The night seemed to stretch for hours as Vincent turned and rolled around the messy floor, his back aching from where he laid with other slaves of his category. He had been assigned as Valet and though he knew nothing of his responsibilities, he was glad he was not amongst those assigned to plantations. He tugged at the dark suit he wore, now dirtied and torn from the days of being shoved about He had borrowed it from a friend on his way to seek employment just a day before the Wazobians had attacked them. The suit was slightly too big as well as the waistcoat and breeches it came with but was still not enough to shield him from the chill of the winter that filled the threadbare ensemble.
He turned in his rest, attempting to find a better position in the cramped space but ending with hitting the leg of his bedmate or floor mate to be precise. Cussing beneath his breath, he hoped the man would not wake, after all that happened, everyone was still sore and a little on the edge. Luckily the man only stirred and pushed at the feet that hit him.
Grumbling, Vincent sat up slowly and rested against the white washed walls, eyeing the room that had over a dozen more people than it could bare. He needed to sleep, his master had advised them to get enough sleep but sleep evaded him and he found himself thinking thoughts he ought to have left behind.
His father had been a drunken bastard plus a ravenous rake who slept with anything in skirts and upon his rakish indulgences he delivered two children, one of which was Vincent, a quiet little boy with a great mind but endless limitations. Vincent had grown up with his mother in a little town in Kent, one of the poorest of divisions, living from hand to mouth. He had met his father before, once when he worked in a brothel cleaning the rooms of the wealthy peers who came to seek comfort in the bed of the town’s whores. The man had seen him in an inebriated state, laughed and said “Yew look like me” and that was the last he saw of him…
He didn’t care though, the man was a true bastard if there ever was one. Thinking about his mother, he closed his eyes tight and let the sweetness of the memories wash over him. He thought about Maureen Lisa Silverton, a pure and sweet woman who smelt of lavender and pine with long black hair he had inherited and sea green eyes filled with warmth. Mauger their poverty, she took care of him unlike any mother would and nurtured him to be a better fellow. She was as good as the best of them even till her death. A lone tear fell down his cheeks as he remembered her cold skin and blank eyes when she kissed him goodbye. She had fallen ill weeks before now and with no money or medical care, she had given up and saddled him with the responsibilities of a parent to her year old babe.
At the thought of baby, he looked to the little babe at his side and his lips shifted upward. Horatia, he whispered as he ran a hand over her mop of brown hair, careful not to wake her up.
My poor Horatia. He thought with aching sorrow of his sister he cared for. As of now she was the most important thing in his life and the only thing keeping him sane in this world. After all he had been through, he had wanted to end it but one look at his babe sister and he knew he had to live. If nothing he had to ensure she had a better childhood to look upon and a greater future. Looking now at the situation, it didn’t seem like he could provide her much…if only things would just go back to how they were before. He walking from house to house in need of an employ while working menial duties for a friend to keep Horatia fed. It wasn’t much of a life but it was better.
When his back began to ache more, he slid back to the floor and cuddled his sleeping sister…God, the things he would do for her. He remembered this morning, how he had managed to sneak her around without getting caught by the soldiers. Only God could explain how he made it safe but he was thankful either way. He could not let go of her no matter what, she was what kept him going and he would not part with that.
A sudden wave of exhaustion swept through him, his eyes drooping low. Thankfully sleep had returned. With a kiss to his sister’s forehead, he set to sleep only for his babe sister to begin to stir and awaken. Internally he cussed and prayed to whoever cared to listen to keep her sleeping, he could not afford to be caught now after all he had gone through to sneak her in. Unfortunately, his prayers remained unanswered and she opened her eyes with a whimper escaping her lips. As quiet as possible, he began to pet her, patting her hair as she liked with hopes that she would remain asleep but no, the babe was having none of it. She began to cry, her hands flailing around despite Vincent’s attempt to keep her quiet. Frustrated, he reached for his bag, the one he used as her pillow and searched in it for any food that he stuffed in. He came up with nothing but a bottle of stale milk that his mother had left before she died. Sighing he twisted the covers and gave it to the girl. For a minute, her cries ceased and she took in the bottle, sucking happily on the murky milk like it was candy. As soon as she had drank it dry, she turned to him with her dainty blues as if asking for more and when he came up short, she took her cries to the next level and began to wail.
“Shush Horatia, please…” he was almost crying himself
He carried her gently and cradled her in his chest, patting her rear gently. “Shush, my princess…please, for your sake and mine.”
She paid no heed to him and added volume to her cries.
Frustrated, angry, tired and sleepy, Vincent continued to pat her to sleep. He looked around him, praying that none of the men woke and when none stirred, he released an air of relief…one less problem.
“Horatia please…I will get you food by the morn. I know I am a bad brother but baby princess work with me, please” tears pooled at his eyes, he was just a kid himself.
Horatia if she understood or heard him, gave no evidence and just cried the more.
“Baby please, not now, not today” his voice broke as he raised her up and down, doing whatever to pacify her. Horatia was never a crier, even as a new born babe, she did not cry so often. Whenever she did it was because of something big and most times it was hunger. They barely had food even when he worked the hardest and though Horatia was the most understanding baby to exist, everyone had their limits. His heart broke as her cries increased and her fair skin turned pink, her veins poking out…she was going to scream very soon and they would catch him and take her away.
He felt a lone tear run down but he rubbed it quickly, there could not be two criers, one was enough to deal with. He kissed her forehead and muffled her cries as he pressed her face to his chest. “Horatia…”
If only his mother was here, she would have known what to do…he closed his eyes and thought to himself, what would Mother do? The harsh wind hit and a song flew into his senses, a lullaby his mother always whistled to lull him to bed.
He began to whistle slowly, his lips by her ears and for a while, her cries quietened and she looked up at him with tear stained face and rosy cheeks. “I love you my baby princess,” he whispered “I love you Horatia. Don’t cry again, big brother don’t like when you cry” he cooed at her and made funny faces.
She quieten for a while, her lips parting in a little smile as she stared up at her brother. One second, two seconds, three…ten…twelve and then the silence was broken by a stomach growl…his stomach. She stared up at him for a brief moment, remembered her hunger and her cries resumed…this time a little louder, punishing Vincent for making her forget her hunger.
