Lothian League
Marian Hegemony
The Periphery
4 September, 3149
Three hours later, the door to her cell opened. The Warden stood in the entrance, his bandaged nose a reminder of their previous meeting. Freyja wasn't exactly thrilled to see him, but after three hours in the courthouse jail cell, she was happy to at least be hopefully going somewhere. Thus far, her only entertainment had been when her cell mate, obviously the town drunk, had awakened from his slumber, said a few unintelligible words, and then proceeded to vomit profusely all over the floor. Nobody had come to clean it up, even after the man passed out again, and the smell was becoming quite ripe.
"Get up and get moving," barked the Warden. She got to her feet as quickly as she could, and one of the Warden's men quickly cuffed her hands in front of her and gave her an unceremonious shove out of the door. They passed through another gate, and proceeded down a long corridor.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"You're going to stand on charges before the Lord Governor. You should count yourself lucky, little bitch, that his lordship is holding court today. I promise you'd have not wanted to spend a night in my jail." Warden Connors seemed quite pleased with his boasting.
"No doubt. I'm sure the company is quite lacking," she quipped.
"Mind your tongue and your place, you damned little slave wench. Your sass will be the end of you."
She pondered on responding, but thought better of digging herself any deeper of a hole. A few moments later, they entered a spacious office, where a broad shouldered man with graying hair sat in a large plush chair behind a solid, ornate wooden desk. Two uniformed guards flanked him, and he shuffled a pile of papers away as he took off a pair of spectacles. The warden shoved her into a plain wooden chair set directly in front of the desk.
"That will be all, Warden Connors. I'll send for you when I've reached my decision," the Lord Governor said in a brogue similar to, but slightly more refined than that of the warden.
"You're sure, My Lord?"
"Aye, I'll be getting the truth of the matter from the girl, and we wouldn't want any improprieties, would we, Malcolm?" With that, the Warden turned and left with his men. The Lord Governor picked up a piece of paper, and looked at Freyja for a moment before he began speaking. "So you're the girl that bloodied my warden's nose? I was expecting someone a little more.....substantial."
Freyja said nothing, and the Lord Governor appeared to be sizing her up. She sat as still and as firm as she could. She felt as though she should be more scared than she was.
He held up the paper in his hand. "You made quite the impression. Old Warden Connors threw the book at you when writing up these charges. Two counts of assault on an officer of the law. Slander against an officer of the law. Disturbing the peace. Resisting arrest. Fleeing the scene of a crime." He set the paper down on his desk. "I'm not concerned with the fluff he added. We'll concern ourselves just with the matter of assault. Are you guilty of those charges?"
She nodded. "Yes, my lord. I struck both the warden and his lieutenant."
"Unprovoked, in the middle of a courthouse, you decided to strike two officers of the law?"
She paused for a moment, choosing her words. "I was not unprovoked, my lord. The warden was insulting and trying to provoke my companion."
"Your master, you mean. Warden Connors can have a way with words, but you, a slave, found cause to strike him over it? Did he strike you first? Or threaten you or your master in any way?"
She looked down. "No, my lord."
"This whole matter seems very straightforward then. You had no cause to attack my warden. I shall levy a fine against your master, and you will remain in custody until such time as he pays it. How he punishes you for it is up to him. "
She looked up at the Lord Governor. "Begging your lordships pardon, but it hardly seems fair, my master paying for a transgression that was mine alone. If it pleases your lordship, I would face the punishment for the crime myself, rather than have my master inconvenienced for something that was beyond his control."
The Lord Governor looked at her confusedly. "You don't conduct yourself as a slave. And no, it is not fair that your master suffer the burden of your foolishness, but you are a slave. You've no way of paying any fine that I might levy for the attack. And should I have you jailed, that would just as much punish your master by robbing him of your service for a time." He stroked his graying beard thoughtfully. "The only other option would be punitive corporal punishment. You are sure you wish to keep your master out of this?"
"Yes, my lord. The fault is entirely my own, so should the punishment be."
He summoned both Warden Connors and Ned Bakker, and within minutes, both had joined the proceedings. "Right. So, the girl has confessed to the unprovoked attack upon the Warden and his guard, and accepted responsibility wholly for her actions. That leaves only the matter of sentencing. This is both assault on an officer of the law, and by a slave no less, and so is no light matter. I'm sentencing her to twenty lashes, to be administered by the Warden, publicly. We'll get it over with an hour from now, and she'll remain on the commons until first light. Then you can have her back."
