Chapter 3

“Zoe, release the young ones from their cage and bring them over here,” I say.

Zoe uses the key my father confiscated from the youths to unlock the young children’s cage. She signals for them to join the older girls and they practically run there as soon as they are free of the cage. The older girls comfort the young ones, unintentionally confirming the fact that they are related. I repeat my earlier attempt at issuing orders in different languages. Finally the reaction of one of the younger children betrays that she understands what I said. If one of the younger ones knows Farsi, then it’s a reasonable assumption the older ones do as well.

I issue fresh instructions in Farsi. Three of the young ones promptly look at their older siblings for guidance. The older ones are still playing dumb, but they must surely realise that continuing with their ruse is getting them nowhere.

“We are going to leave here and walk to my house,” I say in Farsi. “Those who want to walk there wearing their clothes, take one step forward. Those who prefer to walk there naked, stay were you are.”

That does the trick. All five young ones step forward. The youngest two are probably too young to understand my order, but they copy their siblings. The four older girls are torn between continued resistance or admitting that they understand my order. The younger three girls look at the oldest one for guidance. They must gain their courage and determination from her. The group chooses to be stubborn and stand where they are. I will clearly need to keep those four apart during training.

I have Zoe move the five youngest children back into the shade while I prepare the four older ones for transit. This is going to be tricky but I’ve broken in more stubborn slaves than these four.

“Remove your dress,” I order in Farsi. I repeat it in our local language so that they become accustomed to hearing the words. As I expected, they refuse to obey my order.

“Remove your dress, or I’ll have one of the guards come over and strip you naked. They have a reputation for being a bit rough.”

Two of the girls promptly start removing their dresses. A third copies them a moment later. They are all wearing thin cotton slips, which I permit them to keep on. Only the oldest one stands stubbornly still.

“What’s the oldest girl’s name?” I ask the youngest of the four girls.

“Amina, Sai,” replies the girl, terrified at being singled out from her siblings.

“How old is Amina?” I ask.

“Eighteen, Sai.”

“And your name?”

“Farai, Sai. These are Hafsat and Makina.”

“Well, Farai. I want you, Hafsat and Makina to persuade Amina to comply with my orders. In Emarukistan an eighteen year old is considered to be an adult. I don’t tolerate disobedience from an adult slave. She will be punished if she refuses to obey.”

Farai speaks to Amina in what I believe to be Illyrian, a language I’ve only occasionally heard. I know a few words in their language, but not enough to hold a conversation. The glare Amina gives her sisters makes them cower. They are still locked in their marching chain, so none of them can move away. I collect the three discarded dresses and go over to where Zoe is waiting with the young ones.