Vincent cussed repeatedly, what was he going to do? Her cries increased and soon a few men stirred in their sleep. “No….” he groaned.
“Horatia…please quieten, soldiers must not get us” a tear had fallen down his cheek.
Two men turned and soon a few of them began to open their eyes, grumbling at whatever interrupted their sleep. Vincent felt himself shrink, hiding away from the glares he presumed were in the eyes of the other men.
“And who the hell is that?” someone finally spoke up and Vincent could not be more scared. He wrapped his arms around his still screaming sister and shrunk into himself.
“Somebody cryin’”
“Any littl’ kid ‘ere?” More people were beginning to wake. He held his breath and pressed his sister’s face close to his chest despite her pitiful protest whilst praying that none of the men around called him out. He could not begin to imagine the possible scenarios that would follow.
Thankfully his floor mate was a deep sleeper and had not awoken to call him out. He stayed hidden in the dark, shushing his sister and hoping no one saw him
“Please, Horatia I need you to help big brother”
“Is that a babe cryin’?”
“Soldiers are going to come here any minute, who is that crying”
Maybe some person hol’ing him”
“Sounds like a littl’ gurl”
“Who hol’ing a littl’ gurl huh?”
An uproar started as they began to search for the crying baby.
“Some stupid person goin’ get us whipp’d or kill’d”
“Make it easier’ for yerself’ and get the babe out”
At this time his floor mate stirred and their gaze met. With sleepy eyes, the man pointed at him “You with a babe?” he asked,
Shaking, Vincent nodded
“That is dangerous man, you know”
The man seemed nice enough so he answered quietly
“She is my babe sister, I could not let her go”
The man stared at him for a while, then nodded towards Horatia
“What’s wrong with her?”
Still scared and shaky, he answered yet again as quiet as possible “Food, she needs food”
The man stared again “This is risky boy, you can’t take care of this child. You barely old enough”
At his last statement, Vincent felt the need to tell the man that had been her father and mother for the last few weeks but eventually he kept the knowledge to himself, frowning as the man reminded of him of the dangers of keeping Horatia
“I can’t let her go.” Was his only reply to the man’s lengthy advice.
“You say she needs food right,”
He nodded, clutching the still crying child as tight as he could to his fast beating heart.
The man murmured words beneath his breathe and sat up straight. With two loud hits on the wall, he drew the attention of the buzzing crowd.
“What?” some man called out,
“Anybody around here with some food, edible food I mean” he called out, waving a hand in the air. “If you have got any food, pass to the hand here”
Vincent felt his chest tighten as the man’s help, no one but his mother had cared for him before, he never even knew such people still existed.
“Yew the one with a cryin’ gurl” came a voice from the other end of the room.
The man hissed lightly “Don’t speak like a fool, if you have got food then pass it on. We all want to return to sleep and we can’t if someone isn’t being fed so check your bags and get something out”
Vincent hugged his sister tighter, all smiles as he peppered kisses over her face “Sssh, baby princess, food is coming” her cries began to reduce and soon became tiny sobs “There there, stop crying now, Big brother has got food now” he was still shushing her when the man turned, angling his head towards him
“How old is she?”
“A year and four months”
“And her mother?”
“Dead” he croaked out
He shook his head “You must have had it rough”
Vincent nodded unconsciously
“She’s such a little kid and I reckon you have no means or plan to care for her, especially in a time like this”
“I would figure a way out”
“Oh you should or better yet give her to a willing woman. A kid like yourself should not have to take care of another”
He nodded but deep down he knew he’d rather die than give Horatia out. If they found him out and killed him, he was better off dead with his sister than alive and apart. While he sat, hugging his sister as if protecting her from an unseen future, a hand went in the air.
“I got food” Vincent’s heart leaped for joy “Ain’t nutin’ much but it is food”
“Pass it on” the men passed it till it reached the fellow beside him.
“Take” he stretched his hands towards Vincent, holding a chunk of stale bread in it. “He was right, it is nothing much but it should do yeah?”
Touched by the man’s concern, Vincent felt tears run down his face as he slowly received the bread. He buried his face in his sister’s hair, allowing his tears flow freely
“Th-an-k yo-u” was all he managed to whisper before breaking down completely.
“Get some sleep, we will rise by dawn on the morrow”
Vincent nodded, unable to bring himself to speak words without tears in between. As he fed his sister and thought of the man’s kindness, a feeling of hope glimmered within him.
He could do it…Horatia and I against the world, we can do this….
……………………………………………….
A kick to his sides and Vincent was jolting up, jerking to a sitting position in surprise.
“What?” he murmured, his eyes oozing with sleep, his body sore and aching. He turned to the source of the kick and squinted, still drowsy. There his floor mate was looking down at him, a slight frown on his face.
“You are a difficult one to wake” the man said, shaking his head.
Still confused, he frowned at being awoken and muttered a few cusses beneath his breath. “Don’t see why I have to wake up when it is barely morning” he said, his voice rough.
“You already forgotten where you are huh?”
Apparently still confused, he took a look at his surroundings, trying to remind himself of the events that must have previously taken place. There were a bunch of men, lazily rising to their feet with groans and sounds of complains emitting their lips. He shook his head at the young man in front of him and leaned back to sleep.
“If I were you, I’d perish that thought,” the man said with a frown, kicking his legs lightly. “Except you want to set your back as a resting place for the soldier’s whip”
Soldiers…? Oh no! His mind screamed at him and he remembered ‘you have been made a slave’
Quickly he jounced and the sleep in his eyes cleared away. “How long have they rang the bell” he asked, running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.
“Only a few minutes. Have no fear, the second bell have not been rung”
The second bell was known by them as the whip bell, once it was rung, the soldiers would storm in and whip anyone who was still in, at least that was what they said they would do.
Vincent looked up at the saviour and once again it was the floor mate who had saved him the night before. He took his time to look up at him since the darkness of the night had not let him see him. He was a very tall man, mature in body but young in face. He did looked no much older than him, funny how he called him child all night. He had a pair of warm blues eyes and blond hair that tickled his neck.
“Thank you…” Vincent muttered
“Harvey” he filled in
“Harvey” he tested on his lips “Harvey from where?”
The man sent him a somber look, his eyes sad “Those things are not of importance anymore now, are they?”