Ned Bakker spoke up, "Excuse me Lord Governor, but couldn't this matter be settled easier by a simple fine. There's no serious injury, aside from the esteemed warden's nose. I could pay it and we could go on our way, out of your hair."
"I had initially thought of a fine as well, Ned. But the girl impressed upon me the reality that the fault was hers entirely, and her desire that she alone should bear any consequences. And I agreed. We can't have slaves going about striking people, officers of the law no less. And Malcolm was the one mostly wronged, so he'll have his measure of revenge. It suits everyone fairly, and that's how it has to be, Ned."
It seemed like one of the longest hours she could recall, sitting in the cell again, waiting for her punishment. Finally the warden arrived, and led her outside to the town commons. News apparently had traveled fast, as a substantial crowd had gathered. The air was beginning to chill as the sun was setting. "You will learn your place, today, that I promise you, girl," the warden said with a grim almost smile on his face as he unlocked her handcuffs.
Two guards led her up the several steps to the raised platform, no doubt normally used for public addresses, performances, and the like. For today's production, however, there stood two poles, each with a length of rope attached. The ropes were tied around her Freyja's wrists, forcing her to stand with her arms outstretched in a Y shape, facing the crowd. The warden appeared from behind her and addressed the crowd. "The Lord Governor has declared a sentence of twenty lashes for this slave who not only defied her master, but assaulted officers of the law. Let this be a lesson in restoring and keeping good order."
He turned and walked behind her, accepting a short whip made of some fiber that to her eyes resembled myomer from one of the gathered guards, and tucked it into his belt. He then drew a knife and slipped it into the collar of her tunic, slicing downward, rending open the shirt and her bra to leave her back totally bare and exposed.
It was as if time froze as she waited for the first stroke. When it came, she winced visibly as a line of pain exploded across her back. The warden made sure to pause between each strike, calling out the corresponding number. After the fourth stroke, her eyes began scanning the crowd. It was such a varied and mixed lot of people, most with rather apathetic looks on their face. Of course there were a few who looked on in horror, or fear. And there were more than a few who looked on with glee. In that moment, it was as if a clarity came over her mind. She had felt alone before, but now she realized that she was truly lost and alone in an unforgiving world. She could not just continue on as she had, biding time as if some miracle was going to rescue her back to her former life. She had to adapt, or be swallowed up by the world she found herself in.
With each stroke, the crowd seemed to get more involved, and by the twelfth, some in the crowd had started to call out the number along with the warden. Her back was awash with pain, and she could feel blood trickling from several of the blows. On the most recent strike, she had bitten her lip from the pain to keep from crying out. She could not break in front of this crowd. She would not.
The warden paused and walked close to her, leaning in and speaking in her ear, quietly enough so the crowd would not hear, "Cry out. Beg for mercy. Scream. You will break, girl, I promise you."
She met his gaze. "Fuck. Off."
The warden laughed. "That's better, at least now you're speaking like the gutter you belong in. None of this pretense of meek nobility." He returned to his work, the crowd chanting along. Seventeen rang out, and she stumbled slightly with the strike of the whip. The warden paused again, walked a complete circle around her, then stopped in front of her.
She locked eyes with him again. She could see the disdain in his eyes, but she could also see anger and frustration. "I will not give you the satisfaction. So get on with it and go home."
He shook his head in frustration, and wound the whip up around his hand. Then, slowly and deliberately, he put all his weight and strength into a punch that struck her just below her rib cage. She recoiled and fell to her knees, the world around her going black around the edges as she gasped to recover the air that had just been smashed from her diaphragm. For a moment, she thought she was going to pass out, but she recovered enough to hear the warden say "Eighteen" with a look of determination on his face.
She continued to gasp for air as the world swam around her. Lights were beginning to blur, form colors, or gain halos. Warden Connors looked down at her and she saw him whisper nineteen but did not hear it as he struck out this time with a kick. His boot connected with her left side, and pain shot through her torso as she struggled to remain upright.
He reached out and grabbed her by the chin. "Enough with you." With that, he backhanded her solidly across the right side of her face. The last thing she remembered was the coppery taste of blood, and then everything went black.
