Authors: John; Norman
I saw Tyrtaios stride by.
He was muchly independent now, as Lords Okimoto and Nishida were elsewhere, I supposed in attendance on the
shogun
, Lord Temmu.
“Tal, noble Callias,” said he to me.
“Tal, noble Tyrtaios,” I said.
He was followed by some eleven or twelve men. I did not know them. They hailed from more than one deck. This made me apprehensive. Tyrtaios, I suspected, was of the Assassins.
I looked up from the wharf toward the castle.
It would be a long, unpleasant climb.
The walls of the narrow trail, I had supposed, were to protect the passage from the castle to the water.
Certainly they would deter small groups, at least, from harrying, if not closing off, that passage, from impeding, if not cutting, the connection between the castle and the sea. On the other hand, such walls, serving to keep some out, serve as well to keep others within.
The most interesting cargo I noted being disembarked from the great ship, a cargo handled with great gentleness, and one not surrendered to the lower Pani, but to warriors, were the eggs of tarns. Each was given to a single warrior, who bowed to the egg courteously, wrapped it in silk, and then began to mount the trail to the castle. I would later learn there had been a much larger number of eggs, but many had perished on the vessel, and been cast overboard. Several had apparently been stolen or destroyed in the mutiny. Some had been broken into, for food. The Pani had slain more than one man for such acts.
A large cage, containing an enormous sleen, snarling and obviously discomfited, was slung over the rail, and lowered toward the wharf. It took eight of the lower Pani to manage the cage up the ascent to the castle. Whereas I had heard this animal from time to time, this was only the second time I had seen it. The first time it had been on deck, in the company of Tarl Cabot. As it moved, twisting angrily about in the cage, its left, hind paw dragged on the cage floor. Any sleen is a dangerous beast. Why would one keep one which was crippled? Slowed, less able to hunt, perhaps in pain, might it not be even more dangerous?
The slaves had been disembarked after the third contingent. They were put in left-wrist coffle, and, ten at a time, were lowered in nets. Once on the wharf, the first girl of one ten was fastened to the last girl of the preceding ten, and so on, until there was a single line of slaves, some two hundred, all joined by the left wrist. Interestingly, they were permitted clothing. Usually
kajirae
, weather permitting, are marched naked in their coffles. This is healthy, allowing the air to refresh their bodies. It also makes it easier to wash the stock, sponging it down, immersing it in local streams, ponds, and such. Too, it saves on garmenture, which might be soiled in a long march, perhaps in dust, or mud. Too, of course, when a woman is chained naked, it is difficult for her to forget she is a slave. The clothing permitted to the slaves, considering their status as livestock, was rather ample, as the tunics, their single garment, extended to the center of the calf, as opposed to being high on the thigh, and often cut at the hip. Further, the tunics were rather coarse, and opaque. They were sleeveless, of course, and their simplicity left no doubt that they were slave garments. As is common the slaves were barefoot. The generosity of the tunics, and their conservatism, had possibly to do with the introduction of such lovely beasts into a new environment, which they might find unfamiliar, and which might find them unfamiliar. Once such beasts would become familiar, and one could better assess how they might be received, with respect to the local populace, one could always display them, relate to them, and do with them as seemed appropriate. For example, they should not, at least initially, be so desirable, and exciting, that Pani free women might kill them. The Pani free women must come to understand that they are no threat to them, no threat to their beauty, prestige, station, and power, but only animals, and slaves, work beasts and toys for their men.
Having reached the wharf in the second contingent, disembarked, I, and some others, of both the first and third contingents, had waited about. It is pleasant to see the marshaling, chaining, and marching of beautiful slaves. Such helpless, lovely creatures, whom one might visualize on the block, whom one might buy, own, train, and master, fill the hearts of men with zest and unrestrained joy. To be sure, these were, on the whole, the livestock of the Pani, to be dealt with as they might please. Some of the fellows, of course, may have been waiting on friends. And others, one supposes, were not eager to essay a narrow, closed, walled-in path, which was clearly steep and long, and at the end of which lay a beautiful, but strange and mysterious structure, which might forebode we knew not what. But most, I think, were waiting to see the slaves. How marvelous that one might own such creatures, as one might own a verr or tarsk.
