The Usurper (53 page)

“A bitch, once of the Calasalii, naked and collared, fittingly so, before her Masters, the Farnichi,” said the constable.

“Speak your former status, slave,” said the figure on the thronelike chair.

“I was once the Lady Publennia Calasalia, of the Larial Calasalii,” said Cornhair, “of the
honestori
, of the patricians, of the senatorial class.”

“How is that?” he asked.

“Master?” she said.

“You were not on the rolls of the Calasalii,” said the officer.

“I fear not,” said Cornhair.

“We utilized these rolls to prepare the Morning of the Great Apprehension, that morning on which, on three worlds, every identifiable, locatable scion of the Calasalii, male, female, and child, was taken into custody.”

“I was removed from the rolls,” she said, “for profligacy, for irresponsibility, for scandal, for bringing disgrace, discredit, on the family. I would no longer be recognized or received. I was allotted a pittance, and denied all contact with the family.”

“Unfortunately,” said the officer, “we did not seize you on the Morning of Apprehension, in the full glory of your freedom. It would have pleased us to strip and brand you, and then fasten your neck in its first collar.”

“I fear,” she said, “I was already marked and collared before what you call the Morning of Apprehension.”

“How came you to the collar?” he said.

“I was party to a political intrigue,” she said, “in which I thought myself, in judicious masquerade, to play the part of a slave girl, but I later discovered that the legalities inflicted on me were authentic, and I had been truly enslaved.”

“Where did this take place?”

“On Inez IV,” she said.

“Continue,” he said.

“I first discovered myself truly a slave,” she said, “on Tangara, when the plot of the intrigue was foiled. I was then marked. I was sold to Heruls, a dreadful, fearful form of life, who later sold me to a dealer from Venitzia, the provincial capital of Tangara. In Venitzia I was sold to an agent, or agents, of Bondage Flowers. I and others were shipped to Telnar. I subsequently found myself in various collars. Most recently, as Master is aware, I was purchased from the sales shelf of Tenrik's Woman Market, in Telnar.”

“We will want a name for you,” he said. “What were you most recently called?”

“Cornhair, Master,” she said.

“It will do,” he said. “What is your name?”

“‘Cornhair', Master,” she said.

“The highest women of the Calasalii,” he said, “are worthless tarts and belong in collars, at the feet of Masters. Their noblest and finest deserve no better than to be the degraded slaves of the Farnichi.”

“I fear, Master,” said Cornhair, “that I am not amongst their noblest and finest. Indeed, I have been removed from the rolls of the Calasalii.”

“But once?” he said.

“Yes,” she said, “once.”

“Do you know what this is?” he asked, lifting an object which had been reposing on the right arm of his chair.

“Yes, Master,” she said, “it is a slave switch.” Surely there was no mistaking the nature of the artifact. Any Telnarian would be familiar with such things. And surely she knew it well from her miserable days in the collar of the Lady Gia Alexia of the Telnar Darsai.

The officer then cast the switch to the side. “Fetch,” he said, “and bring it to me, in your teeth.”

Cornhair crawled to the artifact, put down her head, and picked up the object in her teeth. She held it crosswise between her teeth, evenly, and aesthetically, as is expected, when a slave is put to this simple task.

“See the Calasalii bitch,” laughed a man.

Cornhair, the switch between her teeth, crawled to the dais, and climbed upon it, and, when she was before her Master, at his knees, she lifted her head, proffering him the implement, which he took, and put across his knees.

“You may now beg to be beaten,” he said.

“I beg to be beaten,” she said, “Master.”

“Do you truly wish to be beaten?” he asked.

“No, no, Master!” she said. “Please do not beat me.”

Men about the thronelike chair laughed.

“But you are a slave,” said the officer.

“Even so, Master!” said Cornhair.

“Why do you wish not to be beaten?” he asked.

“Because it hurts,” she said. “Because it hurts, terribly, Master.”

“Back off the dais,” he said. “Go down, to the floor, some feet before the dais, where we can all see you, and well.”

Cornhair, shuddering, complied.

“On your belly,” he said.

Cornhair then lay prone before her Master.

