Two guards hauled me to my feet, aggravating the wounds in my back.
“She would have fetched a higher price without the lashes,” Ballester said.
“It was worth it.” Pertusa grabbed my chin and yanked my face toward him. “Not quite the revenge I’d planned but satisfying in its way. Besides, the slavers know how to deal with a few lash marks.” He glanced at Gil. “What about him? Young and strong. He’s worth something.”
Ballester shook his head. “Lock him back up. He may prove useful later. And post extra guards, just in case the rest of his crew are about, on the chance that they have more loyalty to him than he has to them.”
I risked another glance at Gil. He stared at one of the guards. I followed his gaze, then stepped back in terror. But Pertusa’s hand clamped around my arms and held me while the guard came toward me with a bronze slave collar.
Thomas had told me not to try things that were doomed to failure, but every instinct told me to run. I stomped on the inside of Pertusa’s foot and slammed an elbow into his abdomen. I wouldn’t be chained, not like that. I darted away from him, but two guards caught me and slammed me into a nearby arch. The rough stone wall scratched my raw back, and the pain came out in a sob. They held me against the stones until the slave collar was fastened around my neck.
Pertusa yanked on the chain attached to the collar. I recoiled. My back was afire, but I still winced at the way the collar cut into the skin of my neck. Deep in my soul, I felt what it meant, something far worse than physical pain. I was once again a slave.
Pertusa sneered in satisfaction. He handed the chain to one of the guards. “Take her to the slave market. Suggest they sell her to the Turks.”
I’d had my freedom for mere days. How could I have lost it so quickly? I had no memory of when Thomas had bought me. And while I hadn’t enjoyed being his slave, at least there had been consistency. He’d taught me all about his trade; he’d taught me how to read and how to write. Slavery under him had been like serving as an apprentice with a strict master. But if I were sold to the Turks, I had no idea where I’d end up. I did, however, have a good idea of what my duties would be, regardless of who bought me.
The guard tugged on the chain, and pain flared all across my back. It was still exposed. Was he going to take me through the streets with a torn tunica?
“May I have my cloak?” It still lay on the floor.
Pertusa picked it up and examined it, feeling the wool and checking the length. “It’s too fine a cloak for a slave.” He set it aside rather than handing it to me.
The guard pulled me forward again, and I had no choice but to follow. I sought one more look at Gil, hoping for something friendly to remember when whatever was in store for me came. Maybe he hadn’t really meant what he’d said, and now that it was over, he could stop pretending. But his expression showed not a trace of affection.
The guard took me up to the middle level of the tower, then down the outer stairs and into the streets of the Cadmea. Another guard joined him. “Are we allowed to have a little fun with her now?”
The guard who held the end of my chain glanced back. “She gave the other prisoner the clap. I doubt you want to bed her.”
Is that what Gil had told them when he’d spoken Castilian? Why had he said something like that? He’d never even kissed me, let alone bedded me. I was still a maiden—not a diseased whore. The lie was protecting me from the guards, at least for the moment. Had Gil foreseen that? Could he have called me a mouse and a tool for a reason I didn’t fully grasp?
But the contempt on his face had matched what I’d seen in his scorn for Thomas. Maybe the lie about the clap wasn’t something meant to protect me from the guards’ advances. Maybe, instead, it revealed how he really saw me. Worthless. Diseased. A temporary diversion. A tool for a job. Just a wretch from the streets who sold her services to the highest bidder, whether those services involved theft or an offer of temporary pleasure.
Maybe he had finally realized I wasn’t one of the innocents he’d vowed to protect. I was fallen, and I no longer merited his respect, his concern, or even his truth.
I shouldn’t have let go of that rope. Gil might have been better off with me in prison because I’d been there to bandage his wound, but it had cost me—the pain in my back testified of that. Far worse, I’d lost my freedom. Gil’s claim may have shielded me from the lust of a few guards, but I doubted it would do me much good when it came to a new master, whether he was Turk, Greek, or Catalan. I was a slave again, all because I’d run to a man who now said I was worthless.
Thebans were used to slaves being led in chains through the street, but they still stared. Perhaps it was the ripped tunica or the fresh blood. Perhaps they could see the raw misery on my face, and it stirred their curiosity.
The guard stopped to speak with an older man who asked about my price. I listened to them haggle for a bit. The man wanted to pay far less than the typical price for a healthy slave girl of about eighteen years. If a local man bought me, it might be easier to escape. It sounded better than being sold to a Turk, but he seemed reluctant to pay enough.
“What trouble have you gotten yourself into now, Mouse?”
I turned to see Petros, the ceramic merchant. “Can you help me, Petros? Please?”
