by Tony Roberts
“Deference?”
Astiras ruffled Argan’s hair. “Respect, another word for it. They acknowledge me as their emperor. You will have to be as severe with them, act as if you own them. This is not the way with Kastanians, of course.”
“No, father, that wouldn’t be right!”
“Also, now you’re growing up, the next thing you need is a servant, like most of us have. Your mother has her handmaiden; Amne has a couple. Even I have a personal bodyguard, Teduskis, you know him.”
“Yes, father. Is Kerrin going to be my bodyguard?”
“Oh, I expect so – it depends if he can do the job of course – it wouldn’t be good if he kept on dropping his sword, would it? But I mean a personal servant to take care of you like dressing, washing, appearance, keeping track of where you’re supposed to be and who you’re to meet. We had plenty of different servants in the palace in Kastan City who would do all that, but here’s there not enough room for all those people. So, I’m going to appoint a personal servant to you. Now, since the war finished we’ve had lots of Bragalese taken prisoner and they’re slaves.”
“Slaves – but isn’t that not allowed?”
“Normally, that’s true, but we can’t permit these people who were rebels to be free or they’d just go and do it again. I’ve got the grown-ups working on building and repairing, and that’s fine – but there are the children and they need to have tasks. So – I’ve arranged for a young slave to tend to your needs. She has been given training in the time since I retook Zofela, but she’s still learning so there will be a supervisor for the first year or so, but after that the girl should be trained up.”
“A girl?”
“Yes. We gave her the name of Sasia. Don’t know what her Bragalese name was – no doubt it’s too complicated. Command her, make sure she knows you’re her superior and better. Bragalese girls make excellent slaves if taught early enough.”
“Like Metila?”
“Oh, Metila. Ah, yes,” Astiras thought about the slave in Turslenka. “Well, she was a grown-up when she became Thetos’ slave, but that was different. Sasia is about your age.”
“Not a boy, then.”
Astiras shook his head. “Bragalese boys can be quite wild and nasty, and I didn’t want to risk one with you. A girl is different – they can be vicious but only if you’re weak with them. Dominate them, Argan, and they will be good slaves.”
“Yes, father,” Argan nodded. He wasn’t sure about that, but he would try to be a good son to his father.
Astiras grinned and stood up. “Now I must go speak to your mother. I have lots to discuss with her since I haven’t seen her for a long time. Enjoy yourself in Zofela, Argan, it’s not a bad place, and I’m going to make it a much better place to live in, you’ll see.”
He left, leaving Argan alone for a few moments in his room. He got up and wandered about, noting the wooden plank floorboards, similarly built walls and the single narrow shuttered opening in the wall that served as a window. There was no glass. He looked out and saw that his view was over the town, which he liked. There were plenty of people wandering about, and the houses were all funny with very steeply sloping roofs and tall chimneys. The streets were not paved but were just made of dirt, and off to one side there was the square where their wagons had stopped. He couldn’t see lots from the narrow window, but it was enough to interest him. Guards marched in groups and he noticed that people stepped aside when they got near them. The soldiers did not slow down at all – they just marched on as if the people weren’t there.
The sound of his door opening made him turn away and he saw two people enter the room. There was an old woman and a young girl. The old woman was very wrinkly and dressed in black. She looked a little scary. The girl was small and had dark brown eyes and was dressed in a brown dress tied about her waist by a piece of what looked to Argan like string. Her hair was black and tied back by a small piece of ribbon. She looked a little bit like a tiny version of Metila.
“Prince Argan,” the old woman said in a scratchy voice. “Your highness,” she curtseyed low. The girl was jabbed and she followed suit but looked down at the ground.
“Hello,” Argan said, unsure of what was going to happen.
“My name is Genthe,” the old woman said in a confident manner. “I am the senior castle servant. I have lived in Zofela all my life. Your father was good enough to employ me here when this place returned to Kastanian rule. This is Sasia, the girl who is now your personal slave. Sasia, Prince Argan, your master.”
