Date: Mon, 25 Jul 2011 06:53:31 -0700 (PDT) From: Christian Debus Subject: Changed Circumstances Chapter 34 Gay Male/ Authoritarian "CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES" A Sequel to "A Reversal of Fortune" Chapter 34 "Branded for the Second Time" This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris) "To see all my stories go to groups.yahoo.com/group/SlaveNow" Chapter 34: "Branded for the Second Time" As my Master enters the forge with Claymore and Colton, his son, Etienne can hardly contain his excitement. "Dad," there is an air of eager expectancy in his question, "are the two slaves going to be branded now?" My Master is obviously amused by his son's enthusiasm to see Pollux and I branded but he is yet to be formally presented to the "smithy" and his two young assistants as their Master. Patiently, he answers Master Etienne's question. "I would think so, Etienne. But it all depends whether or not the iron is ready. Isn't that so Claymore?" "Indeed it is Guy." Claymore replies and then he speaks to directly to Etienne. "You seem keen to see the slaves branded, young man. Why is that?" "'Cause, I've never seen it done. I want to see what happens. Does it hurt them? Will the slaves cry?" "That's a lot of questions, Etienne." Claymore laughs. "Well if you've never seen a slave branded then that's a good enough reason to watch. Now that your daddy owns La Forˆt, you'll get to see lots of slaves branded. And yes, Etienne, it does hurt them - terribly. Some slaves cry; others don't but one thing they all do is cry out and plead not to be branded as soon as you take the iron near them. You'll soon hear Rafe and Pollux bellowing like two hungry, poddy calves." "Well. Why do we brand them if it hurts so much? Isn't that cruel?" I consider there is wisdom in my young Master's words. "I suppose it is cruel to brand them but it must be done. Sometimes it's necessary to be cruel with a slave. Why do we brand them? To show who owns them and it identifies any slave who tries to run away. If a slave runs away from his Master, then when he is caught, his brand tells the slave-catchers who he belongs to so that he can be return to his owner. Branding puts an owner's mark on the slave's body. All of La Forˆt's cattle and horses are branded in case they stray and it's the same with your father's slaves, Etienne." "Do any of our slaves run away?" "No, they know better than to even attempt to escape. They know they'll be caught and brought back to the plantation for punishment. "What sort of punishment?" Master Etienne's questions seem to be unending. Yet I don't mind. Each minute spent in answering his questions is a minute delayed before I am branded. It is futile I know, but I wish for my Master's son to persist with his enquiries - indefinitely! "Well, in the past, young Etienne, they'd be severely flogged and then sold to the mines or the quarries. But that was in the past under the previous owners. However, your father might have different ideas on how he wants to treat runaway slaves." What Claymore is saying isn't strictly the truth; there have been some escapes from the plantation. But to be absolutely honest, slave escapes from La Forˆt are very rare. I can only recall two; one when I was a small boy of about ten and the other, more recent attempt had happened on my watch. The earlier escape - from what I recall - resulted in the slave being recaptured and returned to my grandfather for the punishment as spelt out by Claymore. He'd been severely flogged then sold to a quarry owner where his life expectancy wouldn't have exceeded three years. The slave had been an excellent worker and grandfather had lamented the necessity to sell such a prime slave. I still remember his words as the slave was led away to the quarries; he shook his head and repeated over and over - "what a waste of a good slave". Grandfather always hated waste. However, I recall my grandfather wasn't in a forgiving mood; he was angry with the slave's bad attitude and said there wasn't room on the plantation for an ungrateful slave who spurned his benevolence. The more recent escape had happened at the time of my grandfather's death. Two crafty slaves sought to take advantage of the confusion of that sad event and absconded while working in a distant field at the far end of the plantation. No doubt they'd bargained on the fact that I would be too pre-occupied with my grief to concern myself with so trivial a matter as runaway slaves. But they'd not bargained on Claymore and his black overseers. For them it is a source of pride that no slave has ever successfully escaped from the plantation under their watch. The miscreants had barely cleared the field they'd been working in before their absence was noticed by an ever-vigilant overseer, the alarm raised and the chase begun. They were apprehended running along a back country road barely two miles into their attempted escape. At the time, I wondered about the slave mentality. How well did they think they'd fare in their bid for freedom? Both were naked, heavily collared and wore two brands on their