The Usurper (35 page)

In a moment, Cornhair had made her way up the stairs, and emerged amongst the tiers of the small arena.

The man with the rifle was still in the box of the hostess. He was with four or five of his fellows. The Lady Delia was also in the box, standing, proudly, disdainfully, looking across the arena, over the sand, to the now-empty tiers on the opposite side.

At a gesture from the man with the rifle, Cornhair hurried to him, and knelt before him, humbly, head down.

“I note that the stinking slave has returned,” said Lady Delia.

“Not stinking, Lady,” said the man with the rifle. “She is now cleaner than you.”

“Doubtless,” said Lady Delia.

“A free woman may be careless in such matters, even slovenly,” said the man, “but a slave may not. A slave is to keep herself fresh, clean, and well-groomed, that she may be the more pleasing to her Master.”

“Yet,” said Lady Delia, “I have seen them sweaty and filthy, naked, chained by the neck, in coffles, being herded through the streets. I have seen them stinking on slave shelves, standing, in rags, their wrists bound before them, or behind them, placards hung on their necks. I have seen them filthy, too, standing on such shelves, displayed, not even in rags, but naked, not even bound, held in place simply by the Master's will, their placards hanging about their necks.”

“Perhaps, too,” said the man with the rifle, “you have seen them laboring under burdens, pulling plows in the fields, carrying water, tending pigs, cleaning stables.”

“They are slaves, despicable slaves,” said Lady Delia.

“Slave,” said the man with the rifle to Cornhair, kneeling before him, “are you a despicable slave?”

“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair.

Lady Delia laughed merrily.

Were not all slaves despicable? But why, then, would men buy them, and prize them? Of course, because they might then be lovely, domestic animals.

“Perhaps the slave would be less offensive,” said the man, “if she were clothed?”

“Perhaps,” said Lady Delia.

“You are richly robed,” said the man.

“I patronize only the finest shops in Telnar,” said Lady Delia.

The man gestured, curtly, to one of his fellows. “A length,” he said.

“Yes, Lord,” said the man.

“Stop!” cried Lady Delia. “What are you doing?”

The fellow's knife, moving swiftly, removed a swath of cloth from the outer, silken, summer robe of Lady Delia.

He threw the fruit of his work to the floor, before Cornhair.

“Slave,” said the man with the rifle, “twisting, tearing, and tying, fashion for yourself from that material the semblance of a tunic.”

“Do not!” screamed Lady Delia.

“I must, Mistress,” moaned Cornhair.

“Make it short,” he said, “
slave
short.”

“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair.

“Despicable slave!” said Lady Delia.

“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.

“What is your name, slave?” inquired the man with a rifle.

Cornhair, kneeling, grasping the light, silken cloth cut from Lady Delia's outer summer robe in two hands, instantly put her head down. “Whatever Masters or Mistresses please,” she said.

“She is Cornhair,” said Lady Delia.

“That will do,” said the man. “You are Cornhair.”

“She is already named,” said Lady Delia.

“I have renamed her,” said the man. “What is your name, slave?”

“‘Cornhair', Master,” said Cornhair.

“Contrive your garment, slave,” said the man.

“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair, stretching the cloth out.

“If I think it is too long,” he said, “you will be lashed.”

“Yes, Master,” whispered Cornhair.

“Clothe them in revealing, degrading brevity,” said Lady Delia.

“If they are to be clothed, at all,” said the man.

“Doubtless,” said Lady Delia, coldly.

“I have seen no men here,” said the man.

“There are none,” said Lady Delia.

“That scarcely seems wise,” said the man.

“Two keepers of dogs will return for their animals tomorrow. The day after, pilots, with hoverers, will arrive, to return my party to Telnar.”

“Still,” said the man.

“We are no more than a hundred miles from Telnar,” said Lady Delia. “We deemed ourselves safe.”

“Still,” said the man.

“We are here on woman's business,” she said, “the business of free women.”

