Chained Cargo by Lesley Owen

now very late and they retired to Quinn’s bed, exhausted.
    Sarah laid in Quinn’s arms with her head on Quinn’s shoulder, she looked up. “Jacqueline, tell me about those brands and what happened to you.”
    Quinn laid back and looked towards the ceiling, stroking Sarah’s head.
    “I remember it all so vividly, as if it was yesterday. Like you, I once worked on the De Moncey plantation . I was an English teacher and child minder to Françoise . After a couple of years I had become a sex slave to Pierre de Moncey. He would put me on display, sometimes whip me in front of his friends and make me perform all sorts of sexual acts.”
    Sarah moved her head. “Yes. He did that to me as well – horrible man.”
    “I was young and impressionable then and I have to admit that much of it was enjoyable. Anyway, Danielle was jealous of me from the start and eventually found out what was going on. S he planted a valuable ring amongst my belongings in my room and then accused me of theft. I was so annoyed with her, I hit her. That was a terrible mistake because she then accused me of assault. The police were brought in, the ring found and I was taken off to jail. No one defended me and Pierre just didn’t get involved.
    “I was tried and condemned to twelve years hard labour at the notorious Î les du Salut penal colony off the Atlantic coast of French Guiana. Immediately after I was sentenced I was stripped. They shaved my head, shaved off my pubic hair and gave me just a thin short-sleeved linen prison slip to wear. I’ve never forgotten that slip. It was too small for me and barely came down to cover my backside. I was half naked in it and my large breasts lifted the slip at the front. My shaved crotch was exposed for all to see. They put me in chains and took me like this down to the harbour to be shipped to the colony. Everyone stared at me as I walked. I was so ashamed. I have nightmares about it now. I was taken below deck to join a few other women in my predicament. We were kept there chained for the month’s journey to the colony. We were at the mercy of our jailors, we had to let them use us anyway they wanted or risk a whipping.
    “We finally arrived at the Îles du Salut and I learnt that I was to be dropped off at the lesser known Île Saint-Joseph, the southernmost island of the group rather than the infamous Île du Diable. My hopes were raised but soon dashed, because I discovered that t his island was reserved for solitary confinement. Here t he inmates a re kept separated in their own cells with a small patch of land at the front where they have to produce their own food.
    “We arrived at Île Saint-Joseph and I was taken to the guardhouse. Once inside the guard took hold of the back of what was left of my filthy slip and tore it off me in one movement. I was now naked except for my chains and sweating in the hot stuffy atmosphere. There was no point in hiding myself, the slip hid little and I was their property now. After they had done their paper work I was given a prison number – number thirty-eight. I was no longer Christine Cartwright but just this number ‘trente-huit’. This was all I would be called from now on.
    “ They t ook me to a building at the far end of the courtyard , which they called the blacksmith’s shop. I was pulled inside by my chain s . It was stifling hot and dark inside and the first thing I saw was the glow of coals in a fire. It took a moment for my eye s to adjust to the light. In front of me , beyond a strange iron frame was the brick surround of a raging fire. There was a large anvil in front and a bare chested man soaked in sweat was busy hammering a piece of red hot metal. To each side of the room were tables with various metal working tools. Another bare chested man was sorting through them. I was pushed towards the frame by the guard. The floor was stone paving , but I remember it being warm under my feet. I was close to the frame and could see its form more