After the discussions about thralls a while ago I thought I'd
try and sort out how thralldom would fit into Orlanthi society.
The result was a story of which this is the first part:
The Death of a Clan
Soraya led the column of more than two hundred weary and hungry clansfolk through the melting snow and reflected on the past few seasons which had brought them to this.
It started when Tarkalor had called on the clans to attack Tarsh and the Leeping Deer had sent the warband with much of the fyrd. Three returned from the invasion, all badly injured, although Tarkalor claimed victory. Few men to harvest and unseasonal rain meant much of the crop was ruined so they knew they would be short that winter. Still they could have survived if not for the length of that winter compounded by rats getting into the grain store and an avalanche burying the barn where the chief's cattle were wintering. Digging out was hard work and to no purpose. Nothing had survived and even the hides were torn so badly as to be worthless.
With few clans prepared to help especially as their resources were also depleted by the long winter the clan was reduced to desperate choices.
One was the way of Cacodemon, abandon Orlanth and Ernalda for survival at the cost of dooming every soul to chaos.
Or to break the clan and seek what sanctury was available. It was the crone Dorasa who spoke the words first "The clan is dead. Whatever choices we make cannot alter that. Let those who wish approach clans which may take them in. For the rest it is outlawry or death". Dorasa's choice was obvious even then, she had already refused food claiming she was not hungry and others needed it more. Many tried approaching sisters and mothers in other clans but only a few had been offered a place for many clans did not want to risk someone bringing bad luck with them. They had better luck with daughters, several marriages were arranged in haste based on previous summer romances. Not a good start to married life for even with everyone contributing trinkets and spare clothing the doweries were poor but better than the alternatives.
As one clan after another refused to help they waited for the one offer expected yet dreaded. Eventually it came, the Rocking Stone clan were prepared to take healthy couples, widows and children as thralls. No doubt the delay in replying was to make sure they were desperate enough to accept. Even so it had provoked a furious argument despite the clansfolk's lack of energy. But over it all was the shadow of Dorasa's words. For some there was no choice. The few young men had only to decide whether to remain outlaws in Sartar or seek their fortune further afield. For the old and crippled even that wasn't an option. Most bitter were the broken marriages, men who refused to become a thrall begged their wives to follow them into outlawry. Yet only one woman was prepared to leave her children to do so, most wanted to protect their children as best they could and that didn't include running around the hills trying to steal enough to live on from chance encounters.
There were her personal losses too. Two sons had followed her husband to war, neither had returned. Her youngest was now wandering clanless with a few friends, she'd advised them to get to a city where someone might hire them but whether they'd manage that before some clan decided to crack down on local outlaws she didn't know. The only consolation was her daughter, married a year last harvest and with her first child on the way. The grandchild she'd now never see.
As they approached the Rocking Stone tula they were challenged by a
young warrior "Are you friend or foe?"
Soraya replied "Friend"
Warrior "I am Yorsar, son of Orstalor, son of Intagarn of the Rocking
Stone clan. Who are you?"
Soraya "Greetings Yorsar, I am Soraya, priestess of Ernalda, widow of
Grifton, acclaimed chief of the Leaping Deer clan."
There was the usual pause although Yorsar did not bother with any magic
and some of his followers sniggered and eyed up the women. Then Yorsar
said "I have been asked to escort you to Kamil our reeve who will
welcome you appropriately".
That welcome consisted of the reeve walking up to Soraya and asking "So
what have you brought with you?"
To which she replied "We are twenty nine married couples, eighty seven
widows, sixty two children and eighteen babes in arms. All in good
health although tired and hungry. Among us are three potters, two
carpenters, six healers and two entertainers."
"And you are here to work for us?" was the next question.
"Yes. In return for food, clothing and shelter." following the tradition
of avoiding mentioning that it was as thralls they would work.
They stood waiting in the yard as the Rocking Stone clan gathered to look them over. Once everyone was present the choosing began. Wives openly prompted their husbands to pick those most suited to their steads while the reeve pointed out advantages and flaws as if they were cattle. By custom children were not separated from their mothers and husbands not separated from their wives. This was less from altuism than practicality, no reason to create unnecessary resentments and such separation was an effective threat if a thrall proved troublesome.
As individuals were chosen they were separated by their new owners who cropped their hair short and fastened a leather collar, or a strip of hide, round their necks. Then they were led to a fire in which a herder was heating a branding iron. This was applied to the thrall's face, obliterating their clan tattoo with a smaller version of the mark used by the Rocking Stone on their cattle.
Finally just Soraya was left, no woman wanted a chief's widow and priestess in their home as a thrall. So it was left to Morus, a stickpicker too poor the have a wife, to take possession of Soraya. The chief was much relieved by this as otherwise he would have been obliged to take her against the wishes of his wife. So when Soraya had bent her head for Morus to cut off her braids with his knife and he pulled a grubby strip of hide from his belt to tie round her neck the chief declared "She of all must wear a proper collar." and gave Morus one of his own. A small price for keeping the peace at his hearth.
After she was branded Morus led her to the hovel he lived in. Both were uncertain of their roles. Morus moved to towards the pot being heated over the hearth as if to offer a guest food. Then realised his mistake and roughly ordered Soraya to serve him. She in turn had to bite her lip to stop her response to what would normally be rudeness. Still he shared the soup fairly though it had obviously been intended just for himself. She in turn took the bowl and pot outside to clean them without being asked bringing the pot back full of clean water.
