Chapter Text
Turning away from the newest batch of slaves advertised as 'bodyguards' retired Colonel George Monro felt the familiar resignation that he wasn't going to find anyone suitable for his needs today. Just like he hadn't the last however many times he'd come down here looking. He'd long since lost count. You wouldn't think it would be hard to find a slave suitable to be a bodyguard. It shouldn't be this hard. Wouldn't be, if it wasn't for the fact most of those sort of slaves had more brawn then brains, which wouldn't suit for the sort of enemies Monro was at risk of being stabbed by.
He didn't need a bodyguard who'd die before realising there was even a threat on his life. He'd rather stay on alert himself then go to that trouble, or hire a mercenary as he needed to. After all, he's stayed alive this long by his own skills, but his weakening eyesight and slowed reflexes due to his age were starting to catch up to him. Even though, in close quarters or a sword fight, Monro's skills were as sharp as ever. But open confrontation wasn't the Assassins way. And Achilles' cult was full of young fanatics who were trained to sneak up on people and kill them before they were aware anyone was there.
And Monro didn't intend to be one of their victims. Not when he'd survived over forty years in the Order without being stabbed to death, having joined before his twentieth summer. Not that he hadn't had attempts on his life. Oh, there had been many attempts made. And he had been wounded more then once, by Assassins. But nothing that proved fatal.
Casting his eye about the slave markets, Monro debated where else to look. Most of the new slaves this week were young females or teenage boys, so he didn't have many new options for what he wanted. Not that he was totally sure what he wanted. Or, rather, he knew what he wanted, and it was unrealistic.
Haytham's opinion was he was vastly over-thinking this. When Monro had first suggested, a year or so ago, that he was thinking of getting a bodyguard to be his eyes and reflexes, the Grand Master had thought it a wonderful idea. Six months later, he'd started to question the lack of progress. And now, he was of the opinion Monro needed to just settle on someone.
If it was as easy as Haytham made it out to be, Monro would have found a suitable candidate months ago. Problem was, it wasn't that easy. He needed someone with some measure of intelligence and who was physically able to hold their own, as Monro's physical abilities would wane as he continued aging. It had to be someone he could trust (a difficult thing, given his line of work) someone who could know about his work and true intentions without compromising the Order, and someone he could at least tolerate being around. Seeing he'd have to live with them.
At least, that's what he'd told Haytham. Truth was, Monro wanted a companion as much as a bodyguard. Someone to talk to and socialise with, not to have sex with, which is what most companions ended up being used for. Monro wasn't interested in that. He'd never really being interested in sleeping with anyone, not even a woman. He found intellectually connecting with someone more rewarding and enjoyable.
Problem is, most slaves weren't taught or encouraged to talk intellectually with their owners. Unless they were scribes or high-class prostitutes. Neither of which would suit Monro's primary need of a bodyguard. Monro knew he probably was been too picky with finding someone (it had been over a year since he'd first made the decision, and he still hadn't bought someone after all!) but no slave he'd looked at had felt right.
And none of the other Templars were interested in selling anyone who would suit his needs. And besides, Monro had his own business to attend to, and didn't want a slave who had previous ties to an fellow Templar. That could lead to a conflict of interest. And he wasn't going to take up Haytham's offer of finding an assassin, nabbing them, and doing a bit of brainwashing themselves to make them loyal to the Templars. The suggestion had been in jest (Monro hoped) but he also knew their Grand Master had no qualms about doing morally questionable acts. Even though Haytham had been right in saying Monro basically wanted an assassin as a bodyguard. The list of skills and attributes he was after did lean in that direction.
But that was impossible. They all wanted him dead. And Monro wasn't into torturing and mentally breaking someone to be what you wanted. That was just cruel. Even though slavery was cruel, slaves having very few rights under law, their conditions primarily determined on the benevolence of their owner. Though most of the people Monro associated with were decent masters. And mistresses. It made sense to treat your slaves well to garner their loyalty, and they weren't exactly inexpensive either.