bodies. Quite obviously, they'd not given thought to these factors and as their owner I was left to wonder at the simple mind of a slave. I'd not played a part in their punishment and retribution. I was too wrapped up in my grief to concern myself with two runaway slaves and I left it to Claymore to administer justice to them on my behalf. I heard later that Claymore had both slaves flogged to within an inch of their miserable lives in front of an assembly of all my slaves to serve as a salutary warning to them of the consequences of attempting to escape. He'd left both slaves suspended in their whipping frames overnight where their loud moaning disturbed the rest of all their fellows and next morning they were taken to a slave broker and sold to a mining company. I never gave them another thought other than to suppose they were condemned to work permanently below ground in the bowels of the earth. At the time, I'd not felt any pity for them; by running away they'd chosen their fate. They had eschewed the relatively easy life of a field slave for the horrors of the mine. My attitude towards them had been - "serve them right". They only had themselves to blame. As I toil in the fields over the next few days, I will gain some insights into the slave mentality that motivated these two slaves in their futile attempts at escape? There is that saying "hope springs eternal" and I'll discover this is certainly true for slaves - well in the first instance at least. For most of the newly enslaved, the desire for freedom burns bright but over the long years of their servitude, the flame will flicker and die until all hope is gone. But for some the flame never completely dies; there is an ember that smoulders within their spirits that no amount of suffering and harsh treatment will ever completely extinguish. I will discover it is this yearning to be free that drives some slaves in their vain attempts at escape. But for most of us, freedom is a futile hope - something to hunger for but always out of our reach. Freedom for a slave is illusory; an unachievable dream. If my Master has any thoughts on how he'd treat a runaway slave then he isn't saying and he ignores Claymore's question. Perhaps he is biding his time before committing himself to anything. If this is so, then he is proving to be wise Master. He really needs to settle in and find his feet. Instead, he turns his attention to "smithy" and his two assistants who stand respectfully in the display position in the presence of their new master. I look closely at them. Understandably, they are unsure of their new owner and their nervousness is obvious. This is more so with the two assistants than with the older - and wiser - blacksmith. All three slaves stand with their feet apart and their heads bowed in humility and wait on their master. Guy ignores them and asks Claymore who they are. Claymore steps forward to introduce them. "Guy, this is 'smithy', your blacksmith slave and I might add a very good one. The plantation is fortunate to have his services." My Master doesn't greet "smithy" and he ignores Claymore's praise of the blacksmith. His question to the slave is direct and imperious. "How long have you worked in the forge?" "I don't rightly know, Master." The blacksmith answers deferentially. "I think it would be around twenty years since the old master picked me for the job." Mention of my grandfather as the "old master" plainly annoys Guy Maratier. His eyes narrow and his brows almost meet as he frowns. "And who are these two slaves?" Once again he ignores "smithy" and asks Claymore. "These are the blacksmith's assistants. His apprentices if you like. Traditionally, it has always been the policy to have two young slaves work in the forge with the blacksmith and have him train them." "Why, Claymore? If the blacksmith is as good as you say he is - why is it necessary for him to have two assistants?" "It's something Jean-Claude Barrois did. Years ago, he recognised the virtue in having a replacement for 'smithy' should he have an accident or become too ill to work. And really that makes sense. If anything did happen to 'smithy' we have several slaves who can step into his shoes." Unthinkingly, Claymore has referred to "smithy's shoes". The blacksmith, in common with all other of the plantation's slaves, goes barefooted. Still it is only a figure of speech and not really meant as a joke. "And these two slaves? Are they to be his replacements?" "No Guy. We have several older slaves who have been trained and who we use from time to time as blacksmiths. At times, the forge is very busy - too much really for just 'smithy'- and we press them into service. These two have been trained for sale." "These two are to be sold? Why?" "It was scheme that old Jean-Claude introduced many years ago. He recognised that an artisan slave is a more valuable commodity than an unskilled one. He always said that too few slaves offered for sale possessed anything other than their brute strength. Jean-Claude Barrois was a wily businessman and never missed an opportunity to make money. So he decided he'd have 'smithy' train