The Scarlet Shackle Page 2

  “Place your hands on the wall,” he instructed.

  The plain fact that he was about to beat her appalled Julia, even though it had been inevitable. I must be brave, she thought. I must not give him satisfaction. She leaned, placing her palms against the rough wood of the stable wall, and waited.

  She heard the lash cut the air a half a moment before it struck her. She could tell he had not put much force into the blow, but it stung sharply anyway. The second lash was worse for it struck the wound from the first, and this she learned was the problem: each blow intensified in pain. He gave her ten lashes and by the last she was unable not to twist away from the leather weapon, nor to stifle her grunts of pain. Tears welled in her eyes, and with a blink ran down her hot cheeks.

  She felt Marcus pulling up her dress again. He did it carefully and with no indication of anger whatsoever. Julia did not wish to turn her face to him but when he was done fastening the tie, he took her shoulders and pulled her to face him.

  For the first time she saw clear emotion on his face. It was tenderness. His fingers brushed the tears from her cheeks. He looked deep in her eyes and said softly, “You must learn to love your master.” Then he lowered his chin a little and leaned to her and kissed her forehead. His soothing, spicy scent rose all around her, his lips were gentle on her skin, gentle and warm. He withdrew and said, “Go now, and take your meal.”

  Julia was dizzy with emotion and stood paralyzed for a moment staring at him. Then he spoke again, “I punish you because of your anger, Julia. Nevertheless I was pleased by the cause of it. Now go.”

  She turned and hurried from the stable, with Marcus close behind, and when they were back in the house she heard him lock the door. When she arrived in the kitchen the other slaves looked up at her but only for a moment; they were quick to resume eating and talking.

  It was only then that Julia realized how tightly her master had bound her dress in back; tight enough so there was no gap to show the welts. The others couldn’t tell she had been beaten. Had he truly meant this as a kindness?

  She could form no coherent thoughts at all during the meal, but afterwards, retired to the sleeping quarters, she had settled enough to make sense of her feelings.

  To her dismay, she realized Marcus had made her love the beating.

  Not the pain, nor even the twisted logic behind the punishment. But she had loved the feeling of him pulling off her clothes, touching her face, kissing her. She had loved that her anguish made him feel compassion; in fact, it was worth the pain. The welts on her back felt hot and tender but the fact that he had placed them there was somehow thrilling. What she loved most of all was the knowledge that she had pleased him by wishing for his company.

  Is this how they make a slave? Julia asked herself, horrified.

  But she prayed to the gods that he might call for her that night.

  * * *

  Marcus did not call for her, nor the next day, but late the following afternoon a package was brought to her in her room by a very surly Lynda. “Tomorrow is Market Day and our Master commands you wear this and look your best,” said Lynda perfunctorily, then turned on her heel and left.

  Julia undid the wrapping to reveal a soft, beautifully designed day dress in a deep blue the color of the sea. It was finer than anything she had ever worn, and there were also matching slippers, soft but with sturdy leather soles for walking. She lifted the dress and admired it, the perfect pleats, the silver beads cunningly sewn at the bodice. It was designed to reveal enough to be alluring, without sacrificing elegance and good taste.

  She tried it on. It fit perfectly, and even without a looking glass she could tell it would set off her hair and bring out the dark blue of her eyes.

  That night, once again Julia was left alone. A hard rain passed through before midnight, and Julia lay in her bed listening to the comforting hiss on the roof. She closed her eyes and imagined herself back at home, the city celebrating a feast as it had done when she was young. She wore the blue dress and all the young men watched her dance.

  Then a strange image came to her, of Marcus arriving at the feast. He was magnificent in his dress clothes, quietly elegant and completely entrancing. They stood at opposite sides of the torch lit room. His eyes met hers, he lowered his chin and looked long and hard at her. Then she read his lips as he told her, “Come to me.”

