“Orak, please?” Ziva begged a week later. “Others talk about the slave market. I want to go with Tawna and Kara. I want to see what happens there. We’ll stay near the edge. Please? I want to know. I want to see it.”

“Absolutely not!” Orak roared. “Slave markets are not places for young women. I do not like to go there, myself. Too many men are wicked. Those who gather around the slave market are not the kind of men you have known, especially in the way they behave toward women. You will not go.”

His declaration should have been the end of the discussion, but Ziva plunged forward. “Can I not take Com? He is a big man, big enough to frighten those wicked men. Com will protect me. I listened to him before.”

“Why would you want to go to such an awful place? Men and women are degraded there. There is nothing there for you. We do not purchase slaves.”

“I do not want to purchase a slave, and I don’t know why I feel I should go, for sure. I only know I feel I should go. The others are going. Please?”

Ziva managed to bring tears to her eyes, aware Orak could seldom deny her requests when she used tears. She did not know why she was drawn to the slave market, only that she was. “Something important is there. Please let me go.”

Orak had been touchy in the days since the fire at the granary. The timing was not good. Or, maybe it was better to ask now, when he wasn’t at his best, or he would never allow a visit.

“You will stay back, away from the slaves?”

“Yes, Father, I will.”

“And, you will take Com? Listen to him? Return home when he says?”

“You will let me go? Yes, I will listen to Com. Thank you!” Ziva hugged her father, covering his face with kisses. He returned the embrace, his dark arms encircling her tiny waist.

“I fear for your safety. Be extra careful—and listen to Com.”

Ziva kissed his cheek and forehead once more, then ran from his office to her apartment. Orak bellowed for Com as she left, and she knew he would be there with her on the excursion the next day. She briefly sensed the unfairness of abusing Orak’s love, especially during this time of his loss, then brushed away the thought. Though she rarely abused his love, she was drawn to make this trip. For some reason, it seemed important.

She sat at her desk and reached for vellum, pen, and ink. After quickly sketching out messages to her friends, and sealing them, she called the messenger to carry her notes.

Early the next morning, Com escorted Ziva to a large covered carriage, where she found Kara and Tawna waiting. Com clamored up to the front seat next to the driver, Kara’s escort. Tawna’s stood on the back.

“I’m surprised Orak let you come with us.” Tawna made space for Ziva.

“I cried. That always works, but I don’t use that weapon often. I keep tears for special occasions, such as this.” Ziva sat back and straightened her skirts.

The carriage jolted forward and moved through the city toward the slave market. A thrill zipped down Ziva’s spine. She had not traveled about the city so alone before. Orak had only the one time allowed her to travel into the city without him, when she met with her friends at Korm’s fabric shop before Roven’s party.

Her friends loved to tease her about his over-protectiveness. Although, on most days she appreciated his concern, lately she felt a chafing at the restraint. Today’s outing with her friends, without Orak, caused her to be glad of Com’s presence as her escort.

A big, sooty-gray man, tall and strong, Com allayed any concerns she or Orak may have had. Orak paid him well to protect his home. As a free man, Ziva trusted him. He had been a part of her life throughout her memory.

The girls chatted gaily, enjoying the company and freedom of a day out together. This was a first for Tawna, too.

“I have gold. I plan to buy a maid to help me,” Kara announced.

Tawna and Ziva expressed surprise and gabbled like geese for many long heartbeats.

“Why would you need another slave?” Tawna’s voice rose higher and louder than usual.

“I want one. Must I have a reason to need one?” Kara flounced her skirts.

“What will you ask her to do for you? Surely, you will buy a female to be your maid?” A quiver rippled through Ziva’s stomach. She did not understand the nausea it created.

“Of course. I am not shameless enough to buy a male slave for my apartments.” Kara reached out and fluffed up her full skirts. “I’m looking for one to dress my hair in different and interesting ways or be able to learn the skill.”

Tawna leaned forward and asked, “How will you know she can do that? How will you choose her?”

Kara described the features she desired and what she would look for in the slave. Her voice dimmed in Ziva’s attention. Why the quivering in her inner parts? Why the horror at Kara’s actions? She was always sensational. These actions were no different. This was a trip to the slave market, but she had not planned that one of them would purchase another person, a slave. Somehow this alarmed her.

