'He's the auctioneer giving the selling points,' Bradan said to Melcorka. 'These people at the windows might be the prospective buyers.'
When one of the spectators at the windows opposite the palace shouted something, the auctioneer pushed the first batch of slaves off the block.
'That's them bought,' Bradan said. 'Mel, come to the back of the crowd. Hopefully, most buyers will get bored and leave so we might get released.' That hope vanished when somebody in the palace gestured to the men on the platform and pointed directly at Bradan and Melcorka.
Bradan felt nausea rise within him. 'Stay close, Mel. I think we are wanted.'
When the auctioneer pointed to Bradan, a group of guards detached from the main body and pushed through the crowd.
'They're coming for us, Mel,' Bradan said. 'Stick by me, and we might get bought by the same person. If we stay together, we can escape together.'
Melcorka gave a smile of pure idiocy.
'Snap out of it, Mel. You must get back to yourself again.'
A body of spearmen grabbed hold of Bradan and Melcorka and shoved them to the platform.
'Don't you hurt that woman,' Bradan snarled, as the smallest of the guards jabbed his spear into Melcorka's leg. The man did not reply.
Close to, the auctioneer with the head-dress was older than Bradan had expected, with soft brown eyes that disguised the callousness of his occupation. He touched Bradan's arm and spoke, evidently asking a question.
'I don't understand,' Bradan said, in Gaelic and then in Latin.
The auctioneer took a step back and replied, also in Latin. 'You are from the far west.'
'The very far west.' Bradan struggled to find the words. 'We could not be any further west.'
You will fetch a reasonable price.' The man stroked a finger down Melcorka's face, examining the tattoo on her cheek. 'What does this symbol mean? Is it your god?
Bradan thought quickly. 'It is a charm. If anybody hurts her, a bolt will come from the sky and kill them.'
'I'll keep that quiet then,' the auctioneer said. 'There's no sense in putting a prospective buyer off, is there? We already have one very important party interested in you two.' He laughed. 'Now, strip naked so the buyers can see how white your skins are. That should put the price up. Novelty items are always good for business.' He poked at Melcorka with his stick. 'Do you hear me? I said take your clothes off!'
'Leave her!' Bradan tried to push the auctioneer away. 'She doesn't understand!'
'You tell her then,' the auctioneer ordered, as two of the guards stepped closer, spears ready.
For one desperate moment, Bradan contemplated grabbing Melcorka, forcing her off the platform and running, but there was nowhere to go. They were in the centre of a square surrounded by hundreds of spearmen, with crowds of people watching. If they somehow succeeded in getting out of the square, they would still be within a strange city, where their pale skin and unusual clothing would immediately identify them as strangers. If Melcorka had Defender, even if Melcorka was herself, Bradan might have chanced it. As things were, he knew they would not get ten paces.
'There's no help for it, Mel. Do what I do.'
Smiling, Melcorka watched as Bradan took off his clothes. Aware of the hundreds of eyes watching him, he stood erect on the block and helped Melcorka strip. 'Keep your head up,' Bradan said and repeated, 'if we stay together we'll have a better chance of escape.' He did not know if Melcorka understood him.
'All these people!' Melcorka dropped the last of her clothes and smiled at the crowds. 'They're all looking at us.'
'That's right.' Bradan felt sick. He wanted to hold Melcorka close, keep her safe from the troubles of the world. 'They are admiring your beauty.'
'They're at the windows, too.' Melcorka began to wave to the gaping faces. 'Who are they?'
'I'm not sure,' Bradan said. 'I'm really not sure.'
'Who are we?' Melcorka gave a little giggle. 'What's your name?'
'I am Bradan the Wanderer,' Bradan said, 'and you are Melcorka nic Bearnas, of the Cenel Bearnas from Alba.'
'Oh.' Melcorka looked at him. 'That's a very long name.'
'Yes.' Bradan rubbed her arm, fighting his emotion. 'Most people just call you Melcorka.'
'Keep quiet, you two,' the auctioneer snapped. He lowered his voice. 'Is your woman simple?'
'No,' Bradan said. 'She's just not very well just now.'
'Good. If your woman lacked anything up here,' the auctioneer tapped his forehead, 'nobody would want her for a slave. We'd have to kill her, which would be a shame.' He ran his hand up Melcorka's leg from ankle to thigh. 'She could be a nice-looking woman.'
Ignoring the spears of the guards, Bradan shoved the auctioneer's hand away. 'I know she is nice-looking. If you kill her, the gods would be angry. Remember her tattoo.' Bradan grunted as the small guard jabbed at Melcorka with his spear again. 'That's enough of that, you! I'll see you later, son. I'll remember your face.'
'Don't damage my goods!' The auctioneer pushed the guard away with his stick. Men and women were shouting as the auctioneer lifted Bradan's arm and demonstrated his strength. Months of rowing Catriona had given Bradan muscles of whipcord, while his previous life of walking day after day had strengthened his legs.
Men – and and now women, too – leaned out of the windows or stood on top of the flat roofs of the houses, shouting and waving their arms. One woman shoved forward from the crowd and gestured to the auctioneer.
At the auctioneer's word, the prospective buyer stepped up to the platform and examined Bradan with great interest, speaking to the auctioneer in low tones. She ran her hands across Bradan's chest, smiling as the crowd roared their approval.
'You are attracting interest,' the auctioneer said. 'You're a curiosity. Nobody has seen a man of your paleness before. You and the woman – what's her name?'
'Melcorka.'
'You and the woman Melcorka
