Rachael & Sultan's Daughters Pt. 01

Foreword: Rachael and the Sultan's Daughters is a sequel to Rachael, Slave of Emarukistan. Knowledge of the first book in the series is helpful but not essential.

Summary of Rachael, Slave of Emarukistan.

Twenty-year-old Rachael has been a slave since birth at her father's caravanserai, Wadi Halaf. Unexpectedly she's granted her freedom, but she lacks the means to support herself. Consequently, she continues to live and work as a slave even after registering her manumission at the local temple. Rachael takes up an offer to work as a porter on a trading caravan, with the promise of enough money at the end of the journey to support herself as a free woman. But things go seriously wrong and Rachael and Lord Mustafa's two daughters, Dania and Phoebe, end up back in the city at a slave trader's house called the Halls of Valhalla. Dania and Phoebe join a group of other newly enslaved young women being trained. Rachael is reunited with her cousin Zoe, and together they work as house slaves for Leif and Sigmund, the owners of the Halls of Valhalla. A blood feud results in Leif and Sigmund being killed. Leif's dying wish is that Rachael become the new owner of the Halls of Valhalla. Her father, now city warlord after the death of Lord Mustafa, grants Leif's dying wish, but takes Dania and Phoebe as his slaves.

Chapter 1

A message from my father to pay a visit to his compound at Wadi Halaf is nothing unusual. Three trading caravans have entered the city over the last week. His request that I bring Zoe, is what makes me think this is more than the usual opportunity to inspect slaves I might be interested in buying. Zoe and I regularly visit the harem at Wadi Halaf to socialise with my mother and half-sisters, so it's unlikely my father's summons is for a social visit.

My father and I have been doing regular business together in the two years since I gained my freedom, and ownership of the Halls of Valhalla. Our city lies on the crossroads of two major trading routes. The many caravans that pass through our city regularly stop at Wadi Halaf for fresh supplies. Usually, the caravan merchants are interested in conducting some local trade. My father alerts me if they are looking to sell slaves so that I can get first look at what is on offer. The Halls of Valhalla specialises in training recently enslaved females from distant lands. It's a specialised niche market that is very profitable. It's also a difficult one for the larger slave trading houses to service. My ability to speak several languages, together with my own experiences as a former slave, give me a unique advantage over the established houses when it comes to preparing young women from distant lands for a life as a slave.

We leave Mahmud and Hanna to watch over the six slaves we currently have undergoing training. The six holding cells at the Halls of Valhalla can each house four slaves, so we have plenty of room for new stock. Mahmud is the only male living with us. He's a former city guard who has worked at the Halls of Valhalla since it first opened. He now lives out his semi-retirement as our night-watchman, and occasionally as a slave overseer. As regards Hanna; she is a pretty twenty-year-old slave with long blond hair who has exceptional cooking skills. I had initially bought her with the intention of training her to be sold as a wealthy man's bed-warmer, but her cooking skills have earned her a place here. She has proved her value many times over.

Zoe and I arrive at Wadi Halaf. The gate guards know us, and they admit us without any fuss. The huge main yard between the gates and house at Wadi Halaf is often crowded with the wagons and pack animals of visiting caravans. But this morning the yard is empty, apart from the slaves busy cleaning up the animal dung and other detritus from the latest caravan.

A servant guides us to where my father is waiting. He's sat alone in one of the large rooms he uses for business negotiations. Something is clearly worrying him. I am offered a seat, which is something he rarely does, and a sure sign that this is something serious. Even though I'm no longer a slave, he still treats me as such when we are alone. A slave is expected to stand or sit on the floor, which is how he normally holds business meetings with me. I may be a free woman these days, but the stigma of my former slavery is still rooted in his mind. He doesn't offer Zoe a seat, so she sits on the floor next to me.

I've offered my cousin Zoe manumission several times over the last two years, but she stubbornly refuses to accept the responsibilities that go with freedom. Zoe was purchased as a house slave for the Halls of Valhalla when it was owned by Leif and Sigmund. Zoe became my slave when my father, in his capacity as city warlord, accepted Leif's dying wish for the Halls of Valhalla to become mine. Although she is my slave, I have given Zoe certain privileges. Unless we are in a formal meeting with a client, I don't expect her to call me Mistress when she speaks to me.

