A Cruel Passing of Innocence (12 page)

Remembering Babbushan's words, Nassara was in no doubt that today the slaves had been assembled for the masters themselves. She knew with stomach churning certainty that their arrival would soon be upon them, her purpose soon to be fulfilled. Babbushan had spoken, too, of the master of all masters, and the sombre atmosphere of nervous expectation suggested the coming of some great man, or god, of unbridled power. Even the servant-masters appeared anxious.

Feeling the sweat trickling between her shoulders, Nassara wondered how much longer it would be and whether her aching limbs and back could hold out long enough, when the gong suddenly interrupted her drifting mind.

A small procession of richly clothed men emerged from the gates of the forbidden precincts of the building. They were ambling and talking casually amongst themselves, scarcely taking any notice of their surroundings or the assembled gathering of guards, servants and slaves.

Nassara kept her eyes fixed to the ground, not daring to venture a glance, terrified to draw attention to herself. It seemed another age before the soft padding of slippered feet approached, accompanied by the swish of silk finery, an occasional clink of jewellery, and the murmurings of idle conversation.

The headman walked beside the masters, bowing sometimes as they questioned him about some matter or other. The exulted party of such powerful men sauntered casually up and down, first in front, then behind the two lines of slaves, surveying the human offerings with scarcely more than casual indifference, occasionally pointing or making some observation, sometimes followed by wicked chuckles, bringing a chill to Nassara's heart.

Every so often the browsing masters would stop and there would be the sound of muffled disturbance and scuffling, or a clink of chain or tinkle of bell, as some slave was picked out for further scrutiny. Sometimes the slave would be made to stand by the headman's sharp command. He or she would tremble, head dutifully bowed while the masters examined their naked property. At other times they seemed content merely to view a slave in his or her prostrated state of servility, whilst casually discussing particular physical merits of the slave. Then the procession would move on, leaving the appraised slave to breath a sigh of relief and gladly resume the habitual posture.

Nassara was conscious that the group was approaching behind her as their pensive murmurings drew closer, making the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Fearful anticipation pulsed within her as she strained to maintain the required position.

The men came to Ugimba, beside her. One of them brushed the black girl's skin with the slender tails of an elegant silver-hasped whip; a whip that bristled at its other extremity with an ominous cluster of long leather thongs. Another of the masters made some jeering comment when Ugimba winced at the brushing of the thongs over her back and buttocks, struggling to retain her wavering posture. Enjoying the inquisitive effect of his whip, the master cast it again over her skin, idly letting the thongs glide across her shoulder blades, then along her spine, where they swayed teasingly into the valley of her buttocks, tumbling between the two gold chains that descended beneath her.

Then the hasp of the whip suddenly jerked downward, plunging into the satin depths of the girl's opened well, rummaging sickeningly into the rift until he withdrew the instrument and stood back. The other men laughed before moving on.

Looking back between her knees, Nassara counted at least four or five pairs of ornately slippered feet. They had stopped right behind her. She inwardly cringed, but not a muscle did she move, as if paralysed with fear. Conscious that the men were discussing her, although not understanding a word spoken, she knew they were appraising her intimately. She wondered whether they could see the tremor that gripped the tensed muscles of her limbs. Closing her eyes tightly to shut out the sordid reality of her debasement, she stifled the tears of fear and anger that brimmed there.

One of the men, making some light remark, stooped and touched her calf, making her cringe with dread and shock. Then running his fingers upward between her smooth thighs he began to explore her crudely. She could feel his loathsome breath on her skin, and trying not to move, willing him to leave her alone, she squeezed her eyes even tighter together, powerless to shut out the horrors of the moment.

The man's fingers moved almost hesitantly into the exposed valley of her buttocks, busily feeling deeper, sliding beneath the twin lengths of chain, which caused a tinkling protest of her bells, tugging at the rings in her delicate sex lips.

