Andrew R. Clark
Atop a low headland, the villa grew like an invasive tree, its seed carried across the water in some bird’s gut and deposited on a foreign shore. The soft stone cliffs it perched on were slowly eroding down to the beach, but the red‑tiled manor, now almost complete, was located well back from the edge, proud and confident. People of this conquered land despaired of ever being free again, but the sea was certain of victory over this intruder, though the assault might last a thousand years.
Only small boats could be landed on the narrow beach below the villa, but to the east, there was a good port and a road leading to the interior. A ship was being unloaded at the quay, its cargo pushed and prodded onto the landing, people in chains. They collapsed to the sand, huddling in clumps as the ship was emptied.
At dawn, having spent the night in exposed pens, a line of this cargo approached the top of a long incline, the road away from the port town. They were strung between horses ridden by men dressed in heavy cloaks and carrying swords. The cargo was nearly naked, tattered rags clinging to thin bodies. When the procession crested the rise, the horses were allowed to rest. The cargo crept to the edge of the road, where there was a little standing water, drinking from the ditch and combing through grass for anything to eat, insects or weeds.
At the end of another hour, they approached the gates of the villa’s wall. Passing under the keystone, they entered their new cage. The riders transferred the ends of the chain, connecting it to stout poles at the side of the courtyard. Its length did not allow the confined to sit.
Presently, two men approached, one strong‑looking and of middle years and one younger, dressed in a long robe. These two conversed with the riders then walked down the chained line, examining those standing between the poles. The older man occasionally said a word or two to the younger one, who made notations in a small ledger. Returning to the riders, the houseman handed over a pouch to one of the guards before they remounted and rode off.
#
He’d ceased trying to count the days of his captivity, but springtime became early summer, almost a year since he’d seen home. In a company of men from his village, he’d answered their chieftain’s command. There was a threat in the south, ships landing invaders on their shores. After being captured in battle, most of his men already dead, a metal collar was fitted to his neck, and together with other prisoners he was marched away.
At first it seemed they were headed for the sea, but the road turned back inland. They climbed a valley, the track terminating at the base of a hill. At the bottom of a pit dug into the side of it, men toiled, dust and smoke rising up like visions from a fever dream.
He shoveled gravel, loading carts. When there were no carts to fill, he was moved to a spar of hard rock. To break up the ore‑laden stone, they piled wood against the cliff face, setting it alight. After the fire burned out, they used tree trunks to ram and beat the fractures into fragments, clawing out the rubble with bare hands.
At night they were herded into a stockade. There was no cover when it rained, little food or water, and on many cold mornings, fewer of them alive. One day a piece of the hill broke loose and fell. A large boulder crushed a man’s foot, pinning him beneath it. They were made to leave him there. Sometime in the night, his screams ceased, but none of his exhausted companions noted its ending.
Perhaps a month ago, he’d been picked from a line, and with others, was marched out of the pit and along a road ending at the sea. They were put in a boat, rowed to a ship, and chained in its bilge. After three days of foul darkness they landed, crawling up into blinding daylight.
Now he was in a cell at the back of a large compound. He’d been allowed to bathe and his hair and beard had been cut back. Simple clothing and food had been provided, and though only a bowl of beans and vegetables, it was the first decent meal he’d eaten that year. He slept for a time before awakening to banging. The man who’d been in the yard that morning stood on the other side of the bars.
“Do you understand my words?”
The man looked hard and composed, speaking in the tongue of the West. It was close enough to his own language.
“I understand.”
“You’re in good shape for someone come from the mines.” He didn’t feel in good shape. “When I look, I think I see a soldier. Will I be having any difficulty from you?” the man asked.
“Difficulty is the last thing you’ll be having from me,” he replied from his cell, imagining his hands around the man’s throat, that last difficulty.
The man took keys from his belt and unlocked the door. “Come with me.”
They walked along a corridor that let onto the main yard. Evening was settling; he’d slept most of the day. Crossing to the largest structure, they went around the side to a door near the kitchens. He followed the man through.
At the end of a short hallway, they entered an anteroom. “Wait here. You may sit while you wait.” There was a bench along the wall, and he sat down and waited.
An hour or more passed as he dozed on the bench. There were sounds of people talking somewhere near, muffled by walls. The man returned and nodded for him to follow. They entered another hallway where the voices were clearer, though he didn’t recognize their speech.
“You’ll do as you’re told. Do you understand me?” He looked into the man’s eyes, cold and unwavering. He understood.
They walked through a curtained passage into a large room, brightly lit by hanging lamps. Men and women, all richly dressed and bejeweled, reclined on couches, food and drink set before them on low tables. His escort retreated and a woman in a plain robe came to his side and began to work at opening his clothes. He pulled away but then remembered himself and held stock still as he was laid bare in front of the masters.
Standing motionless, staring straight ahead, a jostling noise came toward him. Dragged between two men, a young woman struggled, but only weakly. He recognized her as one of the others who’d been brought up from the harbor. Like himself she wore a tunic of simple cloth and had been cleaned and her dark hair cut back. He thought she might be from one of the eastern tribes. Her lip was broken, a trickle of blood running down her chin. One eye was half‑closed, the skin around it dark. When the men tore away her garment, she collapsed.