That wasn't always the case. The Assassins, for example, were said to see their slaves as less then human. Less then animals, even. Though Monro wasn't surprised by that. Their whole thing was ruling through terror and chaos, their Mentor, Achilles Devonport, believing he was the reincarnation of some god. He wasn't the first of their leaders to believe that, but from the few reports they had, he did seem a rather extreme case.
But then, the Assassins were extreme. In both their beliefs, and their actions. The entire Templar Order agreed their practice of ritually cutting off their left ring finger in order to wield one of their hidden blades was sheer madness. It might have once been necessary, but the design of the blade could be modified to sit differently on the wrist so no fingers were in danger when using it. Monro knew this first-hand, as their Grand Master wielded a blade in such a way. The blacksmith who made all their rings (and anything else the Order needed) had gone to great lengths to figure out a way to do that. He was a learned and intelligent man, as well as being the best blacksmith in these parts. While not a Templar, he knew of their Order, and kept their secret.
And had for over twenty years, now. His loyalty was absolute. Helped by the fact he was paid very well for anything he made for the Order. And his son, while lacking the experience in blacksmithing due to his youth, was proving to have a similar loyalty and showed great promise with his own blacksmiths skills.
And his eldest daughter had recently married the son of another order member.
Monro had basically gone through the entire market by now, and was making his way around again, just in case he'd missed something. Most of the sellers ignored him, used to him wandering around and not actually buying anything. They'd largely dismissed him as no one worth spending any thought on. Monro couldn't blame them. He'd been coming here practically weekly for a year now, and had yet to buy anyone.
The hubbub in the slave markets was something he had long since learnt to ignore, However, as he worked his way around for the second time, one merchant's words caught his attention.
“Fully complete, except of course for his missing finger!”
Monro paused, blinking at such an odd thing to drew attention to. Missing finger? Turning towards the voice, Monro pushed through the crowd surrounding one of the raised platforms dotted around this market. Running his eye over the slaves on display, he didn't immediately notice any of them to be missing a finger. He did notice several of them were clearly drugged. Which was common with problematic merchandise, to ensure they wouldn't attack either the merchants or potential customers. And the ones troublesome enough to need to be drugged attracted a specific clientele. Normally those who enjoyed lording their power and authority, or boosting their ego, by breaking in a slave.
Monro liked doing neither of these things. A slave with the potential to cause that much trouble wasn't worth the bother.
Still not seeing which slave it was that the merchant had spoken of Monro beckoned him over. He came at once, all oily smiles.
“Yes, good sir? How may I please you today? I have fine young virgins ripe for the plucking.”
Hiding a shudder at such vulgar language, Monro shook his head.
“No thank you. But you said something about a missing finger?”
The merchant nodded, after a surprised pause.
“Yes. One of my wares is unfortunately maimed in that regard. But he's sound in every other way!”
Monro deliberately looked vaguely interested.
“Show me.”
The merchant nodded at once, beckoning him onto the platform and towards a man chained at the far end.
“Him. He's – proved to be a little troublesome, so we've had to drug him for everyone's safety. But he's strong, good sir! Be perfect for whatever you have in mind.”
Monro strode over to the man. His hands were secured behind his back, but Monro moved around him, seizing his left hand and moving it to where he could see it. Yes, it was his ring finger that was missing, only a stump remaining. And it was an old injury, long since healed. Monro felt a rush of shock and disbelief.
That injury was exactly what the Assassins did...
The man was aware enough to realise someone was touching him, and tried to pull away. Monro kept his grip firm, however, giving the man a good look over. He was in pretty rough shape. While the finger was an old injury, the mostly scabbed over whip marks covering his back and rear were recent, as was the large 'T' branded just below his right shoulder blade.
Monro frowned. What had happened to him? Was he an Assassin who'd had a falling out? Or was the missing finger a coincidence?
The merchant came over just then, having been speaking with another potential customer examining one of the girls.
“Anything I can help you with, sir?”
Monro nodded.
“Yes. How did you get him?”
“Ah, of course. Associates of mine found him inland. He was already injured, but they figured he was good looking and strong enough to be worth bringing here. I can give you a good deal, if you're interested. He's given us trouble, but a strong man like you shouldn't have any issues bringing him to heel.”