some of his young slaves as blacksmiths and when they were ready he sent them to market." "It seems a lot of effort to go to for such a small number. How long does it take to train an apprentice before he's ready for market?" "It depends on the slave, Guy. Some are quick learners. Others are slower. But on average it takes about twelve to fifteen months before 'smithy' is satisfied and tells us they're ready." "And how long has it taken to train these two?" "It took only a little over a year, Guy. These two boys are quick learners and they're now ready for sale. In fact their sale is overdue. They should have been sold two weeks ago." "Why weren't they sold if they were ready, Claymore?" "Well, Guy," Claymore answer is a little tentative, "they were scheduled to be sold at the time of the recent upheaval when the former owner was exposed as a slave. I considered it appropriate to hold onto them until the new owner -in this case, you - could decide what is to become of them. After all, they are your property and what happens to them is for you to decide." "Well thank you, Claymore. I appreciate your courtesy. However, it seems to a lot of trouble to go to. Are they worth much?" "Well for one thing there is money to be made from training slaves in certain skills and this is certainly the case with slaves who have smithing skills. They demand a high price at auction. And these two boys will fetch a good price when they step up onto the auction block." "How good a price would you think Claymore? How much can I expect to get from them?" "Well as you can see, Guy they are prime specimens and I would think they'll fetch at least ten times as much as an unskilled slave. Perhaps they'll sell for even more than that. It depends on the day and buyers. But I know the bidding for them will be keen. It always is." "As much as that?" My Master is surprised- but delighted- and he turns his attention to the two, young slaves as they nervously stand and listen to their new Master and his overseer speak of their futures. He moves closer and I see the slight trembling of their limbs as he uses his hands to test the hardness of their bodies. With my new appreciation of how a slave thinks and feels, I know they are apprehensive and fearful for their futures - futures they have no control over. They are at the mercy of their new owner who will now decide their fates on a mere whim. Such are the vagaries of a slave's life! "Tell me Claymore! When should I sell them?" "Anytime you like Guy. They'll never be more ready than they are now." "Then in that case, I'll take them with me when I return to the city. They can run alongside of my pony on the way back." "Which dealer will you use, Guy?" "Well, I have had dealings with old Lionel Schuster. In fact, I sold my house steward, Cato through him recently and I bought this slave," Guy points to Pollux, "as Cato's replacement but he didn't measure up so he'll finish his days here." "You sold Cato?" Claymore's question mirrors his surprise. "Can I ask why? Cato always struck me as an excellent house steward." "Perhaps he was, Claymore. But his presence in the house offended my grandmother. However, I suspect there was more to it than that. I believe because Cato was very close to her brother, Jean-Claude, he was a constant reminded to her of unhappier times." "I see. Did he sell well?" "No! I was disappointed at the price I received for him. But Simon Schuster said he was a bit long in the tooth and had limited appeal to the buyers." "That sounds like old Schuster! Any commission - no matter how small is better than none as far as he's concerned. Cato is a fine, experienced slave and should have sold well. Do you know what became of him? Guy, can I give you a word of advice? If you use Simon Schuster as your dealer - then watch him." "Your advice is welcome, Claymore. I have to say I was left unimpressed by Lionel Schuster's manner. He struck me as being sly but he was kind enough to give me a no obligation appraisal and quote on the other boy," Master points to me, "and in return I indicated I would do some business with him. And as for Cato, I believe he was bought by a quarrying company -a marble quarry I think." "The poor devil!" There is a note of sympathy in Claymore's voice. "Cato won't last long in the marble quarries. The quarry masters work their slaves remorselessly until they drop. They buy their slaves cheap, work them hard then replace them with another cheap slave. No wonder there's a high turnover of slaves in the quarries. To see Cato end up like this seems a waste of a good slave. As hard as it is, the life of a field slave is infinitely better than either the quarries or the mines." "Maybe you're right, Claymore. But hearing where Cato is finishing his days made my grandmother very happy." "She must really hate Cato?" "She does Claymore, she does! There's only one slave she hates more than Cato and that's Rafe. So tell me; what's your opinion of Schuster's saleyards?" "His market is as good as any other, Guy. Just keep an eye on him - he has a questionable reputation. And bear in mind that, by