Twenty-Three

At our next stop, I was once again awoken by the rude words of a harsh soldier. The tarp rattled. I opened my eyes. The blanket covering us was covered in snow, and Maia was lying still in my arms.

Terrified, I shook her violently, and her little eyes opened. She let out a startled yell, the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard, and I cradled her next to my heart, sobbing tears of relief into her hair. My fear didn’t abide. She’d survived this time, but next time she wouldn’t be so lucky. I could sense the life energy draining away from her. She was tiny, too small to fight off this terrible journey.

I spotted a dark-haired soldier, watching me as he brushed his horse. He was more muscular than the other men, and he exuded a quiet intimidation and strength. He had a dark beard and bright blue eyes, and I decided he would be the one who could change my circumstances.

I approached him timidly, my head bowed in respect. “Sir,” I said, my voice scratchy with disuse. “I wonder if I might impose on your kindness and ask for an extra blanket. My baby is freezing, and I’m afraid that we might not survive…” I let my words drift off, not knowing what else to say.

“I’m not allowed to help you,” he said. “You’ll get me punished for even talking to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we’ve been given strict orders to treat you as nothing more than an animal. I don’t talk to animals.”

I walked away, but the man gently grabbed my arm. “We might could work out a deal,” he said, glancing around furtively. The other soldiers eyed him curiously, but pretended not to see. Perhaps they hoped they could strike a similar deal as the one he was proposing, for though I was an upper class woman, I knew well the stories of the oldest profession in the world.

I glanced down at Maia, sleeping, too, still in the sling across my chest. I had no pride left, not when she needed me. How I’d come to love her so much in such a short time, when I’d spent nine months wishing her dead, was a complete mystery to me.

I nodded at him briefly. “I’ll use my hand,” I said. “Nothing more.”

He nodded back eagerly and led me to a private space behind two horses, and unzipped his pants. I didn’t even hate myself for doing it; I was thankful that I had something of value that I could trade for Maia’s safety.

He grew hard and came quickly, before I’d even stroked him much, but he was grateful all the same and he gave me his spare blanket. It was the same thin material as the one I already had, but it was clean and dry. As he left, another soldier approached me and asked if I’d be willing to make a deal with him. I told him the same thing I’d told the first man: I would use my hands. He balked, and I turned to walk away. He grabbed my arm roughly, pulling me back as if he would take what he wanted by force, and my womb gave an involuntary lurch of fear. Blood trickled out of me, leaving red streaks as it traced its way down my legs to my feet. The dark haired soldier, seeing this, turned and grabbed the man, pulling him away. “You’ll respect the lady’s offer, or you’ll do without,” he breathed, and the second man finally agreed.

In this way, I survived. Those men were desperate for a woman’s touch, and contrary to what they were supposed to believe, I was no animal. I had what they wanted, and in exchange, they gave me what I needed. I had rags for Maia’s diapers; I had enough spare blankets and extra food for Maia and me to survive the trip.

And when I ran low, I used my hands.