Another short chapter. I promise there will be some longer ones soon: Dawn.

Stone

4

Mick woke up in early dawn from his spot under the wagon. It was a relief not to have had to sleep in chains and shackles, and finding himself a spot under the wagon meant that the morning dew had not soaked him. But another seven men had the same idea, and there was a snoring mass of bodies that he had to crawl over before hurrying off to the latrines.

On his return he found the giant sitting with the three remaining guards around the fire. He approached, and the big man beckoned him over, and then poured him a cup of chock, a drink he hadn’t touched since being captured a month ago, although he had smelled its wonderful aroma at the guard fire when he was in chains.

“I’m told by Rayla that we will spend another day or so here,” the giant said.

“She orders you around as though you were the slave, and her the master,” Carlson said.

“Yes,” the giant admitted with a smile. “We do have a bit of an unusual relationship. But it generally works out. Apparently there is a woman near to giving birth, and Rayla says she needs rest.”

“I know of her, Nessa,” Mick said. “She was on the chain directly in front of me, with her husband Ranston in front of her. Her time is near. Yesterday … no, the day before, she nearly collapsed from fatigue in the early morning. Any slave who falls is killed and left there, so her husband asked me to hoist her onto his shoulders.” Then, about three hours later, when he was nearly falling himself due to the double weight, I took her into my arms and carried her for several hours to allow him to recover. He carried her until the stopping time, and we both took turns carrying her yesterday, until you appeared.”

“You are a good man,” the giant said. “Apparently when people went over to be bandaged by the Rayla, a woman took her there. Rayla immediately left the other woman to do the bandages, and took over with Nessa, the pregnant lady. She went off and shot a rabbit, and stewed it, feeding the girl broth until she recovered enough to sleep.”

“Yes, that other woman was my wife, Tansa,” Mick said. “She spent most of the evening with your dolly.”

“Please do not call her that,” the big man said. “Her name is Rayla and I am Stone. Now, since you are first awake today, I want these three louts to start teaching you sword work. There were practice sticks in one of the wagons.”

One guard went and got two pairs of sticks. For the next hour Mick was pummeled with the sticks, shaped like swords that did not cut, but they did bruise. After an hour he was exhausted, but realized that the teaching the men were giving him meant that fewer of their blows hit, compared to the start of the lessons. By then there was a group of about a dozen men surrounding them. As Mick rested, three other men started training, one to a guard. After another hour, they broke again, and the guards took three new men. After a while the giant brought more sticks, and Mick was paired up with one of the other men who had just been trained, and the other two were also paired. Fighting against another former slave was easier than against the guards, and Mick started getting hits in, while fending off most of those of his opponents.

During the rest periods for the remainder of the morning, Mick noticed that the red-haired dolly had come to the giant, and again was giving him orders. The big man was sent to trot off in the fields until he came upon a huge hawk sitting on a stone: these were big flat stones, as much as 300 pounds and the giant would rock the stone to pull it loose, and then carry it to the camp. He did this at least a half dozen times.

The training broke for lunch, and as the bruised and weary men walked back to the campfire Mick saw what the stones were for. A big former slave had told them last night that he was a smith: a proper smith, not just a slave helper. He had a hot fire burning in a little oven made of the stones, with four other slaves taking turns with two bellows to keep the fire hot. The smith would put a shackle into the fire, and while it was heating he would take a red-hot one out of the fire and hammer it on the anvil. Luckily smithy tools were in one of the wagons. The smith was splitting the shackles, eventually getting four pieces out of each of the shackles. They were being shaped into metal stirrups, like Stone had on his horse. There was a leather worker cutting strips to hold the stirrups, and attaching them to the saddles from the horses.

He watched the smith as he ate a delicious lunch: for the first time they were being fed three times a day. Mick had missed the breakfast gruel due to his training, not noticing since he was used to only eating in the evening.

In the afternoon the guards said there would be no more training with the sticks, since most of the men were battered and bruised. But Mick and five others who had excelled with the sticks were taken to the livery string, and spent the afternoon learning about horses, and how to ride, something he had never done.

While they were being briefed on the parts and care of a horse, a former slave arrived with four saddles that had the new stirrups attached. Apparently there were ex-slaves who knew leatherwork, and had made these. The saddles were put on the horses of the guards, and one other horse. Mick was ordered to climb onto that horse, after being shown how by the guards. Then the giant took over, and explained how to control the horse with the legs, now possible with the new stirrups.

“I can see why you fought on horseback,” Carlson said, amazed at how easy it was to get the horse to do his bidding. “You have so much more control. I think we need longer swords, though.”

“Have the smith make some when he is finished with the stirrups,” Stone said. “He can use the chains for metal. In fact, I think it would be extremely appropriate that he use slave chains to make swords to fight slavers.”

That night, Mick crawled back under his wagon, exhausted by all the training. He was asleep before the sun set. He woke in the predawn to hear an odd noise. It was the wailing of a child, but younger than any who had survived the trip. He looked around, and found Ranston lying near him, at the edge of the wagon cover. He poked him: “Listen”.

A second child started to wail, mirroring the first.

“Nessa! The babies!” Ranston said, scrambling up and heading towards the sound. Mick got up slower, and followed him. At a small tent there were four or five women, including Mick’s wife, cleaning up the squalling babes. “Here is the father,” Tansa said, handing him one of the baby girls, swaddled in clean new linen.

Ranston took the precious bundle carefully, and then held it high and shouted: “This is my daughter, Rayla: a free woman. He gave the babe back to the woman, and then took the other girl who had been handed to Mick. This time he called out: “This is my daughter, Tansa: a free woman.”

He then took the babe into the tent and handed it to her mother, who immediately took it to nurse. Then the other baby latched to the other breast, and the crying stopped as they nursed. “You have a namesake,” Mick told his wife, who was tidying up around the small family of four.

“Yes,” Tansa replied with a smile. “It’s a beautiful thing, and to be honored by the naming is special. Rayla also appreciates it: she did so much more than I did. Free women: such a birth gift.”

“Mitch went off to stoke up the fire. No one else was there yet, but the guards arrived soon, with the makings of a pot of choc. “We will have to show you where the choc is stored, since you are an early riser,” Herebond said as he mixed the beverage.

Stone and the other guards soon joined the men, and then Ranston appeared with a silly grin on his face, and was congratulated and given a cup of choc. Once the sun appeared in the sky, the guards and the two former slaves headed to get sticks for training. Mick was surprised that he didn’t gain many more bruises this morning. He seemed to have mastered most of the defensive moves the prior morning. That was good. There is nothing worse than a bruise on top of an older bruise.