better than normal. We face a life of slavery.’ He snorted. ‘The son follows the father’s trade.’
‘So that’s what they mean for us? Galley slaves?’
The untameable hair quivered slightly as the head shook in reply. ‘Not right now, and not for you. Look around, chief: any spaces on the benches? It will be the slave markets of the Callenican Empire for us. A little lad like you? May be lucky and get a nice position as a house slave. Someone like me…’ He indicated his large ungainly frame, and shrugged. ‘People look at an oaf like me and think of heavy labour.’
‘Not all heavy labour is on a ship,’ Brann pointed out.
The boy spoke deliberately and patiently. ‘We will most likely finish in Sagia, the capital. They will look for a quick sale and Sagia holds the biggest slave market. There are no mines or quarries there. The farms are worked by families. The city is a port, so the work revolves around shipping. The Dockers’ Guild controls the jobs onshore, so all that’s left is a bench on some ship. If I’m lucky, I’ll get a watertight one.’
Brann looked more closely at him. The boy had noticed, and deduced, much in a short time. And he had knowledge that extended the width of a continent further than the half-day’s walk that had been the limit of Brann’s world until the day before. He could prove to be a valuable ally if they were ever to spot a chance to escape. ‘You know much about these distant places. Your father?’
‘Do you always ask so many questions?’
Brann grunted. ‘Only when I don’t know so many answers.’
The youth considered this, and nodded. ‘That’s fair enough. I was put to sleep each night with stories of his time at sea. Never thought I would get to see it for myself.’ He turned away and stared over the rail at the choppy blue-grey waves.
Emotion surged in Brann, taking him by surprise and forcing him to fight it hard. Somehow, what his companion left unsaid was more touching than if he had poured out his heart. For the first time since he had returned to consciousness, Brann felt empathy for another – and realised that he did not even know the name of the person who had awakened it. Unnerved by the combined power of grief, loss and fear, and lest it would overwhelm him, he forced the feelings back down, quickly re-establishing the cold, hard barrier. If he could not confront the emotion, it was better to avoid it. And, anyway, he was a little intrigued by what the youth had started to explain beforehand. Unlikely as it seemed, he was finding that he wasn’t quite so irritated by the boy’s personality as he had thought he would be. It was intense, but there was comfort in its straightforward logic.
‘What did you mean about a system?’ Brann ventured. ‘To do with the chains,’ he prompted.
The youth nodded at the rowers. ‘They are slaves… but valuable slaves. They do what they do, well. Their bodies have adapted to it. And, if they are rowing, the warriors can be warriors. So the warriors take care of the rowers. Do you see what I mean, chief?’
Brann nodded. He felt hollow, as if nothing really mattered but, under current circumstances, he had time to fill and he was at least learning about his surroundings. Despite the logic in the boy’s dismissal of any chance of escape, that course was exactly the one he intended to follow at the first opportunity, and the more knowledge he gathered about his captors and surroundings, the more likely he was to spot, or even create, such an opportunity. ‘I understand what you say,’ he said, ‘but what has it got to do with the chains?’ The chill eyes looked at him. ‘Sorry. More questions. I know. You must be tired.’
‘If I was tired, I would sleep. But I’m not. You have a question, I have the answer, and we both have the time.
‘At times, the chains need to come off quickly. A sinking ship, or an attack with hand-to-hand fighting.’
Brann was puzzled. ‘Why then? So they can be protected from harm?’
The boy shook his head. ‘Well-treated slaves are better staying with the masters they have. The alternative is to risk worse with someone else. If the attack is by pirates, the alternative is worse. So, in such times, they fight beside the crew and, when it is over, return to the benches. At sea, this is accepted.’
Brann considered this. ‘I count sixty rowers, and about twenty-five or so crew. Once the fighting is over, could the slaves not…?’
‘I know, chief. Could they not overpower their masters?’ He shrugged. ‘They need each other. And you have seen these warriors: weapons are their life. If the slaves did overcome them, it would be at terrible cost. And they would always be fugitives, hunted by those who would fear other slaves encouraged to follow suit. So why risk it? Anyway, after fifteen years at the oars, a galley slave is freed. They reckon you have deserved it if you live that long. The longer you row, the closer you are to that.’
Brann’s eyes narrowed. ‘So why did your father take such a risk to escape?’
The boy stared over the sea once again. ‘A valid question, chief. His circumstances changed. His ship was taken by pirates. Several slaves were tortured and thrown overboard to show the consequence of defiance. So he reasoned his situation had worsened. Yes, he had little more than two years of his fifteen left, but pirates tend not to adhere to that arrangement. They work their slaves till they drop. They can always pick up more. A small group saw an opportunity. It was a slight chance, but desperation drove them. He made it; all but one of the others did not. But they were under a death sentence anyway.’
He flexed his shoulders and arched his back against the effects of sitting still. ‘So, the chains. Do you see the two long chains that run fore to aft – front to back? In emergencies, the crew can unfasten those chains at one end and pull them through to the other. Each set of rowers can then pull out the chain that runs under their bench, linking their individual chains. They are completely unfettered in seconds. And, you will notice that the long chains running up the aisle not only run through the rings on each bench’s chain. They pass through several metal rings that secure hasps set into the aisle. Those hasps are for hatches into compartments containing weapons for the slaves. So, when the long chains are pulled free to let loose the slaves, they also give access to the weapons. The slaves can be unchained and armed in moments.’
Brann’s face clouded as a thought struck him. ‘These men don’t seem to be pirates, yet they have taken us as slaves. Surely they are pirates.’
‘Not all who take slaves are pirates. In the Empire, and the southern lands still more dusty, slaves are a part of life. They are traded and valued just as a horse or a sword or a house would be. These men here are seafarers, chief, and northerners mostly. They will be engaged by a slave-trader to fetch him goods to sell. On another day they would be transporting passengers or goods to a market or to a buyer’s estate.’
A warrior strolled down the aisle, checking the chains had not become tangled and kicking the occasional one. Brann looked at the legs of the men nearest him. ‘So, if I understand this properly, they can remove an individual rower by unlocking his manacles, or all three on a bench by unclipping them from the main chain along the aisle. So it can work for all of them or just one at a time, or almost any number in between.’
The boy almost smiled. ‘You seem to understand. But still I see confusion in your eyes.’
Brann nodded. ‘If there is such a special relationship that the slaves can be released and even armed if need be, why chain them up at all?’
‘Trust extends only so far, chief.’ The eyes burned with pale fire into his. ‘A wise man leaves as little to chance as possible.’ He shrugged. ‘And, in any case, it is expected. They are slaves. As, now, are we.’
Brann grunted. ‘Thank you for reminding me. For someone who is of few words, you speak at great length.’
‘I speak when I can offer something of value. Otherwise, I prefer to listen. Thus I learn what may be valuable. And you know more of your situation, which is no bad thing.’ His expression never yet wavered. ‘And it passed the time.’
Brann snorted,