by John Norman
“Frequently,” I said.
“I have been in touch with Seleukos, here on Thera, as you requested,” said Sakim. “The village of Seleukos is being rebuilt, and the living island, the Isle of Seleukos, moves amongst living islands which have spied for the raiders or abetted them in some way.”
I recalled the likelihood that, long ago, one such island had transmitted our position to the corsairs.
“To what effect?” I asked.
“Much effect,” he said. “The cooperation of such islands with the corsairs, surely enemies, had always been founded on fear, that if they refused to cooperate, their villages would be destroyed. They are now muchly freed of that fear. Currently corsairs are reluctant to strike villages, and, soon, even should they lose their apprehension of a lurking Peasant army, they would, with the likelihood of only modest loot, be likely to face warned, dangerous fighters, recruited perhaps from several adjacent villages. That is a prospect unappealing to corsairs.”
“Too,” I said, “those on the living islands could always simply neglect reporting sightings, and such.”
“Not so easy,” said Sakim. “Many islands were posted with a partisan of the pirates.”
“And what of such partisans?” I asked.
“Their foreheads were branded, on the recommendation of Seleukos,” said Sakim, “and they were subsequently put ashore.”
“It seems then,” I said, “that the living islands need no longer supply services to corsairs.”
“Most never did,” said Sakim.
“I expect,” I said, “that bows will sooner or later reach the living islands.”
“In many cases,” said Sakim, “they have already done so.”
“If a living island was threatened,” I said, “its population, too, could board their vessels, fishing and otherwise, and abandon the island.”
“That is true,” said Sakim.
“Yet you seem troubled,” I said.
“One living island,” he said, “is not associated with a village. It is possessed by, and manned by, brigands, villains clearly imbanded with corsairs. It was that island which evacuated the corsairs stranded on Daphna, after the quest for The Village of Flowing Gold.”
“I think I know the island,” I said. “We saw it, Thurnock, Clitus, and I, and others, when we had been a day or more away from the coast of Daphna, where we had supposedly left corsairs to an unpleasant fate. I recall thinking that our speed must be unusually swift, measuring it against a presumably stationary island. Now I understand that that was an illusion, for the island was moving, too, indeed, moving in the other direction.”
“Not only moving, but, I gather, moving rapidly,” said Sakim.
“I think so,” I said.
“The islands are commonly guided by, and moved by, gentle means,” said Sakim, “say, noise, which it finds aversive, light taps on its body, a soft thrusting against its bulk, and such.”
“But the movement produced,” I said, “tends to be gradual.”
“It can take a day to move a living island a pasang,” said Sakim.
“How then could the brigand island, if that is what it is, an island manned by brigands, move so quickly?”
“By the application of means less gentle,” said Sakim, “gouging, wounding, exacerbating wounds, applying hot irons, torches, and such.”
“I anger,” I said.
“Remember,” said Clitus, “it is not a kaiila, a verr, a bounding hurt, even a vulo. It is a living island, gigantic and sluggish.”
“Still,” I said.
“Such things have a dull, inactive physiology,” said Clitus. “They lack irritability. They are inert, insensitive.”
“Yet,” I said, “they respond to stimuli, benign or intense, and the hot iron, a fierce, fiery goad, elicits more response than pans clanking under water or the pressing of a paddle or oar.”
“The living island cannot feel pain,” said Clitus.
“You do not know that,” I said.
“That is true,” said Clitus, thoughtfully. “I do not know that.”
“Men camp upon them, even live upon them,” said Aktis.
“Each life form, in its own way, can be good for the other,” I said.
“It is unlikely that the living island even knows it is inhabited,” said Clitus.
“That could be,” I said.
“Perhaps they can feel discomfort,” said Clitus, “but not pain.”
“Who knows?” said Aktis. “Perhaps there is a point.”
“A threshold might be reached,” I said.
“They cannot feel pain,” said Clitus.
“You cannot know that,” I reminded him.
“I do not think they can feel pain,” said Clitus.
“Perhaps,” said Aktis, “they remember, and are patient.”
“Let us not discuss things we cannot know,” I said. “We do know, or at least believe firmly, that that living island, the Brigand Island, if you like, rescued stranded corsairs, and conveyed them to safety, possibly even to the vicinity of Sybaris, following their ill-fated adventure on Daphna, seeking The Village of Flowing Gold.”
“That seems clear,” said Sakim.
“But the debacle of The Village of Flowing Gold,” I said, “could not have been anticipated. Yet the Brigand Island was available, ready to be brought into play. The reason for its existence then, or its justification, must be independent of its possible utility in such an incident.”
“May I speculate?” asked Sakim.
“Do so,” I said.