Vincent sighed and shook his head “You are right but thank you for yesternight and I am Vincent” the man waved him off with a little jest “Oh, I wasn’t helping you…I was saving my poor ears, that child cries could wake up the dead “
He seemed as though he did not care but the ghost of a smile that played at the lips and the look of concern and brotherly care that had been in his eyes were against him
Tired, weary and sore, Vincent reluctantly stood up to leave but not before casting a glance over his shoulder at his little sister. Horatia was curled in the corner, covered with Vincent suit and sleeping so peacefully. She looked like an angel, quiet and calm and quite the opposite of what she had been the night before.
After being fed with bread, Vincent had hoped that she would fall asleep so he would too but no, it was as though as she had garnered all the energy from above and beyond. She laughed and played, gargling as Vincent made faces to quickly tire her out. He was indeed the one who got tired and when he attempted to sleep, she poked at his lids and pressed her fingers into the hollow of his cheek. He had nearly pulled out all his hair in frustration.
It wasn’t until the wee hours of the morning that she had allowed him rest by falling asleep. He smiled at her, leaned in to kiss her forehead and then turned to leave. Strain laced his eyes as he sluggishly moved in line with the other slaves.
Where were they going now?
“You know what is going on?” he turned to Harvey who stood by his side, moving along too.
“I don’t know but I hear something big is happening”
“Something big?” he mused “But I thought all things big had been concluded yesternight”
Harvey chuckled lightly “We can’t say with this people”
As they trudged outside, he began to hear other men whisper amongst themselves
“I hear it’s a slave auction”
Vincent leaned in quickly to eavesdrop…slave auction?
“Yeah, them big men be buyin’ slaves tonigh”
Big men?
“I heard it is the overall masters so if you are picked you are a lucky fellow”
“I would do anything to be picked. Doesn’t seem like the little masters have much to offer us”
“Yeah, big master’s slave be livin’ rich”
He turned to Harvey, considering him more knowledgeable “You understand what they are talking about?”
Harvey nodded “The big masters are like our monarchs, those who would work with them are rumored to be bestowed upon a better living”
“Wow, I would like to very much work with their kind. I have never been privileged enough to live a life of luxury”
Harvey chuckled again
“Don’t be quick to say, it is only rumours.”
“But still-”
“Don’t dream too big Vincent, not in times like this” Harvey advised, a sad look casting over his features. He had defiantly had it rough like Vincent but maybe better at hiding his scars. He lived happy for the world to see as though his childhood hadn’t taken him to hell and back.
“Do you think it would be too big a wish to want a nice master who would care for the needs of my babe sister?” Vincent’s blue eyes stared with such expectation at Harvey, he didn’t care for himself much, all he wanted was a nice place to raise his little sister.
Harvey looked from him to the angry soldiers yelling profanities in languages unheard and then back to him. Deciding not to crush hopes, he spoke in a neutral tone “We would see”
They walked quietly, deep in thoughts and when they neared the mean soldiers with grumpy looks and hands tight around whips, they were forced into lines. The soldiers lined them up and stared them down, watching them with scrutiny.
“At ease!” A soldier shouted, raising his whip in the air and slamming on the ground. Immediately they moved into action, hands behind their back, feet apart and their eyes to the ground.
Vincent felt himself shake under their gazes, his heart beating tremendously as his mind birthed imaginations of the possible scenarios to come.
Why on earth were they been stared at, has the picking process began or is this a form of check.
“Don’t fret” Harvey whispered to him, surprisingly bold as he stood under the intense gaze of the soldiers. “They will prey on you if they sight any sign of weakness”
It was too late to stand strong, Vincent thought, his body was already trembling.
Soon they began to point at people and called them out. From where he stood, Vincent could hear the sighs of relief from the lips of the men that stood out…they must have been picked to serve the big masters. Closing his eyes tight, he began to mutter words of prayer, begging God to allow him a chance to be picked. He was lost in his reverie till a voice hit his direction.
“You!” a soldier yells, his finger pointing at a certain someone.
Shocked at the sound, Vincent jerked and stumbled forward, nearly falling to his face. He raised his head a little higher and was met with the angry face of the soldier that had called out.
“Name,” he said in a tired, cracking voice.
Was he talking to me? Vincent thought… he lowered his gaze and tried to arrange words to explain that he had merely stumbled forward as an error but his fear would not let him speak and in the end his jumbling and sputters only irritated the impatient soldier.
“Ehn?” the soldier yelled
Still shaking, he managed to add a notch of volume to his quiet voice “I…stumble, I-”
God, why was English failing him?
Changing the approach, he cleared his throat and started again “M-e..? Are you…are-you…are you speak…speak-in-to me” he pointed to himself, feeling ashamed and fearful. He raised his head again to ask the soldier but the menacing scowl that appeared on his face had him reeling back
“Are you deaf” the soldier yelled, a low growl escaping his lips “Eh, did I not ask you a question!”
The soldier yelled so fiercely and in such a dangerous voice that had Vincent tensing up with anxiety and shaking more than he already was. The urge to run back in the line and hide behind Harvey was so strong he almost fled but at the sight of the whip of the soldier, he remained rooted, biting his lips till they began to bleed.
“You are bold, aren’t you?” the soldier sneered, his fingers grazing the whip hooked to his belt. Unsure of whether or not to answer Vincent kept mute, agitating the already edgy soldier “Answer me!” he demands, stomping his foot against the earth.
Vincent started to reply but just before the word could leave his lips, a hand went up and the whip came down across his back. Pain seared through his spine, causing him to stumble backwards. He could feel his eyes roll back, his back stinging.
Beside him, a shocked Harvey gasped, a little whimper escaping his lips
“Now answer me properly slave” the soldier barks, his whip not far from his head. “Name?”
The name Vincent came out from his lips faster than ever before. For a boy who had gone through a rough life, he had a surprising soft skin and mind. The little whip across his back would earn him a dirty scar and pain for a long time to come. Hissing through his teeth, he managed to swallow the cry of pain that tugged at his throat, begging to escape.
“Good boy” the soldier leered “You are coming with me” and then he stepped away and addressed the rest of them
“And for you that are remaining,” he turned and pointed to another soldier “Walk in line and go that way, another fate waits for you”
Harvey sadly was amongst the others and with a sad look, he began to turn away. Deep down he had wished to be amongst those taken to the big masters or better still be anywhere Vincent was. From their little meet, he had come to find a potential friend in Vincent and would have been glad to have a rather familiar face to work with.