Sasia didn’t look up. “Highness,” she said in a thick accent.
“Sasia is still learning her new task. I am teaching her. If you have any problems with her, please tell me and I shall correct her. None of my slaves shall be lacking in the quality of their servitude. Sasia, you shall show Prince Argan that you are a good slave. Now, I shall let you two get used to one another for a little while, then I shall return and resume Sasia’s training.” She bowed again and left, leaving Sasia standing there, head lowered.
“Hello, Sasia,” Argan said, a little unsure of what to say or do. She looked so small and alone, standing there in his room.
“Highness,” she said again.
Argan had an idea. “Little girl, what is your Bragalese name?” he asked in that language.
Sasia looked up in surprise. “You speak my language!”
“Yes – I don’t know how, but it was ever since Metila cured me. She’s Bragalese like you.”
“A Bragalese woman cured you?” Sasia was again surprised. “You were treated by one of my people? You must be Lakhani.”
“Lakhani?” Argan thought on the word. “A Favoured One?” That was the Kastanian equivalent. He didn’t know how he knew, he just did.
“What we call a foreigner who is cured by one of my people. It is a legend,” she said, looking at the Prince differently. “Your Bragalese name will be that, Lakhani.”
Argan thought about it, and then smiled. “I like that. You can call me that then when we’re alone. I don’t think mother and father would like you calling me that in front of them.”
Sasia smiled briefly. Then she stood straighter. “My Bragalese name is Amalatharamas, but Sasia is my Kastanian name,” she said, a tinge of anger in her voice.
Argan heard it. “You don’t like Kastanians?”
“No – they are enemies.”
“The war is over now. Father ended it.”
“You are still enemies.”
“Why?”
Sasia hesitated. “Because….. because you are.”
“Well, that’s silly,” Argan stated frowning. “I’m friends with Metila and she’s not an enemy. Why do Kastanians have to be enemies just because? If they’re horrid then yes, but if they’re not why hate them? It’s a silly thing to think that.”
Sasia lowered her eyes. “I am a blood enemy; my parents both died in the fighting.”
“Well, I didn’t kill them. I want us to be friends. If you hate people because they’ve done horrible things then that’s fine, but why would you hate me just because I’m a Kastanian? How would you like it if I hated you just because you’re Bragalese?”
Sasia nodded. The prince made sense. “I shall honour you because you are Lakhani and you speak to me nicely – but others speak to me as if I am a canine.”
“You’re not a canine, Amalatharamas,” he said faultlessly and in a pure Bragalese accent.
Sasia looked at him, into his blue eyes, and suddenly felt drawn to him. She didn’t know what it was or how, but suddenly she was sinking to her knees in front of him. Argan, taken by surprise, watched in fascination as she placed her forehead on his right foot, then his left foot. Then she bowed low before him and spoke. “I give you my soul and life, to the death.”
Argan was stunned. This must be something like a vow of personal servitude. He didn’t know what that fully meant, but he guessed Sasia was promising to be his slave forever. “You can get up, Amal. I shall call you that
in private to make you feel happier. You like that?”
“Master,” she said, getting to her feet. The ritual had been taught her at an early age by her now dead mother, it was something Bragalese society taught their children at a young age, before they went wild. It was akin to a marriage vow. “You are not the same as the others. I promise to serve you faithfully until you no longer wish it, or I die.”
Argan nodded. “I shall treat you fairly and properly; I don’t like the thought of beating you. I don’t think that is needed. I like the idea of you being my friend.”
“I am your slave, master, I cannot be a friend!”
“A secret friend, then, Amal?” Argan smiled.
Sasia looked at him, then smiled back, her face lighting up. For the first time since her father had died fighting outside the walls and her mother being raped and strangled at the sack of the town, she felt someone cared for her.
Argan stepped forward and kissed her on the forehead, lightly. He felt it was the right thing to do. He’d seen people do that to someone they liked. “Nobody need know. So, what is it you’re supposed to do for me?”
