Indentured

The cart rocks back and forth as the horse pulls it along the uneven road, jostling you about. So far you've managed to wedge yourself between the other goods to avoid being slammed about. "Other goods", god above, to think you are now someone's damned property! You glare at the rough planks of the floor as you think back to the day your father sold you. The drunk old sot could barely feed himself, let alone run a farm. If it weren't for you the farm would be a barren plot of dust. While you worked in the fields, day after day, your father slept off a nights heavy drinking.

When the landlord came to collect the rent, it wasn't a surprise that the old fart didn't have enough coin after the cold snap ruined half the harvest, but you weren't expecting him to sell you! Ungrateful old fuck. You quietly hope that he starves to or catches the plague. Still, you probably won't ever see him again, so he might as well be dead for all you care.

You feel the cart grind to a halt, the wheel's rhythmic squeak coming to an end with a final drawn out screech. Outside you hear a muffled conversation:

"Halt! Who goes?"
You've not heard the voice before, probably a guard.

"Hogarth, I'm here to trade!"
That's the merchant who bought you from your father. An unpleasant man. Time hasn't been kind to him and from the looks of it he's sold most of his teeth! You remember him examining you before he handed over the coins to your father, grudgingly. You're in good shape and probably worth more than the handful of silver he paid. Working the fields has given you a good physique and the sun, such as it is in Briton, has tanned your skin a pale copper. Your face is still youthful, though a layer of ash blonde stubble, matching your hair, attests to your manhood, and as to your manhood, well...you're proud.

"Hey Hogarth!" the guard again "Anything good?"

"Come take a look" yells Hogarth in reply.