The Usurper (31 page)

“It was clearly important to this fellow, Urta, consumed with envy and resentment, that the medallion and chain not come into the possession of Ottonius, new king of the Otungs, whom he despised, and because of whom he had lost his office as King Namer. He wished then, somehow, to obtain or destroy the artifact. But how might this be managed? He knew little or nothing, of course, of the joys of Floon, nor of ugly schisms, or dire heresies. He could not even, incredibly enough, distinguish between Illusionists and Emanationists, let alone between them and the one true faith. Many are the false prophets who, and many are the wayward cults which, arrogantly profess to proclaim the true messages and meanings of the Redemptor, Holy Floon.”

“I am sure of it,” said Ingeld.

“This Urta, then, fearing an inauspicious disposition of the medallion and chain, and covetous of its power, wished to either obtain or destroy it. But he knew not how to do so. How could he, an Otung, one who knew nothing of Karch, and his prophet, Floon, obtain the freedom of the halls of the
festung
in such a way that he might manage, sooner or later, to steal or destroy the Vandal talisman? Surely he would need a better leverage than that of a mere wayfarer or needy supplicant, in the guise of which he had conducted his original inquiries. Indeed, at this point it is not clear that he had even seen the talisman. He decided to seek the counsel of ministrants of Floon, naturally enough in Venitzia, the provincial capital on Tangara. And here we see the hand of mighty Karch at work, and his mysterious and wondrous workings, for, in Venitzia, who should Urta encounter but ministrants of the one true faith?”

“It is not so surprising,” said Ingeld, “for other versions of your faith in Venitzia, where not exterminated, had, following arson, looting, murders, and riots, been driven from the city. It does not seem to be an accident, for example, that the
festung
of Sim Giadini, a fortress as much as a holy place, was located in the remote heights of the Barrionuevo Range.”

“Urta proceeded as advised,” said the visitor. “He, the matter justified in terms of the end to be obtained, presented himself in the guise of a proselyte to the false faith of Emanationism, suing for admission into the Brotherhood. Accepted as a neophyte, he played his role well, earning the trust and respect of the brothers. In particular, he cultivated Brother Benjamin, whom he chose as his mentor. Needless to say, by means of visits to the
festung
village at the foot of the pass, he remained in contact with agents of the true faith in Venitzia. All was then in order. Brother Benjamin was drugged in his cell, and Urta seized the medallion and chain, and made his way down the long pass to the
festung
village, where our agents awaited him. In moments he and his prize, borne in a hoverer, were on their way to Venitzia, and the coded signal was transmitted to Venitzia, to the readied imperial cruisers, which then took flight, to attack and destroy the loathed citadel of Emanationist iniquity. In this way, the medallion and chain were acquired, and a villainous den of heresy, offensive to the true faith, was eradicated.”

“Where is the medallion and chain?” asked Ingeld.

“In a safe place,” said the visitor.

“Brands burn brightly,” said Ingeld. “They warm and loosen tongues. Pincers clutch and twist; knives cut; the spiked wheel turns unpleasantly;
filchen
flock to shed blood. Ropes and horses are far stronger than pale, bloated flesh.”

“I do not know its location, of course,” said the visitor. “I assure you I could not begin to withstand afflictions of the sort to which you allude. I suspect few could. On the other hand, I cannot reveal a secret which has not been entrusted to me. Surely you do not believe that I would be put before the high seat of the noble son of Abrogastes if I possessed such information. The ministrants of Floon are not naive; they are not unaware of the nature of the world they despise and repudiate.”

“You cannot use the medallion and chain,” said Ingeld.

“We have no intention of doing so,” said the visitor, “not directly.”

“To whom is it to be entrusted?” said Ingeld.

“To a suitable recipient,” said the visitor.

“I wonder if you understand its power,” said Ingeld.

“I think we do,” said the visitor.

“If the Alemanni possessed the talisman,” said Ingeld, “the Vandal nation must pledge itself our vassals.”

“And the empire would be doomed,” said the visitor, “and the Vandals could not in honor attack their lords.”

“What do you want?” asked Ingeld.

“The conversion of the Alemanni and the Vandals,” said the visitor, “and then that of the conquered empire.”

“I see,” said Ingeld.

“It is little enough to ask,” said the visitor.

“We would promote your faith with the sword,” said Ingeld.