Monro ignored the attempted flattery. He wasn't interested in bringing anyone to heel, nor in buying a troublemaker. What he was interested in was the missing finger, the recent wounds, and the circumstances surrounding how this man had ended up here.
“You can't tell me more about how he ended up with your 'associates'?”
“Regretfully, no. They don't tell me the details. But they don't do kidnappings, I assure you. Everyone you see here was sold to me.”
Given the motley mix of slaves he was selling here, Monro was inclined to believe him. He seemed very honest, for a man in his profession. And Monro had had plenty of experience in the past year in this very market.
He felt this man was actually telling the truth.
Monro let go of the man, stepping back to scrutinise him. He was underfed, tummy tucked in and ribs far too visible, but had decent muscle definition, and certainly wasn't malnourished. Just hadn't eaten properly in a few weeks. Monro was pleased to see he wasn't maimed in any other way apart from the finger. With so few laws and regulations in place to protect slaves, short of cutting off an arm or leg, there was little one couldn't get away with doing to a slave's body.
He wasn't that much shorter then Monro, though he had a leaner build. His dark hair was shoulder length, and desperately needed a wash. Using two fingers under his chin to lift his head, the man flinched at Monro's touch and cowered away. Monro kept his grip firm, examining the man's face. He looked to be in his late twenties, and had pleasant features, even if his face was disfigured by a rather long scar crossing over one eye. His brown eyes were glazed over and unfocused, no doubt a result of the drugs in his system. He was pale, cheeks hollow, and had dark circles around his eyes. When Monro touched his mouth, he tried to pull away, but was too weak to resist for long. He still didn't make it easy to check his teeth, but Monro thankfully managed to avoid being bitten.
His teeth were in good condition. Letting go of him and stepping back, Monro gave the man a good look over again. The slave hung his head, fine tremors shaking his body. He flinched away as Monro approached again, though the retired Colonel got the impression the man's behaviour wasn't intended to be troublesome. The cowering and flinching away, the reluctance to let himself be touched – he was trying to protect himself, injured and confused as he was. And possibly running a bit of a fever, given his flushed face. Probably from the inflamed brand on his back. Which couldn't be older then a few weeks, and was still swollen and red.
And that missing finger. Making a decision, Monro turned to the merchant.
“I'll take him. How much?”
The man's eyes lit up, but he was actually a very reasonable merchant, and Monro felt the price he paid in the end was very fair. Still a lot, as none of the man's injuries were life-threatening, but not bad at all considering everything else. Even though he had both private means and his pension, Monro lived simply, and didn't often indulge in overspending. Bottom line, he could easily afford the amount he ended up paying.
Once the sale was finalised, the merchant tipped his hat to Monro.
“Would you like me to deliver him to your residence, Sir? Or will you take him now?”
Knowing there was a fee involved upon the delivery, Monro shook his head.
“I'll take him now, thank you.”
The merchant nodded, making sure the man's hands were securely tied behind his back before releasing him from the chain he'd been secured to. The slave stumbled and almost fell down the steps through not lifting his feet high enough,; he was only saved by Monro's quick reflexes in grabbing and steadying him. Realising the drugs were making him unsteady and he wasn't fully aware of his surroundings, Monro hustled the slave in front of him, firmly keeping hold of his bound hands. His home being half-way over the other side of the city, in one of the nicer neighbourhoods, made hailing a carriage necessary once they left the slave market. His newest slave wasn't capable of walking far in his condition, coupled with the fact he has no shoes and was naked.
Once they were in the carriage, Monro took off his cloak (thankful he'd decided to wear one today) and made the slave sit down before wrapping it around him. The man huddled into the soft wool, before curling up in a corner of the carriage, reminding Monro of a wounded animal trying to hide. Whatever had caused them to give him so much of the mind-confusing drugs, Monro couldn't see the slave's actions now as meaning anything but him trying to protect himself. It was pitiful, and Monro almost hoped he was wrong about this man having been an Assassin.