As he passed by the boy, he raised his gaze a little, his heart breaking at the pained expression on Vincent’s face. The boy was thin and small, barely strong enough. Somehow he felt protective over him, an elder brotherly feeling and had to resist the urge to beat up the soldier.
“Vincent” he whispered,
Slowly Vincent turned to meet his gaze, tears pooling at his cerulean blues. He felt bad that he was leaving Harvey behind but more importantly, he felt bad for a great friendship that he feared would never exist.
As Harvey passed him, he sent him a sad smile and a knowing look. Without interpretation Harvey could tell the meaning behind his eyes…Take of Horatia for me.
He smiled back…I will
Then they both looked away…Goodbye friend.
Along with the others like him, they put them in another line, about twenty or more, Vincent could barely see to count. They gathered them up in an empty room, one they could barely recognize but from the checkered curtains and wooden benches, it could have been a coffee house two weeks ago. With his eyes half-lidded, he watched as they all staggered into the room, hungry and tired with a few excited faces here and there. They were pushed to the ground, dirty ground and made to cuddle close to one another.
“I am almost sure you are aware of why you are here” a soldier started, his voice loud as he addressed them
Why were they always loud…?
“But I will remind you again and as I do I hope that put your ears to the ground and remember this because the next time you get a reminder, your head would be rolling down the streets”
Vincent sucked in a breath, reaching up to carefully touch his head.
They spent the next few hours educating them on how to be proper valets and obedient slaves. How not to raise your head and look in the eye of the master, how to walk and talk. How to attend to their Master’s wardrobe as Valets and by the time they were done, Vincent was ready to fall down and faint from exhaustion. They had been at it, the rehearsals and for those who had fallen short on many occasions, the whip had never failed to keep them in line. Lucky for Vincent, he was a fast learner and so avoided the whip.
Once beaten, a numerous times shy.
The soldiers soon left them and another group of men entered, they looked less grumpy but still had the signature frown across their faces. They stared at them for a few minutes before ordering them to strip. At first the slaves remained unmoving, unable to bring themselves to believe they heard the words right.
The man in charge, a tall gentleman with scratched face and ample belly walked up to them a scowl etched to his expression.
“Did you not hear the order?” they all looked themselves “Strip!” he shouted, reaching by the side to grab a cane from the man beside. At the sight of the long stick with jagged edges, they jumped into action, stripping to their birthday suit with shaky fingers and fear filled faces.
Vincent could have not been more embarrassed as he stood before them, no clothing on him whatsoever. Once they stood naked, another set of men walked up to them and began prodding and poking them. Vincent felt himself blush to his feet at the humiliation. The men however were less concerned about their shame and just went about their business. They forced their mouths open, pulled at their lids and hit their legs with small sticks and when they were done, they spoke in weird languages to the man in charge who only nodded and walked out.
As soon as the man was out, they made them stand up to line and led them to another empty room…still naked. Vincent alongside the others had their hands around their privates as they hurried along in shame behind the Wazobian men in lead.
The room was different from the former for it had lined buckets of water all over. They didn’t need Einstein to realize it was a bath room. Vincent felt his lips widen, oh goodness…water! It was water! How long had it been? He almost jumped in and grabbed a bucket but the sting at his back cautioned him.
“You have three minutes to wash up and clean yourself to prim. Once you are done” he pointed to another door “Walk in a straight line there, further instructions would be given”
Excited Vincent ran to the nearest bucket and took a position to bath. It was weird though once he looked around and noticed that the soldiers were standing there, watching closely. He could feel his skin burn at the knowledge of being watched while naked but eventually he ignored them, found a corner and began to wash.
Nothing could stop the joy that filled Vincent’s heart at being clean again, not the chilling temperature of the water or the struggle to get enough water. It felt good to be free of dirt and not smell like a lavatory. By the time he was done bathing, he walked slowly to the other room, shuddering and shivering as cold seeped into him.
He entered the room, his eyes running around. There stood only three men at the corner with heaps of clothing in their hands. One of them held a mount full of cream shirts, another dark brown breeches and the last rubber sandals
Oh goodness, this was a dream…they were being given clothes.
Excited he walked briskly to three men and bowed, his hands reaching immediately to grab the clothes.
“Take care of them well, you will never get such luxury again” happily he took them and held them to his chest…so this what was meant when they said big men slaves would be well taken care of…
The other men walked into the room too and collected their clothes, dressing themselves quickly to shield their skin from the cold and cover their nudity. The clothing was nothing special but for Vincent it was better than his borrowed and torn suit. The cream shirt fabric was mostly cotton and felt like tiny burrs chaffing against his skin, the dark brown breeches was made of coarse linen, hitting just below his knees and because of Vincent’s gangly frame, they hung loosely on him. He did not mind though, he was never one to have smug clothing anyway.
Once they had all been fully attired, they led them to yet another room. Here they forced them to wait and sit on the floor. Minutes later a small, middle aged woman walked in holding a large bowl. She weaved through them, handing out a little bowl of rice and paper cups filled with water. The rice was like one they had never seen before and atop it was a red soupy substance. It was nothing that Vincent who have wished to be served but it was better than harboring the monster of hunger within him and more importantly it was served better. The last time he remembered being fed was with crumpled stale bread thrown at their feet.
It felt like heaven compared to the last time and he was certain, this would the best they would ever get.
He smiled and collected the water, scooping the rice into his desperate mouth. The food wasn’t much so it did not take time to empty the bowl and wash it down with the barely full cup of water. By the time they were done with their meal, the man in charge of Valets walked in. He was a tall man with muscular build and scary eyes. His hair was undoubtedly cropped short like the others and was always fitted into a weird looking cap. He looked twenty with his gentle face but everyone knew he was older, he spoke with curt and firm tones and never shouted but no matter how, you would hear his voice still. Surprisingly he dressed so colorfully, a contrast to the personality he portrayed.
Master Olawale or Master Olaarh, that was his name, a no-nonsense yet eccentric fellow. Today he was dressed the usual, an array of colors on designs they had never seen before.