"We have a problem that you are in the best position to solve," begins father.

I know my father well enough to interpret his statement as meaning that he has a problem that he wants to solve by making it my problem.

"The last caravan that stopped here overnight has abandoned some of its cargo in the small yard," continues my father. "Apparently the owners of the cargo could no longer pay their contribution to the caravan."

When my father says 'cargo', I know he means slaves. He wouldn't summon me here if the cargo was anything else. The small yard is often used to hold coffles of slaves overnight when their owners want to avoid the expense of renting space in Wadi Halaf's cells. The small yard is less secure than the cells, but it has been many years since a slave has succeeded in escaping from Wadi Halaf's compound.

It's quite common for caravans to consist of several merchants, each with their own cargo. If one of the merchants fails to pay the agreed daily contribution to the caravan's costs, then Emarukistani law permits the caravan master to recover the cost by seizing some or all of the merchant's cargo. The fact that these slaves haven't been seized in payment is a bad sign, and probably explains my father's worried face.

"Had I better take a look at this cargo?" I ask. "I presume you are wanting me to relieve you of it."

"Hah! You are a true daughter worthy of our family name," says father, visibly relieved at my words. "I can have the slaves delivered to the Halls of Valhalla this afternoon."

"I've only agreed to take a look at them, father. Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

The three of us go across to the small yard. In summer the small yard a sun trap, and during the heat of the day it is an unsuitable place to keep slaves. A coffle of four slaves are sat against one wall, taking advantage of the limited shade offered by the wall behind them. Their left ankles are linked with a marching chain, which is connected to a ring on the wall. All are female and quite young for slaves being transported. Normally the high cost of transporting slaves by merchant caravan means the slaves need to be exceptionally valuable to cover the portage. Children and older slaves rarely command a good enough price to justify transporting them long distances. From what my father has told me, these slaves have been on the road for at least eight days. There's no way they could be sold for anything like what their owners must have spent getting them here.

"There are more," says father, when he sees my disappointment at this weary and half-starved group of adolescents.

He takes Zoe and I to the far corner of the yard. I gasp in horror at the sight before me. Under a makeshift awning is a cage sat on the bed of a small wagon. Inside the cage is a group of five children. All girls. None can be older than eight years old, and the youngest probably as little as three. Unsurprisingly, they are all terrified at our approach. At least they look better fed than the four older slaves.

"What insane monster transports young children like this?" I say when I get over my shock.

Chapter 2

In the brutal reality of our world, children younger than eight are worthless as slaves. Unless there's the prospect of ransom, any young children taken captive are usually put to the sword. It's a kinder fate than their captors dragging them to a slave market, where they rarely find a buyer interested in acquiring them. Unwanted slaves invariably meet with a slow and unpleasant end. I wish our world was different, but it isn't. Although, it hasn't always been that way. When Zoe and I were born, there was an extended period of prosperity and peace, and new slaves were scarce and expensive. At that time, slave owners found it worthwhile to breed their own slaves. Over the last decade, a constant succession of wars and economic problems have resulted in a plentiful supply of fresh inexpensive adult slaves. Consequently, very few owners bother with raising slave children these days.

"Apparently they are all related," says my father. "The brood of a western sultan called Iniko who had the misfortune to be assassinated during an ongoing struggle for power."

I take a closer look at the slaves. It's difficult to tell through all the grime, but I can see that their auburn-coloured hair and facial features are similar. The whole situation strikes me as odd. Apart from wasting time and money in transporting these children, their owners haven't even begun to teach them their new station in life. For a woman, the constant risk of being taken captive and enslaved is an unfortunate hazard in life. However, enslavement isn't anything to be ashamed about. Slaves are a common enough sight, and they are rarely humiliated or maltreated in public, even by former enemies. But it is essential that a new female slave quickly adapts to her new status. The usual practise when capturing new slaves is to strip them naked, so that they immediately begin to understand their new station in life. Both sets of children are fully clothed in what appears to be good quality, albeit torn and dirty, dresses.

