Chapter 2: Reyna

It doesn’t take me long to understand the political power play at work in this meeting. Alderman Samvel and my father are bitter rivals in the murky world of our city politics, and there is no love lost between them. Zurab clearly knows this, and is exploiting the situation to his advantage. However, on one subject both Samvel and my father agree. Neither of them want the grey monks meddling in our city’s affairs, and the monk is clearly threatening to do so unless we collectively satisfy his requirements. Apart from his slave woman in need of training, it’s unclear what Zurab is expecting, nor why he has travelled all this way for a service that can be readily obtained in any large town or city.

“Rather than trade threats and counter-threats, why don’t we discuss what Brother Zurab requires?” I ask when the conversation seems to be going in circles.

Zurab looks shocked at my audacity in joining this conversation. Fortunately for me I have plenty of experience in dealing with misogynists.

“The Order’s requirements are simple, we require our slave to be trained for a special task we require her to carry out. We can allow you five weeks to complete her training to our satisfaction.”

“What sort of training?” I ask.

Zurab describes the skills his slave is expected to learn. None of his requirements seem exceptional. All the slaves who pass through the Halls of Valhalla receive similar training. Depending on the slave’s existing experience, the time frame should be achievable without too much difficulty. What puzzles me is why Zurab has travelled all this way to have his slave trained here. It’s obvious that there is more going on than meets the eye.

“And if Rachael undertakes to provide your slave with the training you require, will you and your brethren depart from our city?” asks Samvel.

“Brother Narek and I will stay here until the training is complete,” replies Zurab. “I presume that won’t be a problem, warlord?”

My father isn’t very happy at the prospect of playing host to the two monks for over a month. From what I’ve been told, the grey monks have an expectation that their hosts will provide free food and accommodation. Their unsavoury reputation for delving into ancient and best-forgotten dark rituals makes them unwelcome guests at the best of times. But angering these monks is only going to invite further unwanted attention from the Order of the Divine.

“May I see the slave you wish me to train?” I ask.

“Brother Narek will deliver her to your premises after dark. We do not wish her presence to be known to more people than necessary. You will need to ensure your staff and slaves don’t spread gossip about her. There is a reason why we have brought her this far south to be trained.”

“Which is...?” prompts Samvel.

“ ... none of your business, alderman,” replies Zurab. “Brother Narek and I will attend to any threats to our slave’s safety.”

“I am not going to tolerate my assistants and slaves being put at risk by some northern skulduggery,” I say.

“Neither you nor your slaves will be at risk. Only our slave will be at risk if her presence here is discovered. Rest assured that Brother Narek and I are very adept at dealing with such matters.”

After an hour of hard negotiations, I return to the Halls of Valhalla to await delivery of the grey monks’ slave. I’m unhappy at the prospect of Narek staying here, but it is the least unsatisfactory solution among the options Brother Zurab gave me. It means moving Amina in with Hanna and Farai for a few weeks, but that can be achieved without any difficulty.

Despite my preparations, I am shocked when Narek arrives on the wagon containing the iron coffin I saw at Wadi Halaf. There’s no sign of a female slave.

“Please tell me that these monsters don’t have the slave confined in that box,” says Zoe, who has joined me in the reception hall to meet our new arrivals.

“Surely not,” I reply, horrified at the prospect that Zoe’s concern might be justified. I recall how Amina’s younger sisters had arrived in our city, but their caged wagon seems like luxury compared to the iron coffin on this wagon.

Both Narek and the drover attending the ox pulling the wagon are burly men, but I doubt they could lift the iron box on their own. However, it soon becomes clear that they don’t intend to remove the box from the wagon. They unbolt the lid and lift it to one side. I notice that the lid has air holes and a hatch through which they could feed and water the occupant. Narek reaches into the box and hauls a pathetic looking woman upright so that she is standing inside the box. He holds her still while she gains enough control of her body to remain standing on her own.

I’ve witnessed a lot of cruelty and horror in my time, but what I see before me is the worst I have seen in a long time. The woman, whose age I can’t yet determine, is dressed in a filthy torn dress. She has chains wrapped around her torso which confine her arms. A heavy metal collar is clamped around her neck and a thick leather hood covers her head. The combined weight of the hood and metal restraints must nearly cripple her, making any attempt to escape an exercise in futility. To confine her in the metal box as well is simply unnecessary cruelty.

The two men lift the bound slave out of the iron box and clumsily lower her to the ground. Her ankles are also bound in metal fetters, which prevent her from moving faster than a shuffle. Nevertheless Narek orders her to enter the Halls of Valhalla. She complies without any complaint, but I can tell from her movements that she is in pain.