By this time it was already getting dark and Soraya wondered where she would sleep. There was a single tatty fur lying to one side of the fire in the only free space. She had only her woolen cloak which was inadequate for sleeping in a drafty hovel. Then she saw the way Morus was looking at her, he was considering the same question. But to him it was not a problem but an opportunity. She knew on one level that a thrall had no rights but had expected to be living among other women who would object to their husbands taking a thrall to their beds. That the men would find a way round that if they chose was expected, but already? Still they was no avoiding it, even if she were willing to freeze away from the fire, so she shook out the fur, laid her cloak on the wooden plank it had concealed and lay down. Morus took off his cloak, lay down beside her and pulled his cloak and furs over them both before starting to grope her breasts. Soraya lay there waiting for it to end even as he kissed her and fumbled under her skirts.
Finally he got angry at her lack of response, "What's the matter with you?"
"I'm sorry, it's too soon." Soraya replied, tears starting from her eyes.
"I only heard Grifton was dead a couple of seasons ago and there has been
so much to do......"
"Humph!", Morus was clearly annoyed but just turned away and went to sleep.
Soraya relaxed, glad it had been no worse and he hadn't kicked her out of
the bed. Still, she thought, I'd better get used to the idea if I don't
want to make an enemy.
It was soon clear why Morus was a stickpicker. He wasn't lazy, far from it, but he could never get any job done efficently. If he didn't have to come back for something then he had to repair or find a tool. Then having started a job he would be diverted onto something else which was suddenly more urgent. As a result only the absolute minimum ever got done. He also felt it neccessary to give Soraya detailed instructions rather than telling her what needed doing. This infuriated her especially as the instructions often made hard work of relatively simple tasks. It took a while but eventually Morus caught on that it made life easier for them both if he just gave her a task and let her decide how to do it .
Nor was it long before she realised Morus didn't have enough work for a thrall so Soyara started on the jobs she thought needed doing. Dried mud patched most of the holes which were letting drafts in. She then started on the accumulated clutter sorting things into what would be useful if repaired, what had something that could be salvaged and junk.
This only put off the decision she realised Morus was unaware he needed to make. He had never managed to contribute enough to the clan to get more than cast off clothes and a minimum of food. They certainly wouldn't want to give him enough for a thrall as well however pleased the chief was to pass responsibilty on to someone else. So it was up to her to make something useful. Weaving was out - there were more weavers than looms to use and thread to weave - and she'd never been one of the best. Kadone magic was very useful for a chief's wife but would only get a thrall into trouble. As it had in her youth, she reflected. Playing chasing games with the other children was good fun when just touching a boy's trousers could make them so heavy they fell round his ankles. Lifting her skirts she could prove the truth of the old saying, "Girl with skirts up can run faster than boy with trousers down". Didn't work so well with kilts though which were surprisingly common among the young lads that summer. Her mother hadn't been pleased "If you're old enough to be doing magic like that you're too old for playing chase with the boys." and found her some work to do.
Time to change paths again before Asrelia beckoned, assuming that hadn't happened already. Difficult to tell when hunger had disrupted her cycle. She'd soon know if she could beg some seeds, for her fertility magic had only worked well with vegetables. So it was back to the aspect of Esrania, often known as the cabbage doll from the children's toy usually used to depicted her.
One of Morus's aunts was quite willing to find Soyara some seeds although
she warned her not to let Morus near the plants - "That's how he got his
nickname 'Ironfingers', every plant he touches fails to thrive".
"I'll just get him to break the ground before planting. I found a mattock
I can repair among the accumulated junk. I just need to make him think
that it's his idea".
The last proved the least part of the problem, Morus had so many ideas that he could never remember which were his and which someone else's. More difficult was getting him to complete the digging but prompting from his aunt and subtle reminders from Soyara eventually got the job done.
It was poor soil in an awkwardly shaped plot which was why no one had bothered with it before but Soyara performed the rituals carefully as she planted the seeds and somehow working the soil raised her spirits. That night she snuggled up to Morus, silenced his query with a kiss and they both let their passions take over.
Soyara was surprised how well the seeds thrived, especially as her cycle had still not returned. Usually a woman's fertility magic was dependant on that cycle. It was after harvest before understanding hit her - she was pregnant. Ernalda had blessed her with a child again, one that would live free as the gods intended, no replacement for those lost but some comfort.
The birthing hut was full when Soyara went into labour so several clansmen
took Morus off to get drunk while she had a pile of straw in his hovel
with an inexperienced midwife to attend her. It was the longest labour
she had ever endured, from pre-dawn to late at night. Eventually the baby
came but the pain made her realise something was wrong. The midwife
checked the baby and pronounced him fine but then saw the way Soyara
was bleeding and looked worried. "Get a healer" Soyara told her,
"something's torn inside". After several agonising minutes a healer
appeared and a little magic stopped the bleeding but Soyara didn't need
the healer to tell her that this was the last child she would bear.
A rather drunk Morus was delighted to see the baby promising the child fame and fortune until the midwife took the baby back. Which left Morus to find a floor to sleep on.
Somewhat hung over he returned home late the following morning to find Soyara up but looking very tired. He hugged her gently and told her how he loved her. "I'd make you my wife if you were free. That's it!" he exclaimed "I'll free you then we can get married". Soyara shook her head "That's foolish, none of the clanswomen would stand for it. They accept me as your thrall because I'm no threat to their status. As a free woman I would be their equal and a rival for power. Anyway I'm a grandmother now as I'll bear no more children".
So my conclusion is that thralldom is often an economic bargain and owes more to Ernalda finding another way than Orlanth's values. Also when it happens the clan which takes thralls has to have the resources to feed and house them however poorly which means that clan has to be fairly wealthy.
-- Donald Oddy http://www.grove.demon.co.uk/Received on Tue 26 Jun 2007 - 22:22:16 EEST
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