She came crashing back to reality to ice cold water hitting her in the face. She gathered that she could not have been out for more than a minute as she shook off the water and felt pain shooting through her ribs. Breathing was a struggle. Her eyes shot around, catching sight of the warden walking towards her. He knelt down beside her. "I trust you have learned your lesson, slave. Try not to die of cold before your master picks you up tomorrow. You are a thorn in my side, just as he is."
As the sun set, the crowd dispersed, and she was left wet and shivering as the autumn chill settled over the area like a ghost. She lost track of how many times she passed in and out of consciousness. The night was a blur of emptiness, cold, and a fear that she fought desperately not to give in to.
Her next coherent memory was of being carried into her room back at the Bakker estate by Ned, and hearing Clarissa's forceful voice. "Good lord, what happened Ned?"
"The stubborn girl went and got herself twenty lashes from the warden for starting a fight or punching him or something."
"Why didn't you just pay a fine and be done with it?"
"The damned fool of a girl went and talked Lord Governor Sharper into assigning the blame squarely on her. I've no idea what she was thinking. There's easier ways to get out of service than this."
"Oh shut up, Ned Bakker, you know damned well whatever it was, it wasn't that. Have some tact, the girl is in a right state. Did they leave her out all night?
She opened her eyes, finding herself sitting on her bed, with the Bakkers arguing in front of her. "I can hear you two, you know?"
They both paused and put their hands on their hips. Ned spoke up first. "What in Blake's Blood were you thinking, girl? I gave you instructions to stay out of trouble. Instead you punch the warden and get beaten to within an inch of your life?"
She looked up at the two of them. "At the risk of sounding impertinent, no, you did not, my lord. You told me to look after master Peter, to act in his service, and to take account of the fact that I have no standing. I did all of those, sir."
"What are you talking about?" Ned was both angry and confused.
"The warden had it in for him. Or more appropriately, for you, sir. He was baiting the boy, and Peter almost swallowed it. I struck the warden because master Peter was going to do it first, and I couldn't allow that."
"You couldn't allow it? I think you're getting your roles reversed there, girl."
She stood up, anger in her eyes, her one arm holding up the mess of her tattered top, the other pointing at him. "Don't call me that, don't dismiss me like that. I just got beaten in the service of your family, and you're too stupid to understand it." Ned took a step back. "If Peter had hit that damnable warden, yes, you'd probably have gotten off with paying a fine, but he'd have had a mark on his record for assaulting the authorities. If he's set on military service, that would have practically destroyed his shot at Mechwarrior training. I did what you asked and protected him. And yes, I could have let you pay off my punishment and probably gotten off scott free, but I'll be damned if I'm going to be indebted to you one ounce beyond what I already am. By all rights you own me in this damnable, fucked up place, but I refuse to sell my soul to you as well."
At first everyone stood frozen, unsure of what would come next after such an outburst. As her anger flared out, Freyja stepped back and sat back down on the bed and began to sob. Ned started to speak, but Clarissa cut him off with a look. "Ned, perhaps it would be best if you just left me to handle this. I'll tend to her injuries and calm her down. There will be plenty of time for discussions later."
At first he seemed disagreeable to the idea, but after consideration, he nodded and left the room. Clarissa sat on the bed beside Freyja. "Freyja, please let me help you?" she phrased it as a question. Freyja saw what seemed like genuine concern in the other woman's eyes, and nodded. "I'm going to give you some morphine, then we'll get you cleaned up. Alright?"
Freyja nodded, and felt a needle prick in her arm. After a few moments, the pain started to subside, and she let herself drift off to a restful sleep.
(Prologue)
"She's sleeping now. Physically she'll be fine, I've cleaned her cuts, I doubt there will even be much scarring, if any. I think she's got a cracked rib, which will take some time to heal, you'll have to go easy on her for a while. But mentally, I'm not sure."
Ned sighed. "What do you mean?"
Clarissa frowned. "Don't be an oaf, Ned Bakker. She's been putting on a brave face with her politeness and deferring to us. But she's not a slave, Ned, not in her heart. And she never will be. She's a frightened young woman torn out of her world, by us, trying to survive. I don't know what that means going forward, but you can't just treat her like any other slave. Not if you want her to survive."
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