Keziah lay in her bunk unable to sleep. She had been forced to bypass the evening meal and her stomach was still contracted with nerves at the thought of what lay ahead. The deputy’s face had been expressionless when she delivered the news to Keziah.
‘You’ve been granted your ticket. Assigned to your husband’s care. Seems like you’ve got some powerful friend at court, as they say.’
Then the deputy turned her back on her and walked away.
In the months since Keziah had sent little Yosef packing with Daniel, it had been too painful for her to recall exactly what he looked like, but she could not escape the sight and smell of him in her dreams. She often woke convinced she could hear him crying. And she felt a dull, empty sensation whenever she saw another prisoner cuddling her own babe.
She told herself the only way to survive in prison was to let everything happen to you – no matter what – but feel nothing.
No doubt Daniel had already left Sarishan Farm on his way to collect her. She could count on the fingers of one hand the days before the date of her release, when she would step through the front gates of the Factory for the last time. Free to feel the wind in her hair, the sun on her face, to run, dance and welcome the night. For the first time she was unable to block out the pain of seeing Jake’s beloved face. He would want to make love to her under the stars.
She turned her face to the wall, surprised by a sensation she had not felt for more than a year, but were her tears due to joy or fear?
• • •
The next morning, after dressing hurriedly in her prison slops, Keziah was first in the queue to receive bread and a bowl of gruel in the prisoners’ eating room. Today the usual tension had escalated. She seated herself among the most docile group of women – those who were either too listless to cause trouble or like her were intent on avoiding the ringleader who caused it. One old woman kept her eyes fixed on her empty plate as she whispered a warning to Keziah.
‘Watch yourself today, girl. Oola’s brewing up big trouble, a mutiny. I can feel it in my waters.’
Keziah nodded. ‘I’ll keep a sharp eye out.’
‘Any fool can see she’s got it in for you for knocking her back. She gets others to warm her bed, but it’s you she fancies – your wild hair, eh?’ The woman gave a knowing cackle, adding kindly, ‘Do whatever you must, you’ve only got a few days before you’ll be shot of this stinking place.’
Keziah transferred her bread to the old woman’s plate. ‘I won’t forget your kindness.’
She had barely spoken the words when she heard voices yelling obscenities in the corridor. She could taste the fear and excitement in the air as the women stampeded for the door, but she remained in her seat, unwilling to wreck her chances of release.
A group of women prisoners charged into the room, some shaking their fists, some brandishing broken chair legs. At the helm was their ringleader, Oola, her beefy arms covered in tattoos. Her head had been recently shaved, a punishment the other women hated most of all. She looked as tough as any sailor from a man-o’-war, her eyes bright with battle fever.
‘Whoever ain’t with me is against me! My enemy! That bloody deputy protects her little mates. Come on, you cowards. Give that bitch what she deserves. Bash her to pulp!’
Virtually all the women raced after Oola as she led the charge towards the room where the deputy was known to be on duty at this time of day. But Keziah had seen the woman in her office doing paperwork and ran to warn her.
The windows of the deputy’s office were barred. Only a few minutes remained before Oola would realise her mistake. Keziah burst through the doorway. ‘It’s mutiny. Oola and her gang are on the rampage.’
The deputy appeared to have shrunk in size, frozen at her desk, unable to move as the frenzied voices and footsteps came closer. Keziah took charge.
‘Hide under the desk. I’ll bolt the door. If they think you’re not here there’s a chance they’ll move on.’
Keziah felt the deputy’s body tremble as she pushed her under the desk. She wasn’t being heroic, she owed her a debt. This hard-faced woman had secretly brought her additional food to help sustain her breast milk for Yosef.
Weapons beat the iron bars and door in a chaotic rhythm. But even the women’s combined chanting was not loud enough to drown out Oola’s voice yelling, ‘Kill the bitch!’
A heavy object rammed the door until it splintered off its hinges and Oola stormed into the room ahead of a knot of screaming prisoners. Keziah stood her ground to face them.
‘Use your heads! We all want better conditions but killing isn’t the answer! The military will arrive any minute!’
But their contagious rage had blinded their reason. Oola was their mouthpiece.
‘Listen to the deputy’s pet. Well the bitch can’t save you from me any longer, Gypsy!’
Oola raised her weapon ready to bash Keziah’s skull. Ducking to avoid the blow, Keziah fell to the ground. The faces that screamed down at her were all familiar, but their rage made them strangers.
‘The deputy bitch is our prisoner now!’ Oola shouted. ‘So’s the Gypsy. Drag ’em both outside so we can all enjoy the fun.’
As Oola dragged her along by her hair, Keziah caught sight of the whimpering deputy.
Four prisoners swung the deputy’s body by her arms and legs, like
some captured animal trussed up ready for roasting. Others seized the opportunity to bash her face and kick her body while she was helpless.
Keziah was convinced they were both done for. If Oola gave the order to string them up, the other prisoners would be too afraid to disobey her.
As she tried to shield her head from their blows Keziah saw a flash of red coats. The military had never been such a welcome sight. The women dropped her and the deputy on the ground. They turned their rage on the soldiers, impotently brandishing the chair-leg clubs that were no match against muskets.
Keziah saw that the soldiers did not break rank. Even when the women clubbed them they continued to push them back with their muskets locked in horizontal formation at arm’s length. Only a single shot was fired as a warning over the prisoners’ heads.
The women’s rage soon began to fizzle out. Keziah knew many of them had willingly entered liaisons with some of these soldiers and welcomed the money or rough affection that came their way. Every woman had her price.
One soldier, with blood staining his face, called out, not without humour, ‘Cool down, ladies. We don’t want the authorities cutting off all your nice hair.’
Keziah helped the deputy to her feet. The woman’s mouth was torn from the beating but she managed to mutter, ‘I’ll not forget what you did to protect me.’
Keziah had no time to respond. Oola was watching her, breathing heavily. Keziah tried not to reveal the cold wave of fear she felt when Oola gave her a knowing smile.
‘You reckon you can see the future, eh? Then you’ll know just how I’m going to pay you back, Gypsy!’