Authors: John; Norman
I took the last sip of broth, and put the bowl down beside me, at my right knee.
The slave regarded it.
“You were sold in Brundisium,” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“Were you auctioned?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “I was taken to a slaver’s mart.”
“What did you bring?” I asked.
“A thousand pieces of gold,” she said.
“There will be records,” I said, “and they may be checked.”
“Forty tarsks,” she said.
“Surely not of silver,” I said.
“Of copper,” she said, angrily.
“Then you did not even bring a single silver tarsk,” I said.
“No,” she said, angrily.
“Perhaps you now have a better understanding of your worth,” I said, “as compared to other women.”
“Yes!” she said, angrily.
“Do not be concerned,” I said. “You were new to the collar, and untrained.”
“I am beautiful,” she said, “extremely beautiful!”
“You did not sell for much,” I said.
“Beast!” she said.
“What is your brand?” I asked. I could not determine this for her tunic. Too, there was little light in my cell, only that from the small lamp, on its chains, slung from the ceiling outside the bars, moving with the movement of the ship, outside the opened gate.
“The
kef
,” she said, angrily.
“There you have it,” I said. “The
kef
is for pot girls, for kettle-and-mat girls, for common slaves.”
“Even the most beautiful,” she snapped, “may wear the
kef
.”
I smiled. “That is true,” I said. “Men often enjoy putting even the most beautiful in the
kef
, that they may keep in mind that they are only slaves.”
“Am I not beautiful?” she asked.
“I would put you in the middle range of slaves,” I said. “You would not likely be either the first nor the last put on the block.” It is not unusual for slavers to save the best merchandise for late in the sale, when late comers are present, the audience is settled in, interest has been whetted, emotions are running high, purses are most open, and so on. This is not a universal practice, however, as one is likely to make less on early sales. A clever mix of goods is perhaps the most common manner of staging a sale. On the other hand, I think it does not really make much difference, as the merchandise is commonly available for inspection, though through bars, in pre-sale exposition cages. One may then note the goods of interest to one, by their lot numbers, usually inscribed in grease pencil on the left breast, and then wait until they stand in the sawdust, high on the block, exhibited to the house, under torchlight. To be sure, one can be mistaken. Sometimes an item which appears promising in the exposition cage may prove less interesting on the block, and sometimes an item scarcely noticed in the exposition cage will enflame a battle of bids, much to the pleasure and profit of the house. On the other hand, one cannot really measure these matters with scales or marked sticks. Many are the mysteries herein contained. Some men will kill for a woman another might ignore, and some women who might seem to be outstandingly beautiful may not attract much attention. There are doubtless cues, latencies, subtleties, and specificities in such cases which are difficult to identify, let alone quantify. They are, however, undeniably real.
“I am incredibly beautiful!” she insisted.
“You are not a bad-looking slave,” I granted her.
“May I withdraw?” she asked.
“How did you come here?” I asked.
“I am not fully sure,” she said.
“Who purchased you?” I asked.
“It was done through agents,” she said, “but at the behest of strange men, quiet men, sedate men, softly spoken men, men carrying unusual weapons, men with strange eyes.”
“I do not understand,” I said.
“They are spoken of as Pani,” she said.
“Strange eyes?” I said.
“To us,” she said.
“Tuchuks?” I asked.
“I do not think so,” she said. “There are at least three hundred on board, perhaps many more.”
“I was not brought aboard by such,” I said.
“There are many others, too,” she said, “of Ar, Cos, Tyros, the further islands, even Besnit, Harfax, and Thentis.”
It was a pirate crew, mixed, without Home Stones, and such, I had speculated earlier.
“Some fifty such as I,” she said, “were exhibited and bought, and, chained, taken by galley north, to the great forests. We were thence marched overland, in coffle, and then, on rafts, floated across the Alexandra. There, in separate groups, unacquainted with one another, we were kept, dieted and exercised, in special palisaded enclaves.”
“You were put at the pleasure of men,” I said.
“No,” she said.
“Interesting,” I said.
“This deprivation,” she said, “caused much distress to some of our number, who might weep in their kennels, scratch at the logs in the yard, beseech guards for their touch, and roll in the dirt, in frustration.”
“In their bellies,” I said, “slave fires had been lit.”
“Doubtless,” she said.
“But not in yours?”
“Certainly not,” she said, angrily.
“After months,” she said, “we were braceleted, coffled, and hooded, and brought back across the Alexandra on boats. We were then, helplessly, embarked on this great boat. Only once have I been allowed on the top deck. This is a vast, floating thing.”
“Who is in charge here,” I asked, “and what is the destination of this voyage, and what is its purpose?”
“The Pani,” she said, “clearly. It is their vessel. I do not know its destination, perhaps the farther islands, surely not beyond. And I do not know what might be the purpose of the voyage.”
“You know little,” I said.
“It seems,” she said, “that curiosity is not becoming to us.”
“Perhaps only the Pani, whoever they might be, know,” I said.
“I think so,” she said.
“Why do you think that such as you have been cargoed?” I asked.
“We are women,” she said. “I suppose we are to be sold.”
“Perhaps,” I said, “there is a market, somewhere, for women of your appearance, with your sort of eyes.”
“Perhaps,” she said.
“To be sure,” I said, “you might also be distributed as gifts.”
“Of course,” she said. “We are women.”
“Precisely,” I said.
“But there are female slaves on the ship which are at the public use of the crew, and private slaves, as well.”
“You were brought on board hooded?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “As might have been verr or tarsks.”