“It is appropriate that the true faith be promoted,” said the visitor, “whatever might be the means at hand.”

“We would risk our treasure and blood in your behalf, fight your battles, suppress your enemies, extirpate your supposed heresies, burn books, cleanse libraries, close uncongenial schools, impose your views and values, abet your policies of shaping the young, gather and guard your wealth, drive the skeptical, reluctant, and indifferent to your temples, silence recalcitrants, enforce your collections.”

“You might put it so,” said the visitor.

“Yours is the wisdom of the hypocrite and coward,” said Ingeld. “Risk nothing, do nothing, and reap much.”

“The secular arm,” said the visitor, “is to be subservient to the
koos
, as the body to the mind. Its noblest mission is to serve the
koos
.”

“I see,” said Ingeld.

“And the work of the sword, you must understand, however necessary, is not the appropriate province of men such as I, men of the holy cloth, men of peace who dwell in holiness, devoting themselves humbly, exclusively, to matters of the
koos
.”

“Certainly not,” said Ingeld.

“Hopefully, by the second or third generation,” said the visitor, “the reddened sword may be cleaned, wiped dry, and sheathed.”

“By then no divergent options will be available,” said Ingeld. “Concepts will be rooted out. Language will be purified. Dangerous words will not exist.”

“The channels will have been prepared,” said the visitor. “Thought will then flow in them, as it must.”

“Minds will be unable to frame unwelcome thoughts. Men will know nothing else.”

“For their own good,” said the visitor. “Sheep need their shepherd, pigs their sty tender.”

“I fear,” said Ingeld, “you underestimate the curiosity, the inventiveness, the independence, the astuteness of men.”

“I do not think so,” said the visitor. “Men herd nicely. They are born to follow, and ask only to be led. Thus they are spared the uneasiness, even the torment, of thought. And dissidents may be done away with.”

“But they will rise,” said Ingeld. “And sow the seeds of thought.”

“When necessary,” said the visitor, “the secular sword, summoned forth, may once more depart its sheath.”

“I know little of gods,” said Ingeld.

“You need not be converted,” said the visitor, “only your peoples.”

“I see,” said Ingeld.

“We possess the medallion and chain,” said the visitor.

“And to whom are they to be delivered?” asked Ingeld.

“To a suitable recipient,” said the visitor.

“Have you chosen such a recipient?” asked Ingeld.

“Yes,” said the visitor, “one we believe most suitable.”

“Who?” asked Ingeld.

“You need not seek him out, and kill him,” said the visitor. “You would have no need to do so, and you would have little interest in doing so.”

“Who?” said Ingeld.

“Ingeld, son Abrogastes, of course,” said the visitor.

“Deliver it,” said Ingeld.

“Can I trust the great Lord?” asked the visitor.

“As I can trust you,” said Ingeld.

“The medallion and chain,” said the visitor, “will be yours within twenty days.”

“Apparently it reposes then in Telnar,” said Ingeld, “in the very seat of empire.”

“Perhaps,” said the visitor. “I would not know.”

“Kneel straighter, slave,” said Ingeld.

“Yes, Master,” said Huta.

“Behold this slave, comely and helpless, on her chain,” said Ingeld. “She was once Huta, high priestess of the Timbri, supposed servant of the supposed ten thousand gods.”

“False gods,” said the visitor.

“She is now the slave of Drisriaks,” said Ingeld, “owned as might be a pig or dog, a boot or shoe.”

“Excellent,” said the visitor. “Would that such a fate befell all priestesses, sacral courtesans, temple dancers, and such. Let them all be sold in public markets. Let them all tremble on the chains of Masters.”

“She fell afoul of Drisriaks,” said Ingeld. “Had she been less stimulating, stripped in a collar, or had she writhed less well, naked, for her life, embracing, caressing, and doing a slave's homage to the mighty Spear of Oathing, she would have been slain.”

“Milord?” said the visitor.

“Such opportunities would not have been accorded a male,” said Ingeld.

“I do not understand,” said the visitor.

“It would not be well to fall afoul of Drisriaks,” said Ingeld. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Milord,” said the visitor.

“Clearly?”

“Yes, Milord.”

“Are we not all friends?” asked Ingeld.

“Most certainly, Milord,” said the visitor.

“Perhaps,” said Ingeld, “we may then prevail upon you to share our celebratory feast.”