The Assassins were a fiercely proud and strong people, even if they were crazier then hares in spring and fanatical to their death. It made Monro uncomfortable, the thought of one of them reduced to this. It was just...wrong.
The slave was still shaking, even though it wasn't cold in the carriage and he was wrapped up in Monro's cloak. He hadn't stopped shaking since Monro had bought him, which the Colonel found worrisome. It wasn't that cold, so it must either be pain from his injuries, or shock. Or both. The sooner they got home so Cassidy could take a look at him, the better. And so he could have a bath and get cleaned up. The slave merchant had obviously cleaned him off, but it was still far from Monro's standards of cleanliness. And his back needed to be treated and dressed. And painkillers would be a kind thing to give him. Would help settle him and give him some rest.
They'd just have to be careful not to give him too much until the mind-confusing drugs wore off. Monro knew what drug it was, and knew it would wear off in a few days time leaving no long-term effects. Except he likely wouldn't remember anything that had happened while he'd been under the influence. The drug had been used, both legally and illegally, for centuries to wipe minds, forget something, or to control. It was currently legal to buy and use, though drugging a free person without consent could result in criminal charges.
Such protections didn't extend to slaves. Anyone could give them basically anything without repercussions. And without limits. Though killing a slave by a drug overdoes was seen as a stupid thing to do, there were plenty of other ways to use drugs to force compliance or to control.
None of which Monro agreed in. If you needed to use drugs to control your slaves, you were the problem, not them. He understood why the dealers and merchants did it, as they only had slaves short term and didn't have time or interest in fixing behavioural problems. Not when they could just sell the real problems to those who'd enjoy breaking them. Which Monro also didn't see as necessary. Sure, he knew some slaves were dangerous and nothing would seem to teach them, but the vast majority, in his experience, could be brought into line by being strict, firm, and kind. Clear boundaries, clear expectations, clear punishments, if they were warranted. Incentives and rewards for work well done also worked wonders.
Monro knew he wasn't just a bleeding heart, as many others felt similarly to how he did. Most of the Templar Order members saw things in a similar light, believing order began in your own household. When your life was ordered and in control, then you could move further afield to do the same.
Where they differed was in how they chose to achieve this order. Though Monro wasn't aware of anyone in his acquaintance who was outright cruel. But he was certainly more lenient with how he did things then Haytham was, for example. He flat-out intimidated anyone into behaving, backing it up if needed. He wasn't cruel, however. And given he was the Grand Master of their Order, he couldn't afford to allow any potential weakness to show. It could too easily be exploited.
It seemed to take forever for them to arrive home, though Monro estimated it only took about fifteen minutes. Paying the driver, he unlocked the front door before hustling the new slave inside. The boy didn't resist, though he almost fell out of the carriage and wasn't any steadier once they were indoors. He seemed to be even more muddled by the drugs then he had been when Monro had first seen him. The Colonel realised he must have been given another dose just before he'd come along, and it was just starting to really kick in. Keeping a firm hand on him, Monro called out.
“Cassidy!”
It only took a few moments for his housekeeper to bustle through the entryway to the rest of the house. She took one look at them, and sighed.
“What have you done now, George? Who is this?”
“He's hurt.” Monro stated. “And muddled from the drugs. Could you prepare a bath? I think we need to get him clean before anything else.”
Cassidy assessed the situation quickly, before nodding.
“Right. Explanations of who he is and how he came to be here can wait until he's seen too. I'll send Barry to help you bring him through. He barely looks capable of standing unassisted, let alone walking.”
Monro dipped his head in acknowledgement and respect for the woman who'd raised him and being there for him his whole life.
“That would be great. Thank you, Cassidy.”
“Hm.” Was all his housekeeper and ex-nanny said before bustling out of the room, calling for her husband as she did so. Deciding it was best to wait for help before trying to move the new slave any further, Monro mulled over what he was going to tell Cassidy regarding why he'd bought him. This boy wasn't exactly ideal bodyguard material, even discounting the whole Assassin-thing, after all.
Oh well. He could always tell her he'd bought the boy because he was curious about his missing finger. Cassidy knew better then most he'd done plenty of things in his life for strange reasons.