by John Norman
Too, the intervention of the free male is often the only thing the slave girl can hope for, to protect her from the hatred, jealousy, and cruelty of the free woman. The free male is often the only thing standing between the slave and the free woman, resolute and unconstrained, driven by vindictiveness and malice.
“Tenrik will soon be about, himself,” said the slaver’s man, “to hang your placard about your neck.”
“What will it say, Master?” asked Cornhair.
“I do not know,” said the slaver’s man.
“Should we not be permitted clothing, Master?” asked Cornhair.
“Not on Tenrik’s shelf,” said the man. “Do you think you are a free woman?”
“No, Master,” she said.
“Men like to see what they are buying,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair.
The fellow then seized one of Cornhair’s wrists, behind her, it manacled, chained to the other, by three links. He shook the wrist, with a rustle of linkage.
“You are well held,” he said, releasing her wrist.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Tenrik will be along presently,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
It had now been six days since the raid of Abrogastes on the capital, leading to the encounters in the palace, and the abduction of the two royal princesses, Viviana and Alacida. As nearly as Cornhair could gather, the abduction was not generally known.
The last few days had surely been amongst the worst in Cornhair’s life. In the lofty behaviors of her days of freedom, long ago, she had given little attention to the men and women she had routinely dismissed and slighted. They were not even enemies. They were too far beneath her. They were little more, from her point of view, than humiliori, save for their pretensions. Sometimes she mocked them, more often she ignored them, patently. Whereas she had frequently received the gratifications attendant on the superior person’s license to despise and humiliate inferiors, she had failed to realize, in her naïveté, that these others, however mistakenly, might take themselves as seriously as she took herself, and that slights, and such, unavenged, not replied to, might rankle, and fester, for years. How pleased then would so many have been, had they discovered the downfall of that haughty, thoughtless patrician, even of the senatorial class, the Lady Publennia, of the Larial Calasalii, who had been the source of so many of their most keenly felt humiliations. Cornhair, in the matter of the Lady Gia Alexia of the Telnar Darsai, had fallen into the clutches of an enemy whom she had wholly forgotten, and even earlier, when aware of her, would never have accorded the dignity of being regarded as a rival, let alone an enemy.
“There!” had cried the Lady Gia Alexia, as she had snapped the collar on Cornhair’s neck. And then had come the first of Cornhair’s many switchings. The Lady Gia Alexia, almost beside herself with fury, had laid the switch liberally on the body of her slave, until scarcely an inch of Cornhair had not felt its stroke. She was even struck across the face, and she feared she might be blinded. She put her head down. She was struck even on the back and sides of the neck, and on the calves and ankles, as well as on her back and belly, sides, and arms and legs. “Please stop, Mistress! Please, stop, Mistress!” had begged Cornhair.
“There you are,” laughed the Lady Gia Alexia, lowering the switch, her arm weary, “once the rich, arrogant Publennia, scion of the Larial Calasalii, now a blubbering, beaten slave! Is it not true?”
“Yes, yes, Mistress,” wept Cornhair. “Please do not beat me more!”
“Can you cook, slave?” asked the Lady Gia Alexia. “Can you sew?”
“No, Mistress,” wept Cornhair, her body a shuddering terrain of stinging fire.
“Can you do hair? Can you draw baths? Can you mix cosmetics, perfumes, use the pencils and brushes?”
“No, Mistress,” wept Cornhair. “Such things were done for me.”
“Useless slave!” said the Lady Gia Alexia.
“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.
“Perhaps you can launder, scrub floors, and carry a market basket behind your Mistress?”
“Yes, Mistress,” wept Cornhair.
“And carry notes for me, to my male friends?” she said.
“Yes, Mistress,” wept Cornhair.
“I have chains in my domicile, left over from a former tenant,” she said. “I am sure they will fit you nicely.”
“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair. “Thank you, Mistress.”
“You are familiar with slave gruel, are you not?”
“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.
“We will find a pan for you,” she said. “In the domicile, as you are a beast, you will, of course, not use your hands to feed yourself. Too, as you are a beast, you are not to stand upright. You may, of course, sit on the floor, kneel, lie down, be on your belly, be on all fours, or such. Too, you are not to use human speech unless permitted. If you wish to speak, you must approach me on all fours and whimper, for permission.”
“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.
Such strictures, of course, impractical on the street, were limited to the domicile.
As mentioned earlier, the last few days had been amongst the worst in Cornhair’s life. She was confined to lowly domestic labors, primarily the scrubbing of floors, naked and shackled, and, in this task, was loaned out, for a pittance, to several neighbors. She was also used for laundering, polishing leather, polishing silver, and such. Occasionally, she accompanied her Mistress to the market, bearing her basket, some steps behind her. Once, on the street, encountering some of her friends, the Lady Gia Alexia had turned to Cornhair, and had held out her switch to her. “Take it, if you wish,” she said. “I give you permission to strike me with it.” “No, no, Mistress!” had cried Cornhair, terrified, and fell to her knees, and put down her head, and piteously, in her terror, kissed, again and again, the Lady Gia Alexia’s slippers. One of her friends had laughed. “Now,” she said, “dear Gia, you need not cut off her ears and nose.” Cornhair, of course, from her days of freedom, was fully cognizant of the penalties which might attend such things, perceived imperfections in a slave’s deportment or service, things, for example, such as failing to speak deferentially to a free person, let alone such things as raising one’s hand to a free person, or striking a free person.