He eyed the chain and the guard. “I doubt it.”
“If you buy me, I’ll work hard for you.”
“I can’t afford a slave, not even at the prices they’re discussing. And what if your back turns septic? I’d lose a lot of money. More than I have. But I’m sorry, Mouse. I wouldn’t wish the slave market on you.”
Of course he didn’t have enough money to buy a slave. Few people did. “Can you take a message to someone for me?”
He eyed the guard. “I don’t want to interfere with slavers. They’re dangerous.”
I needed a bribe, but I had absolutely nothing. No money, no freedom. But Thebes was still in Catalan hands. I knew people who wanted that to change, and they might pay for my services. A day ago, I would have called them friends, but after hearing Gil’s insults, I hesitated to claim their regard. Even so, a good tool was worth something. “The Latin archbishop will pay to know where I am,” I whispered. “Tell him Eudocia is at the slave markets, and he’ll pay you for your efforts.”
The guard tugged on my chain and dismissed the man who’d wanted to buy me at a reduced price. Petros didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure he’d heard me, and even if he had, it didn’t mean he would help. Should he agree to deliver the message, Simon Atumano might not care. He’d seemed kind, but so had Gil. His plan to take the city might no longer require the services of a thief. And if it didn’t, I doubted he would send help. I wasn’t part of his flock. Not even archbishops had spare money for charity to help an unbelieving thief.
As the guard pulled me closer and closer to the slave market, I studied the streets of Thebes. Today, it was my home. I’d seen the worst it had to offer, but it was the only place I knew. Tomorrow, I might be taken anywhere.
Two slavers and the guard negotiated for a while. The burlier of the slavers called for someone named Yaroslava to bring a bucket. When she came, I assumed she was a slave because of the way she looked at the ground and the way she subserviently obeyed. She rinsed the blood from my back, and I winced and squeezed my eyes shut at the pain.
The slaver examined my wounds. His fingers prodded and pulled. Either he didn’t know how much pain he inflicted, or he didn’t care. What was pain inflicted on a slave?
They finally agreed on a price, and the guard from the tower turned to leave. The slavers discussed their new purchase among themselves. One held the end of my chain loosely. As soon as the guard disappeared from sight, I yanked the end of my chain free and bolted.
The man I’d pulled myself from yelled in surprise, but I was too quick for him. I sprinted for the street as they shouted. Runaway slaves were at the mercy of everyone who might see them, but few people knew of more places to hide in Thebes than I did.
Then I felt someone grip my hair and hold it fast. The tug on my scalp hurt, but I would have gladly traded all my hair for freedom. Then a hand gripped the ring around my neck and yanked. The collar slammed into my neck and pulled me back.
A third man, dressed like the other slavers, maneuvered me back into the slave market. “The guard said you might be a bit defiant. Give us a few days, and we’ll change that.” He didn’t let go of the ring, and his fist in the back kept the metal digging into my throat in the front.
“We should sell her at auction tomorrow. Get her off our hands.” The slaver I’d escaped from shook out his hand. Perhaps I’d hurt it when I’d run.
“We’ll get more for her if we wait until her back is healed and the bruises from this are gone.” The man holding me shook the ring, undoubtedly making the impending bruising worse. “And that will give us time to teach her proper submission.”
The other one shook his head. “Look at her. You know what purpose she’ll be bought for, and I can think of a lot of men who will pay a premium for someone they can tame and subdue. Do you still have your maidenhood, girl?”
I didn’t answer. I did, but I wasn’t sure what I wanted them to believe. Would a maiden sell for more? And was that to my advantage or my disadvantage? Maybe I should have given the slave trade as much attention as I’d given the silk trade because now I might pay for my ignorance.
The man looked me in the face. “She does, I’d bet money on it. Make sure she stays that way.”
The female slave led me away, and one of the men accompanied us, probably to make sure I didn’t run again. Yaroslava took me to a room with a basin and examined my back.
“You want her ready for tomorrow?” she asked the man.
“Yes.”
She nodded. “A bath, then I’ll salve her back.”
The man unclasped the iron ring from around my neck. “Don’t get any ideas. We’re locked in, and the windows are too narrow, even if you could climb that high.”
I could climb that high, easily, but he was right—the windows were too small for escape. I’d noticed that almost at once.
“Out of your clothes and into the bath with you,” Yaroslava said. “I’ll work on your back after that.” When I didn’t move, she grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the basin. “Come on. I have a lot of work to do to get you ready.”
“But surely you don’t mean for me to undress in front of him.” I tilted my head toward the guard, who stood in front of the door, his arms crossed and his eyes fixed on me.
