“I supported myself by selling my work at the markets and by offering my services as domestic labor. Not everyone owns slaves and I got work here and there helping the karls with household or farm work. While doing that, I received an offer of marriage from a karl who travelled up and down the coast as a trader. I accepted.”
Tara was interested; it seemed that perhaps there was a way out of her situation. “Can I be free also?” she asked.
“Perhaps,” Meara replied. “It is not easy. Are you able to make something that you can sell?”
“I am also good at needlework,” Tara replied. “And I can make special cheese.”
“I cannot help you with milk for the cheese,” Meara said. “But I can give you some cloth and thread. I am grateful that someone helped me and I would like to repay the debt by helping someone else.”
“Thank you!” Tara exclaimed. “I will do my best to earn my freedom. When I do, I will repay you.”
Meara shook her head. “No. I do not need a repayment. I have enough. But if you find an opportunity to do the same for someone else, take it.”
“I will,” Tara promised.
Tara wished that she could stay with Meara forever. The woman helped her to understand some of the language and customs of her new home and it was wonderful to converse with someone who spoke her language. Meara provided her with a change of clothes and a bag to put them in. But the most important thing of all was the precious cloth, with the needle and thread. Tara wrapped the clothing carefully around them so that they did not get lost. She hoped that she would be able to do as Meara had and earn her freedom. The gift was more than just cloth; it was a gift of hope.
Three days after arriving at Meara’s house, the men who’d brought her to the village came back.
“Is she ready?” one of them asked.
Meara nodded. “She will do well,” she said.
The men handed over some money. Meara counted it and nodded, satisfied. She turned to Tara.
“God bless you, my dear,” she said. “I hope we shall meet again. But if not, I wish you well.”
“Thank you for your kindness,” Tara replied. “You were an answer to my prayers.”
“I hope that the future is kind to you,” Meara replied.
The men started to look impatient. “Come!” one of them barked.
“She looks healthy,” the chieftain said, peering closely at Tara’s face and skin. “And she has the red hair I requested. It is plentiful and very red.”
The men said nothing, allowing the chieftain to examine Tara at his leisure. She realized that the men were not assured of a sale and that their investment might not pay off if the chieftain refused to buy her.
“She is young,” the chieftain muttered, even though no one was answering him. “She will bear many children. My other wives have not yet given me enough.”
“She is strong and fit,” one of the men ventured.
The chieftain looked at him but said nothing and the man shut his mouth.
“Where did you get her?” the chieftain asked.
“I bought her from traders,” the man answered.
“And where did she come from before that?”
“From Dubh Linn, Sir.”
The chieftain frowned. “She is a foreigner,” he said. “Does she speak our language?”
“Enough.”
The chieftain turned to Tara. “Speak!” he barked.
She looked stricken. “Heill,” she finally managed to squeak, unsure of what the chieftain wanted. Was she really to be a wife? Or did he intend to buy her for a bed-slave? Her heart hammered with terror as he closely examined her, squeezing her slim arms and small breasts.
“She is skinny,” he muttered, then glared at the traders. “Could you not find me a woman with more meat on her bones?”
They said nothing and kept their heads lowered. They had done business with this chieftain before and knew it was best to say nothing while he examined a potential purchase.
At length, the chieftain was done. “Bring the other woman in,” he ordered a servant. “I wish to compare them side-by-side.
A moment later, another red-haired woman entered the room, escorted by two men. Tara’s owners looked at each other in dismay. Surely, the chieftain would not have two women to choose from! Their investment could end up being costly if they could not sell her.
“Stand there!” the chieftain ordered, pointing to a place beside Tara.
The woman obeyed, fear and misery on her face. Tara felt sorry for her, even though they were both in the same predicament.
“Oh, God,” Tara silently prayed. “Save me from this awful fate.”
The chieftain walked up and down in front of the two women, examining each one closely.
“The native one has more meat on her bones,” he said to no one in particular. “The foreign one is skinny. The native one is taller. She will bear many tall, strong sons. But her hair is not as thick or as red and she is not as pretty.”
Tara cringed, recognizing enough of the language to realize that she was being described in impersonal, degrading terms. These savage finngail didn’t recognize slaves as anything but property. Certainly not as people. It was a sickening shock to be reminded yet again that she was now worth only what her owners had paid for her. Somewhere during that transaction, her humanity had been stripped away, leaving nothing but the monetary value of her purchase.
“I will take the native one,” the chieftain announced. “It is more important that she is big and strong and able to bear many children. The foreign one is too skinny.”
The men with the other woman looked pleased and the chieftain ordered his steward to pay them. He took the woman