Her flesh crawled, her mind trying to rid itself of the impure impositions upon her body. But all such attempts at banishment of thought were futile. The hand was exploring beneath the two chains, parting them, the fingers sliding up between the lips of her sex. Not moving, she felt his silky sleeve brush against her buttocks, and felt the vile passage of his thumb as it pressed against her tight rear opening, lodging itself at the opening, fingers fumbling at the delicate ringed lips, causing the bells to tinkle again, as if they, in their sheltered state knew of the wickedness of such defilement.

And her body rebelled, unable to defy the impure contact upon her flesh. She jerked forward, despite her head telling her to quickly regain the prudent rigidity of posture.

The man made some guttural exclamation, and the others laughed. He was unrelenting, pressing, sinking a finger deep within the folds of her breached sex and his thumb into her rear passage. Nassara gave a tiny gasp, running cold at the loathsome trespass as if all the latent heat within her had at once evaporated.

For some moments he continued to riffle there, feeling around the tight channels, her defensive reflex making her insides contract instinctively in objection. Remembering Babbushan's words, even in her humbled torment, she tried to concentrate her mind on keeping her posture correct, straining to keep her buttocks thrust up – towards her transgressor – then suddenly it was over.

The man grunted and straightened up, as if she were no longer of consequence to them; a past distraction. Tired of their game they moved on, and only then did Nassara dare a sideways glance, immediately recognising the master she knew; Sulliman-Mahadji. For a moment his dark eyes flashed back at her, as if he had instinctively known that hers would seek him out, and there was a calm glint of satisfaction that seemed to dwell within them, as though he might now have the full measure of her soul and flesh, knowing the nature of his prize.

Nassara quickly averted her improper look, hastily dropping her gaze back to the stone slab beneath her, fearful of her impetuous act. But in that instant of eye contact she had detected some other emotion beneath the aloof coldness of his demeanour. Perhaps she glimpsed something more than the casual indifference reserved for other slaves. Perhaps he had marked her out for some greater purpose than just a master's habitual indulgence, as though she were reserved for some particular duty to perform. Not that she could derive much comfort from that.

The masters stopped only briefly beside Belithza, gazing down at her with aloof indifference as if, for now at least, the quality of her flesh offered insufficient appeal, before they moved on to the next girl in line; Jammina.

Carefully peeping, Nassara observed them, looking down at the girl. For a moment there was silence, then a murmur of interest, and one of them bent low over Jammina, examining her more closely. Reaching out he ran a hand over her raised buttocks, as if to admire the smoothness and tightness of her skin. Then he fondled one cheek, his fingers kneading the firmness of its texture, such as one might have done to assess the ripeness of a peach before eating it. Nassara heard him mumble something, and at once the smiling headman barked an order.

Immediately Jammina scrambled to her feet, careful to keep her terrified eyes lowered. She stood there, rigid and trembling, as two of the masters moved to stand close beside her, one on either side. In leisurely tones they seemed to be discussing her youthful attributes, lustful eyes sweeping admiringly over her lithe figure, swarthy faces leering with desire.

Sometimes one master would nod at another's comments, and then reach out and touch the girl appreciatively at some particular part of her that had aroused their common interest. Throughout Jammina stood trembling in her nakedness, not daring even to glance at her tormentors, not even flinching when one of them reached out and cupped one of her breasts. He sniggered, his fingers squeezing her flesh, and Nassara saw that only Sulliman-Mahadji stood aside, not joining in the amusement of the others. Once more she saw him glance back at her and again she quickly averted her eyes, swallowing nervously, cursing her own imprudence.

At that moment there was the sound of the gong striking, and immediately there was a flurry of further activity from the direction of the gated entrance to the forbidden precincts. Unable to resist the temptation, Nassara peered cautiously and saw that between two servants, who carried a raised canopy that shielded their master from the sun, came the figure of a small, obese man.

