by John Norman
How right it was that she should be so served!
What a wicked woman she was!
How richly such as she merited punishment!
He was pleased to have arranged it.
The officer who held her leash drew it taut. She looked up at him, frightened She tried to draw back.
It was at this moment that three figures, coming down the street, came to the edge of the throng. This group, or at least two personages of it, were sufficiently unusual or imposing, at least for the district, that the crowd, rather naturally, those who were aware of them, parted, that they might pass. One wore the uniform of an officer in the imperial navy; the other was a blond, blue-eyed giant of a man, clad in skins; the third figure was unimportant as she was a stripped, branded slave. Her hair had been cut short, apparently carelessly and brutally, and her wrists were bound together, behind her back.
“Way, way, please,” said the officer.
“Make way!” said the officer of the city, seeing the naval officer.
“Make way!” said the other officer, as well, he who held the girl’s leash.
“Thank you, my friends,” said the naval officer.
He had removed the purple cords from his left shoulder, in order to attract less attention, in order to remain, in effect, incognito in the streets. Purple was, of course, the color of the patricians, and the three cords would have marked him, for those who understood such things, as being of the highest of ranks, of the highest of bloods, as high as that of the imperial house itself.
“Oh!” said the slave, who was pressing closely behind the officer and the fellow clad in skins, as they made their way through the small crowd.
The officer, and the fellow clad in skins, turned about.
“I was touched! I was touched!” said the slave. She tried to pull her hands apart, but they were tied well, behind her back.
The fellow clad in skins surveyed the crowd behind the slave. Some men stepped back, not meeting his eyes.
“You!” said the blue-eyed giant. “Was it you who touched the slave?”
“No!” said a man.
“You?” he inquired of another.
“No, not I,” said the fellow addressed.
“Do not be angry, fellow,” said one of the officers of the city.
“You cannot expect to take her through the streets with bared flanks and not have her touched,” said a man.
“Not a beauty like that,” said another.
The slave straightened at this, startled, suddenly elated. How pleased she was that she had been found appealing. Surely such a gratification had never been hers as a free woman, to have been so openly, so candidly, commented upon.
But still, surely, they had had no right to touch her as they had. She was not theirs!
“I am not angry,” said the blue-eyed giant.
“She is attractive,” pointed out another man.
“Is she yours?” asked a man.
“Yes,” said the giant.
“Yes,” said the slave. “It is to him that I belong! I am his!”
Men regarded her, surprised.
“It was he, Master!” said the slave, indicating a fellow in the crowd. “He it was! I am sure of it!”
“Was it you?” asked the giant.
“You have her in the streets, slave naked,” said one of the officers of the city. “You are pressing through a crowd. You could not expect anything other, surely, if there are men here.”
Some of the men looked at Tuvo Ausonius, in amusement. Tuvo Ausonius reddened in anger.
“Was it you?” asked the giant, repeating his question to the fellow who had been indicated by the slave.
“Yes,” said the fellow. “It was I.”
“Yes, yes, it was he!” said the slave. “Now you will suffer!” she said to him.
“Go to him,” said the giant.
“Master?” she asked.
“Now,” said the giant.
She went to stand near the fellow.
The giant waved his hand toward her.
“Master!” protested the slave.
“My thanks!” said the fellow.
He took her firmly by the arm.
“Oh!” cried the slave.
In a few moments, at another gesture from the giant, the fellow desisted, and the slave, permitted to leave his vicinity, hurried to her master and, scarlet, and trembling, wide-eyed, knelt against his leg, pressing herself against it.
“Oh, Master,” she moaned.
As she knelt she was no more than a yard or two from, and on the same level as, the prisoner, Sesella Gardener, the stewardess, kneeling, buckled in canvas and leashed, in the keeping of one of the officers of the city.
“Next time,” said the giant to the man, “request my permission. I think you will find that I am inclined to be generous.”
“My apologies!” said the man.
“Surely you must complete what he has begun!” begged the slave of her master.
“What is her name?” asked a man.
“I have not yet named her,” said the giant. “She does not yet have a name.”
“Will you name her?” asked a man.
“I do not know,” said the giant. “I have not yet decided.”
She looked up at her master, frightened.
Some slaves are kept without names, of course, but normally they are given a name, by the master’s will, as a dog might be, that they may be conveniently summoned and referred to.
And even such a name is often precious to a slave, even though it is only a slave name.
“She seems new to her condition,” said a man.
“It has been a matter of less than an hour,” said the naval officer.
“Doubtless she will learn quickly,” said a man.
“That is my expectation,” said the naval officer.
“She had better!” said a man.
“Yes,” said another.
There was laughter.
“Master!” begged the slave.
“Slave, slave!” hissed Sesella Gardener. “How disgusting you are!”
The slave looked at her, wonderingly. “Are we not sisters?” she asked. “Pity me!”
