Sue Vincent’s photo prompt got under my skin this week.

It contains my dowry. All I was ever likely to possess if only for the length of a sea voyage. It was mine until I handed it over to my future husband. Mother made sure that part of the bride price was in brocade and hair ornaments, ear rings and filigree beads. Nothing that would tempt a man, she said silently with her eyes. Perhaps I would get some joy of my father’s wealth. The rest—the coin, the plate, the jewels, Robert would keep.

I was given the only cabin, a cupboard that stank of fish oil and vomit. The captain had threatened to cut the throat of any men who touched me and I prayed his threat would be equal to the lock that wasn’t on the door.

The chest squatted next to my narrow bed. Although I wore…