“I would be honored,” said the visitor.

“Afterwards,” said Ingeld, “shall I have this slave at my feet sent to your quarters?”

“Please, no, Master!” begged Huta, and then put down her head, quickly, cringing, fearing to be struck, for she had spoken without permission.

“For what purpose, pray?” said the visitor.

“For the purpose of serving you, as the slave she is,” said Ingeld.

“I see,” said the visitor.

“Shall I have her delivered to you, naked and chained?”

“That would be thoughtful,” said the visitor.

“But woe,” said Ingeld, “I may not do so, for she belongs to my father.”

“Thank you, Master,” whispered Huta.

The visitor turned away.

“Hold,” said Ingeld.

The visitor turned about, to face the high seat.

“Within twenty days,” said Ingeld.

“As agreed,” said the visitor.

“You will, of course, attend the celebratory feast,” said Ingeld.

“Of course,” said the visitor.

“I shall arrange that, in your place, you will find a dram of water and a crust of bread,” said Ingeld.

The visitor then turned about and left the chamber.

With a rustle of chain Huta put down her head and pressed her lips softly to the dark leather boot of Ingeld. “Thank you, Master,” she whispered.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The sand was warm, even uncomfortably so, beneath the bared feet of Cornhair.

She could not see for the hood, covering her entire head, snugly buckled about her neck.

“Mistresses?” she begged.

But she was not answered.

She did not know to whom she belonged.

“This way,” she heard, a woman's voice, “here, before the box of honor, housing the throne of the hostess.”

Cornhair felt the tug of the leash, and she followed on its strap, a few feet across the warm sand.

In the tunnel she had not been hooded.

She did not think the structure was a large one.

Two days ago she had been purchased from the slave house in Telnar, for five
darins
.

She did not know where she was.

She had been taken from the slave house, hooded, bound, and leashed. On the street outside the slave house, she had gathered, from sounds, and words spoken, that two palanquins had been waiting, with their bearers, or attendants. The two women, one of whom it seemed had purchased her, took their places in the two conveyances, which were then put to the shoulders of the bearers. Her leash was fastened to the rear of the first palanquin, which she must follow, on foot. She was still naked, from the slave house, even in the street, but naked slaves, though not common in the public streets of Telnar, were not unknown. For example, the citizens of Telnar were not unfamiliar with chains of nude girls, captives not yet put under the iron, and marked slaves, sometimes from far worlds, being conducted from port pens to markets. Also, as a discipline, or punishment, Masters might send their girls about the city, on errands, and such, clad only in their collars. Slaves are well aware that a tunic may be awarded, withheld, or removed, at the discretion of the Master. The control of clothing, like food, blindfolding, gagging, whipping, binding, and such, are at the prerogative of the Master. Girls are well aware of this, and it is nothing likely to be forgotten more than once. Some Masters keep their slaves nude indoors, but almost all will have them clothed in public, though clothed as what they are, as slaves. Cornhair, on her leash, was grateful for the hood. In its way, it granted her a certain welcome anonymity. What would it matter if she should walk as a slave, if no one knew it was she? Had she not, as a woman, at least after she had been embonded, been often tempted to do so, to walk as a slave is expected to walk, so naturally, so gracefully, so beautifully? Might it not be thrilling to do so, to walk as other girls, so excitingly, so desirably, women who were well aware they were slaves, women who were delightedly slaves, women grateful to be slaves, women proud of specialness, vain of the collars on their necks? Certainly she was a woman and much more aware of her womanhood, and its power, in a collar than she had ever been as a free woman. As a free woman she would have been afraid to walk unabashedly as a woman. As a slave she need have no such inhibitions. Indeed she might be lashed if she tried to conceal or deny the loveliness, vulnerability, and fullness of her sex. It was no wonder free women so hated slaves, for in the chains of their freedom they were denied the freedom of their sex. As she followed the first palanquin she could not but be aware of the vulgar sounds, comments, compliments, and reactions which greeted her passage. Indeed, she started several times, crying out in the hood, in response to pinches and good-natured, sharp, stinging slaps. It was natural then, in her vanity, that she walk as a slave. Who would know?

“She is a nasty little slave, Delia,” called out the woman in the second palanquin. “She will do very nicely!”

“Excellent!” was the response from the first palanquin.

