How's everyone keeping? I've had a bit of a holiday and so this post is a bit delayed. As o'ways id treasure your feed back.
The Housekeeper had heard the explosions and had suspected the worse for his household. He reckoned on being five or so miles away as he heard a series of thunderous blasts from the direction of the farm. He knew from recent experience that it wasn't the Gods’ wrath he was hearing but the magic powder of the wretched Shaman. It was supposed to be the Shaman’s wedding night.
The Housekeeper had asked the Farmer, his employer, for permission to go hunting alone, on the day of the wedding, as was his occasional want. The Farmer had been unwilling at first to allow the him the time off but had succumb upon the Farmer's Wife's reassurances that the wedding would be a merrier affair without the Housekeepers sour presence. Now it seemed something had gone wrong. As he approached the brow of a ridge the horizon began to glow orange.
The Housekeeper had been pleased to be allowed to be away from the Farm; the last thing he wanted to do was be in attendance when The Shaman married the Slave Slut. The Housekeeper had taken a dislike to the Shaman since his arrival the previous winter and any slave which wanted to marry a Freeman had ideas above her station.
‘Slave Sluts were Slave Sluts and that was that.’ he would tell anyone that would listen. He couldn't believe the guile of the whore, sinking her claws into The Shaman. He had been in the room with The Farmer, discussing the business of the farm, when The Shaman strode in bold as brass with The Slut in tow. He had walked over to the contract wall, as it had become know and gestured The Farmer over.
The Contract Wall had changed, in the three months, since its original conception. There were now a myriad of materials on the The Shaman’s side and five amphorae on the Farmer's. The Shaman had picked up a piece of charcoal, pointed at the Slut and drawn a picture of a figure on his side of the wall he then drew another amphora on the Farmer's side. The Housekeeper watched as the Farmer drew two more amphorae next to the first the Shaman shook his head.
The Housekeeper watched the pantomime with disgust. Why did the Farmer put up The Shaman’s shit.The Housekeeper knew the Slave Slut had been teaching the Shaman lattin for the last three months. The Farmer liked to think he was clever, The Housekeeper thought, but if he were really clever he would of skinned the Shaman and kept on sticking it to the Slave Slut.
The Slave Slut had also reported that the source of The Shaman’s power was his tattooed skin. The Farmer had ignored the Housekeeper and instructed the Slut to stay with The Shaman night and day to learn his secrets from him. Well, what's left of the Farmer will regret it now the Housekeeper thought as he picked his way through the familiar fields toward the burning farm.
The Housekeeper resented the Shaman. One of the first changes to the contract had been that The Shaman have his own hut constructed on the compound which was something the Housekeeper had wanted for a long time. ‘Relax..’ The Farmer had said, ‘...when the Shaman leaves you can have the Hut or if we learn his secrets we'll be rich you can have this fucking farm!’
The Farmer had thought he was so clever instructing The Slave Slut to learn the Shaman’s ways but the Housekeeper knew The Slut was playing double agent. He'd observed the two of them, thick as thieves. What The Housekeeper found more suspicious was that The Shaman wasn't fucking The Slut. He'd overheard a couple of the Slave Sows discussing it as they scrubbed the bedding. This made The Housekeeper furious if it hadn't been for The Farmer's own lustfulness then the Housekeeper would have made The Slut his own long ago. He'd even imagined keeping this one around a bit longer than his other boys and girls.
The Housekeeper had kept his suspicions about the Slut to himself. He knew The Farmer wouldn't want to hear it. Now, as he entered the Farm compound from the side entrance he saw that the main house was ablaze as were the barracks and stables both buildings look as though the roof had caved in on them and some walls had collapsed outwards.
He kept to the shadows and noticed the Shaman’s house and the Slave sheds had been left intact. There was activity by the main gates. Figures illuminated by the fire packed the farm’s cart, horses and pack mules. Other than The Shaman, who sat on the cart next to the Slave Slut, The Housekeeper could make out that the figures were mostly women and he assumed the Slaves but he also saw some freemen.
Upon hearing their voices he could tell that the traitorous men were those who had been overly close to their Slave women. He kept to the shadows as the party left, dawn threatening the eastern horizon. As the cart bounced out the yard he could see the shape of eight amphorae which he suspected were full of The Shaman’s black powder especially as anyone with a torch have the cart a very wide berth.
He made his way to the burning farm thinking he ought to pick out anything left of value wandering if there was some bread left in the kitchen. Occasionally he stumbled over a corpse mostly the freemen that had treated the slaves roughly but occasionally a slave that may of played informant to himself or the Farmer. He noticed that most of the corpses weren't bloody and thought it odd as he found the kitchen had burnt to the ground but a knapsack had been left in the yard where he'd tossed in that morning.
He hungerily picked out a loaf of bread from the knapsack. The knapsack had been given to him by The Slut the previous morning she had wished him luck on his hunt, which he had thought odd and said something like ‘It’s a shame you'll miss my wedding day.’He'd scoffed at her and thrown the sack to the floor.’ He’d called her a cunt for speaking out of turn and slapped her across the face with the back of his hand. He'd felt quite happy as he left the farm knowing The Shaman would have to see the welt on his new wife’s face.
He'd had just swallowed his first mouthful of bread when he connected the pieces. He stuck his fingers down his throat and threw up. The fucking bread was poisoned. He took his wine-skin and drank from it. He had refilled it at dusk from a forest stream, the water was still cool. Once his stomach was full he threw that up too. He staggered to the ground sore from the vomiting not sure if the discomfort he was feeling was the initial effects of the poison or a byproduct of his cleansing himself.
As he sat on the floor one of the Farm dogs wandered over to him and put its head on his lap. He reached for the bread and fed a little bit to the dog. The dog wagged it's tail gratefully and sat and watched to see if more bread might come it's way. The Housekeeper watched the dog after about a couple minutes the dog started to look bored and wandered off.
The Housekeeper was just beginning to think that the bread wasn't poisoned when he heard the dog howl. He stood up to see the dog had begun to foam at the mouth and then started to vomit. It tried to come back toward the Housekeeper so he threw stones at it. Seemingly with its last strength the dog stumbled into the Shaman’s Hut.
The Housekeeper perked up and surmised that if he'd been poisoned that he'd be dead by now or at least a lot less comfortable That's when the Shaman’s Hut exploded. Debris caught the Housekeeper keeper on the head, then he heard the explosion, then he collapsed concussed. It was hours before he awoke, Seething.