"Sometimes even to live is an act of courage." Lucius Annaeus Seneca

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XXI.

The trading of slaves might have been illegal in England, but it was perfectly legal wherever Alex was now. He didn't know what country he was in, but he could see the Union Jack flag flying from several of the vessels moored in the harbour as he, Belle, and the other captives were marched off of the ship in and amongst the other merchandise.

After so long in the dark, the sun was almost blinding him, and the feeling of walking was strange, his legs feeling like a weak, wobbly faun's.

He was in the Caribbean. He could tell that much. He knew the water, the landscape of the islands well enough. Only this particular island was a mystery. The sun beat down on his skin, and after so long away, he was unused to the heat. He could already feel sweat beading across his brow and running down the back of his neck, not aided by the hammering of his heart in his chest as he watched on ahead for their destination.

Belle stumbled along in front of him, walking barefoot along the timber pier, seemingly as unsteady on her feet as he was. The wind off the ocean blew the thin skirt of her dress against her legs, showing just how truly narrow she was. Alex might have thought that she had gained weight during their journey but there was nothing of her. She was as slight as a woman could be. A stronger gust of wind would surely take her away. And in that moment, Alex knew that would be a better fate.

The chains around their ankles had been removed to allow them to walk, but the horrid sound of the metal clinking around his wrists unnerved him. They were marched into town, Alex and Belle bringing up the rear of the small group. The port town featured a main square that was indeed busy, filled with sailors, businessmen, masters. The vendors in the square boasted all sorts of goods, and Alex noted that their displays were not written in French. Were they, he still would not have been able to read them, but he had come to recognise French lettering during his life in Saint-Domingue. Was it English? Spanish? Dutch? He couldn't know.

Outside one of the shop fronts was a hitching post of sorts, one which appeared to be for horses. Though Alex quickly realised that it would not be horses tethered to this piece of timber. One by one, they were secured to the post by the sailors who had carted them here. Tethered like animals.

The sign on the shop they were before read: AUCTION & NEGRO SALES

Alex couldn't know what it said, but he did not have to be literate to infer. No sooner had they been fixed to the post, the people in the square began to gather, to gawk ... to appraise. It was then that Alex caught the eye of Belle.

Her eyes seemed nearly yellow in the direct sunlight, but that was not what was startling about them. It was the pure terror he could see as she silently pleaded with him. But she wasn't pleading to be saved.

Belle had told him during their very first conversation that what she feared most was worse than death. She would rather die. Her golden eyes wished for death, seeing it as her only way to salvation.

And perhaps she was right. Alex had promised himself that he would protect her. But he now doubted his ability to keep that promise. He could not even protect himself. He did not feel brave. He felt as small and as weak as the six-year-old boy who had been lashed within an inch of his life. Alex was powerless to stop what was coming, and he was too cowardly to say the words.

"If there is a God, he will kill me," whispered Belle.

Alex's tongue felt as though it was swollen in his mouth as his stomach seized. He wanted to tell her that if there was a God, he would save Belle. But it was a lie. God had no power over what would happen to them now. Man did. And man was an evil species, afflicted by greed like no other.

Men gathered, and Alex was able to discern some of the barbaric chatter, most of it sounding English. Were they in an English colony?

"No more than fifteen for that one," said one. "Look how scrawny he is."

"That one looks half dead. I wouldn't pay five guineas," called another.

"Have they been deloused?" shouted one more.

"Checked for plague?"

A portly man with a thick moustache and a coat entirely unsuitable to the tropical climate emerged from the shop with the captain of the merchant ship. He grinned at the crowd, holding his hands up as though he was being welcomed, stepping in front of the line of prisoners.

"The auction will begin in fifteen minutes," he shouted. "This product will not be moved for less than twenty pounds sterling a head, so unless you are prepared to pay, then bugger off!"

Auction. Alex's stomach dropped as the blood drained from his face. He, of course, had known it was coming, but hearing it was a different shock altogether. His eyes frantically flicked over the crowd, searching through the faces to see the sorts of men who would have twenty pounds. The masters.

The moustached man then turned around and looked over the line of them with almost hungry eyes. Those eyes, small and blue, quickly settled back on Belle as his head cocked to the side. "What a beauty," he muttered under his breath. "What a shame she's a negro. A waste."

Belle, thankfully, did not understand a word he said. Though Alex didn't know if that was a good thing in the end as her trembling grew worse.

"You will be untethered momentarily!" he called to them all. "Undress," he ordered. "If you try anything stupid, you will be shot."

Alex realised that he was perhaps the only one who understood English as the looks of surprise and confusion on the faces of the captives appeared as the sailors came to temporarily remove their chains.

"He asked us to undress," Alex said to Belle, and to the rest of them, in French. He had never been a part of a slave auction before, but he had seen them. And he knew that this was part of it. The dehumanising.