“I think,” said Sakim, “its utility is best seen as fourfold. First, it is fully enleagued with the corsairs, unlike other living islands. Thus it could police and threaten other islands, ensuring their cooperation. Second, it could give the corsair ships a port at sea, out from Sybaris, a depot where they could obtain water, food, and other supplies, and even, if necessary, repairs. In this way the corsair ships could remain longer at sea. It could also serve as a warehouse for bulky or unusually valuable loot, not easily disposed of at a given time in Sybaris. Thirdly, it could support the corsair fleet in action, interfering with attacked vessels, impeding movements, blocking escapes, even delivering reinforcements to the corsairs in the way of boarders equipped with grappling irons and scaling ladders.”
“You spoke of its utility as fourfold,” I said.
“I am uneasy with respect to the fourth utility,” he said. “I hesitate to speak of it. It is terrible, and it has never been, as yet, enacted.”
“You are amongst friends, and fellows,” I said.
“We have speculated on the oddity of the corsairs’ concern with villages, even prosperous villages,” he said, “so large an expenditure of effort for so little gain.”
“And the apparent subsidizing of the corsairs,” I said.
“I think that ambition looks higher, and further,” he said.
“The possible fourth utility?” I said.
“It is based,” he said, “on something I heard long ago in Sybaris, when I lay in a half stupor in the tavern, The Living Island. A mariner spoke, whom I now realize must have been a corsair. He was telling of something he himself had overheard.”
“Proceed,” I said.
“What can this be but hearsay based on hearsay?” he asked.
“Sometimes,” I said, “nothing is something, and a little may be much.”
“There was thinking going about, following what was heard,” he said, “that it might be possible to attack, loot, and raze not a village but a town.”
“Most towns have walls,” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“I do not think that Lurius of Jad, our dear Ubar of Cos, would be likely to approve of a town being attacked. Towns mean revenue.”
“This had nothing to do with the Ubar,
” said Sakim.
“It seems that Archelaos, governor of Thera, grows ambitious,” I said.
“The town would not be on Thera,” said Sakim.
“Presumably it would have to be a small town,” I said, “but one prosperous—and perhaps one expected to be soon enriched?”
“As by a fair,” said Sakim.
“Mytilene,” I said.
“I fear so,” said Sakim.
“Mytilene has walls,” I said.
“That,” said Sakim, “is where the Brigand Island, as we have spoken of it, becomes relevant. Consider the corsair fleet, in its full strength, seven ships with crews, supplemented with mercenaries, accompanied by the Brigand Island, itself not only a transport for additional mercenaries, but conveying an arsenal of supplies and siege equipment.”
“Mytilene is on Chios,” I said. “The Peasantry is perhaps most organized on Chios, from the fair, and from the role of our men at Nicosia, on Chios, in spurring on resistance, and in distributing bows and demonstrating the subtleties of their making.”
“Do not look to the Peasantry,” said Thurnock. “There has long been tension and suspicion between the towns and the fields. The towns despise the fields and look down upon them, while the fields scorn the towns and think little of them. They do not share Home Stones or interests.”
“There are surely markets,” I said.
“Local markets,” said Aktis, “but most villages are remote from towns and are substantially independent.”
“I had hoped,” I said, “that with communication and cooperation amongst the villages, the building and manning of watch towers, the arming of peasants with an effective weapon, that the land would be closed to the raiders, this protecting both villages and towns.”
“Would that it were so,” said Clitus.
“And that the attention of the raiders,” I said, “would then be directed to shipping.”
“And that we might meet them at sea,” said Thurnock.
“That was our hope,” I said.
“A forlorn hope,” said Thurnock. “The Dorna returned to port yesterday, after a third hunt, once more with her game bag empty.”
“I would match Tab and the Dorna against any single ship of the corsair fleet,” I said.
“But there are no isolated ships of the corsair fleet,” said Thurnock.
“It moves as a unit,” said Aktis. “It is unassailable, impregnable. No single ship, or pair of ships, could match it at sea.”
“They sacrifice intelligence for security,” said Thurnock. “They cast a narrow net when seven ships move as one.”
“Many ships must elude them,” said Clitus.
“They would lose prizes,” said Sakim.
“Why would they accept that?” I asked.
“They are afraid,” said Aktis.
“Of what?” I asked.
“Of something they do not understand,” said Thurnock. “I do not think they know their foe.”
“But perhaps,” said Clitus, “they suspect.”
“Which will make them far more cautious and dangerous than otherwise,” said Thurnock.
“In their discontent they may kill every man, woman, and child in Mytilene,” said Clitus.
“What are we to do, Captain?” asked Aktis.
“Do you think that Mytilene is in danger?” I asked Sakim.
“I fear so,” said Sakim.
“We are too few to lift a siege,” said Thurnock.
“That is true,” I said. “Let us hope that Mytilene is not threatened.”
“And if it is?” asked Thurnock.
“Then,” I said, “I suppose there are worse places to die than Mytilene.”
“You will free the men?” asked Clitus.
“The decision will be theirs,” I said.
“You know what their decision will be, do you not?” asked Clitus.
“I think so,” I said.
“This has to do with honor, does it not?” asked Clitus.
“Yes,” I said.