“What sort of business?” he asked.

“Vengeance,” she said, “vengeance on slaves.”

“May I speak, Master?” asked Cornhair.

“Yes,” he said.

Cornhair rose to her feet, and smoothed down the ragged hem of her improvised tunic. “Is Master pleased?” she asked. “I can make it shorter.”

“You have lovely legs, pleasant flanks,” said the man.

“For a slave,” said Lady Delia.

“Surely, for any woman,” said the man.

“Thank you, Master,” said Cornhair.

“Perhaps,” said Lady Delia. “I understand men buy them with such things in mind.”

“So you gathered here for vengeance on slaves?” said the man.

“Yes,” said Lady Delia, angrily.

“And how were you injured by slaves?” asked the man.

“It is a personal matter,” she said.

“But on its nature it is not difficult to speculate,” said the man.

“Perhaps,” she said.

“The women here, in your party,” he said, “seem uniformly young, and rather attractive.”

“We are a sisterhood, of sorts,” she said.

“You have much in common?” he said.

“Yes,” she said.

“And perhaps you share a grievance?”

“Perhaps,” she said.

“The members of your party seem of an age, and such, where they might be interested in contracting useful alliances, fortunate and profitable relationships, with males of prominence, means, and station.”

“Perhaps,” she said.

“And so, in the way of women, you thought to dangle your charm and body before men, to improve your prospects, and win treasure.”

“Do not be vulgar,” she said.

“But, in each case,” he said, “your intended conquest brought home something in a collar, to crawl about his feet, to fear his whip, and beg to please him.”

“Perhaps,” she said.

“This frustrated your mercenary intentions,” he said.

“Perhaps,” she said.

“And what is your name, fine Lady?” asked the man of Lady Delia.

“‘Delia Cotina',” she said, “of the Telnar Farnacii.”

“So you are she?” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “You know of me?”

“By reputation,” he said.

“Strange that you should know that, unusual intelligence for a river pirate,” she said.

“I am not a river pirate,” he said.

“I assume you are in touch with, or can soon be in touch with, certain parties in Telnar, through whom ransoms can be arranged.”

“Possibly,” he said.

“I shall give you specifics on the matter,” she said, “as will other members of my party, on their own behalf. I am sure we will all wish this matter to be concluded as expeditiously as possible.”

“I expect it will be,” he said.

“I am curious,” she said. “What had you heard of me?”

“I had heard that you were one of the most beautiful women in Telnar,” he said.

“I see,” she said, pleased.

“And, it seems,” he said, “that the other members of your party were also noted beauties in the society of the city.”

“Perhaps,” she said.

“Otherwise how could they have hoped to trap such fine game?”

“I object,” she said, “to the crudeness of your discourse.”

“It is surprising, is it not,” he asked, “given your beauty, and that of your friends, that the males whom you sought to interest and entice, from whom you hoped to win position and treasure, failed to succumb and languish, failed to surrender to your charms, failed to lift you to the heights you hoped to reach, failed to fall prey to your plots?”

Lady Delia turned away, angrily.

“How could it be?” he asked.

Lady Delia spun about, in fury. “Slaves!” she cried. “Meaningless, worthless, buyable, stinking slaves!”

She then flung herself on Cornhair, her small fists flying, striking her, again, and again, pounding on her, until two of the men pulled her away.

“Steady, steady, fine lady,” said the man with the rifle.

Cornhair, her head down, almost to the floor, her hands held over her head, cringed in fear.

“Forgive me, Mistress!” she begged.

“And so,” said the man with a rifle, “you and your friends gathered together, and would have your vengeance on slaves.”

“They are only slaves,” said Lady Delia. “Now let us discuss terms of ransom.”

“Gundlicht,” said the man with a rifle, “you may now have the slaves brought up to the tiers. See that they are neck-roped. They will not object. They are slaves. And it would not do, of course, to have one wander off, carelessly. Hendrix, you may have the free women put in the arena.”