“And there are others,” I said, “as you, but whom you have not seen.”
“That is my surmise,” she said. “I think so, from the sound of the coffle chains, the number of boats used, and such.”
“Before I was brought on board,” I said, “I heard the scream of a tarn, this far from land, in the fog.”
“There are tarns on board,” she said.
“Many?” I asked.
“Several,” she said.
“Why?” I asked.
“I do not know,” she said. “Such as we are not privy to the projects of masters.”
I regarded her.
She was uneasy. She wished to withdraw.
I continued to regard her.
“Is Master pleased?” she said.
“You are not really bad looking,” I said.
“A slave is flattered,” she said, bitterly.
“There are many better,” I said, “of course.”
“Doubtless,” she said.
“You might have some possibilities,” I said.
“Possibilities?” she said.
“You were very fortunate that you were not betrayed by Altheia,” I said.
“She was a fool,” she said.
“In similar circumstances,” I said, “you would have betrayed her?”
“Certainly,” she said. “Instantly, consider the risks.”
“I see,” I said.
“May I withdraw?” she asked.
“There is, of course, one, I, on board,” I said, “who knows you from Ar, and might betray you.”
“Do not,” she whispered, frightened. “You would not do so!”
“Stand,” I said to her, “there.”
She complied, and I could then well see her, back a bit, her ankles in the straw.
“I think you still see yourself as a free woman,” I said.
“Scarcely,” she said, “I have been stripped, braceleted, roped, coffled, chained, trekked, tunicked, marked, collared, lashed, vended, and commanded.”
“Even so,” I said.
I suspected she did not yet fully understand how her condition, nature, and very being had been radically transformed since Ar, that she was now totally other than she had been. Doubtless she had an intellectual sense of this, who would not, but I suspected that she had not yet acknowledged, manifested, revealed, and liberated the secret slave that was the core of her being.
“Remove your tunic,” I said.
“Please,” she said.
“Better,” I said. “But you are standing as a free woman. Straighten your body, lift your head, turn your hip.”
“Please, no!” she said.
“You stood as what you were before,” I said. “Do so now, again.”
“But I am now naked,” she wept.
“Who would buy you as you are?” I asked. “You are before a man, slut.”
“Mercy!” she wept.
“Does the Lady Flavia refuse to obey?” I asked. “Good,” I said. “That is not bad, Alcinoë, at least for a girl new to the collar.”
She wept, but stood well.
“Now turn about,” I said, “slowly, and then, again, face me.”
“Good,” I said.
“Now, clasp your hands behind the back of your neck, put your head back, and turn about, again, again slowly, and then, again, face me. Good. Now you may lower your arms, and regard me, standing well.”
She was lovely, in the dim light, standing in the straw, within the cell, the gate open behind her.
“Brush your hair back, with both hands,” I said.
Yes, I thought, certainly well worth forty copper tarsks.
“Do you not know how to make a man want you?” I asked.
“No!” she said.
“I am considering putting you through slave paces,” I said.
“I do not know such things,” she said. “I have not been trained!”
“But you are a slave,” I said.
“Yes, yes,” she said, “I am a slave!”
I suspected she would respond well, and more quickly than most, to male dominance. Once the collar is on them, it seldom takes much time, some more, some less.
“Often, in Ar,” I said, “your veil was loose, disarranged, as though carelessly, before guards and other males.”
“You were not to look,” she said. “Did I not chide you for your boldness?”
“Poor males,” I said, “to be so tormented.”
“And surely,” she said, “once aware, I hastily restored the propriety of my habiliments.”
“You must have been aware,” I said, “that men, so provoked, would conjecture your lineaments, beneath those layered, brightly colored robes.”
“No!” she said.
“Truly?” I said.
“You had your slaves,” she said, angrily, “collared, face-stripped, with ill-concealed limbs. Should that be all you knew? Why should you not have been given a hint, at least, of true beauty, the incomparably superior beauty of a free woman?”
I laughed.
She turned her head away, angrily.
“Forty copper tarsks,” I said.
“Beast,” she said.
“Now it is you who are in the collar,” I said. “Do you truly think you are less beautiful now than then? Indeed, the collar much enhances a woman’s beauty.”
“May I withdraw?” she asked.
“You were a haughty she-sleen,” I said, “a hypocrite, a false friend, greedy, insolent, self-seeking, cowardly, dishonest, cruel, and power hungry.”
“May I withdraw?” she said.
“But you did, upon occasion, disarrange your veils,” I said.
“To taunt men,” she snapped, “to make them miserable, to let them see what they could not have!”
“Most,” I said, “might have afforded forty copper tarsks.”
“I must return,” she said.
“To your kennel?” I inquired.
“To my mat,” she said, “to be chained there! Does that please you?”
“It is my impression,” I said, “that free women not only despise slaves, but, being women, often envy them. What woman would not wish to be excitingly garbed, to be not only permitted, but to have no choice but to publicly exhibit her beauty? What woman would not wish to escape the inhibitions, the social demands, the conventions and pressures, the robes, veils, and proprieties which so control and confine them? What woman would not wish to realize that she is stunningly attractive to men, that she is the object of mighty male desire? What woman truly believes that she is the same as a man? What woman does not wish to kneel naked, collared, before her master, the joyful, waiting, hopeful instrument and vessel of his pleasure? Surely you have wondered, if only in rage, at the radiance, the joy, the fulfillment, the freedom, the paradoxical happiness, of the female slave.”