  She crossed the room, her eyes never leaving his. As she approached him he reached for her, taking her by the waist and drawing her near. Her head tipped back and his face was over hers, so close. She put her hands on his broad shoulders. The room began to spin around them and Julia felt weak and intoxicated.

  “So quickly you’ve enslaved yourself to me,” said Marcus. His eyes burned darkly.

  “I’m completely free,” she protested. “No man owns me.”

  “I bid you come and you came.”

  “I wished to come.”

  “If I wanted to take the lash to you again, would you not submit?”

  At the thought of it she felt her loins kindle. She bit her lip. The spinning room grew warmer. She felt Marcus’s hands tighten at her waist.

  “The truth, Julia,” he said.

  “I would submit,” she answered, lowering her eyes.

  He smiled and pulled her closer, until her breasts were pressed to his chest. He was so warm, and his strength so potent she only wanted to feel more of it. The heat in her loins shimmered and grew moist. He leaned so his cheek touched her temple, and she felt sweet coarse stubble against her skin. He spoke softly into her ear: “You would submit, and if I called you to my bed and said, ‘disrobe, Julia,’ you would be glad of my command. And if I lay you beneath me and pierced you and said, ‘please me, Julia,’ you would rejoice. But if I leave you cold and alone in your bed, you weep with longing for me and ache for me to command you, even to punish you.”

  He drew back his head and looked down at her, his brows stern, his lovely nostrils flaring. Julia was seized with a fit of trembling, and whether from fear or lust she hardly knew.

  “The truth, Julia,” he said again, a velvet whisper.

  “Yes, my Lord,” she replied.

  “So, should the master do the bidding of the slave?” he asked, suddenly releasing her. The withdrawal of his body was a shock.

  “My Lord?” she asked, her throat tightening.

  “You are completely free,” said Marcus with an ironic smile. Then he bowed, and departed swiftly into the dancing throng.

  Julia was weeping, even though this was her own fantasy. Her grief and longing shocked her, made no sense to her, nothing did. But it was real and she ached with it. She rose quietly from the bed, careful not to awaken the others. She crept to the wardrobe, opened the door, and reached in to feel the fabric of the blue dress.

  It was a gift from her master. She knew he had bought it that he might show off his new treasure in the marketplace, but all the same, somehow she believed he had hoped it would please her....

  * * *

  She had been instructed to rise early, bathe and dress, and meet Lord Marcus in the dining room for breakfast. Apparently it was unheard of in the household for a slave to take a meal with the Master, and Julia hardly knew what to make of it. When she entered the room her heart was pounding hard and her hands were cold with nervousness.

  Marcus looked up from his meal, and upon seeing her, rose to his feet. It was not lost on Julia that this was an instinctive act and not appropriate for the circumstance. “Come, sit,” said Marcus, indicating the seat across from him and reseating himself quickly. Julia did as she was told. There was a place set for her, and the table was loaded with plates of food: cheeses, prettily cut fruit, honey cakes and tea. She hadn’t seen such food in weeks. Marcus spoke again, “Eat your fill, Julia, the morning will be long.”

  Good manners made her wish she could say thank you. It was difficult to feel like a slave in these circumstances. As she helped herself to a cake, her master’s eye was upon her. Finally he said, “The
dress suits you. And please, speak as you wish.”

  She raised her eyes to him. “Thank you, my Lord. And if I may, thank you for the gown, it’s lovely.”

  “It isn’t appropriate that you speak of it so, as a gift. You must be dressed, that is all.”

  She lowered her eyes again. “Yes, my Lord.”

  He poured himself more tea, and filled her cup as well. “I have called you here to teach you the customs you will need to know for the day ahead. Your behavior today is very important to me, so listen well.”

  Julia ate a morsel of cake and looked him steadily in the eye, nodding.

  “Today you may speak to me freely, but humbly. You may look upon my face as you choose. But your eyes are not to meet those of any other, no storekeeper or stranger, not even those with whom I speak. Nor are you to talk to them. If I am with a friend, and such person addresses you, look first to me for permission to reply. Then answer, but with your eyes lowered. Is this clear?”

