Rachael, Slave of Emarukistan Ch. 02

After half an hour it becomes apparent that the front section of the caravan is getting further ahead of us. This is probably due to the slow pace the coffle of prisoners seems able to manage. The guards urge them to move faster, but with no noticeable effect. Finally, I see two horse riders returning from the front section, presumably to hurry us along. As they draw closer, I realise the riders are Lord Mustafa and a young woman dressed similarly to the passenger in the litter I'm hauling. It seems that I'm not the only one who is surprised. The coffle guards are also bemused by the arrival of Lord Mustafa.

"What is going on here?" demands Lord Mustafa as he brings his horse to a halt.

One of the guards gives a hasty explanation which doesn't satisfy Mustafa. On Mustafa's orders, two more of the mercenaries are released from the coffle to help carry the litter. The poles aren't long enough to have two porters at both ends, which is something that becomes apparent almost immediately. I sense something is wrong long before the guards realise that they have a big problem. With three of Mustafa's paid mercenaries free of their chains, they and Mustafa quickly overpower the four caravan guards. It's not much of a fight. Men assigned as guards of prisoners and slaves are unlikely to be the cream of Hassan's troops.

Once in control of the situation, Mustafa has the remaining mercenaries freed and there's a scramble for possession of the guards' former weapons. Within a few minutes the former guards are bound in a group and left sitting under a tree in their undergarments. The mercenaries distribute the guards clothing and armour among themselves. Then Mustafa orders the mercenary at the front of the litter to follow him. He turns off the road and follows a track through the scrub which he must have noticed when he passed earlier. Fortunately, Mustafa doesn't recognise me as part of my father's coup. That could be because a slave is invisible in most people's eyes, or because my well-groomed hair of the other day has now reverted to its usual wild riotous bush.

I don't escape from recognition entirely. The flute playing mercenary takes the opportunity to move up behind me and give my arse a good squeeze.

"My pretty Rachael, what a delight to feel you again. I hadn't dreamt I should be so lucky."

Pretty isn't a description normally attached to me. Unless, that is, you like your women with hard muscles and good for a wrestling match in bed. I don't reply to the flirting and do my best to keep my mind on my job. The track we are following is rough and it is difficult to stop the litter from being shaken about. Strangely our passenger doesn't complain now that her father is nearby.

There's no sound of pursuit, which doesn't entirely surprise me. Hassan won't want his caravan left with minimal protection while he sends the bulk of his force on a risky chase through the woods. He'll most likely send word back to my father and leave him to deal with the problem of Lord Mustafa's escape. Of course, I now have a problem of my own. My freedom depends on me rejoining Hassan and persuading him to honour our deal at journey's end. That's not something which seems likely at the moment.

We approach a small, deserted settlement as evening approaches. I begin to wonder if this is a coincidence, or whether what has happened is more than an opportunistic escape. Our arrival at this former settlement and the events of today smell of prior planning. I begin to question the genuineness of the slave porter's injury.

The mercenaries are quartered in one of the buildings, while Mustafa and his daughters occupy another. I'm pointed in the direction of an old barn and instructed to tend to the horses. I'm presumably expected to sleep in there as well. Despite the settlement showing signs of being deserted for a while, the barn is well stocked with hay and there are several barrels of water. I fill the water trough for the horses and let them drink and feed on the hay.

At least water is no longer a problem. However, I've had nothing to eat since leaving Wadi-Halaf apart from a few berries which my mercenary admirer plucked from some passing bushes and shared with me as we walked. The sound of laughter from the mercenaries' quarters suggests there may be provisions available there. Despite being against all the rules of expected slave behaviour, I walk over to their quarters to see if I can purloin some food. I have no designated owner here to be responsible for my welfare, so I must take matters into my own hands.

The door is open, and I can see the men have drink and food. But the house is small and there is no way I can sneak in and steal some food. The men are talking in several languages which suggests they aren't a group who regularly work together. I can't understand everything they are discussing, but I've been tending to caravans from all points of the compass at Wadi-Halaf, so I understand bits of several languages. My presence in the doorway is soon noticed and, for better or worse, I don't hesitate when they invite me to join them.

Entertaining five lusty mercenaries recently freed from captivity is reminiscent of the other night when my sister Mia and I serviced eight of Mustafa's regular guards. The men are initially content to have me dance for them while they toss food in my direction. I've played that game a few times before and I'm able to catch and eat most of the food without breaking my dance rhythm. Once the food is gone, the men move onto a dice game where the winner gets me for three minutes as a prize. Either my flute playing admirer cheats somehow, or he is extremely lucky. He gets more than his fair share of my attentions. He's also very inventive in how we can occupy three minutes, and if the truth be told, I enjoyed my experience at his mercy. Some of his comrades are rougher in their handling of me, but after one of them decides to have a wrestling match with me and loses, the others are more considerate. I don't get to leave their quarters until well after dawn. I'm a little sore in several places but I enjoyed myself and my injuries are nothing I've not coped with before.

An hour or so later, Lord Mustafa and his daughters emerge from their quarters and before long we resume our journey towards the hills to the east. Unlike our trek through the woods yesterday, there doesn't seem to be any urgency in our journey. Lord Mustafa clearly doesn't fear any pursuit. While one mercenary is sent to scout the trail ahead, no one is posted to watch the trail behind us.

The valley we are following gradually gets narrower and the hills around us steeper. Eventually the ground becomes so rocky that the track we have been following disappears.

"This is as far as we can go with the litter," declares Lord Mustafa. "We must also walk the horses from here."

We find a suitable spot and lower the litter to the ground. Mustafa's daughter joins her father and sister as they resume their journey up the valley on foot. The mercenary who was helping carry the litter joins his comrades and in the absence of any other instructions, I follow them. What is going to become of me now?

[End of Rachael and the Warlord. Continued in Rachael and the Warrior]