Clothed in richly braided finery and drapes of silk he tended to sway or roll as he walked slowly, his darting eyes immediately seeking out the array of prostrated slaves. It was almost as if he found it tiring to walk, or as if the very act of doing so were beneath his status. Behind him there were two servants who carried ornate sprays of ostrich feathers on poles, fanning their master constantly.

So this, Nassara realised at once, was the master of masters, the one they called the sultan, the god of man.

Even the group of masters, the sons of the sultan, who were still standing beside Jammina, terminated their frivolous inspection. Led away by Sulliman-Mahadji, all sibling masters becoming at once silent and respectful, moved towards the sultan as if to greet him, bowing respectfully.

So even masters have to bow in servility, Nassara thought, realising the power the man had over all men.

The sultan nodded a terse greeting, his eyes briefly studying his sons from behind the hook of his large nose, with an air of tolerant approval. But when his eyes alighted briefly on Sulliman-Mahadji a curt smile crossed his lips, then he turned, and with a casual gesture of his hand he waddled slowly along behind the line of male slaves, stopping briefly at each one before moving on again, making some occasional observation in a voice that was barely audible.

He stopped behind Zheeno, and there were brief words of discussion between the sultan and the headman.

The master of masters lingered there for several moments, to Nassara's growing consternation, before finally moving on to the next slave. Nassara breathed a sigh of relief, without knowing quite why, yet knowing instinctively that it was better that Zheeno should not remain under the sultan's scrutiny.

She did not know the name of the slave now the focus of the sultan's interest. He was of leaner and slighter build than the other young men, and she knew he had born the cruelty of the whips and the journey here with less fortitude than his companions, barely surviving the harsh conditions of his capture and the forced march. By the time he stumbled into this prison he was near the end of his endurance. Where the collar had chafed his neck he still bore the marks, as he did the fading welts where the whips had lashed his shoulders, back and buttocks. It was only as a result of the last few days of comparative rest, treatment of his wounds, and proper nourishment that he'd recovered. Yet now, Nassara knew instinctively, he was to face a new ordeal.

The sultan stood close by. She could smell the richness of his garments, and hear them rustling as he moved. Strangely, she thought, the sultan appeared somehow indifferent to the presence of the female slaves, having only casually glanced at them over his shoulder.

He grunted some guttural remark, and instantly the headman shouted down at the young slave, ‘Arribaja!'

For a moment it was as if the poor slave was unsure it was he who had been summoned. He hesitated before scrambling to his feet, the iron chains between his legs jangling starkly in the tense silence. He stood, remembering to make his face and eyes downcast. His naked body was bent forward in a stooped posture, knees slightly bent, as if the ability to stand straight was hindered by the weight of his chains.

The sultan grunted again, turned and moved on, his retinue following, except for the headman. He signalled curtly at Ahmood, who strode quickly to the isolated slave, and from beneath his tunic he took out a long leather lead, at its end a length of metal chain and a fixing clasp.

Ahmood crouched in front of the slave, and although Nassara was unable to see clearly she heard metal being clipped to metal, and she could just see Ahmood fixing the leash somewhere between the young man's legs, and realised he'd attached it to the rings through his scrotum.

Nassara knew the slave must have been wondering what horrors awaited him as he reflected upon the purpose of the leash affixed to him, feeling its crude fastenings attached to such vulnerable flesh. In his fear he must have known he was being taken to some other place, but where and for what purpose he could scarcely contemplate.

Lowering her eyes, feeling the burden of his apprehension, Nassara momentarily forgot her own. Her thoughts were again full of sorrow… sorrow for him, for Zheeno, and for all of her companion slaves.

His inspection apparently at an end, the sultan was leaving the courtyard, waddling slowly away towards the entrance of the main building, the fan-carrying servants keeping a measured distance behind him. Nassara could just observe the dignified figure of her master, Sulliman-Mahadji, who now stood in a small group of his siblings. They bowed low until the sultan had passed by.