Yaroslava huffed. “I don’t know where you came from or what you’re used to, but slaves do not have the privilege of modesty.”
As the hours passed, I learned more of what slaves did not have. Slaves did not have the privilege of bathing in private. They did not have the privilege of squirming, no matter how much a concoction stung recently created lash marks. They did not have the privilege of wearing clothing while the slavers examined them. Nor did they have the privilege of stepping away when that examination involved not just eyes but hands.
“You don’t like attention from men?” Yaroslava asked me after they’d finally let me pull on a tunica. They’d also locked chains around my ankles and wrists.
“No.”
She chuckled. “Then you’re lucky you’re a maiden and they want to sell you as such. Otherwise, they might sample the wares. Breaking a slave isn’t so different from breaking a horse. I’d give you four days, at most.”
Had she told me yesterday that someone could break me in four days, I wouldn’t have believed her. Now, I wasn’t so sure. The bath and examination had been humiliating. My back was a mass of pain. And Gil—I was terrified by thoughts of what the Catalans might do to him. And I was repulsed by his sudden turn. If he thought I was worthless, that meant I had no friends, no one who cared about me beyond what I could do for them or how many hyperpyra I could bring in. He’d convinced me I was valuable for my own sake. But if he no longer believed in me, how could I believe in myself?
I was chained with a dozen other slaves. They were male and female, mostly younger than thirty. Some had the dark skin of Africans. Others had the fair hair of northern Slavs. A few were Tatars. We all had one thing in common: misery.
They fed us gruel for an evening meal, checked our chains, and locked the cell. I was on the end of the chain, next to a blonde woman who didn’t seem much older than me. She whispered something to me, but I couldn’t understand her. I tried speaking in Greek, then Catalan, but she only shook her head. How much worse this ordeal must be for her, to be in a land where she didn’t know the language.
I cried that night, silently. I wasn’t the only one.
I slept fitfully and awoke when the small sliver of sky showing in the window was gray instead of black. My ears told me the other slaves and the slaver stationed outside the door still slept. Usually, I found that my problems weren’t so bad after a night’s sleep. But that wasn’t the case this morning. I was going to be offered up at auction. By day’s end, I’d likely be warming my master’s bed. I squeezed my eyes shut. I’d enjoyed lying next to Gil, despite our desperate circumstances. He’d offered warmth and comfort. But a new master wouldn’t be offering anything. He’d be taking.
For a few brief days, I’d been free. Free to choose which jobs I took and which I refused. Free to control what happened to my body. Free to pick a future. It was all gone.
I wanted another chance at freedom. But who would help a slave girl? Few mortals. For a time, I’d trusted Gil to help me, but he was locked in a tower, and he said he didn’t care about me anymore. The rest of the crew might help—if they found out where I was. But they might not think my skills worth the price. And no one else could afford to save me.
Maybe I could pray and ask an immortal for help. Would Hermes help a slave? He might if I offered the proper sacrifice. But I didn’t even have a honey cake for him, let alone a pig or a sheep. Perhaps the Roman goddess Laverna. But I had no wine to offer her. Even if I did, the pagan gods in the stories of Thebes were rarely generous. If they’d cursed heroes like Oedipus and loyal princesses like Antigone, what would they do to a slave? I didn’t really believe in them anyway. I was just desperate.
Gil had made a promise with the Christian god, and he’d been saved from drowning. Would the Christian god make a promise with me? Simon Atumano had said Jesus was a God of second chances. That was what I needed—a second chance. Maybe it was far beyond the second, but I wanted another, and the way the archbishop had explained it, the number wasn’t as important as the desire.
I’d seen people pray before, but I didn’t know how. I mimicked the kneeling I’d seen from Gil, Sebastie, and Rasheed as best I could in chains. Gil had made promises, and then God had saved him. His promise to be chaste seemed ironic. Perhaps it was a sacrifice for a man who was both healthy and handsome to eschew intimacy before marriage, but that was what I wanted—the ability to be chaste, the freedom to tell someone no and have it mean something.
“Will you save me, God? I want to make the same bargain Gil did. If I’m sold to someone who uses me in the fields until I’m naught but skin and bones, I’ll accept it with gratitude. But please don’t let someone buy me for use in the bedchamber.”
God didn’t answer. But though I wasn’t religious, I knew immortals didn’t always speak to mortals, at least not in a way that mortals could hear. The light of dawn shining through the narrow window gave me hope that maybe my prayer had been heard. For the first time since setting out to find Francisco, I didn’t feel frightened. Somewhere nearby, a swallow sang—lilting notes of hope and freedom. It was close, even if I couldn’t see it.