  “Yes, my Lord,” said Julia.

  “These customs are based upon clear principles. As my pleasure slave you are my companion but also my sole property. Carry yourself with elegance but do not show pride. Remember who you are at all times. No doubt you will receive compliments but understand these are directed actually to me.” The Master’s tone was firm, but he seemed slightly uncomfortable conveying these instructions. “Take some fruit,” he urged her then. “These berries are in the prime season.”

  “Thank you, my Lord,” said Julia, and spooned some onto her plate. It was then that she noticed a small wooden box with brass hinges, placed near Marcus’s cup.

  He went on, “We will take our noon meal alone, but chances are good we will be invited later to drink with some associate of mine or another. If I wish you to take wine, I will pour it for you. Sit like a lady, but again, leave your eyes downcast except when you choose to regard your master.”

  Julia swallowed a bite of berries, nodding again.

  “Lastly,” said Marcus, with a tone of great seriousness. “Only well-trained slaves go unharnessed in the marketplace. You are, I realize, too freshly bought to be trusted not to attempt escape. However, I have no taste for harnessing you.” He took up the box and opened the lid. “You will see the wisdom in staying by my side. Extend your hand to me.”

  Dumbfounded, Julia held out her hand. From the box, her master drew a slender silver wrist cuff, completely studded in garnets. The gems were blood red in color and so dark they barely sparkled. Marcus opened the hinge and placed her wrist within the bracelet, snapping it shut carefully. It fit very close to the skin. Then from the box he drew a key on a silver chain, and with this he locked the bracelet. Ducking his head into the loop of chain, he spoke. “The law in my country is clear. There is a penalty of death for any who removes a scarlet cuff from a slave, and a rich reward for any who returns her to her master. If you run from me, you will not get far. Do you understand?”

  Julia stared at the bracelet, which in any other circumstance would be considered a fabulous gift. “I will not leave you, my Lord,” she said.

  “I wear the key and will not remove it,” he said, slipping the chain under his shirt. “That shackle is small and pretty, but be assured its power is even stronger than the harness.”

  The sun had risen over the rooftops of the town, and they set off on foot down the lane towards the heart of the shopping district. But Julia soon learned her master came not to shop or even much consider the wares on display, but rather to speak with his many business associates. He made inquiries about trades, gave reminders to those who owed him debts, sounded out the latest news in commerce. Julia watched mostly in silence, content to observe how Marcus comported himself. He could be stern, but likewise cheerful and amusing. He seemed well liked and extremely well respected.

  And everywhere they went, Marcus was praised for his “scarlet,” sometimes with an open compliment, sometimes just an appreciative grunt. Julia’s emotions were completely torn by this. She bristled to be treated as mere chattel, an attitude which made Marcus seem amazingly respectful by contrast. But at the same time, she truly drew pleasure from the sense that she earned approval for her master.

  Regardless of this ambiguity, Julia enjoyed herself. Of course it was good to be out and about, feeling the air and sunlight, exploring the sights, sounds and smells of the town. But even better was the privilege of watching her master freely. She found she loved watching his face as he spoke to others, seeing how his mouth formed the words that he pronounced so delightfully, watching his brows change from emotion to emotion, observing the little gestures he made habitually. He was intelligent and witty, and had he not been, it still would have been a pleasure listening to his voice, redolent as it was with warm tone, like music to the ear.

  They stopped for a meal at noon at a quiet inn set back a few streets from the main square. After a period of silence, Marcus spoke up. “You are too quiet, Julia. Surely the morning’s activities have given you much to contemplate. Share your thoughts with me.”

  Without doubt her mind was awhirl with thoughts, so she swallowed her bite of food and chose one. “That man who sells fabric, do you think he means to cheat you, my Lord?”

