Altene clamped her mouth closed, upset that she had inadvertently drawn a connection between the two of them.
“You may go, Altene.” Jarl dismissed her.
Later that afternoon, Altene returned with the four women to take Nena to be bathed. Nena stood quietly while the women fitted the rope harness to her body. She did not fight them. There was no point. She was very familiar with the hobble harness; the Teclan were quite fond of it. Loose and flowing, it allowed a prisoner free movement to walk, sit, even labor, but the loops, knots and twists provided incredible leverage. With even the smallest amount of pressure on either of the two longer lines, the prisoner could be choked and immobilized on the ground in a matter of seconds—a fact she had been emphatically reminded of on her first trip to the baths.
Even as she’d lain gasping on the floor, she’d felt it had been worth it at the time—to have been able to reach Altene and slam her cheek into the side of a post. Now she could see it had probably been a mistake. Altene had been furious. The two women who had held her ropes too slack that day had been replaced with new ones, and Nena could only assume by the way the women now fearfully regarded Altene, the first two had been punished severely. Nena didn’t particularly care about the other women’s poor circumstances, but her actions unwittingly had serious consequences for herself. All the women’s eyes now followed Nena’s every move with grim determination.
As they made their way to the baths, Nena scrutinized them—which women watched her the closest, who were friendly with one another, who might be distracted. Most importantly, she looked for any sign of sympathy—whose trust she might be able to win—who could perhaps be turned to ally. Altene she had already dismissed, though it didn’t stop her from pressing Altene to release her whenever they were away from Jarl.
Each time Altene refused with disdain. “Things have never been better for me. Why would I risk that?” Altene scoffed. “For whatever reason, your presence has sparked his interest in our culture. It is an interest I’m happy to fulfill. He asks my opinion now, listens to me when I speak, even invites me to share some of his meals.”
“So is it our culture again, then? Before you seemed eager to distance yourself from your people,” Nena pointed out.
“Yes, and it will remain our culture until it no longer suits me,” Altene said.
Once in the bath tent, Nena’s dress was removed by one of the women while two others stripped naked and stepped into the knee deep water ahead of her. The two women holding the long lines remained outside the water on opposite sides so that Nena could never have access to them both at once.
None of the women addressed her, only pointed to indicate when they wanted her to do something. They actually spoke very little even amongst themselves. Nena wondered if it was because she was Teclan and they were intimidated, or if Altene had given orders forbidding it. But they did not need to speak for Nena to know quite a bit about them. By the marks on their arms, she could see they were all from the smaller, weaker tribes of the plains—all tribes that would have been victims of the Teclan in the past, and all tribes easier for a Klarta to dominate.
They bore no bruises or scars that Nena could see, yet appeared almost tranquil—accepting of their fate. Nena could not comprehend it. How could they so easily embrace servitude and not be plotting to escape? How could they be surrounded by so many potential weapons and not arm themselves? Nena made no attempt to ask them; she knew they would not answer. Again she told herself she must be patient. As with everything else in her life now, she had to watch, learn, and wait.
Though the water was warm and their touch was gentle, Nena was uncomfortable being the recipient of the slaves’ attentions. She sat stiffly on the edge of the low bench under the water while the two women lathered and scrubbed every inch of her. No place was missed. As one slave lathered her hair and massaged her scalp, the second used a dull quill to clean underneath her fingernails. Her arms were then lifted to wash her armpits and the sides of her breasts. Her feet were each held out of the water and care was taken to scrub between each toe. Nena grit her teeth as the soapy rag was run between her buttocks, and again when her legs were spread to better accommodate the probing rag in her private places. It was all done quickly and efficiently, but Nena found it degrading just the same.
All the while, Altene sat lounging on the side, well out of her reach, making sure the task was done to her satisfaction, but never getting involved in the work. “If I were rich, I would have slaves bathe me every day. I wouldn’t lift a finger to tend to anything myself,” Altene imagined out loud.
Nena didn’t respond but couldn’t help but be struck by how different they were. The Teclan felt it showed weakness to have others perform labors for them. Because of this, they were the only tribe she knew of that did not keep slaves. Young children, the elderly, and the sick or wounded needed to be attended to, but for any who were physically able, to accept such care was disgraceful.
One of the women held her fingers over Nena’s eyelids to keep them closed, while the second used a bucket to rinse the lather from her hair. After twisting her hair into a large tight knot and squeezing
