Berna's Stand: Section 1

“Oh Berna!” Althea gasped. “You look awful!”

“Good,” Berna retorted from where she lay on one of the sleeping mats. “I would hate to think I’m suffering all this pain for nothing.”

Berna stared up at the billowing roof of the slave tent. Judging from the level of light shining through the canvas it was early evening outside. That gave them a good hour at least before the other slave girls returned from their work around the camp.

She should have been with them really but, unless Damon – the slave merchant – specifically commanded it, she could get away with not working after she’d been beaten. It was a small victory but one that Berna milked for all it was worth. Victories were hard to come by when you were a slave.

“Do you have your mirror?” Berna asked, and sat up with a groan. Her whole body ached, throbbing where Damon had kicked or punched her. The slave merchant never broke the skin: bruises faded but scars stayed for life.

Althea bit her lip in worry and hurried over to Berna’s side. Digging into her basket of herbs and other items of healing, she pulled out a small hand mirror. It was the size of Berna’s palm – slaves not being allowed anything larger.

Berna looked at her reflection and grinned, making her cheeks hurt. On one side of her crooked nose – the slave merchant had broken it once – there was a large red hand mark where Damon had slapped her hard across the cheek. On the other side, his knuckles had left a dark purplish bruise, the colour mingling with the green of one still healing from her last beating and both her left eye and lip looked as though they would be painfully swollen in the morning. Her body, she knew, would be in a similar state.

“This is good.” She nodded in approval. There was little chance that she’d be taken to the slave market tomorrow. “I’m so glad he can’t restrain himself.”

Althea ignored that and deftly sorted through her various medicinal herbs, pulling several of them from her basket. Berna only knew a few, remembering their names and characteristics more from their common use than from when Althea had tried to teach her plant lore once before. Unlike Althea, Berna had no passion whatsoever for plants and so the lessons had quickly ended.

Althea sighed and started to expertly ground her selection of herbs into a paste using a mortar and pestle. “I really wish you would keep your mouth shut,” she said. A healer in spirit, Althea couldn’t stand the thought of someone else being in pain. “One day, he’s going to get tired of your games and what will you do then?”

“When that day comes, I won’t be here,” Berna replied, with more conviction than she felt. It was one thing to plan an escape but something else entirely to actually go about it. “Besides,” she added almost to reassure herself, “Damon would rather sell me than kill me. He’s way too money hungry and proud for that.”

Althea gave her a worried look but said nothing, only stirring her paste into a cup of warm water and giving it to Berna to drink. Berna pulled a face but gulped it down anyway. There were plants that, when applied on the outside, could reduce the appearance of bruises and swelling but this concoction would only reduce the pain on the inside leaving Berna’s skin to heal by itself and much more slowly. This was a compromise between healer and patient: Berna hadn’t wanted Althea to heal her at all as Damon didn’t take “damaged” slaves to market.

“Come with me,” Berna said impulsively, though she said it every time Althea healed her. “Please.”

Althea shook her head with regret. Unlike Berna and the majority of girls in the camp, Althea was one of Damon’s own slaves. After purchasing her from a farmer who had lost his crops in a hailstorm, it was her healing knowledge that had saved her from being resold. “I’m happy enough here and you could be too if you only stopped being so rebellious.”

Berna scowled. She was suggesting of course that Berna let herself be sold to a permanent master and fully submit herself to him. But that would never happen. She would not allow that to ever happen. She would not let Damon win. She had tasted freedom before Damon had caught her and she would do so again.

“Women will always be slaves, Berna. There is nothing else for us. Even the highborn women are slaves. Even you were a slave before you came here.”

Berna threw herself back on her sleeping mat with a groan. Althea was right of course. Berna had never been truly free, as no women were but compared to this existence, this rule under Damon the slave merchant, her life before he had come into it had been at least one of equality if not of freedom.



She had been born into one of the smaller merchant families that sold simple pottery and weavings. It wasn’t a prosperous trade but that didn’t matter to the merchant Joda and his wife. They had never been rich but neither had they ever been poor, making just enough to fulfill the family’s one desire: to keep everyone fed and on the road. Only those men that were absolutely necessary – those who would protect against bandits and thieves – had been hired, becoming a mix of servant and guard rather than one or the other as was usually the case. Of course, none of the women were paid as all women were classed as slaves but everyone had been forced to do an equal share of the work and any man who didn’t was sent on his way.

Berna had been happy then, knowing of nothing to compare it to. But then one day, everything changed.

At first she had thought they were merely bandits and if they had been, perhaps this life under Damon’s rule would have been more bearable. The attack was very organised and swift. There had been ten of them altogether, their big bulk and brutish strength belying her original thought. Not bandits, no, but hired thugs, perhaps even mercenaries and they slaughtered all six of the poor servant-guards and then, without any misgivings, they murdered Joda and his two sons. No man was left alive.

After the shock and the grief it was difficult for any of the women to comprehend, for who would wish Joda dead? The wagons and their belongings were left to burn on the roadside and the women were lead from that place with the horses. The next day they came upon Damon’s camp and Berna found an answer to everyone’s unspoken question, for the not-bandits, the hired thugs, the possible mercenaries were welcomed warmly and returned to their places within Damon’s camp. With horrified realisation, Berna had understood then that all were Damon’s men and he had ordered the slaughtering of everything she had ever known and loved merely for money he did not need.

It did not take long for each remaining member of Joda’s caravan to become resigned to her fate. But not Berna. Never Berna. She hardened her heart and waited and watched as her mother, her sisters and her childhood friends were each sold to rich nobles in different parts of the land. She never saw them again.



“I’m sorry, Berna,” Althea was saying now, “But it’s the truth. I’ll keep your secret and I’ll help you in any way I can because you’re my friend but I’m not coming with you. I can’t. I’ve got everything I need here. Besides I’m just not that kind of person.“

“But just think of it, Althea,” Berna said dreamily. “No more slavery, no more rules. No more men treating us like dogs,” she added bitterly. She turned to look up at Althea sitting beside her. “We’d be living our own lives. Can you imagine that? You’d be doing everything for yourself and not for some rich bastard who paid 200 digits for you.”

“It sounds nice, I suppose,” Althea said, uncertainly. She had been a slave all her life, never knowing the relative freedom that Berna had once had.

“It’s better than nice, it’s amazing. It’s the way life should be. We’d be our own masters, own our own things. Althea, you could have your own herb garden!”

Althea shook her head sadly. “But Berna, there’s nowhere to go. Women are slaves everywhere and even if you did manage to escape from all of that, how would you survive?”

Berna sighed. The voice of common sense was always right. She’d thought about escaping a lot, but she hadn’t really thought about it. Not about all the finer details anyway. “Well that’s what I have to start preparing myself for now,” she said with forced optimism. “I suppose the first thing would be to get my hands on a weapon or something.”

Althea bit her lip as if pondering whether to say her next words or not. “I can probably take a knife from the kitchens,” she said hesitantly. “I’m always dealing with the food so it shouldn’t be too hard.”

Berna stared at her friend in astonishment then flung her arms around the healer in a hug. “Althea, you’re the best!” She paused then sat back and her shoulders slumped. “No. No I can’t let you do that for me. What am I thinking? To be caught with a weapon is death.”

“Are you sure?” Althea asked, but she sounded relieved that Berna hadn’t taken up her offer.

“Yes. Yes, of course I’m sure. Don’t fret Althea, I have plenty of time. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to get sold anytime soon.” Berna grinned. “Not with this battered face, anyway.”

* * *

To be continued...
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