Nights were unpleasant for Cornhair, for the Lady Gia Alexia kept her in close chains, and chained by the neck, closely, to a ring in the foot of her couch. The morning and bedtime switchings, brief as they were, were also unpleasant.
Cornhair, in her days of freedom, with her slaves, and, later, after her reduction in wealth and status, consequent upon the Larial Calasalii’s loss of patience with her profligacy, with her single slave, Nika, had never considered that she herself might one day find herself in her present position, herself a slave at the mercy of a free woman.
The free woman hates the slave; the slave lives in terror of the free woman. And Cornhair was now a slave.
Aside from her various tasks, scrubbing, laundering, and such, Cornhair had also been utilized, as is not unknown for a free woman’s slave, to convey messages on behalf of her Mistress.
Naturally it is much preferable to use one’s own slave for such a purpose, particularly in certain instances, than to rely on the slave of a friend, a friend who has friends, with whom she is accustomed to exchange pleasantries.
The free woman’s slave, as she is inconspicuous, generally not known, and such, is, accordingly, a frequently relied upon instrument in her Mistress’ adventures. She constitutes an invaluable go-between in situations where a visible presence of the Mistress would be perilous, if not unthinkable. Indeed, the intrigues and assignations of a free woman would scarcely be conceivable were it not for the mediation of the free woman’s slave. By means of the slave, of course, bearing the relevant notes back and forth, assignation
s, trysts, secret meetings, and such, may be conveniently and discreetly arranged.
Four times, and twice in one day, Cornhair had borne a note from her Mistress to a gentleman in the Lycon district, an attorney and rhetor, Titus Gelinus, prominent in the courts. Indeed, his cross-examinations, summations, and perorations were commonly greeted with applause by auditors, many of whom, it seems, had crowded into the galleries to hear him speak. This was particularly impressive because, apparently, this applause was not previously arranged for, and paid for, as was rumored to be the case in many trials. Sitting in on trials, and following interesting cases, and such, was a favorite pastime of many citizens of Telnar, at least those who, apparently, had little else to do.
Cornhair knew little of the law. She did know, even from her days of freedom, that the testimony of slaves was taken under torture.
“There are many welts on your body,” had said Titus Gelinus, when first Cornhair had knelt before him, head down, and held up, in two hands, she small, scented note she was to deliver.
“My Mistress was not pleased with me, Master,” had said Cornhair.
“I suspect she is seldom pleased with anyone,” said Titus Gelinus.
Cornhair remained silent.
“Are you a good slave?” asked Titus Gelinus.
“I am a slave,” said Cornhair. “I try to be a good slave.”
“Look up,” said the rhetor.
Cornhair looked up, but avoided meeting the rhetor’s eyes.
“I have seen many such as you on the rack,” he said.
Cornhair, again, was silent. She did shudder.
Titus Gelinus then took the note, held it briefly to his nose, smelled it, and then opened it, and glanced at it, following which, with an annoyed gesture, he put it on a silver dish, on a marble-topped table to the side.
The rhetor had then returned his attention to Cornhair. “You are new,” he said.
“I have only recently had the honor of being put in Mistress’ collar,” said Cornhair.
“You are well-curved,” he said.
“Thank you, Master,” said Cornhair.
“You should be a man’s slave,” he said.
Cornhair put down her head, and dared not respond. Cornhair realized that he, no more than anyone else, had questioned that she should be a slave, only that she would be more suitably owned by a male. And Cornhair herself, as we have gathered, had come to the realization, from her deepest thoughts, fought against for so long, in stark contrast to all that she had been taught, and her former life of arrogance and affluence, that she was appropriately a slave. That former life had been a lie. She belonged in a collar, at a man’s feet. She could not be herself otherwise; she could not be whole otherwise.
“Do you know the contents of this note?” asked Titus Gelinus.
“No, Master,” said Cornhair.
“Can you read?”
“Yes, Master, but I did not read the note.”
“Your Mistress wishes a tryst in a secret place,” he said.
“She is a free woman,” said Cornhair.
“Doubtless she fears for her reputation,” he said.
“Doubtless, Master,” said Cornhair.
“I am tempted to oblige her,” he said.
“I am sure she would be delighted, Master,” said Cornhair.
“You are pretty,” he said. “Perhaps you are worth a roll on the rug at the foot of my couch.”
“Please, no, Master!” said Cornhair. “I am a woman’s slave!”
“You are to be denied the touch of men?”
“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair. “Please do not put me to your pleasure, lest I be maimed, mutilated, or slain by my Mistress!”