Tawna shook her arm. “Ziv? Ziv? What is wrong?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing. Why?” Ziva glanced at her friends.

“You are pale, much more than usual,” Kara exclaimed. “Are you certain you are well?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m sure. Just thinking.” Ziva cleared her throat. “Are we there yet?”

Tawna looked at Ziva, her eyes saying, “No, you’re not.” Instead, she gave a half-shrug and leaned back into her seat. “Almost. The carriage is slowing. Kara’s driver seems to be seeking a place to leave our carriage.”

Ziva nodded as the carriage bounced her from the seat. She grabbed on to a handle with one hand, and Tawna with the other until the rocking of the carriage ended. Soon, Com stood at the door, extending a hand to help her out.

“We are here, Mistress. Wait while I check the area for danger.” He did not ask. He expected compliance, and Ziva stood quietly waiting with her friends.

Com returned, a silent danger. Ziva shivered in his presence, happy Com’s presence protected them.

“Your hoods are to be over your heads,” Com instructed. “You are to remain near us.”

“I plan to purchase a slave,” Kara’s voice filled with petulance as she dragged her hood over her hair.

“Heth shared this information with me. He will choose three women for you to choose from. You will not move closer to inspect them personally.”

“How will I choose if I cannot inspect them myself?” Kara’s voice became even louder.

Com stayed calm and in control. “You will watch Heth place his hands over each of his chosen women. After you have seen the three he chooses, he will hold his hand above each woman. Nod when his hand is over your choice. If this is not acceptable, we will return home now.”

Kara’s rage flared, evident to all, but she was intelligent enough to nod in agreement. Heth pushed through the crowd while Com walked just ahead of the girls. Tawna’s escort, Keb, followed, watching warily in every direction.

The condition of the market and slaves appalled Ziva. This was nothing like the market surrounding Korm’s fabric shop. Naked men, women, and children of all ages, some no bigger than toddlers stood in chains, ankles and wrists worn in running sores. Women struggled vainly to cover personal parts. Their bodies bruised, red stripes crossed backs, chests, and across legs. None, not even the small children, were exempt from the cruel whips. A putrid scent filled the air, causing the girls to pull the edges of their hoods across their noses.

Unshaken, Kara studied the women intently as Heth moved among the younger girls, inspecting them in unseemly ways, prodding and poking in their mouths and private parts. Ziva stared at her feet, no longer desiring to be part of the choosing.

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As she turned away, Ziva followed the movements of a young man, tall and confident, accompanied by an older man. Dressed in simple clothing, neither patched or worn. He appeared to be neither a slave nor a merchant. He glanced her way and their eyes met briefly, before the older man touched his arm, drawing his attention to a boy for sale. A strange familiarity touched her heart.

“Which girl is your choice, Tawna, Ziv?” Kara cried. “Heth chose three for me to choose from: the little blond, the red-haired girl, and the dark brown-haired girl. Which would you choose?”

Ziva stared at the choices, strangely disturbed. All the girls were thin, much too young to be sold. She shook her head in dismay.

“The dark one,” Tawna said, as though from a distance. “Choose the red-haired girl. Her hair is plaited.”

Ziva considered the dark girl. “Yes, the red head seems to know the skill of dressing hair.” She turned her back on the slaves, no longer interested.

She felt Kara nod, choosing. She glanced back to see all except the red-haired girl step back in line. Ziva covered her gasp with her hand and glanced at Com.

“Can we leave now that Kara has made her decision?” she asked.

Com turned toward the girls. “Are the others ready?”

“I am.” Tawna turned away and nodded.

“My choice is made. Heth will bring the girl when the purchase is complete. Yes, let us leave.” Kara turned and began to walk in the direction of the carriage.

The others followed, Keb hurrying to lead the way, while Com followed in the rear, watching all around them. Ziva moved with them, glad to have her back to the depressing sight.

“Orak was right,” she said as she settled her skirts around her on the carriage seat. “The slave market is no place for me.”

~ ~ ~

“Hurry, boy. We must arrive at the market before the other buyers,” Gowdy growled from the kitchen door.

