"Walk faster will ye?" The last word was punctuated by the sound of a whip hitting flesh as she stumbled forward by the force behind the hit.
"Stop! Do ye have nay sense? Harm that wench's pretty little body and we shalt be skinned alive ya fool. Money is lacking enough as is, we don't need ye foolery to reduce it even further." The sound of her pained cry was followed by the angry voice of a man shouting at the person who had the whip. The cry was but a mere mechanical response, for she felt nothing, could no longer distinguish between them, nor could she feel her belly ache with hunger and her feet bleed due to the blisters formed on walking the ground barefoot.
Not when her bruised lips throbbed with the reminder of last night's events and every step she took chaffed against her bruised self as her heart shattered anew with every step she took.
The road stretched on in the middle of nowhere as she walked, walked until her feet bled, walked until the cold numbed her and walked until she no longer could. But they didn't care, why would they care, those men seated on their horses, as each step of hers brought them closer, oh so much closer to the money they desperately wanted. For seated on their horses they didn't care if she was tired, she was a slave after all, why would they care?
It wasn't until the last rays of light ceased shining upon them that they decided to stop, mostly for the fact that they needed to water their horses and put some nourishment down their own throats rather than allow her weary legs a moment's respite.
The traveller's shelter was naught but a shed full of drunk patrons.
Entering upon the door, the stench of cheap beer, rotten food and vomit hit full force. Turning away from the door, Cravv bared his teeth towards her before going towards the end of the room where a man, probably the owner, sat on a chair.
"Joe, take them wench right up the stairs. And keep yer hands to ye self. We can't have her ruined. Don't ye think that I missed'em swollen lips"
With a barely impervious grunt, that man, Joe grabbed hold of her right arm in a bruising grip, pulling her along the filthy staircase, not stopping till they reached the attic, not when the glasses strewn on them found home in her feet and made them bleed anew, and certainly not when the meandering hands of the various patrons grazed her bosoms. No, he didn't stop for since when was a slave meant for more than defilement, a mere play toy meant to entertain the highest bidder.
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The night passed in a blur of agony and tears, for even darkness refused it's solace, her sleep marred with nightmares of her reality.
Morning dawned, bright and clear, a complete contrast to the blinding darkness raging inside her, as the light tried, tried and failed to ignite even a flicker of hope against the raging turmoil of despair in her.
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"Come now wench, we haven't the entire day for ye fudgelin' bout." The words were accompanied by a harsh tug at the ropes binding her, as she struggled to wear the clothes they'd thrown at her this morning whilst trying to protect herself from their groking eyes.
Stumbling through her motions, she hastily fastened the crudely made shift against her bosoms before tying her hair in the best impression of a braid that she could, it wasn't much but enough so as to satisfy her captors as Cravv gave a grunt before marching outside, Joe dragging her behind them
Completely rested and fed, they resumed the punishing pace from yesterday seldom paying attention to her as she stumbled through the undergrowth. It wasn't until her steps finally failed her and even the prospect of a whipping couldn't get her up that they stopped again, if only to throw a piece of leftover bread at her.
She look at the piece of bread with both desperation and anger in her eyes, the pause enough to give a chance to Joe to leer at her again.
"Come now, ye highness, 'tis only a matter of how long ye' last. 'tis the only good that ye will be given. The mart is not much further way away and once ye are off of our hands ye should be given naught a morsel without ye'r master's will."
That was enough for her to muster what little dignity she had left, as she stood up.
"It hadn't occur to me that you were so vested in my interests, but let me tell you sir, I need not the favour of people who until now lived upon the scraps which I discarded. "
A snarl sounding very like an animal emanated from his mouth as he grabbed the whip, moving towards her.
"Ye will regret every which word said. A little bruising up shalt do ye good brat."
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JENNIFER'S POV
She couldn't allow these men the enjoyment of seeing her break, they had already stolen everything she held dear, but this she would not give up this shred of her dignity, for then she would break. Completely and utterly. With these thoughts in mind, she steeled herself against the onslaught.
It wasn't enough. No amount of time would be enough to prepare for the burning pain that ran through her as the whip made contact with her skin. It never was. Yet not a whimper escaped her lips. She couldn't remember much after it, only the burning pain which engulfed her entire self. Yet still not a sound emanated from her lips, the tears running down her eyes the only sign of the ordeal forced upon her.
"Enough! Stop or ye shalt deem her unworthy of trade."
The hand whipping her halted at these words, as Joe finally turned away, but not before grabbing her in a bruising grip and whispering in her ears,
" Mark youself lucky that I need the money more than I want to kill ye."
She was given but the few moments needed for them to seat upon the horses they had so proudly bragged about stealing, before they once again resumed the journey at an even faster pace than before, as if intent on increasing her torment as much as they could.
But she would not give them the pleasure of seeing her beg to slow down, not now that it was all she had.
It wasn't until much later in the day, that the noise and bustle of the mart approached her ears, and with it the echoing screams of slaves, sold alongside other wares, not humans but property to be owned and disposed as one willed it.
And heading amongst them bound in the chains anon, they lead her to the dias,as a life of manacles lay just a step ahead.
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For those of you not familiar with old English:
Fudgel means to act as though one is working when in truth they are merely wasting time.
Groke means to eye something hungrily.
Also if you liked the chapter, then please don't forget to vote and comment. As I always say, positive criticism is always welcome and appreciated!
-Lucy
YOU ARE READING
Manacled
Historical Fiction#03 Slave trade 18th Century, London 40 pounds. And sold! A slave market. An auction which would change her life. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The stink of unwashed bodies hung heavy in the air as slaves, one after the other were presented and sold...