Chapter Thirty-Six
One Converses with Three Slaves
“Here are the three slaves, Master,” said Lais, “Margot, Millicent, and Courtney.”
There was a rustle of chain.
“Kneel them before me,” I said, “head to the floor.”
“Be so,” said Lais.
The three slaves knelt, head to the floor.
They were chained together by the neck, and their hands were fastened behind them in slave bracelets.
I let them remain that way for a time.
They did not know why they had been permitted into my presence.
They were apprehensive.
“Kneel up,” I said.
They then knelt straightly, but kept their heads bowed.
“State your collars,” I said.
“I am Margot,” said the first. “I am the slave of Fenlon of Ti.”
“I am Millicent,” said the second. “I am the slave of Fenlon of Ti.”
“I am Courtney,” said the third. “I am the slave of Fenlon of Ti.”
“You are untrained, lowly slaves, pointless and meaningless,” I said. “What good could you be to anyone? Perhaps you should be fed to harbor sharks.”
These were small sharks, most less than a foot in length, but they often traveled in groups. In an Ehn or so, thrashing in the water, they could eat a full-grown tarsk to the bones.
The slaves trembled.
“Yet,” I said, “you are not without interest, slave interest.”
Margot moaned.
“Did I not know better,” I said, “that sound might be taken for the sound of a needful slave girl.”
She half raised her head, pleadingly, but then, swiftly, lowered it again.
“You are all nicely featured, and well figured,” I said. “You look well in your collars.”
“Thank you, Master,” said Courtney.
“Collars in which you belong,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” said Courtney.
The morning following the stripping, marking, and collaring of the slaves, we had set forth for Zeuxis on Daphna. The three slaves, as I had informed them they would be, had been taken with us, exposed to the elements, chained naked to a deck ring on the Tesephone. Thus, they were bared to glare and heat, changes of temperature, wind and rain, even spray, and the waves that occasionally washed across the deck, flinging and rolling them to one side or the other of the ring, to the ends of their ankle chains. Such experiences, like their brands and collars, like close chaining and the whip, help new slaves to understand what they now are. One can deny an obvious truth only so long. Fortunately for the slaves, neither the Tesephone nor the Dorna saw action on the voyage to Daphna.
“Do you know the outcome of our concerns on Daphna?” I asked.
“A little, Master,” said Margot. “We heard men speak. When we dared to ask questions, we were cuffed to silence.”
“The business was largely successful,” I said. “The raid on Zeuxis proved fruitless for your former colleagues. They lost several men, and withdrew. It seems that raids on villages will be suspended, at least for a time.”
“It seems,” said Margot, “that it was a great and costly defeat for the corsairs.”
“It could not have been achieved,” I said, “had you not revealed their plans.”
The slaves were silent.
“And that,” I said, “is likely to be obvious to the corsairs, given your disappearance from Sybaris and your presumed capture.”
“Surely not, Master!” said Margot, alarmed.
“I do not think you would care to fall into their power,” I said.
“No, Master!” said Margot. “No, Master!” exclaimed Millicent and Courtney.
“I
understand, from Lais, your first girl,” I said, “that on the very first day of our return from Daphna, you, perhaps not yet fully understanding your collars, doubtless conspiring, thought to shirk your tasks and were hesitant to obey commands instantly.”
“Forgive us, Master,” said Margot. “We were close chained and whipped. We then begged to be full and perfect slaves!”
“Yes, Master!” said Millicent.
“Yes, Master!” wept Courtney.
“And you now know that you are slaves, and only slaves?” I asked.
“Yes, Master,” wept the slaves.
“Spread your knees,” I said.
They did so.
“More,” I said.
They complied.
“I have heard better reports on you of late,” I said.
“Thank you, Master,” they whispered.
“I am even thinking,” I said, “of allowing you slave tunics.”
“Yes, Master! Please, Master!” cried Margot.
“A bit of clothing, a bit of cloth,” wept Millicent, “please, please, Master!”
“Yes, yes, Master, please, Master!” wept Courtney.
“Perhaps you are aware of subtle changes in your bodies,” I said.
“We have been fed carefully, and, as it seemed appropriate, judiciously exercised,” said Margot.
“That is common with domestic animals,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” said Margot.
“I had in mind,” I said, “other sorts of changes, changes not only in your body, but in your feelings and emotions.”
The slaves were silent.
Then Millicent said, suddenly, openly, “We cannot help ourselves!”
“That comes with the collar,” I said.
“We are helpless,” said Courtney. “We no longer own ourselves!”
“When we are chained to our stake on the beach,” said Millicent, “we whimper and beg!”
“What have you done to us?” said Margot, distraught.
“The strongest bonds of a slave,” I said, “are not ropes and chains.”
“How I, when a free woman,” said Margot, “despised slaves for their needs!”
“Now they are your needs, as well,” I said, “as you are now also a slave.”
“I was proud,” she said. “I was arrogant. I held myself superior to such things!”