One of the boys employed in turning the meat fell asleep the day before, falling into the fire. He lived but only barely. He would be sold at the market as soon as he healed enough to be purchased by another slave owner. Qinten did not keep injured slaves. The boy continued to be treated only because Qinten knew an injured or sick slave would not bring him as much money.

Nat grabbed his cloak from the peg on the back of the pantry door. “I’m gone,” he called to Cook, then turned to Gowdy. “Let’s go.”

The two strode across the portico and through the gate onto the street. Nat became aware of a freedom he had not experienced in many years. He had not felt this freedom since he had been sold into slavery as a child. He wondered again what had happened to his little sister. To sell a child into slavery should be a crime, but in this city, it was no crime.

“What should the boy be like?” Gowdy startled Nat from his thoughts.

“Boy? Yes, the boy.” He glanced at his companion who laughed. “Oh, I was thinking.” Nat joined Gowdy in his good-natured laughter.

“Freedom to walk is a pleasure denied me for many years. I savor the opportunity,” Nat said.

“Not walked alone before?”

“Not for many years. Always with an escort and wearing chains. Your company, Gowdy, is a pleasure. I don’t feel like I’m being guarded.”

The two walked on, sharing opinions as to the new boy’s requirements, arriving at the plaza near the edge of the city as other men arrived at the slave market. They wended their way toward the docket, intent on choosing one of the middle-aged boys. Nat’s skin tingled in awareness. He searched around him to see whose eyes were on him. Briefly, he gazed at the girl, a female version of himself.

Before he could react, Gowdy touched his arm. “Which of these boys do you think is strong enough to withstand the fires? And who will not need to be tamed of his rebellion?”

Nat turned his attention back to the boys, still amazed Gowdy would respect his opinion. Fighting down the stench-caused nausea, he walked along the line of boys, gazing into their eyes, followed by Gowdy. Some boys stared back at him, hatred flaming to the surface. Others’ attention focused on their feet, refusing to return his stare. Near the end of the line, a boy of about ten peered up with a hesitancy in his stance.

“Have you the strength to turn a spit?” Nat asked, his voice gentle and sympathetic.

“I can. I am strong. My last master was a rug maker. I carried rugs of every size from the loom to the customer.”

“Awkward loads. Spit turning is dangerous. You would replace a boy who fell in the fire. Can you pay attention?”

“Aye. Roasting fires burn. I can pay attention and stay out of the fire, if you let me.” Hope sparkled in his eyes.

Nat turned. “Gowdy, what do you think? Is the little man strong enough to turn a spit?”

“Doubt it.” Gowdy spat on the ground. “Arms are pretty scrawny.”

“I can, sir. Give me a chance.” The boy strained against his restraints.

Gowdy spat again. “We’ll see.”

They had reached the end of the line of boys. None of the others demonstrated anything but submission or anger. Nat trailed behind as Gowdy found the market manager. “What is the price of number twenty-seven, boy?”

The manager scanned his market list. “That ‘un is slated for the mines, ‘less sum’un offers enough.”

“Why? He is scrawny and weak. Probably won’t work for us.” Gowdy turned as though uninterested. Nat held back his argument, aware of his companion’s plan.

“What’re ya willin’ to pay?” The manager grabbed Gowdy’s shoulder.

Gowdy growled and slapped the hand off. “Do not touch me. I asked a price. Name it.”

“Paid six silvers for him.”

“More like six coppers. Give you a silver,” Gowdy retorted. “Boy isn’t worth even that much.” When the manager didn’t respond, Gowdy and Nat turned away.

The manager scratched his dark, bald head and glanced up. “Ya’ drive a tough bargain, Gowdy. One silver it is.”

Nat struggled to keep his eyebrows from the space near his hair. He should not have been surprised. Gowdy was the buyer for kitchen slaves in Qinten’s household. His acquaintance with the slave market manager aided those purchases. Gowdy had purchased Nat almost six years earlier. The market manager was the last of his worries then.

Gowdy fished a silver from the bag inside his waist and handed the coin to the manager. After testing for purity, he signaled a tall assistant.

Less than a hand span of the sun’s movement later, the boy followed Nat and Gowdy to his new home. The boy tried chattering his gratitude, but Gowdy grumped and Nat was lost in thought.