and large, slave-dealers are an unscrupulous lot. Don't trust them. Can I ask - how did your slave, Rafe measure up in his appraisal?" "Mixed I think, Claymore. Schuster told me Rafe has the potential to become a prime fancy with the right training. In fact, he told me I was doing the right thing in having Rafe spend six months on the plantation." "Well he's right there, Guy. We'll see that Rafe has the best training possible won't we Conn?" The young overseer, Conn is taken by surprise. As my Master and Claymore talked, he'd busily studied the blacksmith's workshop pausing to pick up the slave collars, wrist and ankle bands that are soon to adorn Pollux and me. He even checked the branding iron and vigorously pumped the bellows to fan the glowing coal embers back into life. And like some miniature shadow, Master Etienne trailed just two steps behind him. But Conn is a self - assured young man and he quickly replies to Claymore's question. "We certainly will, Sir! I'll make sure the slave pulls his weight or he'll feel my whip on his lazy, white boy's ass" Sir Conn speaks with such earnestness that there's no doubt in my mind he speaks the truth. Should I not measure up to his expectations then indeed, I will feel the sting of his whip. The prospect of this fills me with dread. And it leaves me deeply humiliated that I, an adult, have been placed under the control of a black teenager. Quite obviously, my Master, together with Claymore and the major domo, Colton is greatly amused by Sir Conn's threat to "whip my lazy, white boy's ass". Their loud chortles of delight echo through the workshop's smoke-blackened rafters. "Guy, it is my intention to place young Conn in charge of Rafe, that is - if you have no objection. I think having him take charge of the new slave could be advantageous to both of them. They're both new to their jobs and Conn would gain experience in handling a slave and Rafe will certainly benefit from a one-on-one relationship with his overseer." "Claymore, I leave such things to you. You know what's best for your overseers and the slaves." "Thank you Guy! Well Conn; what do you say? Are you up to being Rafe's handler?" "YES SIR! THANK YOU SIR! I WON'T LET YOU DOWN. I'll make sure the slave works hard and stays focused. "I'm sure you will, Conn!" Claymore laughs at Conn's loud, enthusiastic acceptance of his offer. "I don't doubt it for one moment, lad." "DAD! DAD!" Master Etienne shouts interrupt the conversation as he tries to get his father's attention. However, my master has a final comment - well more of a warning really - to make. "Claymore, I think Rafe's in good hands with Conn as his overseer. But can I sound a word of caution to Conn? By all means use your whip on Rafe, but I don't want him permanently damaged or whipped scarred. Remember, he is to serve as my pony eventually and I don't want his appearance marred by the whip." "DAD! DAD!" Etienne's persistence pays off as finally, his father asks. "What is it Etienne? What do you want?" "Dad, when are we going to brand Rafe and Pollux?" "Good question, Etienne? You're getting impatient are you? Let's see, shall we? Claymore is the iron ready?" "I'll just get 'smithy' to check, Guy." Claymore nods to the blacksmith who breaks from the display position and moves to the forge. As he withdraws the iron from its bed of glowing embers and holds it up for all to see, I grow faint at the sight of its red-hot tip. My body trembles at the thought of the cruel torture that is soon to be inflicted upon it and even the site of my first branding, on my left flank, aches with a phantom pain. The branding-iron terrifies me and any residual pride I have dissipates with my fear. I fling myself at my Master's feet and tearfully plead - in vain - to be spared. My concern is only for myself and I have forgotten that Pollux is to suffer with me. Then, I am aware that he kneels beside me and he is pleading just as earnestly as I am. My fear and self-preservation have made me selfish and uncaring of his suffering. Our common fear of the branding-iron makes us brothers in adversity and yet we are indifferent to one another's pain. I cry out as Sir Conn's whip falls across my shoulders and I scramble to obey his instruction. "Get to your feet, dumb ass! DO IT NOW!" Now it is Pollux's turn to get to his feet as the other overseer moves to take charge of him by applying his whip to Pollux. Detached from reality, we both listen as our Master and his overseer prepare to collar and brand us. "Is the iron ready?" My Master asks. "Yes Master!" The blacksmith's answers respectfully. "It's at the right temperature to give a clean, crisp brand." "Dad which slave is going to branded first? Will it be Rafe or Pollux?" "We'll brand Rafe first, Etienne. He is the first Maratier family slave and it only right that he should be the first to wear our new brand. What do you think, son?" "Can we do him now, Dad?" Etienne's eagerness to see me branded shocks me. He is so young and already he exhibits a cruelness of nature. But then I think back to my own indifference to a slave's suffering when I