Eschiva had reached her limit quite some time ago. Although
it was expected of her to manage the house, a job she did exceedingly well, she
had had enough of it. Hers was a political marriage of the worst sort. While her
husband had been welcoming enough, those of his house had did little to hide
their disapproval of her.
That
was not what truly bothered her. Despite the cold welcome, she was fortunate
that her husband was kind and genuinely affectionate towards her. That was
until he married his second, third, and fourth wives.
Now,
Eschiva was little more than an afterthought.
This
too though did not really trouble her. Despite receiving less attention, she
was still doted upon. Also, she was afforded many privileges and more freedom
than the others.
What
was wearing her down was the monotony of it all.
Day
in, day out, the same cycle repeated itself over and over. It was like a mill
stone grinding grain into meal. Slowly, she felt like Eschiva the woman was
becoming little more than Eschiva the chamberlain.
She
felt that leaving was her only recourse.
Eschiva
had left the grounds with her most trusted maid on the pretext of visiting the
bazaar. They were still well within the city limits when they had to stop. A
small pebble had gotten into her sandal that she just couldn’t seem to work
out. The more she walked, the more it irritated her.
Not
wanting to attract attention, then headed down a side street between two
stalls. What Eschiva found was something completely alien to her.
Having
grown up in a privileged household, she barely had occasion to go outside. When
she did, her sojourns had always been accompanied escorts, and always went
along the main thoroughfares. Even after her marriage, her own time was
non-existent, mostly it was spent with her own children. Outside of servants,
she had no direct interaction with those of lower status than herself.
Now,
in this back alley, she was confronted with harsh reality head-on.
A
woman, dressed only in rags, sat holding a small swaddled bundle. She was
crying, rocking it back and forth slowly. Across from her, a little further
down, an old man in rags slept with his head tilted back, snoring loudly. From
a doorway a little further down she heard the sounds of a man yelling and a
woman crying out. The entire area smelled of old, stale urine.
Eschiva
started to back away, when she tripped and fell, landing hard on her bottom.
She looked up to see two small sets of eyes peering from a nearby archway. The
children, like the others she saw here, were dressed in loose rags. Dirty and
gaunt, she couldn’t tell if they were male or female. They had a look of
sadness which was completely unknown to her.
Not
waiting to regain her feet, she started making her way back towards the bazaar.
Outside of the shadow of the alley and back in the sunlight of the market,
Eschiva felt as if a weight had been lifted off her. As her handmaid helped her
up, she suddenly realized there were tears running down her face. She quickly
made up her mind.
As
the servants greeted their mistresses return, Eschiva felt a sense of comfort
wash over her. With a renewed sense of self and a deep, new-found appreciation
of her life, she decided that there were worse things in life than being a
chamberlain.
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