As the sun journeyed across the sky, it gazed down upon the Avanntian villa. The glow illuminated the estates’ decay, crumbling from years of neglect. The paint chipped and cracked, once bright yellow walls stained and faded.
Niko, the overseer of the villa and the slaves belonging to it, sat on the balcony. He gazed off into the distance and dropped the clay tablet on the table in front of him with a sigh. His wife, Camilla, noticing his change in mood, touched him gently on the shoulder. “Is something wrong, Niko?”
Niko nodded his head solemnly before replying. “I’m afraid so, news from the master.”
News from his master in the great city of Urr. The villa would soon have a new master, a banished noble in self-imposed exile after his image and reputation had been tarnished by the name of Aurelian. Niko’s understanding of Urran politics was almost non-existent, but even in his rural backwater estate, Aurelian’s devastating defeat against Acta was well known. Niko wasn’t surprised that he would want to hide his face in the countryside. The shame would have been unbearable. Still, the situation had added greatly to Niko’s stress.
The villa was in an utter state of disrepair, the walls hadn’t been maintained and were concerningly close to collapsing. The inside was no better. Niko’s predecessor had embezzled from the estate for years, skimming produce under the nose of their master in Urr. Anything inside of worth had been stolen and sold. However, subtly was not his strong suit and his predecessor had hung from the cross for a month before being cut down. Even if he had been given a month to prepare, he would barely get it up to even bare standards. And he didn’t have a month. The note said he would arrive by the morrow.
But that was the least of Niko’s concerns. The real problem was the slaves. Niko had been extremely lenient with the slaves of the estate. If quotas were met and resistance was non-violent, he was happy to allow them some freedom. Some were even paid a small wage to motivate them. Niko believed himself to be a good person at heart, and violence wasn’t something that came naturally to him. The few times he had been forced to use the whip made him sick. But with the coming of Aurelian, he would have to use these methods more to ensure obedience. He had seen firsthand the savagery of the masters, and Aurelian would be looking to vent his anger. He would have to use a much firmer hand to ensure that anger was not directed towards him.
But Niko feared that the arrival of Aurelian would disrupt this status quo. Many of the slaves on this estate had originally come from the League of Acta and surely wouldn’t be happy that the man who was likely responsible for their enslavement was now living with them. Tibeios in particular was a concern, his mercenary warband had been in service to Acta at the beginning of the war and was destroyed utterly. With its members either being enslaved like him or put to the sword. Aurelian’s presence would almost certainly open old wounds.
Niko rubbed his temple. There could be no hint of resistance, his and every other slave on the estate’s life depended on it.
It was at this time he spied three figures in the distance, one of which being dragged along bound in rope. Niko knew exactly what this meant, an escaped slave. No doubt grabbed by some of the locals hoping to collect a bounty. This was one of the rare times Niko would use the whip, and he no doubt would. But with Aurelian, he would have to use a more traditional punishment for troublemakers.
He took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he was about to do before calling for his wife.
“Camilla, fetch my coin-pouch, and get a fire started.”
Rising from his chair his legs moved as if by themselves. Carrying him toward the branding rod that lay on his mantle.
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Heron struggled to keep up with the two men dragging him towards the estate. His wrists burned, skin shredding under the rope bound around them. His ribs pulsed with a sharp pain with every step they took. He could see the villa growing closer, drawing the eyes of the other slaves in the fields, some contained pity, some were simply apathetic.
He glared at his two captors, two older men who had foiled his escape attempt. However, his anger was directed inward. His escape was futile. He snuck away during fieldwork in the brief moment when his manager was distracted. With nothing but the ragged tunic on his back, he sprinted away from the estate, not stopping until he was sure he was alone. He didn’t know where to go, so he walked up the path away from the villa which he now knew was stupid. It didn’t take long for him to stumble upon a couple of locals, halfway drunk.
Heron had seen them before, with them being hired to help occasionally on the estate. Heron had attempted to walk by them, but unfortunately, they recognized him and in their inebriated state, were itching for a fight. Blows were exchanged immediately, with the two men quickly overpowering him with their vicious punches. I was cocky, why did I fight? I could have run, maybe I would’ve gotten away.
One was a young short man with the wisps of a beard beginning to form. The other older man with the complexion of an old leather boot, and the personality of one. Though he could hardly blame him as of this morning, he was missing his two front teeth. A lucky blow thanks to Heron’s quick hands and help from a conveniently placed rock. From Heron and sporting an utterly foul look. Heron snickered and through slurred words “You whistle when you breathe”, finding some pleasure in mocking the man who had beat him so mercilessly.
Pain exploded through Heron’s head as the older man delivered a swift vindictive elbow to his face. “Thtop futhing laughing or I’ll cut your legs off, thlave!”
Heron hit the ground as he tried to recover from the shock of the blow. The taste of iron spread across his tongue as he spat the blood onto the dirt below.
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“You’re going to kill him before we get our bounty at this rate Leto.” The shorter un-blooded man said as he pulled Heron back to his feet and kicked him forward, forcing him to continue his march.
“Look at my face! Thith bathtard ruined my fucking teef! If I didn’t need the money, I’d have nailed him to a tree already!”
Heron ignored the two men’s bickering. They would leave as soon as he had his reward, and they clearly had no intention of killing him, not wanting to risk their bounty. His real fear was the anticipation of what awaited him at the villa.
Niko was a good man, he thought. Not one who enjoyed inflicting pain on others like his previous master. Still, an escape wasn’t something he could forgive easily. ‘I’ll be flogged at the very least, ration cut as well.’ Niko had a reputation for his passivity, the few times he had turned to the whip it was clear that the lashes weren’t delivered with force. He pulls his punches; it won’t hurt that much. Won’t even leave a scar. He thought as he tried to brave himself for the beating he was about to receive.