was his age. It had never worried me as I stood with my grandfather and watched while a slave was branded or punished. Indeed I had become inured to all that our slaves were made to endure in our interests. Why should I be surprised by Etienne's callousness? One day, he'll be the owner of La Forˆt and today he is taking the first of many steps along the path to becoming its Master. And today is also a first for me. I am being transformed into a common work slave and tomorrow I will be just another field-hand among the many who labour on the Maratier family's behalf. "Settle down, Etienne. We'll let Mr Jackson take charge." "Thank you, Guy. And Etienne - we'll brand the slaves soon enough. Let's be patient for a few more minutes. Before we do that we have to fit them with their new collars, bracelets and anklets. You do have them ready, don't you 'smithy'?" "Yes sir." The blacksmith replies and indicates to his two assistants to fetch the restraints from a workbench. "I worked on them yesterday sir as you instructed me to do, so that they'd be ready for today." "The collars are quite heavy, aren't they?" Guy comments as he inspects one of the two collars. "Why is that?" "It's done on purpose, Guy." Claymore answers. "Mentally, the weight of the collar around his neck is a constant reminder to a slave of what he is - owned property. His brand serves the same purpose. And there's also the practical aspect of the collar. You can see the four lugs where the slave can be restrained by a leash or a chain. The wrist bracelets and anklets serve the same purpose. By attaching chains to them, the slave can be further restrained. It makes it easier for the overseers to control the slaves in their charge." "What's this?" Guy asks as he reads out an inscription on the collar. "LA FORET PLANTATION - PROPERTY OF G MARATIER ESQ" "I had 'smithy' reword the inscription to show your ownership of your slaves, Guy." Claymore answers. "I hope you don't mind but I thought you'd naturally want to rebadge your property so that it reflects the new reality - which is that the former Barrois estate now belongs to the Maratier family." "Claymore, I'm touched and thank you for your thoughtfulness." Guy's pleasure is evident as he thanks his chief overseer. "In fact I'm overwhelmed. Thank you so much." "It was my pleasure, Guy. Could I suggest that we collar and cuff Rafe and Pollux before we brand them? I think it will easier for the slaves and easier for us too." "By all means, Claymore. You're more experienced in these matters than I am." "Cuff them!" The blacksmith hastens to obey and I watch as first the wristlets and then the anklets are fitted to Pollux. It is all done with quick efficiency and now it is my turn. I tremble as the cold metal bands are fastened around my limbs and I am left to stand and wait. What is next? "Guy would you like the honour of placing Rafe's neck in his collar? As his new owner, it seems fitting that you do it." "I certainly would Claymore. Nothing would give me greater pleasure." The thought races through my mind that I'm to be collared by my Master. Once before, I'd suffered the indignity of being collared. That had happened at the courts' forge on the day of my enslavement and I still have that collar around my neck. Now it must be removed to make way for this new collar which will define me as a slave of the Maratier dynasty. Tears for all that I have lost mist my eyes and I begin to weep silently. I stand dazed and unsure of what I must do next. But I should have known. I am meant to kneel before my Master and humbly bow my head as he fastens the collar around my neck. Over the years, how many slaves have knelt before me in this simple ceremony that acknowledged me as their owner? But I need not have worried. The young overseer, Conn, with wisdom far beyond his years, seizes the initiative. "On your knees, boy! Kneel before your owner." And he assists me to kneel by striking the back of my knees with the handle of his whip. Vaguely, in the background, I hear Claymore praise his 'prot‚g‚ for his quick thinking and firmness in handling me. The blacksmith removes the court allocated collar from around my neck and drops it to the floor beside me. Momentarily, I feel a wonderful sense of freedom; but this freedom is fleeting and I bow my head to my Master and wait for him to re-collar me. As he does so, I experience a new set of emotions. Emotions I'm unprepared for. I feel a chill of fear as the cold metal encircles my neck and I shiver as I hear it locked into place. But by that simple act, I know beyond any doubt that I am now a slave in the true sense of the word. This collar defines as a La Forˆt slave and it tells the world that I am the property of G Maratier Esquire. This simple ceremony performed between my Master and me is my epiphany. I now know that I am irretrievably doomed to a life of unremitting drudgery and not for the first time I totally accept the reality of my changed circumstances. I am the slave named Rafe. I remain kneeling as Pollux is forced on to his knees and collared by our Master. I can see that he too