“Make sure you have clothes, that you are clean and tidy. I’m…oh, it’s a lot to remember!” she said suddenly, feeling overwhelmed. She was only eight and all the things she had been told she had to do was suddenly spilling over in her head.
Argan looked concerned. “It’s alright, Amal, don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll be alright. You’ll remember it. I have to remember loads too, and it’s too much sometimes.”
Sasia began trembling. She hadn’t mourned her parents’ passing properly for she had been taken captive at the time her house had been broken into by the victorious Kastanian troops and her imprisonment had confused and baffled her. Now this one person with the strange hold over her had given her a change to be cared for again. Tears began to flow down her face and she clenched her teeth and hands.
“Aww, Amal, what’s the matter?” Argan asked distressed. He cuddled her and suddenly the girl was crying into his chest, her heart breaking.
“I miss my mother and father,” she said between sobs, muffled against his tunic.
“Sorry Amal,” Argan said softly. He really didn’t know what to say. He thought holding the sobbing girl was the right thing to do. No doubt he would find out soon enough. After a while she stopped and stepped back, her eyes red and puffy. “Oh, you’re all sobby.”
“Sobby?” Sasia asked, not knowing the word.
“I say that when people have been crying,” Argan said, a shy smile on his face. “All puffy and red-eyed.”
“Oh, that won’t be good; Genthe will scold me.”
“Well I’ll just tell her I’ve been beating you. People go sobby when they get beat.”
“You’re so unlike your brother, Lakhani,” Sasia said, wiping her eyes.
“Who – Fantor Face?”
“Fantor Face? You mean Istan?”
“Yes – I can him a fantor because he eats all the time and is mean and bad tempered, just like a fantor is – or is supposed to be. I’ve never seen one – have you?”
Sasia giggled, her tears forgotten. “Fantor! That’s so funny!”
“Kerrin says the same thing.”
“Who is Kerrin?”
Argan waved a hand. “My other friend – he came with me from Kastan City. He’s our age – he’s going to be my bodyguard when we grow up.”
“Oh – I hope he’s not horrible like – Fantor Face!”
Both giggled. “You should laugh more, Amal, I like that,”
Sasia smiled, then looked sad again. “It’s been so long since I’ve not felt bad. I think you’re a nice person, Prince Argan. I want us to be good friends, yes. I need one...” her voice caught again.
Argan held her by the arms. “We will be! I want friends, too. I never had any until Kerrin. Now I have three!”
They stood there, smiling at each other, until they heard footsteps outside. They stepped away from one another and Genthe reappeared. The old woman saw Sasia’s face. Argan stood straight and announced he had beaten her to show her that he was in charge. Genthe looked at him with surprise, and a little respect. “Good – that is a good start to matters. She will know you to be the person to obey. Come, Sasia, more training.”
Sasia bowed, but gave Argan a furtive look from under her eyelashes and Argan smiled at her. The girl’s lips twitched and she meekly allowed herself to be led out of the room, much happier in spirit now she knew Argan to be someone she could serve well and would not be mistreated.
Astiras, meanwhile, had gone to his chamber. Teduskis was outside and acknowledged the emperor’s presence. “Empress’s handmaiden is inside with Her Majesty,” he said.
“Right. Everything alright?”
“All calm, sire.”
“Let’s hope it stays that way for the next few days.” He slapped his faithful retainer on the shoulder and went inside. Isbel was giving her handmaiden a list of tasks to undertake. At the emperor’s appearance Isbel dismissed the woman who looked relieved and bowed hastily to Astiras before leaving. “Giving the poor woman grief already, dear?”
“I am not, Astiras, and don’t ‘dear’ me. This place is so depressing, it badly needs touching up. If we’re going to live here for the next few years let us at least make it halfway civilised!”
“Welcome home, darling,” Astiras smiled widely and threw his arms even wider.