“A fitting posture of a Calasalii woman before one of the Farnichi,” said a man.

“You are unclothed,” said the officer.

“I have not been given clothing, Master,” said Cornhair.

“On your back,” he said.

Cornhair could now see the vaulted ceiling above her. She felt very vulnerable, lying so.

“You, and you,” said the officer, addressing himself to two of the men in uniform. “Fetch each of you a slave whip, and position yourselves a few feet from the slave, one on each side.”

A minute or so later, perhaps following some sign given by the officer on the thronelike chair, which chair Cornhair could not see, both whips were suddenly unexpectedly, snapped.

Cornhair, startled, cried out in misery. She had not been touched.

“You do not wish to be beaten?” he said.

“No, Master!” said Cornhair.

“We shall see,” he said. “Are you willing to try not to be beaten, and try in the way of the slave?”

“Yes, Master! Yes, Master!” said Cornhair.

“You are not to rise to your feet,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair.

“Begin,” he said.

A few minutes later, the officer said, “Stop,” and Cornhair lay on the carpet before the dais, on her belly, gasping for breath, drenched with sweat. She realized, half failing to understand it, that the leather had not touched her once. She also tried to grasp what had occurred, and what might be its import. She knew she had never felt more female than she had before these men, unclothed, and collared, writhing, begging, rolling, kneeling, extending limbs for scrutiny, casting glances, engaging in the display behaviors of the female slave. How thrilled she was to be so free, to exhibit herself as the purchasable object she was. How devastatingly was she then aware of her sex, and its fundamental, radical difference from that of the male. How could it not be so, as she was naked and collared, vulnerable and helpless, commanded, under the will of Masters. She was not exploited. She was owned, and must obey. Never before had she been so aware of her sex, its nature, and its meaning. She was satisfied with herself, and lay there gasping, and sweating, joyful to be a woman and a slave, rejoicing that she wore a man's collar.

It was so much what she wanted, and it was on her neck, and, owned, she could not remove it.

“You have been trained,” said the officer.

“No,” said Cornhair, gasping, “no, Master.”

“You belong in a collar,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” whispered Cornhair, “I belong in a collar.”

The officer turned to a subordinate. “Take her away,” he said, “and see that she is cleaned, rested, and fed. Then, tonight, at the tenth hour, bring her to my chambers. There, on her knees, this woman, naked and collared, once of the Larial Calasalii, will serve me
kana
.”

Several men laughed.

“And then,” said a man, “have a pleasant time with her, Rurik.”

“I will,” said the officer.

So Cornhair lay curled at the feet of her Master, Rurik, in the Farnichi enclave, overlooking the Turning Serpent, somewhat northeast of Telnar. A silver chain, as we recall, ran from the ring on her silver overcollar to the ring set in the floor to the left of his thronelike chair, in which he received visitors. Beneath the overcollar she wore a simple close-fitting collar bearing the Farnichi emblem, the five petaled Pin Flower, native to Larial VII. She was not clothed, quite possibly for reasons we earlier suggested.

“We await guests,” had said Rurik.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“I am curious as to their business,” he said. “It is interesting. They come incognito.”

“Master may have me removed,” she said, “or he may unchain me, and I shall hurry to my cage, and crawl within.”

“You will remain,” he had said. “I enjoy displaying you, a pretty slave, once a woman of the Calasalii.”

At that point a staff, presumably that of the constable, or some other official, smote thrice, in a measured fashion, on the outside of the large, double door leading into the audience chamber.

“Enter,” called Rurik.

The two doors swung open, and three men approached, in nondescript garb; the first was blond, handsome, and well-formed, whose bearing, despite his garmenture, suggested that of the military; the second was a very large man, with bold, coarse features which suggested barbarian blood; the third was the slightest of the three and seemed more suited to accounts and records than traversing the possibly dangerous precincts of a Farnichi enclave in the vicinity of Telnar.

“We are gown-and-jewel merchants from Tinos,” announced the young man with military bearing.

Behind them, at the end of the long carpet, the double doors closed.

“Scarcely,” said Rurik.

“Sir?” said the young man.