is swept up in the emotion of all that is happening. And perhaps like me, his mind is concentrated on the ultimate horror of our imminent brandings. Then we are ordered to our feet and, as I stand, I'm very conscious of the heaviness of my new collar weighing on both my neck and my spirits. "Guy, on what part of the body would you like us to place the brand? As you can see from 'smithy' and his helpers they are branded on the right hand side of the chest just above the nipple. Do you want Rafe and Pollux branded in the same place? Or as the new owner, do you prefer another spot? It's you choice." My Master deliberates on this for some time and examines the brands on the blacksmith and his helpers. Then he turns his attention to me and runs his hands down over my chest and arms before making his decision. "Upper left arm! I don't like the brand on their chests. I think it's too disfiguring and in Rafe's case would certainly spoil his overall appearance." "Good choice, Guy. That simplifies things. We won't need to strap them down on a bench. They can kneel behind the anvil and 'smithy's' helpers can hold them down as we stretch the arm out over the anvil. That'll make the branding so much easier. Right then let's get started. Etienne if you come and stand here by me you'll get a good view of proceedings. Rafe is the first to be branded? Am I right, Guy?" "That's correct, Claymore. Rafe is to have the honour of being the first of my slaves to be marked with the new Maratier brand." "Right then, Rafe. You heard your Master. Go and kneel behind the anvil. NOW!" There is a note of impatience in Claymore's voice yet my fear of the branding iron is more potent than my fear of him. Desperately I look around like some fear crazed animal seeking an escape route. But there isn't any. Once more, I plead with my Master to spare me in the full knowledge that there will be no mercy shown to me. "Move yourself, dumb ass!" Once more my handler, Conn takes charge of me. He prods me towards the waiting anvil with a series of sharp, insistent pokes to my ass with the stock end of his whip. I have no alternative but to move forward to the anvil. "Drop to your knees, boy!" Two well-placed blows to the back of my legs by Conn and I crumple to my knees. "Quickly! Quickly you two." Claymore addresses the blacksmith's assistants. "Hold him down and Conn would you be so good as to stretch his left arm out over the anvil." The two assistant slaves press down on my shoulders so that I am held motionless on my knees and at the same time Sir Conn takes hold of my wrist and jerks my arm lengthwise along the top of the anvil. I am helpless to move. "Conn, could you turn his arm so that the bicep and triceps muscles are uppermost. Yes, that's it, good lad. That's perfect! He's all yours 'smithy'. Fetch your iron." Despite myself, I turn to watch as the blacksmith pulls the hot iron from the forge and blows on it fanning its bright orange glow into a fearsome red. It is barely four or five steps from the forge to the anvil yet it seems to take an eternity for the blacksmith to reach me. An eternity of horror-filled fascination, anticipation of incredible pain - the pain of my first branding still sears in my mind - and a desire to be spared. Through my tears, I look into the faces of the audience grouped around the anvil for a sign of pity - even a small sign - but there isn't any. My Master's eyes gleam with quiet satisfaction while his young son fidgets excitedly as he waits for the branding iron to be applied to my flesh. Even my erstwhile major domo, Colton is watching intently; the corners of his mouth curled into a malicious grin. Does he hate me this much that he derives pleasure from my suffering? Again, I begin to beg and I hear my plaintive pleading to my Master. "Please Master. Don't do this to me, Master." My pleas fall on deaf ears and stricken with terror, I'm aware that "smithy" towers over me with the branding iron poised ready to strike. I wince as Sir Conn jerks my arm towards him drawing it taut and I watch as the iron descends to my flesh. But "smithy" pauses briefly just before he applies the brand. He looks into my face and I do see sympathy for my plight. And is it my imagination, or is he encouraging me to endure the unimaginable pain? If I could read his lips I would see they are silently forming the words. "Steady boy! I will make it quick. It will soon be over." And he is right! The brand lingers on my flesh for mere seconds but my long, drawn-out scream of anguished pain lingers and reverberates throughout the forge before it gives way to my sobbing. The two slaves still bear down on my shoulders as Sir Conn holds my arm steady while my Master and Claymore examine my scorched flesh. Claymore gives his mark of approval. "It's a good, clean burn which will heal nicely. The slave takes the branding iron nicely. Right then - let's get the other one done." My ordeal is over. Sir Conn and the slaves release me and I stagger to my feet. No time is wasted in forcing Pollux to take my place. It is his turn to share in the ordeal. To be continued......