Chapter Thirteen: EnslavedGulliard looked down on the heaving mass of bodies in the gully. From his vantage point on the outcrop, he could see that the stream of slaves reached back around the bend some one hundred yards further down the valley.
Staggering onwards towards the bridge, four or five abreast, hands bounded and ankles chained against the possibility that they might run, there must have been more than eight hundred men altogether. The stench and warmth of the human traffic engulfed Gulliard, leaving a sour film on his face and tongue.
It was a fresh evening, bright with the glow of a full moon. The summer air hung about in thick globs, speeding and slowing time, making it oddly surreal in the gully. There was little sound, save the footfalls of the marching men crunching the d