“Oh, you’re so impossible at times, you know?”
“That’s why you love me, Isbel,” Astiras said lightly. “Give me a hug.”
Isbel rolled her eyes but stepped into his embrace nonetheless. They remained that way for a moment, then Astiras held her at arms’ length and looked at her seriously. “So how bad was that incident in the Bakranian Mountains?”
“Bad enough. If not for Panat and Argan we may well have all been killed.”
“Argan? What did he do?”
Isbel recounted the story, and Astiras looked thoughtful. He led her to a couple of rough looking but sturdy chairs, each with a cushion. They sat down and Astiras pondered for a moment. “He speaks Bragalese?”
“Fluently, from what I could tell.”
“Fascinating! He’s had no tuition in the language, has he?”
“Of course not! Astiras, I’m concerned as to what that woman Metila did to him! He’s more forceful these days.”
“Changed much?”
Isbel pursed her lips. “Not a great deal, but it’s the small things. Speaking that language is the biggest thing I’ve noticed, but there may be more we don’t know about.”
“He is growing up – I had a long talk with him. He’s quite the thoughtful and intelligent type, isn’t he? He does need to toughen up a bit, but apart from that I think he’s fine. Oh, I’ve given him a personal slave to tend his every need, by the way.”
“You’ve what? Without consulting me first? What slave – why a slave?”
Astiras waved his hands in a placatory manner. “Now, now, don’t go getting all excited. It’s a young Bragalese girl, an orphan, one of the many in Zofela who lost their parents in the fighting or the siege. I couldn’t well throw her out into the streets, now, could I?”
“A slave?” Isbel said disapprovingly. “We are above that dreadful practice, surely!”
“Here in Bragal there’s plenty; the slave trade to Valchia has been cut now Mazag have conquered it, so there’s a glut here. We could let them go but then we’d have a whole load of people out on the streets with no home, no job, no money. They’d all die or turn to crime. It’s all very well shouting nobly ‘free the slaves!’ from the rooftops, but do that and not have any homes, jobs and income for them you might as well cut their throats.”
“Oh don’t get up on that pulpit of your again. You know I dislike slavery; it’s so demeaning and dreadful – all those people mistreated and shown no dignity.”
“So we do what with them? That eight year old I’ve assigned to Argan – Sasia or s
omething like that – where could she go to live? She’s got nobody. Want some ruffian to pick her up and turn her into some sort of whore?”
“Astiras!” Isbel thumped the arm of her chair. “I do not want us to become known as slavers! It’s so ugly and seedy.”
“Look at it as providing homes for orphaned children. How noble of the Koros to do that!”
“And those adults I saw out there in those cages?”
Astiras pulled a face. “Ah, yes, them. Prisoners of war. Rebels, throat-cutters, murderers. I’ve decided not to hang them, but rather to put them to good use building and repairing things. Free labour.”
“Nothing’s for free, Astiras, you know that!”
“Oh alright, I admit it costs to clothe, feed and house them, and to guard them, but I have to do something with the bloody people. If I let them free we’d have a riot on our hands. All these houses I’ve given to my soldiers and supporters here, well they were those prisoners’ previously. As far as I’m concerned they’ve waived all rights for defying me and Kastania. I’ve got to rule these bastards with an iron fist; it’s the only thing these people know and understand!”
“Tone your language and voice down!” Isbel said. “I’m not one of your subordinates. Very well, you nobly give the children homes, but I want those cages out of the town as soon as possible! It’s not good for the image of the place.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Astiras said heavily. “Clashes with the colour scheme, mm?”
“Don’t be so flippant! You do irritate me when you have that head on, you know.”
Astiras sighed. “Come on Isbel, we’ve just got together after not seeing one another for so long. I don’t want to start an argument now. Zofela isn’t Kastan City; we’re out in the wilds here in a barely pacified rebellious province, and there’s Mazag just over the border and Venn not that much further away preparing for war.”