Leslie Moore - Griffin's Shadow

“I want him, Marcus, but I won’t be robbed. I’ll give you one hundred.”

Marcus threw up his hands. “Mistress de Guera, for you and only you would I sell him at a discount, but I have to recoup the extra expense it took to get him here. I had to pay for the medicine and the special food that restored his health out of my own pocket, you know. Give me one-fifty and I’ll make some profit, at least.”

The lady rolled her eyes. “Your sad story doesn’t interest me, Marcus. One twenty five.”

“One-forty, Mistress. Please, have some compassion! You must admit he’s worth every copper.”

“One-thirty, and not a sol more.”

“We have a deal, my lady,” Marcus purred. He grinned and held out his hand. Mistress de Guera huffed and shook her head, but she took Marcus’ hand and shook it. A tiny smile flickered over her lips as she glanced toward Ashinji.

So, it’s done , Ashinji thought. At least I’ve been spared the humiliation of a public auction. He watched as one of Mistress de Guera’s servants stepped forward and removed a leather pouch from his belt. He handed the pouch to his mistress, who opened it and carefully counted out the agreed upon price and dropped the coins into Marcus’ waiting palm.

“I’ll need proof of ownership,” the mistress said. Marcus rummaged around in his belt pouch and produced a folded piece of paper.

“I trust, since this was a private sale, we can, ah, avoid full disclosure to the market clerks?” He held out the paper. “I’d prefer to pay as little tax as possible.”

“Of course,” the lady agreed, unfolding the paper and perusing the contents. “Well, this all seems to be in order.” She refolded the paper and tucked it into the wide belt at her waist.

“It is always a pleasure doing business with you, Mistress de Guera,” Marcus said with a grin. He turned to face Ashinji. “I know you can’t appreciate this, but I did you a big favor by selling you to this lady. I could’ve sold you to one of the brothels or to a torture house. At least now, you’ll have a chance to win your freedom. Good luck to you, Ashinji. I mean that. Hold out your hands.”

Ashinji obeyed, because he could do nothing else. Marcus removed the shackles from his wrists, but another of the mistress’s servants stepped up and snapped a fresh pair on almost before Marcus had taken his off. He then attached a stout chain lead and deferentially placed the handle into the hand of his mistress.

Mistress de Guera gave the chain a gentle tug. “Come along, Ashinji,” she ordered and turned to walk toward the front gates of the main market. The three servants closed up around Ashinji, both to shield him from curious eyes and to block any possibility of escape.

A sedan chair awaited just outside the gates, a quartet of burly slaves crouched beside it, sweating in the midmorning sun. Mistress de Guera mounted, assisted by one of her servants, and the slaves hoisted the chair to their shoulders. Another servant secured the leash attached to Ashinji’s manacles to the back of the chair, then unfurled a large parasol and held it over his mistress’s head. The procession started off. Ashinji looked back once over his shoulder to see Marcus and his two assistants standing beside the gates, watching.

To his astonishment, Marcus waved. Ashinji turned away in confusion.

Waves of heat rose from the dusty road. Ashinji’s damp hair dried quickly and now hung down his back in a tangle. He longed for a comb and some almond oil.

Strange how such little things seem so important now , he thought.

Mistress de Guera remained silent and aloof in her chair. The slaves set a steady pace toward the stone bulk of the Grand Arena. The servants walked in silence as well, ignoring Ashinji. He felt like a ghost, floating along in their midst.

They approached the Arena from the rear, entering a vast complex of annexes that sprawled out from the main structure like the wings of a great bird. The bearers turned down a wide alley between rows of high brick walls broken at regular intervals by tall, wooden gates. They halted outside one set of gates which resembled all the others, except for a brass plaque attached to one post. Ashinji could not read the words engraved upon them-they were too small for him to see from where he stood-but he guessed that they identified this particular place.

Two of the servants scurried forward to push open the gates and the slaves bore Mistress de Guera through. Ashinji had no choice but to follow.

He found himself walking across a small, grass covered quadrangle toward a set of inner gates. One of the servants shouted and the gates swung open to reveal a much larger, sand-floored enclosure.

The yard lay empty under the glare of the sun. Wooden posts sunk into the ground at regular intervals stood around the perimeter. An awning of canvas ran the length of one side. Beneath the awning, Ashinji could see the deeper darkness of open doorways. At the far end of the yard, opposite the gates, stood a two-story building, surrounded by a brick wall of its own. A small arched gateway pierced the wall, blocked by what looked like an iron grille. The chair bearers made for the house and set their mistress down before the gate.

Mistress de Guera spoke for the first time since leaving the slave market.

“Send Aruk-cho to me in a quarter turn,” she ordered. She climbed out of the chair, straightening her skirts as she alighted.

“Yes, Mistress,” the youngest of the servants answered, then turned on his heel and sped away.

“Bring him,” Mistress de Guera said, indicating Ashinji with a flick of her wrist. The older of the remaining servants untied Ashinji’s leash from the chair and pulled him along in the mistress’s wake. They passed through the iron gate- which had been cleverly fashioned into the semblance of a climbing rosebush- then across a small, fragrant garden humming with bees and through an arched doorway into the cool interior of the house.

It took a moment for Ashinji’s eyes to adjust to the dimmer light inside the dwelling, but when he could finally discern his surroundings, he saw a large open room full of low, wooden furniture, ornate carpets underfoot, and gauzy hangings softening the walls. The far end of the room opened onto a courtyard.

Mistress de Guera settled gracefully onto a padded bench. “Leave us,” she commanded, and the two manservants promptly withdrew, though Ashinji had no doubt they would remain within earshot should their mistress require them. “You may sit, if you wish.” She indicated the carpeted floor. Ashinji considered what it would mean if he sat at this woman’s feet, decided it was pointless to worry about such things any longer, and sat.

“Tell me about yourself,” she said.

“I am the second child of Sen and Amara, Lord and Lady of Kerala. My father is the Commanding General of the King’s Army of Alasiri. I have a wife, who I love more than my own life, and a child on the way who I may never see.” His voice broke, and he had to pause, lest he cry out in anguish. Mistress de Guera sat in silence, waiting, as he mastered himself enough to continue.

“I have an older brother and three younger sisters. My wife’s father is Keizo Onjara, King of Alasiri…I am not sure what else you wish to know.”

“When Marcus said you claimed to be a nobleman, he didn’t say you were a prince.” Mistress de Guera leaned forward and Ashinji caught the scent of roses.

“I am not a prince,” he corrected her. “I am married to the king’s daughter.”

“How did you learn to speak Soldaran so well?”

“Languages come easily to me. I know Sharan and a little bit of Qoum, as well.”

Mistress de Guera sighed and leaned back. “I hear the pain in your voice, Ashinji. You miss your home, your family… your wife. You fear you will never see any of them again, and truthfully, you probably won’t. Still, there is a chance for you to survive and to make a place for yourself here. I’m going to give you a choice, the last one of any consequence you’ll get as a slave. You can go to my stable and earn your keep and possibly your freedom as a gladiator. You’ll be treated just like all the rest of my fighting slaves. Or… you can live in this house, with me, as my personal slave.”