“I am a free woman,” said Sesella Gardener. “You are only a slut of a slave!”
“Master,” whimpered the slave, looking up at the giant, “what you permitted him to do to me!”
“You are a slave,” said the giant.
“I have strange feelings,” she said, kneeling at his thigh, looking up at him, tears in her eyes. “I have never had these feelings before. I am uncomfortable. I do not know what to do!” There was laughter She squirmed on the stones.
“I am helpless,” she said. “I am at the mercy of men. I beg kindness!”
“We must be on our way,” said the naval officer.
“You will complete what he began, will you not, Master?” begged the slave. “I beg to be touched! I beg it! I will do anything!”
“You must do anything, in any event,” said the giant.
“Yes, Master,” she moaned.
“I am so helpless,” she wept. “I am so helpless!”
“What a slut she is!” cried Sesella Gardener.
“You, too, will learn such helplessness,” the officer holding her leash assured her.
“No, no!” said Sesella Gardener.
“Ah, but yes, my pretty little prostitute,” said the man holding her leash.
“No, no!” said Sesella Gardener. “And I am not a prostitute! I am not a prostitute!
“Oh!” she wept, in pain.
“Your denials grow tedious,” said the man.
He stood to her left, the leash in his left hand, looping up to her throat. Her head was up, held there, painfully. His right hand was still anchored in her hair. It was twisted tightly about his fist. She did not dare to move.
“Oh!” she said, again.
The slave regarded her, agonized.
“Oh!” cried the prisoner.
&
nbsp; “No, no!” cried the slave. “Do not hurt her!”
Men looked at her.
“Please do not hurt her,” said the slave, in a small voice.
“Is it yours to interfere?” asked the giant.
“No, Master,” she said.
“Did you request permission to speak?” asked the giant.
“No, Master,” she whispered.
“Stand,” said the giant.
She rose unsteadily to her feet.
He then held her by the hair and cuffed her, twice, once with the flat of his right hand, a stinging blow that left her face red, and then a backhand blow, lashing, with the back of his right hand.
She then sank, again, to her knees.
There she looked across to Sesella Gardener, whose head was still held tightly by the officer’s hand in her hair.
“I need nothing and want nothing from a stinking slave,” said Sesella Gardener, between clenched teeth, not daring to move her head, even a quarter of an inch.
“Yes, Mistress,” groaned the slave.
“You must learn,” said the giant, “that is not yours to interfere in the doings of men.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
The officer of the city removed his hand from Sesella Gardener’s hair.
“When it is convenient,” said the giant, “you will receive your first whipping.”
“Yes, Master,” said the slave.
“For, obviously, you have much to learn.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
Sesella Gardener now shook her head, tossing her long, lustrous hair about, arranging it as she could, by these movements.
Tuvo Ausonius noticed this. She is vain, he thought, as vain as a slave girl.
“It is time to leave,” said the naval officer.
“Please, Master,” begged the slave. “May I speak?”
“Yes,” said the giant.
“I was concerned for her,” said the slave.
“It is permissible to be concerned, and to be kind,” said the giant. “It is not always permissible to speak. And it is not permissible to interfere.”
“Then, ultimately, I am totally powerless!” she wept.
“Yes,” he said.
“Am I truly to be whipped?”
“Yes.”
“I shall try to be more pleasing.”
“That would be wise on your part,” he said.
“Master!”
“Yes?”
“I am needful.”
“That is common in a slave girl.”
“Will you touch me, sometimes?”
“Perhaps if you beg prettily enough,” he said.
“I shall! I shall!” she said.
“Slut!” said Sesella Gardener, kneeling, leashed, tossing her lovely hair about her shoulders with a movement of her head.
Tuvo Ausonius wondered what it might be to own Sesella Gardener, to truly own her, fully, as a master owns a slave girl.
He put such thoughts from him.
The naval officer then turned about.
The giant looked down at the slave, at his feet, and then he lifted his eyes, and surveyed the throng. Then he looked down, again, at the slave.
“No, Master,” she breathed. “Please, no!”
“You have my permission,” he said to the throng. He then turned about, to follow the naval officer.
The slave scrambled to her feet, following him.
“Oh!” cried the slave. “Oh!”
Men laughed.
“Oh!” she cried.
But she did not dare now to object, nor to show resentment, nor to even concern herself with the ascertainment of the identity of those to whose attentions she found herself subject, those whose interest, as she now understood, was only too naturally and comprehensibly stirred by one such as she. She had learned that a woman such as she, a slave in the streets, unless put under some particular protection, must expect such things.
Clearly her master had begun her instruction.
But had it not begun even with the searing of the iron?
Beyond the crowd, the assemblage of which had been parted by their passage, she turned to look back. There, at the end of the corridor opened in the throng, small, much alone, kneeling, on the leash, she saw Sesella Gardener.