“We will be leaving soon” he started “So I want you on your best behavior. Any misconduct” he smiled “You know the drill” and then he walked out.
Another group of men walked in as Master Olaarh turned away, holding chains and ropes in their hands. Vincent felt himself swallow hard, fear gripping him.
What were they going to do with the chains…?
His question was soon answered as one of the men ordered them to a straight line while another grabbed them and began pushing them to the men with chains. They put iron collars round their neck with chains attached and locked it around their limbs. The iron collar felt tight around Vincent, causing his neck to itch and blister. He tried to shake it away but moving only hurt and so he remained still, ashamed at how he was chained like an animal.
The chains were tied together so that each person was tied to another and once they were done, they pushed them out, screaming profanities at them in bid to hasten them up. Vincent could barely understand their logic…you tie me hand and foot, he thought yet you expect me to walk with speed…How?
Humbly and quietly, he walked behind the soldiers and Master Olaarh, his mind bugged as he thought about his babe sister. I am doing this for you, Horatia, this is for you…he whispered to himself.
His heart hurt knowing he was away from his sister and could not keep her safe. He trusted Harvey, Harvey had promised but it wasn’t enough. He had never had to be away from his sister before.
Shaking his head, he muttered “Happy thoughts Vincent, Happy thoughts” it worked for a while as he closed his eyes, remembering the good times with his mother but nothing could keep away the big question that laid beneath his happy thoughts
What would happen if he is sold off to some cruel master and never got the chance to see Horatia again.
It was dark when Master Olaarh finally halted his horse and commanded the others too to stop. The slaves behind were beyond thankful for the stop, many of them were overly exhausted, hungry, thirsty and most especially in need of a toilette after walking such a far distance. A few people lingered around as they parked by the large building hustling and bustling with merrying Wazobian men. Vincent could feel their pitiful stares on him.
Master Olaarh led his horse to the man who seemed to be in charge of tying down the horses and then waved the soldiers to push them in. Grumbling and groaning beneath their breath, they follow their Master down the streets and into a large room with a sign above the door.
“MARKET ARCADE: Slave Trading” the sign seemed newly fixed, it was definitely made to serve this purpose.
As they walked in, Vincent could not help notice the room was replete with Wazobian men and women of all dark colours, laughing and jesting over cups of a milky substance he could not identify. They sat on wooden chairs round large tables, conversing with one another in their weird languages. The buzz of excitement seeped its way to his brain, causing him to sway at the overwhelming tidal wave of noise and monstrous sounds. If his ears were not lying then music was explicitly playing in the background, good but loud music to be precise.
For a second, he shut his eyes tightly, wishing fervently that he could condense the noise into a bearable din in the background, he wasn’t used to such decibel. By the time he opened his eyes, his ears had adjusted only a little bit.
He continued to study the room and right at the corner he saw slaves like himself, all cleaned up nicely, women and men and young lads with their metal collars too. He caught the eye of one lady shivering at the corner and sent a comforting smile down her way. She stared at him weirdly and looked away but not before a ghost of smile formed on her lips.
At the center of the room was a newly constructed raised platform, built like a fight ring. The soldiers led them towards it and began hauling them roughly up the platform. While they moved, a man waddled over, a sneer on his face as he passed by them.
“They are so skinny, are they not?” is the first thing he said, peering especially down on Vincent with obvious contempt.
Master Olaarh shrugged “You don’t get them any fatter, they are just like twigs and sticks here but no worries, they are strong”
They proceeded to converse in their language and though none of the slaves could understand, Vincent could not help the feeling that they spoke about him especially when the other man looked down at him and chuckled.
“Look at this one” he switched to English “He is as thin as twig” he grabbed his arm and squeezed it. Vincent hissed lightly at the pain. “Are you sure you want to sell this one, he looks like he would snap if the wind just blow small” he squeezed his arm again and then turned to clean it on a random table.
Vincent was appalled at his impertinence and almost lunged at him for his shrewd remarks but he kept himself still and obediently walked away, a soldier pushing him up the platform. The steps felt like rolling waves as he stepped on them, his feet swirling and tripping as he made it to the top. It was worse when he stood firmly on the stage and let his eyes wander. He suddenly felt dizzy as he imagined thousands of pairs of eyes boring into his own. As if on cue, the people in the room turned to them and began to scrutinize from their legs to their frightened eyes. They stood on a line, Vincent at the back end of the line, assembled together like dolls. They stood for a long time till a man walked up the stage and began speaking through a megaphone. There was commotion and more noise as he spoke and though the slaves could not understand, their language was nothing more than gobbledygook to them, Vincent was certain it was a sort of introductory speech. Once the man was done, the master of each category of slaves stepped out and sales began.
I hate this, I don’t want to be here
That was all Akande was thinking from the moment his father dragged him down to this place. He had not been a great fan of the new system of slavery but he had no choice, he had to do it and he was okay with that but this…slave trading…this was too much.
He was seated behind his family, literally sulking as the sipped slowly on the cup of palm wine in his hands, counting the hours until he had to leave. He was barely paying attention, nothing to him was fun about selling off human beings to the highest bidder but for the others in the room, his father most especially, it was a fresh piece of entertainment. He groaned beneath his as they sold off another slave. He couldn’t stand it…maybe he should leave.
He downed the content in his hand and stood up, hoping to ease himself quietly out of the chaos. A nice walk under the stars was what he had wanted not a night spent with drunken men and women, fighting over who bought who. He was just about to turn away when his father looked back and squinted at him
“Nibo ni iw? nl?” (Where are you going?)
He swallowed hard at the calm yet scary look on his father’s face.
“Ko si ibi ti” (Nowhere) he stammered
“Mo o ti okan…” (I just…I just) seeing that there was nothing to say, he walked back to his seat and sat quietly
“O y? ki o ra ?kan fun ara r?” (You should buy one for yourself, you need it here)
It…They were human beings for crying out loud, he mentally screamed.
“Emi ko nilo ?kan, Baba” (I don’t need one, Father) his father sent him a look. Instantly his response changed
“Mo ti yoo gbaa ?kan ni kete bi mo to ri awon okan ti mo ti nilo” (I will get one as soon as I see the one I need)
“Dara!” (Better)
He groaned inwardly and grabbed another cup of palm wine, he would definitely need this to get through the day. As he sat and drank, he looked around him, trying to entertain himself. He looked the left and saw one of his friends, drunken and already saddling up to a woman. He smiled at the antics, the guy would never change, he thought…Towobola, the undisputable ashawo of his group of friends. The guy noticed him and sent a lazy smile his way, mouthing the words “I caught a fish!”
