The Usurper (13 page)

Later he rebound the ankles of the slave and placed her on the floor, at the foot of the couch. He then fetched a chain from the chest at the side of the chamber, and, with two heavy, metallic snaps, fastened her, by the neck, to the ring fixed in the bottom of the couch.

“In the morning,” he said, “you will be branded.”

“Do not brand me,” she said.

“You are a slave,” he said. “All slaves should be marked. You will be marked.”

“No,” she begged.

“Collars might be removed, or changed,” he said. “I am thinking of the slave rose. It is small, tasteful, and lovely, clear, unmistakable.”

“But all would then know me as a slave,” she said.

“Do you not know you are a slave?” he asked.

“I well know I am a slave,” she said. “It has been taught to me. I have felt the whip.”

“But perhaps you would hope to conceal your slavery?”

Her lip trembled, but she dared not speak.

“Speak,” he said.

“Might not my slavery be a kept a private matter,” she said, “something hidden, a secret?”

“Perhaps,” said he, “on a world which denies the rightfulness of slavery for slaves, even if they need and seek bondage, if there is such a narrow, dismal world, but on better worlds, more open worlds, more tolerant worlds, more honest worlds, it should be proclaimed.”

“But, marked, despite what I might wish, apart from my desires, all would then know me as a slave,” she said.

“Yes,” he said, “all would then know you as a slave.”

“My bondage would be fixed on me,” she said. “It would be what I was, openly, publicly, legally. It would be nonrepudiable!”

“Precisely,” he said.

“I would be property, and goods, forever,” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “You would be known so on all the habitable worlds, the mightiest and smallest, the warmest and the coldest, on the most sophisticated and civilized, on the most savage and barbarous, on habitable worlds anywhere, throughout the galaxies.”

“I fear the brand,” she said.

“Appropriately,” he said.

“I do not wish to be branded,” she said.

“It is quite possible that cattle do not wish to be branded either,” he said.

The slave, helpless in her bonds, her neck fastened by a chain to the ring on a free man's couch, moaned.

“Many slaves,” he said, “are proud of their bondage. They do not wish to be free women. They pity and despise free women, for the emptiness, the aimlessness, the boredom, the banality, the worthlessness of their lives, for their lack of identity, purpose, and meaning, for their lack of a Master. They welcome and desire the brand. They realize that it is a mark of distinction, that it is an inflicted badge of quality, of specialness, of desirability and beauty. It proclaims them wanted, so wanted that they are owned by men. They are proud of their brands. They have been found worthy of being owned, of being branded.”

“I fear I might be such a woman,” she said.

“Some desire and seek bondage,” he said. “They desire to submit, to be owned, to belong, to love, and serve. They desire to put themselves helplessly at the feet of a man, to be done with as he might please. They are not whole, nor content, until they are at a man's feet.”

“May I speak, Master?” she said.

“Certainly,” he said.

“Surely you will sell me,” she said.

“In no way that you might expect,” he said.

“I do not understand,” she said.

“A slave need not understand,” he said, “no more than another beast.”

“Please!” she said.

“Recall that you have been a willing tool of cunning, duplicitous Iaachus, collaborating in schemes of deceit and treachery, that you would have killed me, that you, though a slave, were found less than wholly pleasing.”

“What is to be done with me?” she asked.

“I told you,” he said. “I have a special disposition in mind for you.”

“What?” she begged.

“Perhaps,” he said, “you will have preferred to have had your throat cut, or to have been put out for wolves, or to have been cast upon the wire.”

“What, what, Master?” she begged.

“You will see,” he said.

Chapter Ten

“Great Lady,” said Iaachus.

“Loyal servitor,” said Atalana, empress mother.

“It seems,” said he, “that the throne is safe, if but for a time.”

“The schemes of the plotter and pretender, Julian, he of the despicable Aureliani, he with wicked designs upon the throne, have been foiled?”

“One may hope so,” said Iaachus, “at least for the time.”

The empress mother, her frail body tiny amidst the cushions of the throne in her private audience chamber, leaned forward, fixing her small eyes on the lean, narrow-visaged, sable-attired courtier. “Recount to me, dear Iaachus,” said she, “the manner of the falling out of these matters.”