The girl was no slave, as he had believed for all the past years. She obviously lived in wealth, her guide was protective. He had never allowed himself to hope to find her comfortable.

Cook eyed Nat suspiciously as they entered the kitchen, new boy in tow. “What pasted a grin on your face?”

“He saved this boy from the mines.” Gowdy indicated the boy following them. “Do you have a name, boy?”

Nat almost laughed at the boy’s expression. “Me? Of course, I have a name. I am Avram.”

“Nat saved Avram, here, from the mines? Boy’d better show appropriate gratitude,” Cook grumbled. “Get him some clothing so he can work.”

Another cook’s assistant ran to the kitchen wardrobe, returning with a short robe and a heavy protective leather apron. Avram donned the clothing and hurried to the spit. Cook nodded to Nat and returned to the meal preparation. Nat smiled. His grin wasn’t for Avram or Cook, and Gowdy didn’t need to know.

~ ~ ~

Nat lay on his back on his cot, hands laced behind his head, still surprised by his sleeping arrangements. For many years, he had slept on the floor, often with little to pull over him against the cold night air. Sometimes, he had been given a rug to lie upon, most often he slept on the hard-packed earth.

The boys in Qinten’s scullery slept together on the floor, little space between them. That had been good, sometimes, for the closeness of the bodies provided warmth. It was a problem, too, like when Kenji decided to surround him with his cronies.

For hours that first night, he had felt poking and prodding from all sides. He had ignored it, knowing a reaction would cause an unwanted battering. Eventually, it ended. This had happened several nights, until the lack of response sent Kenji to plan an assault on Nat.

Since his promotion to Cook’s assistant, Nat slept on a cot, with a thin blanket to cover him. Other boys shared the room, but he was off the floor, away from the vermin.

When all the preparations for the next day’s meal were complete, Nat was free to do as he pleased. Tonight, he pleased to lie, thinking, on his cot.

His thoughts returned to his trip to the slave market. Avram’s boast of strength was correct, so far. He stood for hours turning the spit, his attention on his work. So far. Soon the work would become monotonous. Would he then lose attention and fall into the fire as the boy had before?

Nat hoped not. He liked the boy, Avram. He liked his cheerful willingness to work. Cook noticed, too. He had nodded at him, saying, “Good.” For a man as taciturn as Cook, that was a complement. Nat was glad. Avram reminded him of someone. Himself, maybe, with his first owner?

Hoth had not been cruel, though he insisted his slaves work hard in making bricks. Nat had been assigned first to stamp the straw into the clay, mixing clay, straw, and sand to create bricks that would withstand the sun. It was hard work for a boy, but he had done well, moving to filling the molds after three years. By then, his legs and arms were longer and stronger. Filling the molds was more difficult, but Nat soon learned the trick, becoming both fast and accurate.

He had worked hard and long, but he hoped he would not be in the service of the brick maker all his life. He did not anticipate, nor desire, the end to Hoth’s service. More than two years after his promotion to filling molds, slaves from his household came to the brick making shed to announce the end. Hoth had losses in his business and started drinking heavily. A fight had ensued at the tavern, and Hoth now lay dying. The slaves in the brickyard would be sold.

Once more, Nat stood naked and chained with the other slaves in the market. Vekt walked the line that day. Many who had previously belonged to Hoth glared angrily into the eyes of those purchasing new slaves. Nat refused to look at his feet or stare in anger. He waited until he saw a man who appeared to be kind, then glanced in his direction, hope filling his heart. Vekt had responded that day much as Nat had responded to Avram.

Nat was purchased, spending much of the next two years lugging lengths of trees and leather to support Vekt in his making of drums.

Had there been a life before slavery? He had almost forgotten the days of being petted and loved by a beautiful mama and a handsome papa. He, and a sister, traveled with them in wagons filled with food and seed. He barely remembered the clean, earthy smell of the seeds. So long ago.

“You comin’ to the festivities tonight?” Drak kicked the end of Nat’s cot and drew him from his memories.

“Thought I would. Is it time?”

“Yea, but you may want to at least wash your face before you go. Girls prefer a man with a clean face.”

“Like you would know? When were you last with a girl?” Nat laughed and headed for the washroom.