahan and Abdullah who are Hassan's quartermaster and caravan master respectively. They set about preparing the caravan for departure. I'm still wondering what my duties are when there is suddenly a lot of noisy activity at the gates. My father goes to investigate and returns a short while later in the company of a well-dressed man escorted by four soldiers of the city guard. Behind them are two single-person litters of the type favoured by lords and ladies who consider it beneath them to walk the city streets. A handful of slaves follow behind carrying what appears to be luggage.

I can barely hide my astonishment when I see that the man with my father is Lord Mustafa, the freshly deposed warlord. He is talking with my father as though they are good friends, and the events of the last few days haven't occurred. The slaves hauling the two litters deposit them near the wagons. The passengers inside the litters are hidden behind curtains and they make no effort to disembark once the litters are placed on the ground.

Hassan joins my father and Lord Mustafa, and they talk for a few minutes. I can only catch some of their conversation, but I discover that Lord Mustafa has accepted banishment rather than face the prospect of a much worse fate. I'm not sure my father is making a wise decision in allowing Mustafa to leave with Hassan's caravan, but nobody is asking for my opinion.

A horse is provided for Lord Mustafa and four porters are assigned to carry the two litters, which we soon discover are occupied by Mustafa's two daughters. Needless to say, the slave porters are the ones assigned to the task, and I am instructed to take the rear of the leading litter. The other porters are tasked with carrying the newly arrived entourage's luggage.

I put on the shoulder straps attached to the carrying poles. It helps distribute the weight much in the same way the yokes slaves wear when carrying water. On the command of Abdullah, we lift the litter and follow the rear wagon out of the gate. I do my best to keep the litter level, but I've never done this before and there are more than a few complaints from the young woman inside.

The caravan eventually leaves the city and onto the open road to the north. I've never been out of the city before and I can't help but gawk at the fields and forests I see around me. Before long the cool of the early morning is replaced by the steadily rising heat from the sun. My body starts to sweat, and my hands become slippery on the poles. Fortunately, the shoulder straps take the strain when I need to wipe my hands on my loin cloth and readjust my grip. The slave porter in front is obviously struggling with the same problem. Suddenly he stumbles and loses his grip on the poles. The litter tips sideways and there's a howl of protest from the passenger.

The nearby guards are quickly on the scene to help. The young woman passenger is helped out of the litter and despite her tirade of complaints, doesn't appear to be injured. The slave porter isn't so lucky. He has twisted his ankle and can only hobble about. There's no way he can continue to carry the litter.

The caravan doesn't stop, and we are soon passed by the second litter and the porters carrying luggage. The line of pack animals which follow nearly crush the overturned litter. Fortunately, the guards and I manage to get it upright and to the side of the road before any damage is done. The coffle of prisoners and their guards bring up the rear of the caravan. They at least stop while the guards decide what to do. There's a quick reassignment of duties. One of the mercenary prisoners is released from the coffle and tasked with taking the injured slaves place at the front of the litter. He's not happy about doing so but he's not in a position to refuse.

I don't see the injured slave again and I can only speculate what became of him. In Emarukistan slaves who can't work are expendable. We resume our journey with as little delay as possible. The front section of the caravan is now well ahead of us. If the litter was empty, we might have a chance of catching up to the main column. But our passenger makes it clear that that she has no intention of walking, not that anyone dressed in such finery could walk very far in this heat.