“They are pleased,” thought Cornhair. “They must have bought me for a man, perhaps for a friend, a husband, a son, or nephew.”

Whereas it was unusual for a wife to buy a female slave for her husband, it was not unusual for a husband to buy himself a female slave, for his couch ring. To be sure, this liberty was not reciprocated. If a wife desired extramarital male attention she would be well advised to proceed with caution, to arrange judicious assignations, or, incognito, visit male brothels.

Perhaps it was the anonymity of the hood, or knowing herself leashed, or being unable to part her hands, bound behind her, but Cornhair had seldom felt herself so much alive as now, when she was so fully and helplessly in the power of others. Could it be that she was a natural slave, living to be owned? Too, the sensations of the unexpected attentions, a pinch, a slap, had been acute, keenly enlivening, not really painful, but assuredly stimulating. And were they not, in their way, flattering, as well? And surely the feel of a pinch, the sting of a slap, lingered in her body. To be sure, such things were far less troubling, or disturbing, or significant, she was sure, than would have been a kiss, put on her as a slave, a caress or a grasp, a handling of her as a slave. There was no mistaking such things. Why should she fear certain sensations, she wondered, if she were hooded? Who would see the parting of her lips, the sudden, astonished widening of her eyes? Who would even be close enough to sense the tiny changes in her breathing, its quickening, who so close that they might hear the tiny inadvertent noises which might escape her, scarcely audible beyond the layers of closely woven canvas?

Cornhair had the uneasy sense that she might become needful, as a slave is needful.

How helpless would she then be!

Could she resist being enflamed? What if men should do it to her?

What would it be to feel a man's hands on her, to know herself truly his slave?

She must then hope to please him.

She had felt the lash in the slave house.

“I am afraid of the whip,” she thought. “How is it that I should fear the whip? Only slave girls fear the whip. I fear the whip. What can that mean? Is its meaning not clear? I am a slave girl!”

Cornhair was well aware of the responses from the crowd, the noises, the comments, assessing her, as a beast may be assessed.

“Thirty
darins
,” she heard. “Thirty-five,” she heard.

And then Cornhair walked, as might have a thirty-five-
darin
girl.

She heard the women in the palanquin behind her call out to her companion in the lead palanquin, that to which her leash was attached. “She is the sort that men like,” she heard.

“Excellent,” she heard, from the lead palanquin. “She will do very nicely.”

But Cornhair was puzzled. It was a woman who had bought her. But, why? Surely to give her to a male. But what woman would buy a girl for a man? Was there not a war between the free woman and the slave?

Cornhair followed on her tether, for better than an hour, through various streets, some perhaps, from the sounds, and from the smoothness of the footing, boulevards, others less favored, more cobbled, streets of a more common sort, and, occasionally, it seemed, from the adjustments of the bearers, from the dampness and spillage, from the coolness, from the absence of sunlight on her body, from the sense of compressed, narrowly channeled wind brushing her, streets less streets than dismal alleys or secluded walkways, some little more than muddy trails, crevicelike, between walls. Then, later, the passage of the palanquins once more grew linear and their progress proceeded apace. Why, Cornhair wondered, had a seeming detour, through narrow, poorly paved, even sodden, streets, been effected? Were the grand ladies, for already Cornhair had begun to think of the free in terms quite different from those in which she thought of herself, reluctant to be recognized in this part of the journey? Did they wish to conceal their approach to a particular destination, by recourse to a less public, more circuitous route? Had she not thought she had heard the drawing of the curtains on two palanquins?

What is becoming of me, wondered Cornhair.

What are these strange feelings I am beginning to have? Surely they are not appropriate for one of the
honestori
, for one, even, of the patricians, even of the senatorial class! But I am no longer of the
honestori
, no longer of the patricians, no longer of the senatorial class!

I am becoming different. I cannot help myself!

Are these two women so truly grand, so different from me?

Would I not have despised them, even mocked them, in my freedom?

Why do I now fear them as so far above me, so far beyond me?

Why do I tremble before them? Why do I fear to meet their eyes?

Why should I stand in awe of them? Why should I hurry to kneel before them, and feel it right that I should do so?

Would they not be the same as me if their thighs were marked, if they were stripped, if their necks were clasped in the close-fitting, locked band of servitude!

No, they would not then be different.

But now they are!

So different!

