The Chariots Slave

wind. Her weary feet, broken and scorched, a reminder of
how far they’d come. She ran her tongue over her cracked
lips, trying to find enough saliva to calm their sting. But it
was no use, she hadn’t had water for two long days.

The rope around her neck restricted her ability to breathe.
Hours ago it broke through her skin, warm liquid now
trickled down her throat. Despite her rising desire, she could
not pause to inspect if it was blood or sweat. She had to keep
walking.

One foot after another, trudging forward, she and the train
of women followed blindly behind the guards. Each step
taking her farther away from her shadowed past and one
stride closer to whatever it was the future held.

No matter how hard she tried to think of something else,
nothing—not even the pain— could keep her from
remembering the night that brought her to this place…

…”Where is it?” her father ordered as he dug his uncut
fingernails deeper into her arm, pressing her further into the
ground.

She turned her head trying not to breathe in the spoiled
wine fumes that now wafted in her face. “Where is what?”
His sweaty chest rose and fell in a fury alongside his
unsteady breath. “My wine. My vessel is not where I left it.”
“You probably sold it for coin to gamble on the gladiator
games.”
“I know you or your whore of a mother took it.”
Her blue eyes iced over with hatred for the man before
her. How dare he talk of her mother in such vulgar terms.
“My mother,” she spat. “Poured your precious wine into
the culvert.”
Without warning his soiled hand came crashing down
across her face, followed by the coppery taste of fresh blood
as it poured into her mouth. She waited and watched as her
father stumbled out of the room, no doubt in pursuit of her
mother.
With a sigh of relief, she brought the hem of her sleeping
cover to her lip, in an attempt to stop the bleeding. For now
he was gone, and she might be able to get a few hours of
sleep.
The rough fabric against her wounded lip stung
.
It had
taken a long time for her injury to heal from their last
incident. Pulling back the cloth, she looked down at the dark
crimson stain.
The muffled sounds of an argument began to slowly
increase in volume and echo through their small home. She
lay back down, pressing the cloth to her mouth as she tried to
tune out her parents angry shouts.
Soon the boldness in her mother’s tone dwindled into
pleas begging for understanding. Instead, she listened as her
father shouted profanities and sent her mother’s body



crashing into a wall. This argument, by the sounds of it, had
gone too far.

Without concern for decency, she leapt from her bed and
ran to their room. The first thing she saw as she turned the
corner was her mother’s body lying crumpled, half against
the wall and half propped over an empty barrel. Blood oozed
rapidly out of a fresh wound on her head. The only sign of
life was the slow twitching motion of her hand. By the time
she realized how serious her mother’s condition was the
movement was so faint she had to strain her eyes to see it.

Strong arms wrapped around her waist and held her back.
She struggled and kicked. “She needs me, she’s dying. For
the love of the gods let me to her side!” No mercy was
granted. Instead, she watched as the movement ceased and
her mother’s spirit left their tormented world and traveled
away from her, forever….

… Struggling to free her arms, she fought against her
slave bindings, it felt as though it were her father holding her
back once more.

One of the guards noticed her attempt and slammed the
hilt of his sword into her stomach. The blow forced her
backwards, knocking the wind from her lungs. She thrust her
leg out attempting to maintain her footing, but instead of the
hot sand, she landed on the leg of another. Losing balance,
she toppled to the ground, causing the chain of girls to come
crashing down after her.

Rough hands grabbed at them and forced them back on
their feet. The cries of the others filled her ears as the guards
took the opportunity to use violence on the women.



Another kicked a small girl while she struggled to stand.
He knew she was not able to force herself up with her hands
bound behind her back and with a rope around her neck. But
he didn’t care. A feeling of brute power coursed through his
veins as he beat the girl.
Anger and guilt pounded on the drums of her heart as she
watched the poor girl struggle. It was because of her actions
that the girl was suffering. Just as it was her fault, for hiding
her fathers wine, that her mother had died. The weight of the
burden was too great, and she knew that she could no longer
endure loss on her account.
“Leave her alone!” she yelled in a foolish act of bravery.
Somehow managing to shift onto her knees and stagger up to
a standing position. Tangled, dirt incrusted locks of her once
fine auburn hair fell across her face and hid the hesitant look
of fear in her eyes. No doubt the guards would punish her for
being defiant. But all that concerned her now was helping the
girl.
“What did you say?” He snapped his attention away from
the battered girl and started toward her.
The other guards snickered to themselves as they stood
back to watch the new drama unfold. Upon seeing the way he
preyed upon her one of the men warned, “Easy Kaeso,”
“What is her status?” Kaeso barked in question, ignoring
the warning and not even turning to address the man.
A young guard ran forward with a slate tablet firmly in his
hands. Each of his steps set off an awkward clatter of banging
metal as his armor floated about his weak form. Next to
Kaeso’s magnitude he looked to be a child, but in truth he
was no less in years than she was.
The guard hurriedly read over the tablet, not wanting to



risk Kaeso’s wrath for keeping him waiting. His eyes scanned
over the inventory list until he found what he was looking
for. “She is named Sellah. A Vindobonian girl from the house
of Katarius, and she is 18 years.”

Kaeso held his head high as he looked over the girl that
refused to cower under his towering stance. “Well Sellah
Katarius, I do believe you owe me an apology.” He hoped to
humiliate her for the humiliation she had brought upon him.

Sellah bit nervously on her cheek as she tried to keep her
courage. He was big, perhaps the largest of all the men
escorting them. She considered her options, to do nothing
would grant her the same fate as her mother. If she were to
fight she could keep her pride. And if she were lucky enough
to die, she would do her best to make sure the guard would
join her.

As she looked to the girl struggling to stand, she found the
strength to do what was needed. She would no doubt die. But
if she had her way, this poor innocent girl would live.

“I…” she cleared her throat, squared her shoulders and
raised her voice. “I never understood the term dumb brute
until now!”

The guard’s eyes were hardened with anger, yet he did not
lash out. Rather, he towered over her in an act of
intimidation. The women and other guards stood eerily quiet
as they awaited his reaction.

Sellah’s heartbeat rose, she was certain he could hear it.
“Dumb brute,” she all but whispered. “Were those words too
hard for you to understand?”

“Enough!” he growled, as he dove toward her. His weight
pulled her down, triggering a chain reaction that once again
toppled the other women.

Sellah struggled under a body that held her hostage by its
girth alone. While she fought for freedom, he attempted to
secure her arms.

It did not take long for her to realize that she had no hope
against his strength. She was weak physically from their
march and emotionally from losing her mother. When she
finally surrendered, her motionless body lay pinned under
him.