When they reached the coast, the slaves were separated, some being put aboard ship for a town called Carthage, while Cailin and the rest were being sent to a place called Constantinople. It was, she later learned by listening to others, the great capital city of the Eastern Empire. The male slaves in her group were chained to the oars of the galley. They would be sold when and if they reached their destination, but in the meantime they would provide the manpower to get there. The women were penned below in barely habitable quarters; a square space with no sleeping accommodations but the floor; a wooden bucket for their needs; little light, and less air.
Each night, the first mate would arrive grinning, and select several of the women, whom he would take away. They returned with the morning, usually laughing, with extra food or water for themselves, which they usually chose not to share. Their own survival was paramount. Cailin instinctively hid herself in the darkest corner when the first mate came. She did not need to be told what the women were doing, or why they were given gifts. She grew thinner with the meager rations supplied her, but somehow remained alive to reach Constantinople.
The morning of their arrival, the slave master came to carefully look over the women. He selected several who appeared more attractive than the others. They were immediately removed. Some of those not chosen tried to plead with the slave master to take them, and they wept when he roughly shoved them away.
“Where have the others gone?” Cailin asked of an older woman.
The woman looked at her and replied, “They are considered the best of us. They will be taken to a private slave market where they will be bathed, perfumed, and clothed in fine raiment before being auctioned off. They will get wealthy masters, and live comfortably if they please those masters.”
“What will happen to us?” Cailin inquired curiously.
“It’s the public market for us,” the woman said fatalistically. “We’ll be bought as house or field slaves, or for some waterfront brothel.”
“What is a brothel?”
The look of astonishment on the woman’s face was almost comical, but before she might answer Cailin, the slave master’s minions came below and began herding the women up onto the deck. They blinked uncomfortably in the sunshine, their eyes unused to bright light after their many days at sea spent in the semidark of the hold. Gradually, as they adjusted to the daylight, they were led off the vessel and through the city streets to the public slave market.
Cailin was astounded by the four and five-story buildings along their route. She had never seen buildings so big. And the noise! There seemed to be no quiet in this place. She couldn’t imagine how people managed to live amid the cacophony and such dirt. The streets were strewn with garbage, and both human and animal waste was littered all about. Her bare feet cringed with every step.
At last they reached the open slave market, where little time was wasted. One after another, the slaves who had traveled with her were put up upon the block to be quickly sold off. Again Cailin hid herself among the others, until finally there was no longer any place to hide. She was roughly pulled by the arm onto the little platform.
“Here’s a fine, strong young girl, good for house or field,” the slave dealer said. Turning to Cailin, he ordered, “Open your mouth, wench.” He peered in, and then announced to his audience, “She has all her teeth. What am I bid?”
The spectators looked up at the creature offered. She was tall and pitifully thin. Her hair, of an undistinguishable color, was filthy and matted. There was nothing at all about her that could be considered attractive. Despite the slave merchant’s spiel, she did not look particularly strong or healthy. They shuffled their feet, and several began to slowly drift away.
“Offer me something,” the slave merchant pleaded with his audience. “She speaks good Latin. Cleaned up, she would make a good nursemaid, or tavern servant. Smile, girl!” he hissed angrily at Cailin.
She ignored him. If no one bought her, perhaps they would kill her, and then she would be out of her misery. Then suddenly into her view came the most astounding creature Cailin had ever seen. He was plump, with rosy cheeks and merry dark brown eyes that surveyed her quite carefully. He was dressed in a plum-and-gold-striped silk dalmatica. His round head was covered in a profusion of tight black curls. The creature pursed his pink lips thoughtfully, and then said in a clear, sweet voice, “I will give you two folles for her.”
“Two folles?” The slave merchant pretended outrage, although he was relieved to be offered anything for the wretched creature. He was just about to accept the gentleman’s offer when the elegant spoke again.
“Oh, very well, I shall give you four folles. I’ll not have you whining afterward that I cheated you. You slave merchants are all alike when a man snatches a bargain from under your very noses. You cannot see the value in what you have—but if someone else does, you howl and cry to the gods—er, God,” the gentleman amended.
“Jovian,” the plainly dressed gentleman who accompanied the elegant said irritably, “the girl isn’t worth five nummi, let alone four folles.”
“She is worth a dozen solidi, brother, even if you cannot see it right now. Trust me. You know I have an eye for such things,” the curly-haired man murmured, extracting the coins from his purse and handing them to the slave merchant. “Here, fellow, is your coin. Will you accept it?” He pierced the merchant with a direct look.
The man snatched the money from the elegant’s fingers and shoved Cailin toward him. “Go with your master now, girl,” he growled.
Jovian’s nose wrinkled with distaste as Cailin approached him. “The gods, girl! When was the last time you bathed?”
“What is today’s date?” she asked bluntly. “One loses track of time in the hold of a slave galley, sir.”
“It is the ides of April,” he answered her, curious. She was not at all a subservient creature. Indeed, she gave every indication of being strong-willed. It was all to the good, he thought, pleased.
“Then it has been almost eight months since I last bathed,” she told him. “Will I be able to bathe wherever it is you are now taking me, sir? I would be grateful to know that I could bathe properly again.”
“Eight months!” both men chorused in unison, looking horrified by Cailin’s revelation. Then the more somber of the two said darkly, “You have made a dreadful error, I fear, Jovian.”
The plump gentleman chuckled. “Nay, Phocas, I have made no error. Wait and see! Wait and see!” He turned to Cailin. “Follow us, girl, but be mindful not to become lost in the crowds. With us, you will suffer no ill treatment, but if you try to flee, you could find yourself in far greater difficulties. This is a cruel place.”
Cailin needed no warning. Nothing could be worse than the last few months she had spent in captivity. She had come close to losing track of her own identity. Whoever these two men were, they were certainly not threatening, and at this point she would have followed anyone who promised her a bath. She wondered, in fact, whether she would ever be able to really get clean again. Before her captivity she would not have believed that anyone could become so filthy as she now was. Mindful of his warning, she hurried along after the elegant and his companion.
They walked swiftly through the noisy city, and everywhere she turned there was something to catch Cailin’s eye. She wished she were not as she now was, that she might ask questions of the two men. It was all very overwhelming, and not just a little frightening. She was not at all used to the idea that she was a slave. As she followed the two men off the wide avenue and into a narrow, quiet street, she saw them turn through the wide gates of a large house. Well, at least they were wealthy and could afford to replace her worn tunic, which was practically falling off her as she walked.