“Some months ago,” said Iaachus, “on a summer world, you will remember that the secret traitor, Julian, approached the throne, petitioning a commission for the barbarian, Ottonius. We deemed it dubious policy at the time to deny so seemingly innocent and trivial a request by one of his importance, one kin even to the mighty emperor. A refusal might have generated curiosity amongst the worlds. Too, such a refusal might have signaled to the schemer that his machinations had been sounded, with the consequence that he might have become even subtler, and more on his guard. Too, he is known amongst the worlds, and respected. To refuse, let alone topple, so popular a figure might engage speculations, even repercussions, inimical to the throne. Accordingly, we granted the commission, pretending not to discern its more remote import, and its place in his plans. We arranged that the commission for the barbarian would be delivered, as though in good faith, to him at his villa on Vellmer, where the barbarian was his guest. We planned carefully, if unsuccessfully. We assigned an agent, Tuvo Ausonius, a civil servant, from Miton, to seemingly transmit the document, it putatively enclosed in a latched case, to be opened by dialing a combination. The case, of course, actually housed an explosive device, which would fire shortly after the dialing of the combination. Julian and the barbarian, Ottonius, would presumably open the case. It was made clear to the agent that it was to be opened only in their presence. We also dispatched an imperial delegation to Vellmer, suitably and officially, that all would be in order, bearing the actual document bestowing the commission. The delegation was to arrive after the detonation of the explosive device, and would then, in seeming surprise, sorrow, and disappointment, return with the then-meaningless document. We anticipated the possibility, of course, that the agent, or the device, might fail us. Accordingly, the delegation, well armed and trained, was to assault the villa and destroy it. Indeed, upon the detonation of the device, the matter was to be assured by an air strike. As it turned out the device, though detonated, failed of its objective, its intended victims having withdrawn in time. Similarly, the air strike failed, given the shielding of the villa, and its weaponry. As planned, given the contingency, the delegation attacked the villa, which attack was withstood. Indeed, not one member of the delegation survived.”

“I am apprised of these matters, dear counselor,” said the empress mother.

“It is germane that I recount them,” said Iaachus, “that you may the better appreciate certain events which ensued, events consequent upon plans so secret that I did little more than allude to them in your presence.”

“Who is to be more in your confidence than I?” she asked, sharply.

“None surely, great lady,” he said, bowing, “but private audiences prompt speculation, and I hesitated to speak openly, even in the presence of the emperor himself.”

“He is in his quarters, playing with his blocks and soldiers,” said the empress mother.

“Or before his beloved sisters, the exalted, beauteous princesses, Viviana and Alacida,” he said.

“That was wise of you,” she said. “Both are vain, frivolous, shallow creatures. They concern themselves with jewels and clothes, entertainments and amusements. They could no more hold a secret than a sieve water. Would they had been men, stern of thought, wise in counsel, tenacious and far-seeing, with metal in their blood, to defend and expand the borders of the empire!”

“There is the emperor,” said Iaachus.

“Yes,” said the empress mother, “there is the emperor.”

“I fear,” said Iaachus, “that the conspirator, Julian, hopes to wed the fair Viviana or Alacida, that he might one day be positioned for the throne.”

“The emperor is young,” said the empress mother.

“At his age,” said Iaachus, “some have led armies, and commanded fleets.”

“The emperor amuses himself with other toys,” she said.

“Few emperors have died in battle,” said Iaachus. “Most have met their ends within the walls of palaces.”

“Tasters are employed,” said the empress mother. “Physicians are in attendance.”

“A rush in the darkness, a knife to the heart,” said Iaachus, “renders useless the precautions of the subtlest taster, the ministrations of the most devoted physician.”

“Who can I trust but you, noble Iaachus?” said the empress mother, wearily.

“Would that either Viviana or Alacida had the brilliance, the shrewdness, the iron, the courage of Atalana!” exclaimed Iaachus.

“But they do not,” said the empress mother. “Would that I had been a man!”

“There would have been an emperor!” said Iaachus.

“Do not flatter a weak, tired, old woman,” said Atalana.

“I but speak the patent truth,” said Iaachus.

“Is there no cure for the emperor?” said Atalana.

“The emperor is beloved throughout the thousand worlds,” said Iaachus. “Glory to him!”

“Yes, glory to the emperor,” said the empress mother, wearily, “while the empire totters.”

“Despite your possible reservations with respect to the nature and character of your daughters, the beauteous Viviana and Alacida, who share much of your own beauty,” said Iaachus, “you must recognize their enormous political importance. A marriage to either would much abet the ambitions of treasonous Julian.”

“Or the ambitions of any other,” said Atalana.

“I spoke, of course, of our foe, Julian,” said Iaachus.

“I would have them strangled first,” said the empress mother.

“I see,” said the Arbiter of Protocol.

“You are valuable in your place,” said the empress mother. “See that you keep it.”

“Think not ill of me, great lady,” said Iaachus. “Do not misunderstand me. I meant nothing. I do not aspire to heights. My only ambition is to serve you, humbly, and to the best of my poor ability.”

“Forgive an old woman,” said Atalana. “How suspicious and ungrateful she is! What stouter defense of the throne has she than noble Iaachus?”

Iaachus bowed.

“Do you truly think I am beautiful?” she asked. She inadvertently touched her cheek, opening a tiny crack in the powder caked there.

“From whence, otherwise,” asked Iaachus, “could fair Viviana and Alacida have derived their remarkable beauty, so close to, and yet so far from, yours?”

“You are a scoundrel, counselor,” smiled Atalana.

“I but speak the patent truth,” he said.

“You set plans in motion without my consent,” she said.

