The Chieftain Read online

  “But then!” had cried Pulendius.

  And then he brought down his fist, wrapped in the napkin, heavily on the delicate, brittle, transparent bowl, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

  The officer of the court shuddered, and blushed, and, doubtless heated by the kana , her senses reeling, almost swooned. This reaction may seem regrettably feminine, but one must consider the entirety of the circumstances, the power of Pulendius, the might of the men behind him, the laughter of those at the table, the heating of the kana , the fearful uneasiness in her own body, the sudden awareness, not for the first time, of its smallness and slightness, its softness and vulnerability, its great difference from that of men, and then the force of that massive fist striking down, shattering the bowl. In that moment much was conveyed to her on both a physical and a symbolic level. But I do not think we need to think of this reaction on her part, that she was then almost overcome, that she was then so shaken, that she almost swooned, as being regrettably feminine. That would be, after all, to adopt the values of Terennia, or of certain of its classes, and we wish to retain a neutrality in such matters, merely recounting what occurred, allowing the reader, should he feel the desire to do so, and should he feel entitled to do so, to form his own judgments on such matters. So we shall merely think of her reaction as being feminine, simply feminine, which it was, deeply, genuinely, authentically. Its explanation, moreover, most simply, was that she was a woman, and thus, for better or for worse, subject to such feelings and reactions. For such as she they were quite natural. Indeed, it would have been their denial, hitherto insisted upon in her culture, or in her class, which would have been unnatural, ‘unnatural’ in no pejorative sense, necessarily, but merely, even, in the quite neutral sense of being simply contrary to nature, for better or for worse. Among women, many of whom were less feminine than she, she had often felt an outcast, distrusting and fearing certain feelings in herself. She had never had the courage to be herself, what she truly was, a woman, something marvelous, and quite different from a man. She had always tried to deny and hide her womanhood, but it was there, and profoundly so, always. Certain changes would occur in her life which would have a considerable effect on such matters, which would, indeed, reverse, for better or for worse, these postures or policies. She would find herself eventually in situations, and in a condition, in which her womanhood could be, and, indeed, would have to be, fully expressed, a condition in which it was not only totally liberated, but in which it must be honestly and openly, and, indeed, fully, expressed, totally expressed, in which it was literally forbidden to her to deny it, in the least or most trivial fashion. Indeed, to her dismay, and joy, she would eventually find herself in situations, and in a condition, in which she must be herself, even choicelessly so, totally, whatever might be the consequences, for better or for worse.

  “It is growing late,” said the captain.

  Those about the table then rose up, bidding one another the joys of the evening.

  “Is there kana left?” called Pulendius to the bearer of the kana flask.

  “Yes, milord,” she responded.

  He snapped his fingers, and she hurried to his place.

  The officer of the court trembled, thrilled to see the woman obeying.

  “Are you all right?” asked the young naval officer.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Pulendius took the flask from the pourer of kana and offered it to the guard on his left.

  “No, milord,” said the guard.

  Pulendius then offered the flask to the guard on his right.

  “Thank you, milord. No, milord,” said that guard.

  “Perhaps tomorrow night, after the contest?” said Pulendius.

  “Yes, perhaps, milord,” said the guard.

  “Your hounds are well trained,” said a man.

  Pulendius himself then drank from the flask, and then put it down, a bit unsteadily, on the table.

  Two or three of the women came about the table to where the officer of the court had risen and gently kissed her, wishing her much happiness. The officer of the court responded in kind, but stiffly, formally, self-consciously. She was, after all, from Terennia.

  The bodyguard to Pulendius’s right, looking upon her, decided that she was not worth a collar.

  Another woman wished her well.

  How stiff she was, how self-conscious.

  On Terennia, you see, physical contact, the touching of one human being by another, was frowned upon, at least by members of her class.

  How stiff she was, indeed, how self-conscious.

  Yet, as he continued to regard her, he sensed in her, or thought he sensed in her, a significant latent sexuality, a powerful sexuality now almost entirely suppressed, one straining against cruel, grievous constraints, one such that, if it were ever released, could never again be subject to management, one which, if released, she would find uncontrollable, one at the mercy of which she would then find herself, its prisoner and victim.

  Another of the women gave the officer of the court a gentle kiss.

  Yes, he thought, she might not prove to be entirely without interest.

  But then he dismissed such thoughts, for she was of the honestori , and even a minor patrician.

  One did not think of such in a collar, at least not on any world with which he was familiar.

  Still, he thought he had a score to settle with her, and she might look well in one.

  “Good night, my dear,” said Pulendius.

  “Sir,” she said.

  Pulendius then left, a little unsteadily. She watched him exit the lounge, at one point supported by the guard at his right. She was familiar with Pulendius, of course. Who would not be, in her sector of Terennia?

  He was fabulously rich, of course, with his enterprises, his lands, tilled by some four thousand coloni . He had much power. He must have many enemies. Guards were almost always with him, large, alert, agile men, skilled, ruthless men, gladiators, it was said.