He turned away from his friend and unexpectedly met the gaze of his mother. She had turned in her seat and was sending him a worried glance. Kikelomo Tiwatope Adekanmi, Akande’s mother and the only one of his father’s woman that he didn’t hate.
“O y? ko fojusi” (You should pay attention) she said to him,
He huffed and turned away
“Baba r? yoo gbe ija p?lu ? ti o ba gbe ?rú” (Your father would pick a fight with you if you don’t buy a slave)
“Emi ko f?” (I don’t want to) was his reply
“O ye mi” (I understand) she looked at him with motherly concern and patted his empty hand softly “Sugbon o m?pe ti ?nik?ni nibi fura pe o ti wa ni ko ni adehun p?lu aw?n ?rú eto, o le wa ni pa” (But know that if anyone here suspects that you are not in agreement with the slavery system, you could be killed.)
“Won kole pa mi fun ko f? si a ?rú” (They can’t kill me for not buying a slave) he sipped his wine slowly
“J?w? Akande, ni o kere gba ?kan. Nib? ni o wa ami lati Wazobia jabo nipa ise wa. O ye ki o fi anfani, J??” (Please Akande, at least get one. There are spies from Wazobia who report about our work. You should show interest, please)
He groaned
“J??, Akande okan ?kan fun mi. Se fun iya r?” (Please, Akande, just one for my sake. Do it for your mother) at that Akande could not refuse, there was nothing he could not do for this woman, absolutely nothing.
Reluctantly he nodded “Okay”
“Ti won yoo wa ni pipe aw?n ti o k?hin ?eto, fojusi oh” (They will be calling the last set, pay attention) and then she turned away.
He hated this, he did not like it one bit but for the sake of his mother, he turned his attention to center and tried to look interested
Over the loud noise, he could hear a man shouting through a megaphone, he was most likely the one in charge of the sales
Slaves lined up on a raised platform, chained from the neck down to their foot…how sad. He watched as they turned around upon being called and helplessly stood as men touched them and called prices over their heads. One slave was bought after much yelling and was dragged down by a soldier to the new master.
“Next!” the man boomed. A group of slaves were pushed forward “Edward Langley, aged twenty-three. Strong, built well, well-”
Akande turned away feeling disgusted…how could people feel so normal with this? This was awful.
“Three naira!” someone shouted from behind and the whole crowd burst into a fit of laughter…how was that even funny?
“Starting price, three naira” the Orator yelled over the noise.
“Five naira” came another voice from behind, louder and more forceful. People began to raise their hands, shouting prices over themselves and by the time it reached the high price, a hammer was hit on a block of wood and the slave was taken away. More slaves were auctioned, sold and taken away.
“Going, going, going…Make up your mind, one hundred and fifty naira, going once. Na One hundred and Ninety Naira I hear? Okay oh, one hundred and ninety naira, going once…going twice…sey offers still dey…Two hundred! I like that, keep it high people, Five hundred…ooh…I dey enjoy this. Anyone else, Five hundred and ten! Going once, going twice…gone! Sold to the guy wey dey there”
That was how it went and Akande had to force himself to sit still and watch. When he was sure he could no longer take it, he decided to just buy a random slave and get out quickly. With his cup to his lips, he surveyed his the platform…
There were only a few young boys remaining, he looked from each one of them till his gaze landed on one at the end. He was a wiry boy at the far end of the line
Good, that would work, he muttered to himself and downed his cup.
He called to the nearest soldier “B??ni sir,” (Yes sir,)
“Nj? om? ti o ni ni ididyele ti yi ?eto” (Do you know who is in charge of this set) he asked
The soldier nodded “Ogbeni Olawale” (Mr. Olawale)
“?e o l? p? wa fun mi” (Could you call him for me) the soldier nodded and jogged away. Seconds later, a tall gentleman who would probably be Mr. Olawale walked back, side by side with the soldier.
“O si j? ni bi” (He’s here, sir) and then he walked away, the soldier.
Mr. Olawale walked closer to Akande and perched on a seat opposite, he had an air of arrogance around him, Akande noticed.
“Mo gb? ? pe mi?” (I hear you called me)
“B??ni, ti o ba wa ni ?kan ni idiyele ti ti o k?hin ?eto ti ?ni, otun?” (Yes, you are the one in charge of that last set of slaves, right?)
He took a moment to look at the stage before smiling “Talo f? m?” (Who wants to know?)
Arrogant…Akande muttered beneath his breath
Well, if he wants to play, then we’ll play…Akande puffed up and replied “Emi ni Sarkin Yaki” (The Sarkin Yaki,) A look of recognition flashed in the man’s eyes earning a smile from Akande
“Mo beere l?? kan si, ni o ni ?kan ni idiyele ti aw?n ti o k?hin ?eto ti ?rú?” (So I ask again, are you the one in charge of the last set of slaves?)
The man’s arrogance did not leave but atleast it was toned down “Ti o tumo si aw?n…daradara b??ni emi ni” (You mean the Valets, well yes I am)
“Iyen naa da, mo nilo a ojurere” (Good, I need a favour) he swallowed another round of palm wine. He needed as much alcohol as he could get into his system to go through with this.
“Ojurere, Mo f? pe. Ohun ti yoo aw?n Sarkin Yaki f?” (A favour, I like that. What would the Sarkin Yaki want?)
“Èmi nife ninu ?rú,” (I am interested in a slave)
“Tani?” he asked (Who?)
Akande pointed to the boy he had seen at the back
“Iyen naa?” (That one) there was an hint of surprise in the man’s voice as if he could not believe that Akande was buying the wiry thing at the corner but Akande cared less for how the slave looked, he just needed one to escape and picking the one that had the least appeal was just enough for him. That way he wouldn’t struggle with other buyers.
“Ohun ti r? alaye” (What’s his details?
Olawale looked at the slave for a moment before answering “Ehm…Vincent, b??ni Vincent Silverton” (Ehm…Vincent, yes Vincent Silverton)
“Vincent huh? Ti o dara. Ohun ti ni nipa r??” (Vincent huh? Good. What’s about him?)