“Slut! Slut!” cried Sesella Gardener to her. And then Sesella Gardener spat downward, on the stones.
The slave then turned about, to hurry after her master. How wrong she had been, she realized, to have implicitly put herself on a level with a free woman, daring to speak of her as though she might be a sister, daring to speak on her behalf, before men, as though she, too, might be free.
She must learn her place, and all that it might mean, that she was a slave.
“Get on your feet, my pretty little prostitute,” said he who held the leash of Sesella Gardener.
She looked up, in mute protest.
He shook the leash.
She rose to her feet.
She blushed. She had seen slaves respond to a similar signal.
“You claim,” said the officer in charge, he who had been in closest converse with Tuvo Ausonius, “that you are not a prostitute.”
“Yes!” she said.
He lifted up the silk and jewelry.
There was general laughter.
“Too bad, dearie,” called one of the women in the crowd.
“We paid for our licenses!” called another.
“Too bad you didn’t!” called another.
“Now you’ll get what you deserve!” said another.
“Slave bitch!” called another.
“No, no!” cried Sesella Gardener.
“You do not care for slaves, do you?” asked the officer who held her leash.
“They are sluts, sluts!” said Sesella Gardener.
“It is time to return to headquarters,” said the officer who had been in closest converse with Tuvo Ausonius.
“Come along,” said the officer who had the dark-haired beauty in custody, giving a tug on the leash.
She looked at him, wildly.
“You have an appointment to keep,” said a man.
“Yes,” called one of the women, “with a hot iron!”
Sesella Gardener spun to face Tuvo Ausonius.
“You have done this to me!” she cried.
“I do not know what you are talking about,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“Do not let him know where I will be sold!” she cried to the officers of the city.
“I have not the least interest in such matters,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
She was then led away.
She tried to hold back for a moment, but then the leash was taut.
She also felt a sudden, sharp blow, below the small of the back, delivered with the flat of a man’s hand, one of the throng, which sped her quickly forward.
There was laughter.
She looked back over her shoulder once, at Tuvo Ausonius, and was then out of sight.
“Where are such women sold?” Tuvo Ausonius inquired of a bystander.
He was told.
CHAPTER 19
“You summoned me, your majesty?” said Iaachus, arbiter of protocol.
Atalana, empress mother, lifted her eyes from the cup of stimulant, a small bowl of steaming kemac. She put it back, with two hands, on the small table which was across her lap on the canopied bed-of-state.
Iaachus surveyed, briefly, the women in attendance on the empress mother. Most were young, all were highborn. He was not impervious to the charms of women, but he was more attentive to the charms of power. He saw women largely in terms of their political applications, which tended on the whole to be somewhat different from those of men. Too, women, both slave and free, like wealth, tended to be perquisites which accompanied power.
“You have considered the matters concerning which I have recently spoken to you?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Iaachus.
He glanced about, somewhat uneasily, at th
e women in attendance.
“Concerning the emperor’s birthday,” said Atalana.
“Ah,” said Iaachus. “Of course.”
“Will you please draw the drapery a little, Elena,” said the empress mother. “There is too much glare in the room.”
“Yes, your majesty,” said the woman addressed, a pretty young patrician with brown hair and gray eyes, of the senatorial class, who, smiling knowingly, hurried to the drapery.
In a softer light the harsh lines of the empress mother’s pale, drawn, severe countenance would be softened.
“Are you amused at something, my dear?” asked the empress mother.
“No, your majesty,” said the woman, quickly.
“The glare hurts my eyes,” said the empress mother.
“Yes, your majesty,” said the young woman.
It was the manner of Iaachus to take note of such small exchanges.
Some of the other ladies in attendance exchanged glances.
The empress mother lifted the cup of kemac again from the table on the bed and, inhaling its fragrance momentarily, once again put it to her lips.
“Perhaps a play panoply of armor, and weapons, suitably blunted,” said Iaachus.
“He is an emperor of peace,” said Atalana.
“Perhaps a game of draughts?”
“He finds such things frustrating,” said Atalana.
“Perhaps a pony?” suggested Iaachus.
“Too dangerous,” said the empress mother.
Once again the lady Elena smiled. Surely she was very confident of her position in the palace, in the service of the empress mother.
The empress mother regarded her, over the cup of kemac.
The woman looked down, smiling, standing with others of her station, some on each side of the bed.
“He will be sixteen,” said Iaachus.
“Yes?” said the empress mother.
“Nothing,” said Iaachus.
She finished the tiny cup of kemac, and replaced it on the small table.
“What?” asked Atalana.
“It was only a thought,” he said.
She waved her hand and one of her ladies in attendance removed the table. Another adjusted the covers about her frame, and another, the lady Elena, the cushions behind her back and head.
“I thought, perhaps,” said Iaachus, “as he will be sixteen-perhaps a slave girl.”
The lady Elena stifled a laugh.
Immediately the empress mother turned to regard her.