locator and would be arriving shortly to rescue her. No sweat.
As she moved her hand away from her ear, she touched something odd on her neck. It was a leather cord with a metal disk in the center. She tried to look down at it, but it fit too tightly. “Huh?” She tried in vain to undo it.
“Now what?” her not-so-friendly bench companion asked.
Joy realized that everyone in the room seemed to have similar metal “necklaces” around their necks. “What is this?” she asked, pointing to her neck.
“Thrall collar. You really are barmy, methinks.” The woman shifted away from her.
Thrall collar? What the hell was that?
She must have spoken aloud because the woman snapped, “Slave collar. Once you are purchased, your new master will replace your amulet with one of his own.”
This must be related to the terrorists’ sex for bombs business. “How do we get them off?”
“Bloody hell, wench! Best ye be holding yer tongue lest one of the slavers hear,” a scruffy man across from her said. “They be quick to use their whips.”
Whips? Oh, good Lord! What have I gotten myself into this time?
“If ye must know, the collar can only be taken off by yer master once he releases you. If he ever releases you. Best ye be hopin’ ye get bought by one of the Northmen. They be kinder to their thralls and willin’ to free ’em if they serve well fer ten years.”
Whoa! Hadn’t they heard of the Emancipation Proclamation? Slavery was illegal.
But wait a minute. Northmen? Did she mean men from Northern Iraq or Northern Afghanistan? Or somewhere else?
There was something else strange here. She touched her head. Everyone, man and woman alike, had their hair chopped off, except her.
The man, sensing her thoughts, explained, “All slaves must have their hair chopped off at first, fer the lice. Later, the women can let their hair grow, as long as it’s tucked under a kerchief, but the men’s scalps mus’ be bald. The kerchief and the shaved heads are signs of thralldom. But they think yer red hair will bring more coin.”
It was too much for her aching head to comprehend, so she let herself fall “asleep” again.
Next time she awakened, it wasn’t of her own volition. Someone was shaking her. A rough-looking man who reeked of bad breath and BO. “Get up, wench. No more dawdling. Everyone is waiting.”
She grumbled as she sat up, fuzzy from sleep and the knock on her head.
“Make haste! Hurry, hurry! Here,” he said, handing her a filthy thing that might have been a comb. It appeared to be made of bone and had several teeth missing. “Run this through yer hair and take off that gunna.”
“Gun? I don’t have a gun.”
His eyes about bugged out. “Gunna, wench. I said gunna . Gunna is a robe.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so? But, no! Not the undressing business again.” She backed away from him, hitting the stick wall. “Nudity is overrated, y’know? It would be better to keep them guessing. Yep, that’s my philosophy. So, what do you say?”
“Thor’s teeth! Ye really are demented, jist like Gird said. Well, keep yer teeth shut when ye get outside. And make haste.”
“Why? What’s the rush?”
“It be yer turn now.”
“Turn for what?”
He glowered before pulling a whip from his belt.
“Now, now, no need for violence.”
Only then did he answer. “Yer auction.”
Chapter 5
She wasn’t gift wrapped, but she was going to be a present . . .
Erland and Arnis were strolling away from the plank wharf at Hedeby, which was located at the junction of several major trade routes. A horn blew, announcing the arrival of yet another seafaring vessel.
They entered the town through one of the three gateway tunnels of the fortified ramparts that were higher than six tall men atop each other. Behind them, fifty or so longships of various sizes were anchored, not counting the new arrival, which carried the flag of a far-famed Rus merchant.
Hedeby was an exciting town they had
As she moved her hand away from her ear, she touched something odd on her neck. It was a leather cord with a metal disk in the center. She tried to look down at it, but it fit too tightly. “Huh?” She tried in vain to undo it.
“Now what?” her not-so-friendly bench companion asked.
Joy realized that everyone in the room seemed to have similar metal “necklaces” around their necks. “What is this?” she asked, pointing to her neck.
“Thrall collar. You really are barmy, methinks.” The woman shifted away from her.
Thrall collar? What the hell was that?
She must have spoken aloud because the woman snapped, “Slave collar. Once you are purchased, your new master will replace your amulet with one of his own.”
This must be related to the terrorists’ sex for bombs business. “How do we get them off?”
“Bloody hell, wench! Best ye be holding yer tongue lest one of the slavers hear,” a scruffy man across from her said. “They be quick to use their whips.”
Whips? Oh, good Lord! What have I gotten myself into this time?
“If ye must know, the collar can only be taken off by yer master once he releases you. If he ever releases you. Best ye be hopin’ ye get bought by one of the Northmen. They be kinder to their thralls and willin’ to free ’em if they serve well fer ten years.”
Whoa! Hadn’t they heard of the Emancipation Proclamation? Slavery was illegal.
But wait a minute. Northmen? Did she mean men from Northern Iraq or Northern Afghanistan? Or somewhere else?
There was something else strange here. She touched her head. Everyone, man and woman alike, had their hair chopped off, except her.
The man, sensing her thoughts, explained, “All slaves must have their hair chopped off at first, fer the lice. Later, the women can let their hair grow, as long as it’s tucked under a kerchief, but the men’s scalps mus’ be bald. The kerchief and the shaved heads are signs of thralldom. But they think yer red hair will bring more coin.”
It was too much for her aching head to comprehend, so she let herself fall “asleep” again.
Next time she awakened, it wasn’t of her own volition. Someone was shaking her. A rough-looking man who reeked of bad breath and BO. “Get up, wench. No more dawdling. Everyone is waiting.”
She grumbled as she sat up, fuzzy from sleep and the knock on her head.
“Make haste! Hurry, hurry! Here,” he said, handing her a filthy thing that might have been a comb. It appeared to be made of bone and had several teeth missing. “Run this through yer hair and take off that gunna.”
“Gun? I don’t have a gun.”
His eyes about bugged out. “Gunna, wench. I said gunna . Gunna is a robe.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so? But, no! Not the undressing business again.” She backed away from him, hitting the stick wall. “Nudity is overrated, y’know? It would be better to keep them guessing. Yep, that’s my philosophy. So, what do you say?”
“Thor’s teeth! Ye really are demented, jist like Gird said. Well, keep yer teeth shut when ye get outside. And make haste.”
“Why? What’s the rush?”
“It be yer turn now.”
“Turn for what?”
He glowered before pulling a whip from his belt.
“Now, now, no need for violence.”
Only then did he answer. “Yer auction.”
Chapter 5
She wasn’t gift wrapped, but she was going to be a present . . .
Erland and Arnis were strolling away from the plank wharf at Hedeby, which was located at the junction of several major trade routes. A horn blew, announcing the arrival of yet another seafaring vessel.
They entered the town through one of the three gateway tunnels of the fortified ramparts that were higher than six tall men atop each other. Behind them, fifty or so longships of various sizes were anchored, not counting the new arrival, which carried the flag of a far-famed Rus merchant.
Hedeby was an exciting town they had
Similar Books