"Their clothes are probably worth more than their bodies," observes Zoe.

I immediately realise why my father asked for Zoe to accompany me. Father obviously thinks the same but wants Zoe's confirmation. Zoe has excellent skills at turning seemingly worthless rags into wearable clothes. She could repair these clothes and get a good price for them. It would probably be enough to cover the cost of feeding the girls for a short while. But it doesn't solve the main problem of their poor resale value.

"What about their owners?" I ask my father.

"Languishing in my cells. They owe me for last night's food and lodgings."

"Is it worth my while talking with them?"

"You can if you want, but I doubt you will learn anything useful. They are barely older than this lot," says father, pointing to the older girls. "Youths who tried their hand at being mercenaries. They got given these girls as their share of the loot. They are gullible enough to believe their comrades' lies that these children will be very valuable in the eastern markets. Their former comrades are probably still laughing their heads off."

"What do you plan to do with the youths?"

"They can work off what they owe me for a few weeks. Trade is brisk and the number of caravans calling here is increasing. I have need of extra guards until the winter snow blocks the mountain passes and the caravans stop during winter."

"I don't think I can do much with the girls," I say. "The oldest one will fetch a decent price if she responds to training. The other three older girls might fetch something as water carriers or the like. They're too young to make it worthwhile training them in other skills. The five youngest ones aren't going to be able to earn their keep for several years."

"I agree," replies my father. "So, are you going to help your family out of this mess?"

Calling on family loyalty is a trick my father only uses if he is getting desperate. For years he's refused to officially acknowledge me as one of his offspring. It's only now that Lady Gülnihal has given birth to a baby boy, the new legal heir to Wadi Halaf, that my father has recorded me as a member of his family.

"I have the reputation of the Halls of Valhalla to maintain," I reply. "Selling inferior stock could hurt my business reputation for years to come."

"Then don't sell them yet," says my father. "At least hold them until I can establish whether there is anyone willing to pay a ransom for them."

"Then why not hold them here?" I reply. "There are plenty of adequate cells in your dungeon. I've had firsthand experience of them over the years, so I can vouch for their suitability."

"Hmm. Well, there's Lady Gülnihal to consider. She doesn't approve of young female slaves being kept at Wadi Halaf. I've had a hard enough time persuading her that your half-sisters are still valuable to Wadi Halaf."

"And if the girls can't be ransomed. What then?" I ask.

"We can work something out. Two weeks is all that I want you to give me."

"OK. But I won't be treating them as honoured guests. They are slaves and I reserve the right to handle them as I see fit."

"I don't expect anything less," replies my father. "I'm glad we could come to an arrangement. Do you want me to have them delivered to your premises, or are you going to take them with you?"

"Let me see how cooperative they are going to be. If they are docile enough, then Zoe and I can manage."

Zoe and I return to the small yard and stand facing the older girls. They are wary of us but don't seem unduly intimidated. They have clearly been brought up to believe themselves superior to everyone around them, despite their current circumstances. That's something I'm going to need to train out of them.

The first issue to solve is the language barrier. My father has already established that they don't understand Balochi, our local language. That's not unduly surprising given their distant origin. However, their good quality clothes indicate that they are from a wealthy background. That means they will almost certainly have been educated in one or more of the languages commonly used for trade and diplomacy. I try giving them instructions in different languages, but I receive a stony silence in response. I'm far from satisfied with the outcome.

Chapter 3

"Zoe, release the young ones from their cage and bring them over here," I say.

Zoe uses the key my father confiscated from the youths to unlock the young children's cage. She signals for them to join the older girls and they practically run there as soon as they are free of the cage. The older girls comfort the young ones, unintentionally confirming the fact that they are related. I repeat my earlier attempt at issuing orders in different languages. Finally, the reaction of one of the younger children betrays that she understands what I said. If one of the younger ones knows Farsi, then it's a reasonable assumption the older ones do as well.

I issue fresh instructions in Farsi. Three of the young ones promptly look at their older siblings for guidance. The older ones are still playing dumb, but they must surely realise that continuing with their ruse is getting them nowhere.

