The Usurper (50 page)

“I suspect she is seldom pleased with anyone,” said Titus Gelinus.

Cornhair remained silent.

“Are you a good slave?” asked Titus Gelinus.

“I am a slave,” said Cornhair. “I try to be a good slave.”

“Look up,” said the rhetor.

Cornhair looked up, but avoided meeting the rhetor's eyes.

“I have seen many such as you on the rack,” he said.

Cornhair, again, was silent. She did shudder.

Titus Gelinus then took the note, held it briefly to his nose, smelled it, and then opened it, and glanced at it, following which, with an annoyed gesture, he put it on a silver dish, on a marble-topped table to the side.

The rhetor had then returned his attention to Cornhair. “You are new,” he said.

“I have only recently had the honor of being put in Mistress' collar,” said Cornhair.

“You are well-curved,” he said.

“Thank you, Master,” said Cornhair.

“You should be a man's slave,” he said.

Cornhair put down her head, and dared not respond. Cornhair realized that he, no more than anyone else, had questioned that she should be a slave, only that she would be more suitably owned by a male. And Cornhair herself, as we have gathered, had come to the realization, from her deepest thoughts, fought against for so long, in stark contrast to all that she had been taught, and her former life of arrogance and affluence, that she was appropriately a slave. That former life had been a lie. She belonged in a collar, at a man's feet. She could not be herself otherwise; she could not be whole otherwise.

“Do you know the contents of this note?” asked Titus Gelinus.

“No, Master,” said Cornhair.

“Can you read?”

“Yes, Master, but I did not read the note.”

“Your Mistress wishes a tryst in a secret place,” he said.

“She is a free woman,” said Cornhair.

“Doubtless she fears for her reputation,” he said.

“Doubtless, Master,” said Cornhair.

“I am tempted to oblige her,” he said.

“I am sure she would be delighted, Master,” said Cornhair.

“You are pretty,” he said. “Perhaps you are worth a roll on the rug at the foot of my couch.”

“Please, no, Master!” said Cornhair. “I am a woman's slave!”

“You are to be denied the touch of men?”

“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair. “Please do not put me to your pleasure, lest I be maimed, mutilated, or slain by my Mistress!”

“She would know?”

“I fear so, Master,” said Cornhair.

“I grow weary of your Mistress, and the others, their kind,” he said. “I would, if I could, bar them from the galleries. Let them keep to the theaters, let them adore actors who portray heroes; let them applaud and acclaim poets, singers, gladiators, wrestlers, muleteers, drivers of four-horse and two-horse teams, athletes, vegetable growers, whoever, whatever, and refrain from wasting my time.”

“Is there a response to the note, Master?” asked Cornhair. “My Mistress will be waiting.”

“Tell your Mistress,” he said, “I have never received a more remarkable note.”

“I am sure she will be pleased,” said Cornhair.

“I am a man of influence and power,” he said.

“That is my understanding,” said Cornhair.

“Times are uncertain, and trying,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair.

“Would your Mistress' ankles look well in shackles?” he asked.

“I do not know, Master,” said Cornhair, uneasily. “I have never thought of it. But perhaps, Master, she is a woman.”

“Good,” said Titus Gelinus, attorney and rhetor. “Leave through the kitchen. Ask for food, and a draught of
kana
.”

“Yes, Master!” said Cornhair, gratefully.

“You will take such things on your knees,” he said.

“Yes, Master!” said Cornhair.

Two days ago the Lady Gia Alexia had been returning from the market, and Cornhair had been following her, four paces behind, with the shopping basket.

The Lady Gia Alexia was, if possible, in a less favorable mood than usual. Certainly she had bargained in the market in a most demanding and abusive manner, which modality of discourse seemed, however, to have had little, if any, influence on the quantity, quality, or cost of her purchases. The underlying disgruntlement on the part of the Lady Gia Alexia, which had spilled over into the unpleasantries in the market, had to do, as the reader may already suppose, with Titus Gelinus. As yet, despite the Lady Gia Alexia's zeal and importunities, no private meeting had been arranged with the rhetor.