“She would know?”
“I fear so, Master,” said Cornhair.
“I grow weary of your Mistress, and the others, their kind,” he said. “I would, if I could, bar them from the galleries. Let them keep to the theaters, let them adore actors who portray heroes; let them applaud and acclaim poets, singers, gladiators, wrestlers, muleteers, drivers of four-horse and two-horse teams, athletes, vegetable growers, whoever, whatever, and refrain from wasting my time.”
“Is there a response to the note, Master?” asked Cornhair. “My Mistress will be waiting.”
“Tell your Mistress,” he said, “I have never received a more remarkable note.”
“I am sure she will be pleased,” said Cornhair.
“I am a man of influence and power,” he said.
“That is my understanding,” said Cornhair.
“Times are uncertain, and trying,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair.
“Would your Mistress’ ankles look well in shackles?” he asked.
“I do not know, Master,” said Cornhair, uneasily. “I have never thought of it. But perhaps, Master, she is a woman.”
“Good,” said Titus Gelinus, attorney and rhetor. “Leave through the kitchen. Ask for food, and a draught of kana.”
“Yes, Master!” said Cornhair, gratefully.
“You will take such things on your knees,” he said.
“Yes, Master!” said Cornhair.
Two days ago the Lady Gia Alexia had been returning from the market, and Cornhair had been following her, four paces behind, with the shopping basket.
The Lady Gia Alexia was, if possible, in a less favorable mood than usual. Certainly she had bargained in the market in a most demanding and abusive manner, which modality of discourse seemed, however, to have had little, if any, influence on the quantity, quality, or cost of her purchases. The underlying disgruntlement on the part of the Lady Gia Alexia, which had spilled over into the unpleasantries in the market, had to do, as the reader may already suppose, with Titus Gelinus. As yet, despite the Lady Gia Alexia’s zeal and importunities, no private meeting had been arranged with the rhetor.
Understandably, given the dispositions and personality of the Lady Gia Alexia, this lack of progress was conjectured to have, quite possibly, something to do with the bearer of her notes.
Cornhair was still in the tunic in which she had been turned over to the two agents of her mysterious buyer, that given to her in the outlet of House of Worlds on Varl Street, here in Telnar. It had been laundered several times, of course, in the interval between the House of Worlds and this current trip to the market, several days later. It was a light garment, and certainly not substantial, either in its length or weaving. Given the washings, its normal wear, and, we fear, the attentions of the lady Gia Alexia’s switch, often applied to its miserable occupant, it had become a bit parted, here and there, and, here and there, somewhat tattered, even ragged. As a result, certain aspects of Cornhair’s appearance were accentuated, if possible, even more so than is commonly the case with such a garment, designed, it seems, as much to reveal as conceal. It seems probable that the Lady Gia Alexia’s intention in the matter of her slave’s clothing was, at least in her view, to debase and degrade the slave. Had Cornhair been a free woman doubtless she would have been appropriately debased and degraded, but, of course, she was not a free woman. As a slave she took such a slight garmenture for granted. It was cultural for such as she, even as the collar. Too, slaves are commonly content with their bodies, indeed, happy with them. It seldom occurs to them, as it often occurs with free women, to be ashamed of their bodies. They rejoice in their naturalness, in their health and beauty; enjoying the same entitlements in this regard as would be accorded to any other lovely domestic animal. Too, it must be noted that slave garmenture is quite comfortable, and permits a considerable freedom of movement, two features not always found in the garments of the free woman, more constrained by convention and the dictates of propriety. Lastly, women wish to appeal to men. What woman does not wish to be found attractive? What woman does not wish to be found stimulating? What woman objects to being found
exciting? Surely it is flattering and reassuring to a woman to know that she is desirable, that men want her, that men would like to have her in their collar. And what woman, then, finds herself the most wanted, and desired, of all women? The woman on the slave block, the one chained at his feet, the one in his collar.
Do you think the slave does not know how she is seen by men? Do you think she does not know how they turn to regard her in the street, how they assess her, how they speculate on what it would be to own her?
She is the most female, and desirable, of all women, the female slave.
“Oh!” cried Cornhair, almost spilling produce from the basket.
Had the Lady Gia Alexia not been so determined to enact her vengeances on the former Lady Publennia, of the Larial Calasalii, she might have provided her with a garment more suitable to a woman’s slave, one longer, more opaque, and such.
The Lady Gia Alexia spun about, angrily, switch in hand. “What is wrong?” she demanded.
“I was touched, Mistress!” wept Cornhair.
It was crowded, near the market. It was not clear who might have accosted the slave, in passing.
“Shameless, provocative slut!” said the Lady Gia Alexia, striking Cornhair across the upper left arm with her switch.
Cornhair knelt, head down, clutching the basket to her. She was then struck thrice more, once on the left side of the neck, once on the right side of the neck, and then, again, on the left side of the neck.
“Forgive me, Mistress,” said Cornhair. “I cannot help that I have the body I have, that I am in a collar!”