“But to achieve ends congruent with your hopes,” he said.

“I know only that you feared some alliance of Julian with barbarous forces and hoped, by some secret measures, to preclude their success.”

“The empire is stable, safe, and eternal,” said Iaachus, “but walls crumble, forces dwindle, fuel grows short, ammunition low, outposts are raided, borders are threatened, worlds with hostile intent loom.”

“You failed once to foil Julian,” said Atalana, “on Vellmer. Have you failed, again?”

“Others failed there, not I,” said Iaachus.

“Have others again failed?” asked the empress mother.

“No,” said Iaachus. “We have been successful. Julian sent his minion, the barbarian, Ottonius, to Tangara, to recruit dangerous tribesmen by means of which to prosecute his plans. One man might gather ten, and ten a hundred, and a hundred a thousand, and a thousand untold numbers.”

The empress mother shuddered.

“Julian intends to either ascend the throne,” said Iaachus, “or destroy the empire.”

“He must be stopped!” cried the empress mother. “Have him killed!”

“He is known, and important, and respected,” said Iaachus. “That would be dangerous. Few know him as do we. Most deem him a patriot. Many would hope he would ascend the throne.”

“Kill him,” said Atalana.

“We must be careful,” said Iaachus.

“You tried to kill him on Vellmer,” said the empress mother.

“Yes,” said Iaachus, “on far Vellmer, in a remote villa, not in the midst of troops.”

“What is to be done?”

“Nothing must be obvious,” said Iaachus. “His murder might precipitate riots, an uprising, a revolution on some worlds. It might serve even as a pretext for secession.”

“Let him be exposed to a lethal infection,” said the empress mother. “Let a contagion be devised, which might rack planets. Let plagues be engineered. He perishes then, one victim amongst countless others, provoking no suspicion.”

“Plagues might do to punish troublesome worlds,” said Iaachus, “but there is little point in expending an ocean of poison when but a single drop is needed.”

“But a single drop might provoke suspicion?” said Atalana.

“I fear so,” said Iaachus.

“Let an accident be arranged,” said the empress mother.

“I have arranged things differently,” said the Arbiter of Protocol. “An indirect blow, which does not seem a blow, may strike most deeply. An unarmed man amongst armed men is little to be feared.”

“I do not understand,” said the empress mother.

“We remove the means from Julian and Julian is without means.”

“Dear Iaachus?” said the empress mother.

“Julian's plans clearly involve the enlistment of barbarians, preferably in large, expanding numbers, and this enlistment, as he envisions it, begins with, and is contingent on, the services of the barbarian, Ottonius.”

“I see now,” said the empress mother, “why you have requested this unusual private audience.”

“To report, of course, great lady,” said Iaachus, “now that the thing is done and the utmost secrecy is no longer required.”

“You have slain the barbarian captain, Ottonius,” she said.

“In a way most natural, and most unlikely to provoke suspicion, in a venue far from civilization, and by means of an instrument most subtle and suitable, a poisoned blade in the privacy of a chamber, wielded by an agent most unlikely to be suspected, a free woman posing as a mere female slave.”

“He reaches out, the lusting brute, and discovers that he has in his arms not a warm, quivering, yielding, moaning, meaningless vessel of pleasure, but death.”

“Yes,” said Iaachus.

“Where could a free woman be found to risk this?” she asked.

“One was found,” he said.

“Some baggage of the
humiliori
?” she said.

“No,” he said, “a fallen patrician, even of the senatorial class.”

“Interesting,” said the empress mother.

“Doubtless she expected to be extracted safely and richly rewarded,” she said.

“Certainly,” said Iaachus.

“You must beware,” she said. “Such a woman would know much. Under fearsome interrogation, she might incriminate others. She might, too, for greater treasure, threaten betrayal, threaten exposure.”

“Fear not,” said Iaachus. “It was never intended that she be extracted safely, nor intended that she be rewarded, in the least.”

“You left her to her fate?”

“Of course.”

“You are a cunning rascal,” she said. “But I am troubled.”

“How so, great lady?” asked the Arbiter of Protocol.

“It seems a shame to use a free woman where a slave would do.”

“She thought herself free, to be sure,” said the Arbiter of Protocol, “but, unbeknownst to herself, she had been enslaved.”

“Excellent,” said the empress mother, “the stupid little fool, a slave and not knowing it!”

“Many women,” said Iaachus, “for example, by imperial listings, enslavement proscriptions, personal edicts, and such, have been made slaves without their knowledge. They go about their lives as usual, suspecting nothing, until they are seized, and find the collar on their necks.”

“You are sure this delicate matter has been accomplished successfully?” asked the empress mother.

“Yes,” said Iaachus, Arbiter of Protocol. “Captain Phidias, captain of the
Narcona
, which bore the barbarian to Tangara, and his two colleagues, two of his officers, officers Lysis and Corelius, have assured me on the matter.”

“Excellent,” said the empress mother.