“The arena?” said Lady Delia.

Two of the rough fellows left the tiers. They departed by means of the same exit which had been used earlier by Cornhair.

“Yes,” said the man with the rifle. “Now the slaves will sit in the tiers.”

“I do not understand,” said Lady Delia, apprehensively.

“You will, shortly,” he said.

“You are not a boat man,” she said, “not a river pirate!”

“No,” he said.

“What are you?” she said. “Who are you?”

“You are beautiful,” he said, eyeing the Lady Delia.

“Oh?” she said.

“For a free woman.”

“‘For a free woman'?” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “Surely you know that the most beautiful women are taken for slaves. Men will have it so.”

“How could the beauty of a slave compare with that of a free woman?” she said.

“Quite favorably,” he said. “Where do you think slaves come from?”

“I do not understand,” she said.

“To be sure,” he said, “in a collar, given the nature of things, a woman becomes far more beautiful.”

“Why are members of my party to be conducted to the arena?” she asked. “What has that to do with ransoms?”

“Nothing,” he said.

“I do not understand,” she said.

He turned to the men about.

“Strip her,” he said. “And use that scarf to tie her hands behind her back.”

“No!” cried Lady Delia, as rude hands tore the clothes from her body. A moment later her hands were confined behind her back, wrapped in folds of her scarf, that she had used to give the signal to open the dog gate. One of the men thrust her to her knees, and forced her head down to the floor.

“Remain as you are, female,” said the man with the rifle.

Cornhair realized that, as Lady Delia had been positioned, she could not be seen from the sand below, onto which, even now, the members of her party, in consternation, were filing.

“What of ransoms, noble sir?” said Lady Delia, frightened, kneeling, her head down to the floor.

“How many are in your party?” asked the man.

“One hundred and fifty-two,” she said, “including myself.”

“Free men,” he said, “do not approve of the killing of slaves.”

“They are only slaves,” said Lady Delia.

Meanwhile the several slaves who had assisted at the suppers with Cornhair, each on the same long rope, a section of which would be looped and knotted about the neck of one, and then taken forward and looped and knotted about the neck of the next, and so on, had been positioned in the front row of the tiers.

They had been brought up to the level of the tiers by the man who had been addressed as “Gundlicht.”

“What of ransoms, noble sir!” beseeched the Lady Delia, more urgently.

“Not all men are stupid,” said the man. “And very few are stupid who are rich, powerful, and significantly situated, the sort you and your friends chose for your victims, your dupes, and quarries.”

“I do not understand,” she said.

“Yet,” he said, “being men, being strong men, they doubtless recognized that you and your party had certain attributes of interest, lovely features, intelligence, possibly stimulatory curves.”

“What are you saying?”

“And such men,” he said, “might be willing to pool certain resources to perpetrate a joke, one worth the telling, and retelling.”

“I do not understand,” she said.

“I have already been paid,” he said.

“What of the ransoms!” she cried.

“One does not ransom slaves,” he said.

“We are not slaves!” she cried.

“One sells them,” he said.

“We are free women!” she said.

“Then you have nothing to fear,” he said. He then turned to the fellow he had addressed as “Hendrix.” “Hendrix,” said he, “are the free women now in the arena?”

“Yes, Lord,” said the man. “All, and the arena exit portal is locked.”

The man with the rifle then went to the railing before the box of the hostess, and surveyed the women in the arena.

“Ladies!” he called down to them.

“Release us!” he heard. “Let us go!” “
Filch
! Pirate, boor!” Some of the women shook their fists upward. “Beware!” cried others.

He extended a hand, in a gesture for silence.

“Thank you, ladies,” he said.

The women looked uneasily to one another.

“Slaves, though worthless, though meaningless, though mere commodities,” he said, “are the most female, the most perfect, the most luscious and desirable of women.”

“No! No!” several cried.