“We are alone,” said Rurik. “You may speak openly.”

“I gather we are expected,” said the young man. “Our credentials have been transmitted?”

“Yes,” said Rurik, “but not the purport of your call.”

“I am Julian, of the Aureliani,” said the young man, “cousin to the emperor, now embarked on imperial business of the greatest moment.” He then indicated the large form to his right. “This,” he said, “is Ottonius, captain in the imperial auxiliaries, and this,” and here he indicated the third of the visitors, “is Tuvo Ausonius, formerly of the imperial civil service.”

“I am Rurik,” said the host, “Tenth Consul of Larial VII, Rurik, of the Larial Farnichi.”

“Forgive me, sir,” said Julian, “but I find it strange that the Tenth Consul of Larial VII should be on Telnaria.”

“And perhaps also,” said Rurik, “that a foreign enclave this redoubtable should be located so close to the imperial palace and senate?”

“Doubtless there is a purpose,” said Julian.

“There is,” said Rurik, “but I suspect that it is only now that the purpose will become clear.”

In the exchange of introductions, Cornhair, a slave, was no more to be introduced than a dog lying at his Master's feet.

Needless to say, Cornhair was much disturbed to see Otto and Julian, whom she had not seen since the palace, and Tuvo Ausonius, whom she had not seen since the trouble in Orik's camp, on the shore of the Turning Serpent. She kept her head down, and lay very still, hoping not to be noticed. To be sure, the beautiful curves of a chained slave are not likely to escape notice.

“We have been referred to you,” said Julian, “by a high personage, close to the throne.”

“Iaachus, Arbiter of Protocol,” said Rurik.

“Possibly,” said Julian.

“It is interesting,” said Rurik. “One would suppose that an arbiter of protocol would be a minor officiant, little more than an authority on the etiquette of receiving and announcing visitors, a determiner of seating arrangements at state banquets, and such.”

“The title of an office and its power are not always congruent,” said Julian. “Sometimes an office or role is instituted which, over time, in the hands of the bold and ambitious, arrogates to itself functions and powers never envisaged by its founders, indeed, functions and powers which would be likely to have dismayed its founders.”

“Let us suppose your principal is Iaachus, the Arbiter of Protocol,” said Rurik.

“There seems no harm in the supposition,” said Julian.

“Proceed,” said Rurik.

“You are aware, of course,” said Julian, “that a raid, brief and fierce, took place recently in Telnar.”

“Batteries failed,” said Rurik.

“By intent,” said Julian.

“The point of the raid was to assassinate the emperor?” said Rurik.

“Better for the enemies of the empire that the emperor should thrive,” said Julian, “given his weakness and simplicity, his gibbering inanity.”

“The emperor is well?” asked Rurik.

“Yes,” said Julian.

“What, then, could be the point of the raid?” asked Rurik. “Merely an endeavor to inform the empire of its vulnerability?”

“Bold dynastic pretensions,” said Julian. “The princesses, Viviana and Alacida, have been abducted, to be wedded to the sons of Abrogastes, king of the Drisriaks, high tribe of the Aatii.”

“Surely this is not known,” said Rurik, leaning forward.

“It is not generally known,” said Julian.

“Surely such a matter cannot be long concealed,” said Rurik.

“We fear not,” said Julian.

“I begin to suspect the point of your presence here,” said Rurik, leaning back.

“As I understand it,” said Julian, “Larial VII and certain worlds were ravaged by internal strife, the clash of large, well-equipped, private armies.”

“Those of the Larial Calasalii and the Larial Farnichi,” said Rurik.

“Strife appears to have been costly, and indecisive,” said Julian.

“Worlds were in flames,” said Rurik. “It was madness.”

“Truce would seem to have been in order,” said Julian, “some sensible demarcation of territories, some rational division of authority, some acceptable allotment of spoils.”

“Certainly,” said Rurik. “To a neutral observer, outside the bloody compass of war, to one who has not been in the field, who has not suffered, some such solution appears obvious, even necessitated. But you do not know the Calasalii and the Farnichi, the bad blood, the history of animosity, the century of strife, the hatred, the tradition, how they view one another.”