Belle shook her head fearfully as her own chains were unlocked and she brought her hands in front of her. Her golden eyes became glassy and Alex wanted to beg her not to cry before them.

Alex knew he should have told her what they would do if any of them refused, but a horrible thought filled his head. If she knew she would be shot if she tried to run, would Belle flee? Would it be merciful for Alex to let her?

What sort of God would allow this to be a decision a man had to make?

Nevertheless, he couldn't do it. He was too cowardly to give Belle that choice, and he shrugged out of his own shirt. The others, too, began to undress, and Alex averted his eyes as Belle, in her humiliation and despair, removed her dress before every disgusting man in the square.

She hugged her arms to her chest, her head hanging low as she tried to pull at her curly hair to provide for some modesty, but the ringlets disobeyed and sprung backward into place. She was not allowed the protection of her arms for long as they were wrenched back into chains, much to the delight of the onlookers.

Alex heard the filthy jeers that escaped the mouths of the crowd, thankful for the briefest of moments that they spoke English.

Alex did not hang his head in humiliation when his own clothes were on the ground beside him. He would not give them that satisfaction as his hands were roughly pulled back into irons.

The perspective purchasers began to approach, with no qualms in imposing themselves upon their intended property. Before Alex could even focus on any one man, his bottom lip was being pulled down before his jaw was seized in a vice grip, opening his mouth fully.

He could just about see the top of a grey-haired man's head as his teeth were inspected. Flicking his eyes to the side, Alex could see that Belle was suffering a similar inspection, her mouth being held by a man who appeared to be in his sixties, who used his other hand to palm her breast.

Alex nearly bit the finger of his own inspector in anger as he pulled on his chains.

"There now," chuckled his inspector condescendingly. "You're strong, aren't you, negro?"

For the full fifteen minutes before the auction, Alex was inspected, pulled and searched over every inch of his body for signs of disease. His ears were shouted into to check for hearing damage. His eyes and his speech were checked, as was his temper as every grotesque man passed Belle and searched her indecently.

One by one they were auctioned. Masters stepped forward with their coin purses and paid the moustached man as though they were buying bread for their table.

One went for twenty-five pounds.

Another for thirty.

The man who most vociferously called Belle a witch went for thirty-five pounds.

No matter how skewed their beliefs, no man deserved to be owned by another.

Belle was next, and Alex frantically searched the crowd for who appeared like a serious buyer. The men who stepped forward had all imposed themselves upon Belle and Alex was at a complete loss.

He heard her praying under her breath. "Mon dieu. Tuez-moi. S'il vous plaît. Mon dieu."

She was praying for God to kill her.

"Twenty pounds!"

"One!"

"Two!"

"Five!"

"Thirty!"

The bids increased far higher than they would normally for a woman. Belle didn't look. Her eyes were closed as she prayed, over and over. She begged for a lightning bolt to smite her.

Belle was sold for forty-one pounds sterling to a master who looked to be about forty years of age. He was dressed in finery, much the way the moustached man was, with no consideration of the heat and humidity in the Caribbean. The moment he had paid the fee, Belle was unchained and allowed to dress, before her irons were placed on her once more.

Alex watched in anguish and Belle was led away. He could still see her praying under her breath, looking up to the sky for any sign of lightning.

"And finally, our last negro," announced the moustached man, motioning to Alex. "Strong as an ox, just look at him. What will you give me?"

Alex's eyes were fixed on Belle and her master, not hearing the increasing bids coming from around the square. Never could he have imagined he would wish to be owned, but by God, he prayed for that man to put up his hand. Just so that if he tried to raise it against Belle, he would be there to stop him.

Alex had survived, and he would again.

"Forty-five."

Shock filled him as he realised that Belle's master had been the one to place that last bid.

"Fifty," bid another.

"Sixty," cried Belle's master. "And let that be end of it."

Sixty pounds sterling. Alex couldn't even fathom that amount of money, and yet it was, apparently, what he was worth. And it was the end of it. He was sold.

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Sometimes I think the research for this story has reached the worst, and yet it manages to sink lower. These sick psychos literally made these poor people undress in front of everyone for inspection, and the women were basically indecently assaulted. 

I found a picture online of a slave "shop" and it was literally called "Auction & Negro Sales", same as you'd advertise that you were a bloody grocery shop.

All we can do is hope that this author has some sort of plan *crosses fingers*.

I'm off to the football tomorrow which I'm excited about, and I'm hoping not to lose! 

I hope you all have lovely Mother's Days and treated your mums! I bought my mum this custom charcuterie board to replace an old one and instead of using it as a charcuterie board, she has bought a special hook and it's now on the wall as art hahaha. Think I'll have to buy another one she might actually use lol

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