Understandably, given the dispositions and personality of the Lady Gia Alexia, this lack of progress was conjectured to have, quite possibly, something to do with the bearer of her notes.

Cornhair was still in the tunic in which she had been turned over to the two agents of her mysterious buyer, that given to her in the outlet of House of Worlds on Varl Street, here in Telnar. It had been laundered several times, of course, in the interval between the House of Worlds and this current trip to the market, several days later. It was a light garment, and certainly not substantial, either in its length or weaving. Given the washings, its normal wear, and, we fear, the attentions of the lady Gia Alexia's switch, often applied to its miserable occupant, it had become a bit parted, here and there, and, here and there, somewhat tattered, even ragged. As a result, certain aspects of Cornhair's appearance were accentuated, if possible, even more so than is commonly the case with such a garment, designed, it seems, as much to reveal as conceal. It seems probable that the Lady Gia Alexia's intention in the matter of her slave's clothing was, at least in her view, to debase and degrade the slave. Had Cornhair been a free woman doubtless she would have been appropriately debased and degraded, but, of course, she was not a free woman. As a slave she took such a slight garmenture for granted. It was cultural for such as she, even as the collar. Too, slaves are commonly content with their bodies, indeed, happy with them. It seldom occurs to them, as it often occurs with free women, to be ashamed of their bodies. They rejoice in their naturalness, in their health and beauty; enjoying the same entitlements in this regard as would be accorded to any other lovely domestic animal. Too, it must be noted that slave garmenture is quite comfortable, and permits a considerable freedom of movement, two features not always found in the garments of the free woman, more constrained by convention and the dictates of propriety. Lastly, women wish to appeal to men. What woman does not wish to be found attractive? What woman does not wish to be found stimulating? What woman objects to being found exciting? Surely it is flattering and reassuring to a woman to know that she is desirable, that men want her, that men would like to have her in their collar. And what woman, then, finds herself the most wanted, and desired, of all women? The woman on the slave block, the one chained at his feet, the one in his collar.

Do you think the slave does not know how she is seen by men? Do you think she does not know how they turn to regard her in the street, how they assess her, how they speculate on what it would be to own her?

She is the most female, and desirable, of all women, the female slave.

“Oh!” cried Cornhair, almost spilling produce from the basket.

Had the Lady Gia Alexia not been so determined to enact her vengeances on the former Lady Publennia, of the Larial Calasalii, she might have provided her with a garment more suitable to a woman's slave, one longer, more opaque, and such.

The Lady Gia Alexia spun about, angrily, switch in hand. “What is wrong?” she demanded.

“I was touched, Mistress!” wept Cornhair.

It was crowded, near the market. It was not clear who might have accosted the slave, in passing.

“Shameless, provocative slut!” said the Lady Gia Alexia, striking Cornhair across the upper left arm with her switch.

Cornhair knelt, head down, clutching the basket to her. She was then struck thrice more, once on the left side of the neck, once on the right side of the neck, and then, again, on the left side of the neck.

“Forgive me, Mistress,” said Cornhair. “I cannot help that I have the body I have, that I am in a collar!”

The Lady Gia Alexia backed away a pace.

“I do not see what men see in slaves,” she said. “Their beauty cannot begin to compare with that of a free woman.”

Cornhair kept her head down.

“Are you attractive?” she asked Cornhair.

“Some men have found me so, I think, Mistress,” whispered Cornhair, hoping not to be again struck. Her arm and neck still stung.“Do you think Titus Gelinus might find you more attractive than I?” asked the Lady Gia Alexia.

“Surely not, Mistress,” said Cornhair, shuddering.

The switch moved near her, but did not strike her. Cornhair could see its shadow.

“I cannot risk that,” said the Lady Gia Alexia. “Men are so stupid.”

“Forgive me, if I have been displeasing,” said Cornhair.

“I shall borrow, or rent, a plainer slave,” said the Lady Gia Alexia.