I am changing, she thought. I cannot help myself. I am beginning to see the world as what I now am, as a slave, as one who is owned. I am beginning to think as a slave, move as a slave, speak as a slave. I am beginning to feel my body as the body of a slave, my mind as the mind of a slave, my feelings as the feelings of a slave.

And I want it so!

No, no, no, I must not want it so!

After something more than an hour, the small procession had halted, and the two palanquins had been set down.

To Cornhair's surprise the bearers, or their leader, were paid. The palanquins, then, had been rented.

The ladies then, if they owned palanquins, had elected not to use them. Would private palanquins have been recognized, or noted?

Also, almost at the same time, Cornhair heard the warming of an engine, and the familiar hum of a hoverer.

Too, one may have landed nearby.

It seemed another was being readied.

Someone undid her leash from the back of what had been the lead palanquin. From the feel of the leash on the leash ring Cornhair conjectured it was in someone's hand. A slave grows quite aware of such things. Did they truly fear she might dart away, hooded, her small wrists tied behind her back? Did they truly think that a bound slave was heedless or unmindful of the futility of eluding her restraints? Did they not realize how helpless, disoriented and dependent, a woman is, blindfolded, or hooded?

She felt herself lifted in strong, masculine arms and placed over the rail of the hoverer. A moment or two later, she was knelt on the floor grating of the hoverer; her ankles were crossed; her head was forced down to the grating; the leash was taken back between her legs, it was then pulled back tightly, tautly, and used to fasten her crossed ankles together.

Her head was then held down.

She could not raise it, in the leash collar.

Her hands moved a little in the cords that held them fastened behind her back.

“Satisfactory?” asked the male voice.

“Quite,” said a woman's voice.

“A compact, fetching little slave bundle,” said the male voice.

Cornhair supposed that a woman did look well, so tied, so displayed, so helpless. She could scarcely move.

“Do you think men would find her attractive?” asked another woman.

“She would do for a use or two,” said the man.

“Do you think she could do for a brothel slut?” asked the first woman.

“Certainly,” said the man.

“She is the sort?” he was asked.

“Eminently,” said the man.

“I do not want to be sold to a brothel!” thought Cornhair. “Do not sell me to a brothel, Mistresses!”

Cornhair had hitherto, for no good reason, taken it for granted that she would be sold to a private Master. It had never occurred to her that she might be sold to a business, an organization, a household, or such. Suddenly, to her astonishment, as she had not really thought of it before, she realized that, as a slave, she hoped very much for, and, for some reason, as though it made any difference, desperately wanted, a private Master. She hoped to be owned by a man, by one man, by only one man, whom she might then strive to serve and please, and, interestingly, she wanted to be his only slave. She suddenly realized, too, to her surprise, that she would hope to be a good slave, and would try, with all her intelligence and her emotional being, to be a good slave, indeed, the best slave she could be. And she sensed more might be involved in such a matter than merely being frightened of the whip. To be sure, the whip would be there, for she would be a slave.

“So,” said the man, “you are going to sell her to a brothel?”

“No!” thought Cornhair.

“No,” said the voice of the first woman.

In her bonds, Cornhair rejoiced.

The fellow then, apparently, left the hoverer, though she was not altogether sure of that, and, shortly thereafter, she felt the vibration of the grating, the hum of the engine, and, a moment later, the sweep of wind on her back, as the small, circular vessel rose swiftly, smoothly, into the air.

“Stand here,” said a woman's voice.

“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair, her feet in the warm sand to the ankles.

“Is this a market, of some sort?” she wondered. “It does not seem likely. There is sand. Perhaps I am to be run for boys, with ropes, to be awarded to the winner in a game? I have heard of such things. Perhaps they will have nets, and be on horseback? But I do not want to be won by boys. I would want to be owned by a man. If I am hooded, I would be helpless to favor a given contestant. I hope they will unhood me.”

She considered the assailing of her lips with a Master's claiming kiss.

This made her uneasy, but she knew she would yield, as a slave.

She sensed she would press against him, begging.

Could this be me, she wondered?

Cornhair had no idea, for a time, where she was, but she, of course, had some familiarity with Telnar, and, given her time in the hoverer, she assumed she must be a hundred miles or so from the capital. She was reasonably sure she was somewhere in the countryside, perhaps in the vicinity of a villa, or set of villas, from which one might commute to Telnar.