Selling slaves was indeed the most direct—and most helpless—choice for many Sauron families when they had nowhere left to turn. The news that the slaves in neighboring Helen's household had frozen and starved to death only made the suggestion seem all the more realistic and cruel.
Einar's brows knotted tight. He unconsciously rubbed his frozen fingers together, his voice hoarse. "Where would we get extra slaves? Counting everything, we've only got these two. If we sell them, who's going to farm that little patch of poor land after spring comes? Am I supposed to do it all by myself? If we miss the farming season, what are we going to eat next year?"
He was a warrior. Farming had never been his strength to begin with. Without slaves, life would become even harder to keep going.
His wife lowered her head and fell silent for a moment, the firelight throwing her haggard profile into relief.
She had clearly thought it over for a long time already. When she raised her head, her eyes carried a kind of ruthlessness and calculation ground out by life. "Husband, think about it. In this hamlet, are there so few households without slaves, relying entirely on themselves to work the fields to death? Aren't they still scraping by like this too?"
"If you're worried farming will delay your martial practice, afraid you'll lose face in front of the headman... then... then just sell the woman!" She pointed outside the door. "Sell her to Helen's family. Her family needs a woman to work. Maybe we can get a few silver coins and some grain for her."
"What about you?" Einar looked at his wife's slightly swollen belly, a flicker of reluctance flashing through his eyes. "Your body's getting heavier. Then there won't even be anyone to