Chapter 1

Virginia has always been a beautiful land, even more so now that the war is over. It had been a bad time that, even for the rich, what with British Regiments demanding supplies, then Revolutionary forces doing the same. Yet somehow I had muddled through, mainly by pulling in my belt, and those of my servants. Accepting that living as I had was no longer possible and not bothering to argue the point. A farmer is subject to the whims of all things where as I, a farmer/merchant, am on somewhat more secure ground. Now the year was changing, within hours it would be a new century. The 1700's left behind us, with all their stiff, the 1800's laying open anew before us. My ships were making profit, though I remained well out of the slave trade. Not for any moral reason you must understand, I simply preferred my ships to carry varied cargo. A slave ship could lose all in a mutiny or illness. Yet to be honest, I simply never felt comfortable in the slave business.

That was why all my slaves were white. Not that they thought of themselves as slaves, at least not more than my most personal choice. She knew exactly what she was, and wore her golden collar with pride. No, all the others were indentured servants. Each working diligently to pay off her debt, each looking forward to that day when I would, by law and contract, release them to their own destiny. Not one understood how much a mind could be changed in five years. I had found that, having studied diligently and practiced carefully, that I was very good at molding innocent young minds to my own needs. You see, I had practiced upon my own oldest sister as a young child. For it was my own sister who wore my golden collar now. As for my indentured servants, not one had failed to sign further contracts to my service upon completing their indenture. For by then, they could not think to live without me, or be without my most caring attentions.

Six others wore my collar, a few still thinking it only the mark of a woman in my most trusted service. Other than my sister and three others, not one understood the true nature of her collar. A collar that would have to be cut to remove it. Not one knew the words engraved within my sisters collars inner side. Her pledge to serve me unto death. To obey without question my simplest request as though it were an order. Her acceptance of being my most personal slave. To be buried naked and in chains beside me upon my death. Alive should it be required. Each of my other six collared slaves were slowly reaching the same conclusion within their own minds. That to live without me was not living, but hell upon this Earth. Thus my mausoleum was rather large, with a hidden entrance that they could enter, then seal forever with great iron bars.

Many would call it white slavery of course. But truly. What is the difference between white and black skin? Nothing. Not the difference between one tree and another of the same species. All are equal, equal to be free, or a slave as they desire. I was a free man, not the richest man in Richmond I will admit. Still rich enough to be invited to parties quite often. And when I attended such parties, it was always with my favorite upon my arm. My dear sister Katherine. I wonder often, what would those oh so proper members of high society think had they even suspected that she was my sister, for she wore my ring as well as my collar. Often I was congratulated upon capturing the heart of such a handsome woman.

Had they only known the lengths I had gone too. Starting only a month after our mother died, when father would leave us alone with the house slave Bertha. The long days in his library, where I slowly seduced my elder sibling. Broke down her resistance, filled her mind with things no thirteen year old should know. Things I had found in my fathers hidden books and drawings. Things she should never suspect, at least, not until she was wed. For father had made certain I was well aware of the ways of nature, introducing me to a slave girl when I was ten. Opened his most private library to me. Having her teach me everything within those strange books, then selling her when mother died. "Your sister is old enough to tend your needs Robert. See to it that she does" he had explained.

He had said that in front of her. An impressionable eleven and a half year old girl. Thus I instructed her when we were alone. At first she had not believed, then I showed her the letters Chili had written me. Very expressive letters. I showed her fathers private books and prints. His own notes of Chili's natural abilities, and shortcomings. For Chili had pleased father on more time than one occasion. Thus it was my sister became my lover, and in time my slave. For I had never truly loved my sister, and had always wanted my own slave. It was difficult work, but by the time I was seventeen and father was lost at sea to a British man of war, Katherine was already freely kneeling at my feet. So well had we hidden the change in our positions that, to the day he left I am certain that my father never suspected. Within days of burying his remains we moved from fathers farm to Richmond. Though I kept the farm I sold all the slaves, hiring Irishmen to care for it. Thus Bertha, with her knowing looks and acid tongue vanished forever from our lives. Sold to owners in the far away Louisiana Territories.

I of course introduced Katherine as my wife, for though we were siblings, we bore only passing resemblance to each other. We moved into fathers, now our home, where I immediately had the house slaves sent to the block. I think it was because of Bertha that I do not feel right around black slaves. Her and her continual scolding about how good boys and girls did not do such things. Certainly not when they were so closely related. Thus I began buying up indentures. It was almost like buying slaves, with the exception that they were to be paid a stipend and released upon the completion of their service time. Obviously I knew nothing of the market, and learning was a long curve but by my twenty first birthday I had a household of rather pretty girls from several countries.

Now though I was somewhat bored. With the war over, and no longer having to hide my support for the revolution I wanted a new challenge. Something to wake my mind, refresh my spirit. Something to wake me from the drudgery of days of work followed by nights of socializing. Something to strike back at those snotty ill-bred English. My melancholy was simply crushing my spirit. At least, to myself who had ever experienced such before it seemed thus. I would learn years later that it was simply exhaustion that had made me thus.