The slaves, being aligned on the wharf, each ten being fastened to the next ten, looked fearfully up the heights, at the rearing, surmounting castle far above. We were all apprehensive, at having come to the World’s End, of course. But they were slaves, vulnerable, and utterly helpless. They were frightened belongings, soon to be fastened together. We were men; we were armed.
One of the girls was sobbing, her body shuddering. Perhaps she was frightened, apart from the security of her mat and chain.
Then the shackle was closed on her left wrist.
I had a special interest in these matters, other than the usual pleasures associated with the inspection and surveying of slaves. I wished to make sure that a particular slave, Alcinoë, was present, that she had not been kept on the ship. She was, after all, of some value. There was a bounty on her.
Accordingly, I had been pleased when I had detected her in the net, being lowered to the wharf with other girls, and had noted that she, the last of her ten, would be attached to the first of the next ten.
She was special to me.
I liked to keep my eye on her.
There was, after all, a bounty on her.
It was well that the slaves had been landed.
Some men, I fear, suspected that the great ship might depart the cove, with the treasure aboard, and the slaves, leaving the contingents then in a strange, hostile land. Thus they were reassured, at least to some extent, that the girls had been brought to shore.
Whereas the landing of the slaves might have been welcomed by the men, and might have well served the Pani by allaying some currents of suspicion amongst the men, it seems clear that, from the Pani point of view, the disembarkation of the slaves was no more than a disembarkation of cargo, no different from other forms of cargo.
That Alcinoë had not been kept on board, despite her value in Ar, pleased me. It suggested that this value might be unrecognized or, more likely, given the interest Seremides had expressed in her, that it was immaterial to the Pani who were seemingly in no need of economic resources, or, at least, of such a kind. She had been purchased in Brundisium as no more than another slave. Too, of what value is a coin which cannot be spent?
In any event, I was ashore, and much pleased that the slave, Alcinoë, was also ashore, and, obviously, for the time, at least, would be easy to keep track of.
Her left wrist was held, while the shackle was snapped about it.
She had been the lofty Lady Flavia of Ar, confidante of the Ubara herself. Now, no more than five yards from me, now almost indistinguishable amongst other goods, she was no more than a tunicked, barefoot, wrist-shackled slave at the World’s End.
This pleased me.
Might it not be nice to caress her, until her body reddened and throbbed and her hips and haunches shook and she begged to serve my pleasure?
I thought of her squirming, begging, in my arms, helpless in the spasmodic, uncontrollable throes of a slave.
It might be pleasant.
Then I recalled that I had no interest in her, unless it be to return her to Ar. Still, there is more to life than gold, a girl, say, a slave at one’s feet, in chains.
The last ten was attached to the coffle.
A cry rang out, and a whip snapped.
The first step is taken with the left foot.
They were instructed to walk as slaves, with their heads down, not looking to right or left, and, of course, keeping silent.
Women love to speak, and they do it articulately, and beautifully. It is a joy to hear them. It is a lovely part of their life.
Muchly then does it impress their bondage on them that this delight may not be exercised without the explicit, or implicit, permission of a free person. What a difference between the unquestioned prerogatives of the free woman who may speak if and when, and as, she pleases, and the helplessness of the slave who may be silenced with a word or gesture, and may not speak without permission.
Surely the nature of a woman much changes, once the collar has been snapped about her neck.
Men were about the wharf and the slaves’ coffle must proceed between them. And, as is common, many were the remarks, comments, whistles, observations, sounds, and such, to which the shackled
kajirae
were exposed.
Such a coffle, in such a situation, such a display of goods, is sometimes referred to as a collar banquet, as though its contents might be something which men might seize and on which they might feast.