  She looked back, down at the tablecloth, at crumbs there, at crumpled napkins, at rings of kana there. She saw the napkin which had covered Pulendius’s fist when he had struck down, shattering the delicate bowl.

  How vulgar he had been!

  Pulendius had his weaknesses, of course. Kana was one, obviously. His zeal for the arena and its sports was doubtless another. She knew he maintained a school for gladiators, a school in which men were trained in the use of weapons, both common and exotic.

  The men of Pulendius, as well as Pulendius himself, seemed quite different from most of the men she had known.

  How uneasy she felt in their presence. And how disturbing had been certain sensations.

  She recalled the guard, he who had been behind Pulendius, and to his right.

  Her fingers went uneasily to the golden necklace so closely encircling her throat. The tips of her fingers just touched it, barely, timidly.

  She thought again of the guard.

  Suddenly, angrily, she snatched up her small white purse and, with both hands, held it closely, tightly, against her.

  How the guard had looked upon her!

  She had never been looked upon in that fashion before!

  How she despised him, how she hated him, that calm, half-naked giant who had dared to look upon her in that fashion.

  And he had viewed her with contempt!

  “I do not want to be whipped,” she thought, and then again, startled at such a mad thought, she sought to hurry it out of her consciousness.

  How dared he to have looked upon her so?

  What right had he to do so, he, only an ignorant, illiterate lout, only a beast trained for the arena?

  She was of high birth, of the patricians!

  “But perhaps he would not regard me as being worthy of being whipped,” she thought, and this thought disturbed her, and frightened her, and then again, such a mad thought, she rejected it, confusedly.

  She saw the pourer of kana sorting plates on the table, preparing it for cl
earing.

  “You,” she said.

  The pourer of kana looked up, startled.

  “Come here,” she said.

  The pourer of kana came to where she stood.

  “What is your name?” said the officer of the court.

  “Janina, milady,” was the response.

  “Speak clearly,” snapped the officer of the court.

  “Janina, Mistress,” said the girl.

  “Are you accustomed to standing in the presence of free persons?” asked the officer of the court.

  “Forgive me, Mistress,” said the girl, and swiftly knelt before her.

  “Is such a lapse not cause for discipline?” inquired the officer of the court.

  “It is the will of the masters, Mistress,” she said. “In deference to the feelings of certain passengers, little attention is to be drawn to my true condition in public.”

  “So you pretend to be a servant?”

  “I serve, Mistress. But I do not pretend to be a servant. I would not dare to pretend to be so high.”

  “I have seen your behavior in the lounge,” said the officer of the court.

  “Yes, Mistress,” said the girl.

  “In public.”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  “It is different in private, I take it,” said the officer of the court.

  “Yes, Mistress. In private, the fullness of my slavery is revealed.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “That I am a slave, Mistress,” said the girl, trembling.

  “And what does a slave do?”

  “She strives to please, and obeys,” she said.

  “And you can be bought and sold,” said the officer of the court.

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  “You are the sort of animal that can be bought and sold,” said the officer of the court.

  “Yes, Mistress,” said the girl.

  “You are a pretty animal ,” said the officer of the court.

  “Thank you, Mistress,” said the girl.

  The officer of the court turned about, angrily. Then she turned about, again, to face the pourer of kana . She looked down upon hen angrily.

  “You are an exquisite, extraordinarily attractive slave, Janina,” said the officer of the court.

  “Thank you, Mistress,” said the girl.

  “Such as you,” said the officer of the court, “are suitable for slaves.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” said the girl.

  The officer of the court then, clutching her small, white purse close to her, went to the exit of the lounge.

  She turned back at the portal.

  The pourer of kana was still on her knees, beside the table.

  “You may rise,” said the officer of the court. “Return to your work.”

  “Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress,” said the girl.

  In returning from the lounge to her cabin, unescorted, of course, for she was of Terennia, the officer of the court paused before a giant oval port in the corridor, which looked out on the vastness of the mysterious night, a night in which galaxies drifted, like glowing fragments in a dark sea.

  She felt very small and alone in such a night, even with the lit corridor behind her, even with the comfortable, enclosing steel of the ship.

  She regarded her image, reflected in the portal.

  She moved her hand, brushing back her hair. She was not displeased with what she saw. She did not think she was unattractive. She thought that she would be wasted on Tuvo Ausonius. Yes, she would be wasted on him. But she would make him pay for that. He would suffer. She looked herself over, carefully. Perhaps it had been a mistake to have worn the white, off-the-shoulder sheath, the earrings, the necklace. She had purchased it in a ship’s shop, daringly. On Terennia they did not have such things, or, at least, she had not seen them. There, even a white, belted clingabout was thought to be scandalous. Her mother had been much against that, annoyingly, even fiercely, vociferously so, but she had worn it anyway. She was not accustomed to doing what others wanted. She was accustomed, rather, to doing precisely what she wanted, whatever she wanted, and when she wanted. She regarded her image steadily. Perhaps it had been a mistake to have worn this ensemble this evening. But then she thought not. Had one seen how that oaf, that ignorant, illiterate oaf, that guard, had looked at her? She could not recall ever having been looked at like that by a man before, saving of course by the same fellow, when he, a peasant, had stood in the dock in her mother’s court. She was then well satisfied with her appearance, and the garment. She thought of the poor little creature in the lounge, what was her name, Janina, or some such. She would wear only what men decided, or approved of. The officer of the court continued to regard herself in the mirror of the portal, the stars visible beyond. “How would I be dressed by men,” she wondered, “if I were a slave—or would I be permitted clothing?”

