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2. The Price
Both women rose with a start at the metallic sound made by the steel barred door as it creaked open.
“The prisoners will stand!” A guard with a thick pointed nose barked the order as he entered the cell.
Maria, terrified, began to get up, urine trickling down her leg as she stood, her body shaking with fear.
She felt sure that she would feel the lash in the town square before it was all over. Clara watched her
nod obediently.
“It will be fine Maria, do not worry,” Clara whispered as she too began to stand, more slowly, chains
rattling as she did so, wincing as the weight of the rusted steel grated on her ankles. The guard smirked
as he watched Maria, the midday sunlight, finding its way through the small barred window, now
glinting off her flesh.
“Unchain this one,” he pointed at Maria, as another scruffy guard in leather armour trudged across the
filthy stone floor. Maria gasped, staring at Clara.
“Am…am I to be freed?” she said, staring at the man in the doorway as the thick fetters at her feet were
unlocked by his accomplice
“Yes…your clothing, what is left of it, will be returned.”
“I…won’t be whipped?” she gasped.
“No. You will not suffer the lash, thanks to your friend.”
The guard smiled evilly at Clara, surveying her naked body.
“It’s a pity the Captain wants her to himself,” he grunted, moving further into the cell and running his
sandalled foot along Clara’s thigh. She squirmed away, staring into the middle distance, nodding
slowly at Maria as she moved her lithe body as far from the guard as the ankle chains would allow.
“What about Clara?” Maria asked slowly, hoping that she would not antagonise the prison guards with
her words.
The armoured man walked on into the cell in ‘pursuit’ of Clara.
“The Captain wants to see this one again. See if she might persuade him to avoid the galley.”
“The galley? NO…you can’t send her to the galley!”
The guard spun around, his attention diverted from Clara.
“YOU…will not decide wench, unless you want to take her place at the oar.”
Maria gasped, shaking her head, tears forming as she stared at Clara.
Her friend looked at the floor, at her chained ankles.
“Just get out of here Maria,” she moaned.
“I’m sorry,” Maria whispered as she padded gingerly to the door. “I’m so sorry.”
Clara nodded, watching her escorted by the guard who had unlocked her.
The older of the two remained.
“A pity he wants you intact wench…a real pity.”
He knelt and cupped her breast as she tried to pull away. He grunted and ran a rough hand down her
belly and along her legs.
“Maybe he might change his mind eh?”
As she looked away, he stood and backed off, closing the cell door and locking it. Her heart was
pounding. At least Maria had got away. She wanted to cry now. Damn, she would be whipped again, or
worse – the galley. By the goddess. She closed her eyes, remembering her last stay in this hell hole,
five long years ago.
Her back was still on fire. She had lain here, face down on the filthy floor for nearly an hour now,
which didn’t help the pain in her breast which still ached from the brand she had suffered, even as the
last lashes of the whip had fallen and she had remained bound between the wooden posts in the square.
She moaned as she squirmed. The cell stank, like the rest of the prison, yet to move, to try to sit up
caused her agony. Her head still spun, her heart pounding. They had cut her down and dragged her
here barely conscious. She flinched as the cell door was unlocked, immediately regretting it as pain
from her back lanced through her. She grunted, her breath coming in short gasps as two guards
entered the cell. One stood in front of her head, his sandalled feet shuffling in the remnants of damp
filthy straw. The other was carrying something, she could hear him grunting with effort. She wanted to
turn around and see, but knew that the effort would cause her greater pain.
Then the salted water from the wooden bucket was dumped over her bloody back. It struck with a loud
splash and she screeched madly, trying to assume a foetal position, but restrained by the thick ankle
fetters which held her legs near the wall. The combination of cold salt water and her movement made
her almost lose consciousness as she tried not to move, gritting her teeth, grasping the ankles of the
man in front of her and squeezing in a vain attempt to gain some sort of respite from the red haze of
pain. He kicked her away, forcing further movement as she heard her wretched screams echo through
the cell and the corridor outside.
“You’ll get this every day for the next week, until the wounds heal,” she heard the voice say.
“Then you’ll be released, wench.”
She nodded slowly, still gasping from the agony.
She would make sure never to end up in this terrible place again.
Clara awoke from the daydream with a start. The guards were at the door once more. She tried to
recollect how long it had been since Maria had been released. An hour, two? The older guard
approached with a length of leather.
“Stand!” he announced.
Clara began to get up from her position against the grimy wall.
“Faster Wench!” he barked, kicking her thigh. His earlier ‘affection’ masked now by fear of his master
perhaps.
Clara gasped as she was forced to stand, her breasts heaving with her heavy breathing as he grasped her
wrists and forced them behind her, spinning her around.
“The Captain wants to see you wench, in his private chambers this time. Aren’t you lucky?” He
whispered through gritted teeth into her ear as she tried to turn away.
“Maybe be a while ‘fore you get whipped eh?”
The second guard unlocked the steel at her legs and she was pushed toward the door.
***
Clara, still tied, had been made to stand naked in the opulent chamber. Again she marvelled at how
different it was in comparison to the cell in which she been chained. She realised quickly that the
stench in the room came from her. It did not take long to become one with the foul Riverwake Tower,
she reasoned slowly. Looking down, she realised that she had left filthy footprints on the white painted
stone while being marched into the room. More surprising than the welcome change of scenery
however, was the large sunken pool of steaming water, in a decorated tiled bath, which was the
centrepiece of the apartment. Despite being attached to the buildings of the Riverwake Tower, the good
Captain’s chamber was home to life’s luxuries, despite its proximity to the filthy prison. She wondered
idly how he put up with the smell.
Were it not for the two armoured guards standing behind her at the main door to the apartment, she
might have taken her chances, but bound and naked as she was, she resolved to bide her time until a
more opportune moment.
She scarcely recognised the man who emerged from behind the curtain beyond the bath, though by his
gait he was obviously a military man, despite his choice of more a liesurely style of clothing. As she
approached, wearing a single piece toga, common with the rich in Irulan, she recognised the man who
she had pleasured the day before, Captain Lared. She gasped, unable to hide her reaction.
“Clara, the thief,” he announced.
She stared, then looked past him at the bath.
“Am I to be to put to torment by being forced to watch a bath go cold?” she croaked, surprised herself
by the thin timbre of her weak voice.
Lared’s face changed as he smiled warmly.
“I thought you might prefer this,” he gestured with his hands, “to the galley.”
Clara stiffened.
“So. You want me to be your whore, is that it?” she barked, the mood suddenly changed, struggling in
the bonds as the injustice of her situation struck home.
Lared stopped, not expecting the abrubt reply he had received.
He approached, as Clara backed away, leaving another set of dirty footprints on the clean white floor.
He grasped her chin tightly.
“You would prefer the galley?”
Clara simply stared, leaving the question unanswered.
“Women are used on the cargo galleys. Their ankles chained, sometimes wrists too. Forced to lean over
the wooden bench and shit and piss into the bilge for the rest of their lives. Their heads and cunts are
shaved to prevent lice, their heels dip into the bilge water with each pull of the oar. The stench makes
the Riverwake seem like a perfume stall. Their bodies are lashed to keep the rhythm. Back, thighs,
belly.” He moved his other hand to her branded breast. “…and breasts. Those who disobey ride the
wooden horse, their cunts on the point of an apex, for hours, sometimes days. Is that what you want?”
Clara shuddering now, shook her head, trying in vain to pull her head away from his grip. His voice
softened.
“I have the power to keep you off the hell ships Clara. Let me help?”
Clara’s head fell and she let herself be pulled forward, toward the bath.
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