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“Come with me,” he told her, every word dripping with command. He turned quickly and began to walk away.
Ayala did what she could to make her jelly-like legs move. What was going to happen to her? Her mind raced as she followed, forcing her feet to take step after step, trying to keep up with his quick pace. He walked along the dirt paths of the fields, slowly edging toward the city. Ayala quickly followed, knowing she had little choice in the matter.
Breaking free of the maize fields, they walked quickly toward the grand city of Tenochtitlan, capital of the Aztec empire. Crowds bustled in the distance, shopping through the markets or selling their wares. The grand temple rose in the center of the city. Everything Ayala could think of was sold there, from gold and jade jewelry, to handmade pots, to all different types of food. Surrounding the city was the great Lake Texcoco. Seemingly, the city rose from the lake, built up from the center. Temples, grand towers, and homes all built from stone met her sight, rising in the distance.
The man paused in front of a noble-looking house, relatively close to the fields she was working in. He walked to the door and opened it. He looked back, waiting for her to obey and enter the building ahead of him. Sh
e kept her eyes on the ground as she passed him, moving through the threshold of the door, feeling as though she was walking to her doom.
Ayala blinked, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dimmer indoors. Some light streamed through the windows, illuminating the inside of the noble home. Furniture made of dark wood decorated the room. Lush, elaborate, and colorful carpets lay on the floor of stone. There was a table in the center of the room, multiple straight-backed chairs pushed up against it. There was a fireplace tucked into the wall, flames flickering and snapping within it. A hallway led to other rooms unknown.
She had never been in such luxury. The cabin she lived in was a single room with a hearth at the center and was shared with some of the other slaves who worked the fields. A hole in the ceiling allowed the smoke to escape, and she slept on a straw mattress in one of the corners of the room. It was scratchy and uncomfortable, with only a few blankets.
She walked to the table and stood, turning to face the strange man who had ushered her away. Ayala was silent, trying to behave, as a woman in her culture should, subservient to men. She kept her eyes downward, not wanting to unintentionally pose a challenge.
“Tell me, do you often run around the fields saving women you do not know from the hands of strange men?” he said softly, compassion emerging in his tone of voice.
Ayala looked up in surprise, having expected something much crueler. She met his eyes, not knowing what to say.
“I… I … I’m sorry, sir,” was all she could think of. She wrung her hands, unsure what to do with them.
“What is your name?” he said quietly.
“Ayala,” she replied, quickly adding a “sir” afterwards, hoping to please him.
“Ayala,” he said, almost as if he could taste it. “That is a very pretty name,” he added, allowing it to roll off his tongue. “My name is Lord Eiotan. I own the fields that you work in. You belong to me.”
Her mind raced, but she kept her eyes on the floor. This was the man who owned her mark, the man who held her freedom in his hands. The Aztecs, in a territory not too far away, had captured her people. She was young and strong and could work, and therefore had been taken to the capital and sold. Ayala had never seen the man who owned her before.
She felt him come toward her, but she didn’t dare move. Her body began to quake with fear. His hand cupped her chin and pushed it up. She slowly met his powerful gaze, feeling very small in his presence. He smiled at her, his features warming with kindness. She felt oddly safe for a moment, before she quickly remembered who he was.
“I like you. You seem like a woman who can think for herself. I don’t think you belong in the fields any longer. I think I will take you as my personal servant instead. Would you like that?”
Ayala opened her mouth to respond, but no words came forth. His hands dropped to her shoulders, almost cradling her with reassurance.
“It would be easier work for you, but you would have to follow my rules, or face the consequences of disobeying me.”
Ayala swallowed past the lump in her throat. “By that, sir, you mean my death,” she stammered. Execution of servants was commonplace within the Aztec community. She let her eyes fall again.
He was strangely silent, gazing down at her. He used his fingers to pick up her chin, silently encouraging her to meet his eyes.
“No, not at all.” He paused. “The way I punish my servants is through a spanking. I would pull out a chair from that table and sit down, and then I would bare your bottom, and spank you until I feel you are truly sorry for what you have done.”
Ayala opened her eyes wide. She was a grown woman! Her own mother had not spanked her since she was a little girl. All she remembered was that it hurt, and it hurt an awful lot.
“You would spank me?” she whispered. “But I am grown; I do not need to be punished like a child.” She stuck out her chin a bit, feeling slightly defiant.
“Should you agree to work for me personally, misbehaving and disobeying my orders is something a child would do, therefore qualifying you for a punishment as such.”
Ayala narrowed her eyes a bit before responding, chewing his response over in her mind. “You would not kill or torture me for such an offense? I have heard stories, and seen the trials. Slaves have little rights here.”
“I will not kill or torture you, I promise.” He walked over to the table and pulled out a chair, placing it away from the table with a wide berth. Nervous butterflies flew through Ayala’s stomach. What was he doing?
“If what you say is true, I agree to serve you, sir,” she managed to stammer out as he sat down in the chair, a distance too far from the table for her comfort.
“Then come over here, young lady, I am going to show you what shall happen should you disobey me.”
“I’m sorry?”