His feet kept moving as he was dragged along by the two men, still bickering. The rope rubbed his wrists bloody. Trying to distract himself from the miserable situation he found himself in, he decided to use his time productively. He was reckless and impatient, running off at the first chance would simply find himself back in chains. Next time he would avoid people, keeping off the main roads until he found a town big enough where he could get lost in the crowd. With no slave brand, he looked no different from any Urran peasant. It would all be fine in the end, he would find his way home and reclaim his birthright, and everything would be fine.
The villa grew in size as they reached its boundary. He could see the other slaves gathering around and gawking, some saw the now destroyed face of his captor and smirked while the rest simply looked on in pity. He saw Niko and his wife Camilla, a short plump woman with kind eyes. She was a good person. She was the one who would tend to the slaves when they were injured or sick. Dotting over them like a mother hen.
‘Why does she look so tense?’ Heron thought to himself as he saw her face. Scrunched up and tight, like she was trying to keep her face from displaying any emotion. A group of slaves were busy in the middle of the courtyard, hastily assembling a small fire. The men dragged him to the feet of Niko and Camilla, throwing him roughly to the ground.
“This one was tried sneaking away, we’re here to collect our bounty.”
“Double! I want double! Look at what thith fuck did to my fathe! You’re lucky I’m not going to the magithtrate and havin’ thith one fed to the pigs!”
For a split second, Heron thought he saw anger in Niko’s eyes. But it vanished as quickly as it came, with him handing the men four small silver coins called sovereigns. The standard currency of the Urran empire and beyond. Double the usual reward for a returned slave.
The threat of going to the magistrate was very real, Niko’s word as a slave despite his higher status was worth next to nothing against a free Urran citizen. And the proof of Heron’s resistance was easily seen on the face of the bloodied man. Not only would Heron be punished severely, but a record of the incident would also be sent to their master at Urr. Heron hadn’t been here to witness Niko’s predecessor, but Heron understood that Niko wanted to keep as low a profile as possible.
The toothless man eagerly grabbed the money and grunted, splitting it with his companion before they both trudged away from the villa. Heron could see that the toothless man was still furious about his broken teeth. Heron’s attention was drawn back to Niko as he uttered in a dark tone.
“Ring the bell, the punishment will begin shortly. I want everyone to bear witness.”
Camilla readily obeyed as she ran to the courtyard bell. At the top of a wooden pole was a polished bronze bell, shining under the light of the sun. Used to call the slaves from the fields when the workday was over, or to draw them for announcements. Or in this case, public punishment.
Heron had prepared himself for being whipped, but the atmosphere was far darker than he had expected. Niko had been replaced by someone else entirely, the once meek but friendly man transformed into a dark and serious character. The bell screamed out its metal song, and in no time at all the once spacious courtyard had suddenly grown very claustrophobic.
Heron counted fifty people. Fifty dirty, exhausted malnourished slaves wearing ragged tunics and hopeless expressions. At least half of them sported the dark skin shared by the Akkevian people from the League of Acta. No doubt taken as booty, their homes burnt and their families either dead or working on some other villa a thousand miles away. Heron had heard that Urr had been repelled from the region recently, but he imagined that was a shallow comfort since they would likely never see home again. Heron felt deeply for them, he knew what it was like to be far from home. But unlike them, he would escape. Today was just the first failure of many, each time he would learn, and each step would take him closer to home, closer to what was stolen from him.
Heron’s thoughts were interrupted when he was roughly pulled to his feet by two of Niko’s thugs. Dragged towards the fire as Niko walked behind slowly, and it was at this point that Heron noticed the long iron rod in his hand. Heron’s heart sank as he tried to pull away, but his body was already exhausted and battered from his capture. The men pinned him to the ground as Niko pushed the rod into the fire, turning it slowly until each angle glowed white.
“Wait! Wait, wait! Flog me! Not this, please! Why!? Niko!”
He’s going to brand me! I’ll be marked as a slave forever! Why is this happening? He’s never branded anyone, even escapees! Heron was a lion caught in a snare, lashing out in hopeless resistance. Being branded would make his escapes nigh impossible. He wouldn’t be able to step foot outside the estate again. But more than that, it was the shame of it. I was born a prince! I can’t be branded, this is wrong!
Desperately he thrashed to no avail, the men pinning his broken body to the ground and lifting his head up high. Niko pulled the rod from the fire; it was so hot Heron thought it would turn to molten slag before it reached his head. Niko rose up taller than Heron had ever seen, projecting an air of authority and fear he had never displayed before. His voice spread throughout the courtyard which had grown silent with anticipation.
“I received word from our master at Urr this morning. Our master’s son and heir, Aurelian Avanntian will be arriving by tomorrow. From this point onwards, there will be no mercy. Resistance and rebellion will be met with swift punishment. Let this serve as a message for those who would dare oppose our master.”
Blood rushed to Heron’s head as he felt arms coiling around his throat. His head restrained and pointed upwards as Niko stepped closer. The branding rod sparked as it drew closer, he tried to speak but the words were nothing more than dry gasps. He glanced at the faces of the gathered crowd. Their expressions were a menagerie of anger, astonishment, and fear. It was clear no one had expected Niko to take such extreme measures, he was a good man, a kind man. Tears welled in his eyes as he felt the heat burning his face.
Time ran out as the brand bore a hole into his mind. Smoke bellowed from his forehead as iron met flesh, the smell was unbearable as he heard his skin bubble and sizzle. His tears turned to steam, joining with the smoke in a spiralling dance. The crowd vanished, he couldn’t hear the calls for mercy, the groans of the other slaves. He couldn’t see the shame and disgust that spread across his brander’s face. He couldn’t see anything past the glow of the brand burning through his flesh as he screamed.