A Simple Deception

XXI

Men gathered, and Alex was able to discern some of the barbaric chatter, most of it sounding English. Were they in an English colony?

"No more than fifteen for that one," said one. "Look how scrawny he is."

"That one looks half dead. I wouldn't pay five guineas," called another.

"Have they been deloused?" shouted one more.

"Checked for plague?"

A portly man with a thick moustache and a coat entirely unsuitable to the tropical climate emerged from the shop with the captain of the merchant ship. He grinned at the crowd, holding his hands up as though he was being welcomed, stepping in front of the line of prisoners.

"The auction will begin in fifteen minutes," he shouted. "This product will not be moved for less than twenty pounds sterling a head, so unless you are prepared to pay, then bugger off!"

Auction. Alex's stomach dropped as the blood drained from his face. He, of course, had known it was coming, but hearing it was a different shock altogether. His eyes frantically flicked over the crowd, searching through the faces to see the sorts of men who would have twenty pounds. The masters.

The moustached man then turned around and looked over the line of them with almost hungry eyes. Those eyes, small and blue, quickly settled back on Belle as his head cocked to the side. "What a beauty," he muttered under his breath. "What a shame she's a negro. A waste."

Belle, thankfully, did not understand a word he said. Though Alex didn't know if that was a good thing in the end as her trembling grew worse.

"You will be untethered momentarily!" he called to them all. "Undress," he ordered. "If you try anything stupid, you will be shot."

Alex realised that he was perhaps the only one who understood English as the looks of surprise and confusion on the faces of the captives appeared as the sailors came to temporarily remove their chains.

"He asked us to undress," Alex said to Belle, and to the rest of them, in French. He had never been a part of a slave auction before, but he had seen them. And he knew that this was part of it. The dehumanising.

Belle shook her head fearfully as her own chains were unlocked and she brought her hands in front of her. Her golden eyes became glassy and Alex wanted to beg her not to cry before them.

Alex knew he should have told her what they would do if any of them refused, but a horrible thought filled his head. If she knew she would be shot if she tried to run, would Belle flee? Would it be merciful for Alex to let her?

What sort of God would allow this to be a decision a man had to make?

Nevertheless, he couldn't do it. He was too cowardly to give Belle that choice, and he shrugged out of his own shirt. The others, too, began to undress, and Alex averted his eyes as Belle, in her humiliation and despair, removed her dress before every disgusting man in the square.

She hugged her arms to her chest, her head hanging low as she tried to pull at her curly hair to provide for some modesty, but the ringlets disobeyed and sprung backward into place. She was not allowed the protection of her arms for long as they were wrenched back into chains, much to the delight of the onlookers.

Alex heard the filthy jeers that escaped the mouths of the crowd, thankful for the briefest of moments that they spoke English.

Alex did not hang his head in humiliation when his own clothes were on the ground beside him. He would not give them that satisfaction as his hands were roughly pulled back into irons.