Coming up from behind, his attendant said, “Take her, or the cleaning woman will be mad at me for all the blood.”
He stepped forward to where the naked girl huddled on the floor. Kneeling down, he grabbed her hair, raising her to her knees. But into her ear he whispered, “Forgive me, maiden, but I don’t want us to die tonight.” He wasn’t sure if she understood his words, nor if he could ready himself, but as the hall echoed with wild laughter, he raped her.
#
He spent the summer laboring in nearby fields, tilling and planting. One day his minder asked if he had any special skills. Before war had come, he’d been a smith, so he didn’t go to the fields anymore but worked in the compound. He saw her occasionally, carrying a basket of laundry or filling water jugs, but they were only close a few times, and no words passed between them.
Autumn was approaching, the mornings getting cooler. As he rekindled the fire in the forge, riders charged through the gate and into the courtyard. The master of the house was brought to them, and they exchanged words before the men rode off again. That morning there was commotion in the house, with people coming and going. He watched from behind forge and anvil.
At midday meal, a boy he’d befriended sat beside him. After looking around to see who might be listening, the boy asked, “Have you heard?”
“I saw riders this morning, but that’s all.”
“They say there’s fighting in the north. They say it’s getting closer.” The boy worked in the house and had good ears.
The following day several men rode off, dressed in riding cloaks and carrying other gear. At week’s end he thought he smelled smoke on the breeze. In another two days, they were told they’d be leaving. All work was to be stopped, and their tools and materials were to be boxed and bound for travel. A wagon was brought to the forge, and they began.
Across the villa similar activity could be seen. Furnishings and caskets were brought out of the main house and loaded. The kitchen was stripped of all but the heaviest items. Through the open gate, he could see livestock being herded along the road to the port. That evening they ate only bread.
He was locked in a room with another man from the smithy. They spoke nervously together, taking measure of their situation, but eventually fell asleep. At first light they were roused and told to make ready to leave within the hour.
There was confusion in the yard as stablemen positioned wagons to be loaded. He smelled smoke again, but much stronger than before. In a minute flames were licking up from the roof of the kitchen compound. Those who waited stepped forward to see better as members of the house rushed toward the crisis.
Whether the fire was accidental or purposely set, he didn’t know, but he slipped into the open stables. Circling around behind them, he reached the wall nearest the cliff’s edge, where a door let onto a path down to the beach. It was locked. Taking a small bundle from his pocket, he removed two thin, stiff strips of metal and knelt at the door. After a minute he rewrapped his tools and stood back up. But he didn’t leave.
He observed the rites for the sake of others, but had no belief himself. If he did have a philosophy, it was that all things will eventually balance, whether you like it or not. The reckoning may never be exact, and some may escape for a time, but in his experience an ill deed usually came back to its maker.
There was only one place where he could be seen as he approached the house, but he simply walked across it hurriedly, and those fighting the fire were too occupied to notice. Crouching at a window with a view into the entrance hall, he watched people rush in and out the door. Then she appeared, the young woman with dark hair, carrying a box with rope handles, leaning back to counter its weight. He simply walked in, again hoping to go unnoticed in the commotion. When he put his hand on her elbow, she looked up, panic in her eyes but then surprise.
“Will you come with me, maiden, or will you stay with these slavers?”
He couldn’t read her face, but she walked to the wall and set down the box. “You know I’m no maiden. My name is Sifka.”
Proceeding along the side of the compound, they reached the door in the wall. Thick smoke blew across the yard, filled with shouting and the screams of horses. As he reclosed the door, looking back through the opening, he saw the kitchen fully engulfed in flames, embers alighting on the roof of the great house.
Several skiffs, used to provide the household with fish, were pulled up on the sand. Luckily, there’d been no time to remove them, and they dragged one to the water’s edge. As she scrambled into the bow, he handed her a satchel—a few days’ food he’d been able to secret away as well as some extra clothing—and he pushed off.
With sail hoisted they gained the promontory, steering away from the port. Behind them a black column of smoke climbed high into the sky before flattening out, like expulsion from a distant volcano. They spent the night in a pebbly cove, cold but they lit no fire. When their fresh water ran out, they abandoned the skiff and began hiking inland. When they saw men on horseback, they hid.
By week’s end they encountered a group of people pushing livestock along a cart path. They didn’t appear foreign, and he and the girl were hungry and thirsty. Coming down from brush above the road, he called out, waving an arm. The people took them in, fed them, and gave them news. A pact had been made between the scattered tribes, and it was holding. A leader had arisen who could fight, and greatly outnumbered, the foreigners were fleeing. For today at least, they were free.
The young woman decided to stay with the herders until she could find her way home. He wished to continue inland to see what was left of his people. When they parted, he again asked her forgiveness.
“Perhaps I owe you my life, though there were times I didn’t want it. What blessings I have, I give you freely.”
There was no warmth in her eyes, but she spoke with dignity. It was enough.