“Ko si ohun Elo. O si j? o kan ohun orukan lati” (Nothing much. He is just an orphan from Kent)
“Hmmn, Ani san. Mo f? u,” (Hmmn, even better. I want him), the man sent him a look “Bi ?rú mi mo tunm? si” (as my slave I mean) he hurriedly replied
“Dara” (Okay) he drawled “O y? ki o duro fun aw?n tita ki o si” (You should wait for the sales then)
“Ti o ni ohun kan, emi ko nife ninu aw?n idu” (That is the thing, I am not interested in the bid) he put down his cup and crossed his arms.
The man looked up at him, his face smug and then he stood up “Mura r? apam?w?, Emi ko fun pataki it?ju” (Prepare your purse, I don’t give special treatment)
“Sugbon ko si ?kan miran ti wa ni san ifojusi si aw?n ?m?kunrin” (But no one else is paying attention to the boy) they both looked to the stage and true to Akande’s words, while every other slave was being touched and spun around by interested masters, no one turned to the boy.
The man smirked “Ani dara, ti o ona ti o yoo ko Ijakadi nigbati aw?n idu b?r?” (Even better, that way you would not struggle when the bids starts) he stood up to leave
“Hmmn,” he paused to think “Nítorí náà, ohun ti mo ti le pese lati jo’gun di? ninu aw?n pataki it?ju” (So what can I offer to earn some special treatment) Akande asked, impatient and irritated. For one he hated that he was buying a slave and two the arrogant master was not even making it easy for him. The man ignored Akande and kept walking back.
“Igba…” (200) Akande said to his retreating figure.
He kept walking
“????du?nru?n…” (300)
Not even a pause
“Irinwo?…” (400)
Barely a hitch in his movement. Akande bit his tongue and cussed
“????d??gb??ta…” (500) and that got his attention, he stopped,
“It doesn’t get better, Mr. Olawale. You and I know you would not get a better offer for that boy”
The man had the guts to turn with a coy look “Talo m?? ?nikan bi o le ni anfani ni aw?n ?m?kunrin ju. O yoo ko ni le ?wà lati elomiran” (Who knows? Someone like you might have interest in the boy too. It wouldn’t be fair to others)
At this point, Akande was on the verge of punching the man square in the face. He was playing him for more money and seeing Akande desperation, it was really easy
“Dara, bi o ?e igba afikun fun aw?n ti pataki itoju ohun” (Okay, how does 200 extra for the special treatment sound)
The man’s grin widened and he walked back to Akande, signaling a soldier with a finger “Mo ti m? mo ti wà ?tun lati mu pe” (I knew I was right to bring that boy) he murmured
“Ki se ti a ni kan ti yio se?”(So do we have a deal?) Please say yes, Akande pleaded in his head
“A yoo nigba ti o ba san sugbon ni àkókò,” (We will when you pay but in the meantime) he turned to the soldier and whispered words in his ear. The soldier in turn nodded and went up the stage.
“Mo iyanu idi ti wipe elo anfani ni wipe ?m?kunrin” (I wonder why that much interest in that boy) the man started, a glint in his eyes.
Hmmn, an inquisitive one…was he what his mother had referred to as Wazobian spies…Akande smiled and then gave a reply he considered a shut-up answer
“Daradara, Mo f? lati ro ti o ti wa ni idi ti a wa ni gbogbo aw?n nibi” (Well, I like to think that is why we are all here) and then he stood up, a smile on his face as he walked to meet his father but not before sending an order down Mr. Olawale’s way.
“Ati oh, mu aw?n ?rú fun mi ni ita” (And oh, bring the slave to me outside) he looked to the stage and back “Lai si kola ati ?w?n. Mo f? mi ?rú eda eniyan.” (Without the collar and chains. I like my slaves human.)
The noise is too much, the music is too loud, the trade is too inhuman, my body is too weak. In fact everything is too much, it is all too awful, too unbearable.
Vincent felt tiny tremor move down his spine as he realized that they were only few boys left until he was alone. So far, no one had spun him around or poked at his legs and he wasn’t sure if it was good news or bad. It had been entirely awful watching as they called out fellow boys like him and sold them off like objects in the market. Men who had stood proud weeks ago were made the center of ridicule and thrown to the highest bidder.
He was becoming uncomfortable on the intimidatingly big stage and the numerous pair of eyes watching and mocking him were doing nothing to make it better. He began to sway, his knees turning to jelly as he neared the front line.
The orator began to speak into the microphone, calling onto the next slave but as loud as he was, Vincent could barely hear a thing…oh no!
He began to feel dizzy, feel weak.
The crowd waved around and multiplied themselves. He shut his eyes and opened again to reassure himself that he wasn’t losing his sight but everything had turned into a blur and worse, they spun around in circles. The microphone squeaked, rattling his bones. He could feel his limbs become heavy, his weight dropping down to his leg.
What was happening…?
The noise became too much and as much as he tried to ignore, he could not keep away the deafening sound from streaking through his ears, his head and tangling with his mind. This is too much, he couldn’t breathe, his chest was heavy, his knee was weak.
The man called a name, “Philip Buckworth, aged nineteen-”
There were only two more men…he had to be strong and as awful as this was, he had to be bought.
He shook his head to regain his blurring senses but that did nothing but worsen the throbbing headache that had been silently resting at the back of his head.
I feel faint…no you are strong, you can do it Vincent…I want to faint…no you can’t Vincent, think of Horatia.
Horatia, he whispered to himself, his lips trembling. He shut his eyes tight, attempting to stay strong whilst whispering his sister’s name. He needed to leave this place, maybe not physically, he should leave. He began to imagine behind closed lids, a world where Britaine ruled over Wazobia, a world where his mother was still alive and maybe married to someone of the peerage or perhaps royalty.
A rare smile itched on his lips, this life was better…he thought, lost in his reverie and never wishing to come out till a voice broke him out, a rough unfamiliar voice.
“Vincent?” the person said.
Valet-Alaso
Slowly he opened his eyes and met with an impatient glare from the eyes of a soldier. He nodded instantly and without explanation the soldier dragged Vincent by the arm painfully and began dragging him along.