"We are going to leave here and walk to my house," I say in Farsi. "Those who want to walk there wearing their clothes, take one step forward. Those who prefer to walk there naked, stay where you are."

That does the trick. All five young ones step forward. The youngest two are probably too young to understand my order, but they copy their siblings. The four older girls are torn between continued resistance or admitting that they understand my order. The younger three girls look at the oldest one for guidance. They must gain their courage and determination from her. The group chooses to be stubborn and stand where they are. I will clearly need to keep those four apart during training.

I have Zoe move the five youngest children back into the shade while I prepare the four older ones for transit. This is going to be tricky, but I've broken in more stubborn slaves than these four.

"Remove your dress," I order in Farsi. I repeat it in our local language so that they become accustomed to hearing the words. As I expected, they refuse to obey my order.

"Remove your dress, or I'll have one of the guards come over and strip you naked. They have a reputation for being a bit rough."

Two of the girls promptly start removing their dresses. A third copies them a moment later. They are all wearing thin cotton slips, which I permit them to keep on. Only the oldest one stands stubbornly still.

"What's the oldest girl's name?" I ask the youngest of the four girls.

"Amina, Sai," replies the girl, terrified at being singled out from her siblings.

"How old is Amina?" I ask.

"Eighteen, Sai."

"And your name?"

"Farai, Sai. These are Hafsat and Makina."

"Well, Farai. I want you, Hafsat and Makina to persuade Amina to comply with my orders. In Emarukistan an eighteen-year-old is considered to be an adult. I don't tolerate disobedience from an adult slave. She will be punished if she refuses to obey."

Farai speaks to Amina in what I believe to be Illyrian, a language I've only occasionally heard. I know a few words in their language, but not enough to hold a conversation. The glare Amina gives her sisters makes them cower. They are still locked in their marching chain, so none of them can move away. I collect the three discarded dresses and go over to where Zoe is waiting with the young ones.

"The oldest one, Amina, is going to be troublesome. I'm going to leave her here overnight while we take the others back to the Halls. I'll collect her in the morning."

It takes me the best part of an hour to have Amina locked in one of Wadi Halaf's cells. My father was busy in a business meeting and his guards wouldn't allow me use of a cell without his permission. After ensuring Amina is securely locked up, I leave instructions with the guards to see that she is given water and food, but otherwise left alone. By the time I return to the other three chained girls, their resolve has visibly weakened. I disconnect the marching chain from the wall and lead them to where Zoe is patiently playing a simple game with the five young ones. We return to the Halls of Valhalla via back alleys, and we enter through the kitchen door. The fewer people who know we have a group of children staying here, the less likely we are going to have nosey visitors. Until I decide what is to become of them, I don't want to keep fending off inquisitive voyeurs.

"Get them cleaned up and fed," I say to Isa, Damla and Esme, three of the slaves I have in training. "Keep the older three confined to the secure area. I don't want them doing something reckless, like trying to escape. Zoe, gather the girls' dresses and see what can be done with them when you get the chance."

The normally peaceful atmosphere of the Halls becomes a riotous muddle for the next few hours. The younger children soon relax once they've been washed and had a good meal. Even the older three seem less truculent, but I don't intend to take any chances with them. I keep them shackled together when they are outside the secure area of the holding cells.

With Zoe's help I assign sleeping quarters for the new arrivals. We've six four-bed cells. I move Isa and Damla into two currently unused cells and split the five youngest children between them. Esme is joined by Hafsat, while I put Farai in with Hanna, Beyza and Nazli. That leaves Makina with Seda. The sixth cell is reserved for Amina when I collect her tomorrow.

I'm not sure how well Farai will react to Beyza and Nazli. They are the newest of my adult slaves, and I still need to keep them shackled together as a precaution. Only once I'm satisfied that a slave has accepted her slavery, and is obedient to my rules, will she earn the privilege of not being shackled to another slave. Beyza and Nazli have some way to go in that respect. I've put Hanna in with them as well to ensure nothing goes wrong. She doesn't protest but I can see that she's not happy about giving up her own room near the kitchen. Hopefully it will only be for one night.