Darien pondered grimly. Brindlemark lay in dire poverty—what coin could be gathered, even were the levy raised? A wise lord vexes not his people, lest their loyalty turn to spite.
"I know well enough the plight we face," he said at last. "I shall find a remedy. Yet tell me, my lady, why are you so certain I possess the means?"
Through their talk, Darien's hope in the townsfolk waned; it seemed he must shoulder the burden alone.
Celeste's azure eyes gleamed with quiet wit. "Because you bought Brindlemark, my lord. Were you not prepared, a shrewd noble would never cast his gold to waste."
The corner of Darien's mouth twitched. When he purchased it, no such foresight guided him—he had coin to spare, nothing more.
"I know little yet of Brindlemark," he said, rising. "I shall walk its streets and learn. Will you ride with me?"
"Gladly," she replied.
The door opened, and Sir Thorold stood at attention, his armor gleaming beneath the morning sun.
Darien's gaze lingered on the knight's polished mail and shining helm. Truly, it was a sight to behold—but he held his tongue, knowing decorum demanded respect for Thorold's station.
The two guards opened the way. Thorold followed closely, Celeste trailing but half a step behind Darien, and together they strode forth through Brindlemark.
The town had changed much since Darien's first arrival. The marketplace lay nearly deserted; only a few stalls remained, and the streets were largely empty. Where once crowds had pressed, now only a few careful souls moved, stepping over filth and refuse.
The inn, famed as the largest in Brindlemark, stood empty, its doors closed and silent. The business district, once alive with trade, now bore only the hollow echoes of commerce past.
"Why are there still people here?" Darien muttered, noticing a small crowd lingering at the northern edge of the district.
A foul stench reached him, forcing him to wrinkle his nose.
"Milord," said Thorold, his voice muffled within the helm, "these are the gathering places of livestock—and of slaves."
"Slaves?" Darien's surprise was plain. Brindlemark was poor, its folk humble—but a market for human beings?
"Aye, milord. Many are brought hither, though the road is cruel, and not all survive it. If no relief comes ere winter, some may sell themselves to masters, if only to endure."
At sight of Darien, the slave traders' eyes lit, greedy as hounds scenting meat. They hastened forward, bowing low, words tumbling in oily praise.
"Greetings, noble lord! Permit us to kiss thy boots, to show our humble devotion—"
Darien stepped back, brow furrowed in confusion at the merchants' sudden advance. Sir Thorold moved swiftly, steel rasping free; the cold gleam of his blade checked their zeal.
"How many slaves do you still have for sale?"
"Milord, in sum, more than a hundred remain in our hands," one replied eagerly.
Darien's brow arched. So many? Brindlemark itself scarcely holds a thousand. And yet a tenth of that number lie in bondage?
He turned to Celeste. "Were these included in the town's census?"
"Nay, milord," she murmured, lowering her gaze. "The slaves are their masters' chattel; they are fed at the merchants' charge. We did not include them."
"Then if their masters forsake them, what becomes of these souls?" Darien pressed.
Celeste faltered, stricken silent. Years of feudal custom weighed upon her; in truth, she scarce deemed slaves as men. Yet the question stirred unease, and her lips found no ready answer. Thorold, too, frowned beneath his helm, troubled.
Darien saw what he wished: their silence was proof enough. If Brindlemark was to thrive, the roots of old thinking must be torn up.
He turned back to the traders. "What price do you ask for them?"
"Ah, milord! For thee, a mercy—fifty coppers apiece! A bargain, for such would fetch a silver in any fair market!"
Darien cast a glance to Thorold, who gave a curt nod—the price was fair.
"Very well," said Darien. "I shall take them all."
The merchants gasped, wide-eyed. "All, milord? Truly?"
Even Celeste stirred, her voice uncertain. "Milord you would purchase every one? It is… most unlooked for."
Darien's gaze softened. "They are men, not beasts. I will not see them perish for want."
From his purse he drew forth a gold coin, the sunlight glinting upon its edge. He tossed it lightly, and the traders' eyes followed its arc as though bewitched.
"One gold," Darien declared. "All the slaves shall be mine. Do we have accord?"
"Y-yes, noble lord!" they cried in chorus. "Long life to thee, generous master!"
"Good," Darien said curtly. "Bring them forth, that I may see them with mine own eyes. Once I am satisfied, the gold is thine."
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🔍 Did you know?
- Slave markets existed in many European towns during the Middle Ages, where impoverished people or prisoners could be sold to survive harsh winters.
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