Not because he couldn't buy me the clothes I liked or the jewelry I enjoyed, but more because he wasn't my Master and I was a slave in my heart as muc... as my flesh.We were four hours and about two hundred miles from Memphis, near as I could figure, in a cheap love motel just on the other side of Little Rock, Arkansas. It was a long ways to California and Mr. Davis was a careful driver, keeping us below the speed limit and not taking the chance of getting pulled over with a stolen negra in his. My horse had continued on the road, reaching the gates outside of London before dawn. At least a hundred other people were also waiting for the gates to open at sunrise.Seeing that I was heavily armed, a gruff-looking soldier approached and asked what my business was. “I was sent by the Earl of Lancaster with an important message for the King,” I answered nervously.“Follow the road along the north bank of the river to Kensington,” he instructed, waving his arm in a southwesterly direction. I. More

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