  Marcus’s arm froze mid-reach, and he gave her a bemused look. “Do you think Lord Flavius means to cheat me?”

  “I heard what he sells his broadcloth for, there were some speaking of it at the tailor’s.”

  At this her master looked down in his lap, unable to stifle a chuckle. When he again lifted his eyes to Julia the mirth was still plain on his face. “Yes, as did I. And Lord Flavius will not know why I’ve called off our transaction, only that I have.”

  “That sounds most wise to me, my Lord,” said Julia, immediately sorry for the words. She quickly added in an apologetic tone, “I was a businesswoman, quite actively so, in my town.”

  Marcus watched her with a smile. He seemed to be considering carefully what response to make. Finally he said, “The slate of your mind is engraved with much valuable knowledge, and could I erase it even if I wished to? A slave’s will must be bent, but the rest—” He drifted off, then went back to picking up the chunk of bread he had been reaching for.

  The course of the day was slightly altered by this exchange, and Julia spoke more freely the rest of the afternoon, even asking questions about the activities around them. It became more and more difficult to think of herself as Marcus’s property rather than his peer. She tried to clear her head by considering the silver and garnet shackle at her wrist, and the key on its chain that hung upon her master’s chest, but in her confusion these props only seemed to symbolize the growing bond she felt with him.

  I am in for a rude awakening soon, she thought.

  As Marcus had predicted, they were invited to take wine in the late afternoon with one of his associates, a moneylender named Lord Nestor. Julia was careful to do as instructed, and it wasn’t easy, for Nestor was a bold character.

  “She’s a flower, my dear Marcus,” he said, taking Julia’s chin in his hand and admiring her. It was so difficult to keep her eyes lowered.

  “Thank you,” Marcus replied.

  “And how long ago was it you spoke before the Council against the practice?” teased Nestor. “I thought I’d never see the day you owned a scarlet.”

  “It was quite long ago,” said Marcus noncommittally, taking a sip of wine.

  “I imagine, Julia, that your master is very gentle, is he not?”

  Julia turned her eyes to Marcus, who gave her a small nod. She lowered her gaze and said, “He is fair, and firm, Lord Nestor.”

  “And you, not a week with him, and unharnessed. Have you proven yourself so faithful?”

  Again Marcus nodded, and Julia answered, “I fear his displeasure greatly, and that is my harness.” It was not a lie.

  Nestor laughed. “Oh, she is a wonder! I dare say her heart will take awhile to catch up to her tongue, but the words are pretty nonetheless.”

  Julia look
ed to her master but his face was unreadable. After a pause he changed the subject to commerce, and there it stayed until the wine was all consumed. The two businessmen bid each other well, and Marcus and Julia set off for home.

  They had gone but a street or two when a great commotion approached from the east. Everything happened very quickly. The crowds around them began running in every direction, and then from down the street there came a team of runaway horses pulling a large cart of wooden crates.

  Unfortunately, the cart was just beginning to tip as it approached them. Marcus ducked one way and Julia the other, the latter darting into a side road just at the accident transpired. Horses and people alike screamed, crates tumbled and burst in the street, and the side road was immediately blocked by debris and panicking people. Julia was forced by the press further down the side road, and utterly lost track of her master.

  Her first emotion was the customary dismay at being separated from a companion and protector. She struggled in vain against the crowd, trying desperately to spot Marcus. Then all at once she realized the dire nature of her circumstance:

  She was an unattended slave.

  The urgency of finding Marcus doubled. In her panic, Julia decided to run away from the main street in the hopes of finding another way back to it. She turned the first corner, which was a mostly deserted alleyway. Deserted except for an old woman who caught her by the wrist as she passed.

  “What’s happened?” the crone asked, agitated.

  “An accident, runaway horses...please, I’m in a hurry!”

  But the old woman’s grip was in a most unfortunate place: the garnet-studded cuff. She saw it and her eyes lit up. “Runaway horses...and you, a runaway scarlet!”