The coffle, interestingly, was accompanied by Pani youth, of the lesser sort, with switches. As I understand it, something similar is often done amongst the Red Savages of the Barrens, namely, that adult white females are placed in the charge of boys. In this way, controlled and herded as the animals they are, they are taught that they are inferior even to the children of their masters.
When Alcinoë passed me, I whispered to her, “Heat your thighs, slut,” and she jerked at the chain, frightened, but kept her head down, and whispered, “Yes, my Master.” That had surely been a mistake. She had been terribly startled. She had not thought. For such a mistake, a girl might be switched. I was not her master. She was a ship slave. I watched her proceed toward the end of the wharf, the walled-in trail. Normally, of course, that expression, ‘my Master’, is used only to one’s actual master, the one to whom one belongs.
Almost all the slaves, of course, wore ship collars, as did Alcinoë, but some had lighter, lovelier collars, more common on the continent, and islands, but as securely locked, and as unslippable. I saw Pertinax’s Jane and Cabot’s Cecily. They had not been taken with the tarn cavalry, to whatever might have been its destination. Both seemed apprehensive. They were now with common slaves, public slaves, so to speak. Both were delicious sluts, with sweet love cradles. They were perhaps being confiscated. At the World’s End, who could gainsay the Pani? The tarn cavalry had been brought, largely intact, to the holding of Lord Temmu. I wondered if Tarl Cabot, Pertinax, and some others, might not now be expendable. Surely they were not Pani. Did Pani now need them? Would Pani trust them? Slaves, of course, are in little danger. They are not likely to be slain, no more than other animals. They may, of course, as other animals, easily change masters.
The hatred and contempt of the free woman for the meaningless, despicable slave, so far beneath her, is well known. On the other hand, when a city falls, when walls crumble in flame, and the streets run with blood, the free woman, unlike the slave, has much to fear. Their freedom, commonly so estimable, is now likely to earn them the bloody blade, their heads as readily posted on pikes as those of others. There is none to defend them, none to save them. Where shall they hide, within the encirclements, away from the room-to-room searches, away from the snuffling sleen, searching for a scent? It is not unknown for them to tear away their clothes and prostrate themselves before mocking victors, covering their feet with kisses, and begging to be spared. “Are you a slave?” they might be asked. “Yes, Master!” they sob. “Whose slave?” “Your slave, Master!” Sometimes their own serving slaves, who have often been much abused, as is commonly the practice of the scornful free woman, set upon their former mistress, strip, and bind her, and lead her, leashed, to slave-gathering points, at a wall, or at major cross streets, throwing her to the feet of conquerors, that her thigh may be seared as theirs, and a collar put upon her. “I am a free woman!” might cry the shamed, affronted captive. “How dare you bring me a free woman?” might the slaves be asked. The free woman is then thrown to her belly, and a sword is put at the back of her neck, and the arm is then raised. Surely it is an honorable death. “Please spare me, Master!” cries the free woman. “Master?” “Yes, Master! Master!” The woman is rudely turned, so that she is supine. The eyes of men rove her. She trembles. Might she please a master? Would she do, as a slave, even minimally? “Take her away,” says one of the men, “mark her, collar her. Perhaps she will do as a pot girl.” The slaves laugh, as their former mistress is dragged to the side. In addressing the word ‘Master’ to a man, did she not confess herself slave? Her masquerade of freedom is then at an end. Many free women, it is said, and perhaps all, as is hinted, are merely slaves who have dared to conceal themselves for a time in the habiliments of the free. Better then, at last, that they will know the cage, the chain, the rope, the whip.
I saw the blond slave, Saru, pass.
I saw her, more than once, lift her head, slightly, and, with agonized eyes, whispering, interrogate some fellow to the side.
When she came to my vicinity, the chain had halted briefly, for some girls, ahead, had fallen, trying to ascend the steepness of the trail. It was not an easy climb. She whispered to me, plaintively. “Noble Master, where is Master Pertinax? Do you know him? Is he about? Tell him of me, please tell him of the slave, Saru!”