“Mistress?” said Cornhair, looking up.

“I have had enough of you,” said the Lady Gia Alexia. “Tomorrow morning I will see what I can get for you.”

“Mistress is going to sell me?” asked Cornhair.

“Yes,” said the Lady Gia Alexia, “and I trust you will not be so fortunate as to be purchased by a woman. That would be too good for you. Men are stupid, lustful beasts, gross brutes. Therefore, it is my hope that you will find yourself at the mercy of one.”

“Yes, Mistress,” whispered Cornhair.

“Indeed, that is almost certain,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.

“Weep, lament, and cry ‘woe',” she laughed.

“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.

“And I will make sure of something in your sale which will make a difference,” she said, “something which some may find of interest.”

“I do not understand, Mistress,” said Cornhair.

“You will see,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.

The slaver's man had now left Cornhair in her position on the shelf, with the others, the long chain running through its rings from the girl to her left, looped and padlocked about her throat, and then continuing on through the rings to the girl on her right, who was similarly secured, and so on.

Cornhair's hands were manacled behind her. She was unclothed. Men, it seemed, liked to see what they were buying.

Men occasionally inspected the slaves. Sometimes they climbed to the height of the shelf, to inspect them more closely, to handle them, and such.

Cornhair could see the small restaurant across the street, to her left. A girl, a slave, was ladling out soup from the pot recessed in the counter. Another slave, briefly tunicked, was waiting on one of the interior tables. Such establishments commonly buy attractive female slaves, which is good for business. There is a turnover amongst such slaves, as men occasionally wish to take one home. Indeed, in its way, two girl markets faced one another across the street, the slave shelf and the restaurant, whose waitresses might be purchased. The waitresses had an advantage over the shelf girls, as they might move about before the Masters, chat with them, flirt with them, and such. Within the restaurant, on its right side, as one looked inward, was a narrow stairway, which led up, Cornhair supposed, to some rooms or apartments on a higher floor. There were few private homes in Telnar. Most of the buildings were four to six stories in height. The building across the street was four stories in height. The slaves would not be housed upstairs, as they were slaves. Presumably they would be housed in the back of the restaurant, or in its cellar.

Cornhair had been assured that Tenrik, owner of Tenrik's Woman Market, where she was exhibited, would soon be about, to hang her placard about her neck.

It was warm on the shelf.

The intruders, the raiders, had not taken her with them. So easily she might have been the slave of barbarians! So easy it is to carry a woman away in ropes or chains! That still might occur, of course. Many girls had changed hands a number of times, and had worn their collars on several worlds, barbarian, imperial, primitive, and so on. The slave rose was known on agricultural worlds, industrial worlds, jungle worlds, desert worlds, sophisticated worlds, provincial worlds.

Cornhair was aware of being approached.

She straightened her body, and lifted her head.

She felt a placard, on its cords, being hung about her neck.

“May I speak, Master?” she asked.

“Yes,” she was told.

“I thank Master for the soothing balm,” she said. It had been applied by a slaver's man before she was brought to the shelf and added to the chain. She knew it need not have been applied.

“The welting will subside in time,” he said.

“Master,” she said.

“Yes,” he said.

“May I inquire what I was sold for?”

“Vain bitch,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Twenty-five
darins
,” he said.

“That seems very little,” said Cornhair, puzzled. Had she not recently sold for forty
darins
?

“Your Mistress let you go cheaply,” he said.

“That I might know myself worth so little,” she said.

“Doubtless,” he said. “But she specified certain conditions.”

“Master?”

“That certain entries be included on your placard.”

“What, Master?” asked Cornhair, frightened.

“You were a poor slave, I gather,” he said.

“I tried to be a good slave,” she said.

He adjusted the placard.

“The first entry,” he said, “is ‘See that this slave is treated as she deserves'. That should encourage your new Master or Mistress to be ready with the whip, to punish you richly for the least flaw or dalliance, the least imperfection, in your service.”