  Then, suddenly, she started, gasping, for, behind her, clearly visible in the reflection of the port, was the large form of the guard, he who had been behind Pulendius, and to his right. She spun about and backed against the railing before the port.

  The other guard, the other gladiator, was somewhat in the background.

  “Forgive us, milady,” said the guard, he so close to her. “We did not mean to startle you. We have been relieved. We are off duty now, and are returning to our quarters.”

  The other guard continued on his way, and the guard closest to her, he whose sudden appearance had so startled her, turned to follow him.

  “Linger,” she said, suddenly.

  “Yes, milady,” said he, turning.

  “I had not seen you, until the lounge,” said she, “since the arena.”

  “No, milady,” said he, “not since you had me bound.”

  “You were spoken for by Pulendius, who was much impressed with your deeds in the arena.”

  “Yes, milady,” said he.

  “In deference to Pulendius, your sentence was commuted, remanding you into his custody.”

  “Into the custody of a keeper of a gladiatorial school,” said he, “in which men are trained to kill.”

  She tried to step back, but the railing was behind her.

  “I am now a free man,” he said. “I received my freedom after my tenth victory.”

  She looked up at him.

  “My seventh kill,” he said.

  “I see,” she said.

  “I am now as free as you,” he said.

  “I—I see,” she said.

  Need he stand so close to her? Was he still such a rude, ignorant peasant, with no understanding of civilities? Did he think himself still in some primitive, dirty village, with animals running about between the huts? Was he so ignorant of the proprieties, of the distances, on Terennia, suitable to one of her class? She seemed confused, she looked about, she felt enflamed. Not a hand’s breadth separated her from that mighty chest, the shining leather stretched across it.

  “Pulendius has high hopes for you,” she said, unsteadily, looking to the side.

  The gladiator shrugged.

  How dare you stand so close? she thought.

  Pulendius had some twenty fighters with him on the ship. He also had a complement of support personnel, trainers, a physician, an accountant, secretaries and such. He was bound for Iris, which, like Miton, was in the first provincial quadrant.

  “I am low in the matches,” said the gladiator, looking down at her.

  Please don’t stand so closely to me, she thought. Cannot you see I am uncomfortable?

  “But even fighters like Archon and Mir San were once low in the matches,” he said.

  These two were known throughout galaxies. They normally performed on the Telnarian worlds themselves, even in the imperial arena.

  “You—you enjoy the arena?” she said.

  “Yes,” he said, thoughtfully. “The light, the crowds, the music, the contest. One is very much alive there. I can understand why men seek it out. But I do not feel the arena is my destiny.”<
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  “You are free,” she said. “You can leave Pulendius.”

  “He saved my life. I serve him,” he said.

  “Doubtless he pays well,” she said.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “You are of the humiliori ,” she said. “You do not have a destiny.”

  “Even less than humiliori have slaves a destiny,” said he, looking down at her.

  “What do you mean by that?” she cried.

  “Why, nothing, milady,” he said.

  She felt weak, giddy. What could be the meaning of such feelings?

  She feared they might be those of a slave girl before her master.

  “Why did you look at me, as you did this evening?” she asked, angrily.

  “Surely it was milady’s imagination,” he suggested.

  “Perhaps,” she said icily.

  “Methought,” said he, “that milady did have her eyes once or twice upon me.”

  “Never!” she said.

  “How then would she know if I might have glanced upon her?”

  “You are an insolent beast!” she cried and raised her small hand to strike him. But the blow did not fall and she winced for her small wrist was trapped as though in a vise of steel, helpless in the grip of his great fist.

  Once before he recalled, when he had first recovered from his wound in the barrack of the school of Pulendius and had been on his feet, that Pulendius had come to see him. Pulendius, unexpectedly, had struck at him and his wrist, too, had been so caught. “If I were wearing a wrist knife,” had said Pulendius to him, “you would have lost fingers.”

  “But, milord,” had said the peasant, “you were not wearing a wrist knife.”

  “Excellent,” had said Pulendius. “Release me, now. Your training begins in the morning.”

  “Please let me go,” she said. “You’re hurting me.” He released her, instantly. She drew back her hand, rubbing the wrist. She had never guessed before what it might be like, to be the captive, so helplessly, of so mighty a grip.

  “Why would I have wasted my time,” he asked, “looking upon one who was a mere slave?”

  “I was not the slave!” she said. “There was a slave there, she who cared for the flask of kana !”

  “You are both slaves,” he said.

  “I am not a slave!” she cried. “I am of the patricians!”