“What is going on?” he stuttered, his heart beating against his rib cage in loud throbs.
The man ignored him and began pulling him outside,
“Pray do tell, where I am being whisked off to?” his answer was a low growl and a quick glare sent his way. He looked around frantic, hoping to find answers to himself and as soon as cold air seeped into his skin, he knew they were outside.
Oh God…what were they going to do with him
Once they had reached the supposed destination, the man pulled to a halt, turned around and began pulling off his chains. He was more than grateful for the release but the fear that what was coming was worse had him shaking as the soldier unlocked his chains.
“Please…” he begged the man. Once the man was done with his chains, he turned to him,
“Consider yourself lucky” Vincent was confused, Lucky why? “You have been bought”
Vincent had never been happier to hear those words before…he nearly hugged the soldier as excitement seeped into him.
Finally he sighed… a large smile on his lips…
One less worry, all that was left was the big question…Is my master cruel or God sent?
The door to outside opened quietly and Akande could not be happier to finally be away from then roaring chaos. He turned his head to look for a comfortable spot to seat and spotted a couple of drunken soldiers laughing over jokes he knew they would never crack a smile at when sober.
“How far Sarkin?” a drunk soldier shouted from the group.
Akande raised his cup and sent a curt nod down his way “I dey”
They all laughed, for whatever they thought was funny and continued their merry. With a brief smile he turned away and found himself an empty spot with two wooden benches at the corner. Sighing, he walked to the seat and inhaled deeply, enjoying the cool breeze that washed over his face.
He was slowly sipping away his third…no fourth cup of palm wine as he lounged on the wooden bench, admiring nature’s night wonders.
Oh, he could die like this and feel fulfilled
“Iseda bawo ni o ?e dara jul?-” (Nature, how beautiful are-)
“Evening, My Lord” a voice asked, rather sputtered, interrupting Akande’s solemnity
Irritated, Akande hissed and reluctantly looked away from his view to turn to the lad who had spoken. He was ready to snap at the unwanted disturbance but stopped when he recognized the boy to be the slave he had bought.
“O gb?d? j? vincent?” (You must be Vincent)
“Huh?”
Akande did not realize he had spoken to the boy in his mother’s tongue till the boy’s eyebrows went up and he leaned in with a confused face. For one, Akande had never liked speaking English or any other language. He enjoyed learning them though, infact he was the favorite of all the language teachers at the training camp but still he could not bring himself to get used to speaking any other language apart from his mother’s tongue. Now that he was here and supposed to speak English, he was on the verge of losing it. Nothing was comfortable about something that isn’t yours.
“You must be Vincent” he said in English this time.
The boy nodded, his hair falling into his face.
Akande rarely interacted with the slaves, no he had never interacted with them. He never even paid attention to them unless his father forced him to but as he looked up at the scared boy, something melancholic stirred within him like twisting shadows and against his usual routine, he took special time to study the boy.
He was a little boy, small for whatever age he was, with dark brown hair unruly and disheveled. His feature were perhaps too delicate for someone who seemed like he had been through it rough. His frame was a bit odd in most places, a big sign of awkward youth but there seem to be hope somewhere, he would probably soon grow like all men did.
He looked so young yet mature, someone who had been forged through the fires of life at a tender age. His eyes were as that of someone of an explorative mind but the fear mixed in them could not go unnoticed. He bowed like he had been taught to do, must be a very obedient one then. He didn’t look as bitter as the rest of the slaves he had seen and the ghost of a smile on his lips made Akande to think he was rather happy about his situation.
Oh, he was going to like this one…
Something about him just seemed all too familiar to Akande, funny how he never paid attention to anyone and now this little boy with shaky feet and trembling hands was grabbing his attention. Somewhere in his observation, he felt compassion, a deep need to care for the boy like he had never cared for another before.
Shaking his head as if to throw away the feeling wrapped around his head, he tipped his cup, downed the last content and dropped it on the table. “Do you know who I am?”
The innocent lad, unsure of how to respond, shook his head only slightly and if Akande had not been paying attention, he would have barely noticed.
The boy was fearful, every Brysttic would be after all that happened and Akande was certain no Wazobian had been kind to the boy. He wasn’t one of them though, the way to a person’s wealth is to get to the heart and not to dominate and steal.
The boy was undoubtedly scared of him and Akande did not like the feeling it gave him upon realisation.
In bid to put the boy out his misery, Akande smiled and as brief as possible the boy smiled too only to remember who he was and wash off the smile immediately
“I am the Sarkin Yaki assigned to this colony”
“The?” the boy attempted to test it on his lips but came up short.
“Don’t worry about the strange word” he spoke kindly to assure the boy he meant no harm. “It’s all military jargons. I hear you people say Valor, it is like that”
The boy nodded and this time it was obvious he did.
“How old are you?” Akande asked the boy
“Ten and six years, Master”
Akande shook his head with a light chuckle “Master, oh please. Do not call me master”
The boy’s eyes went wide with shock
Akande merely chuckled again “I find it rather insulting that someone my age be called Master”
“But…” he shook his head slowly, “It is not allowed. The soldiers said I could be killed”
“Oh please, the soldiers can do nothing if I permit it.”
The boy shook his head, unwilling to agree “No, I do not think I can. I fear for my life if I have to call you by your name”
“Alright then, don’t call me by name, call me Valor”
“Valor?”
“Yes, Valor, you can do that now, can you?”
The boy nodded briskly.
“So you are sixteen, you are quite too young in face and gentle in frame. You are-“
“Scrawny” the boy suggested
Akande smiled, he was getting bolder “Oh yes, no offense though”
The boy shook his head “I have heard worse Valor”
With a brief smile he waved him closer “Come, sit. I trust they have no need of you again” Akande pointed to the other wooden bench. He hadn’t thought he would need company, but then the young man looked like he needed a rest. His eyes were shadowed with dark circles, decidedly from stress. He could give the lad a rest and ease his sudden need for companionship.
“Oh I couldn’t, Valor” the boy protested, appalled and in shock “It’s against the rules” the boy’s eyes shifted and seemed to have focused on the soldiers around. Akande followed his gaze, then smirked.
“I said it before, when I permit, those soldiers have naught to say. Besides I am the Sarkin Yaki, I overrule every soldier here.&rdquo
