The Usurper Page 8

  “Master?” she said, frightened.

  “But it does not matter, now,” he said.

  “I do not understand,” she said.

  “It is my understanding,” he said, “that you are not marked.”

  “None of us are,” she said, “those in the camp.”

  “Surely that is unusual,” he said.

  “We were thought too beautiful to be marked,” she said.

  “That is absurd,” he said. “Slaves should be marked. A collar might be removed. The mark is a useful identification.”

  “Undoubtedly,” she said.

  “Without the mark one might mistake you for a free woman,” he said. “Once you are marked, we need not be concerned about that. Once marked, everyone will know you are a slave.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  What a dreadful thing, she thought, to be marked, to be designated for all to see as goods.

  But the very thought, too, thrilled her.

  She could then be owned, possessed as a helpless object, a beast.

  I would then, at last, be something, she thought, something real, something societally recognized, accepted, and sanctioned, something with a meaning, and a place, something with a country and a home. What is a free woman, she wondered, but a loose and empty thing, a stray thing, an abstraction without content, a sound without meaning, a movement without purpose, an empty page, a bark without course, a vessel without its summoning, guiding star. I would have an identity. I would know how I must be. I would know how to speak. I would know what to do, how to act, how to behave. I would then, at last, be something, however trivial and unimportant, something of value, something real.

  Do I long for a Master, she wondered. Am I incomplete without a Master?

  No, no, she thought.

  Filene’s mind raced.

  Somehow she must obtain the knife.

  “As I understand it,” he said, “you are a virgin.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “That is very rare amongst slaves,” he said.

  “I was purchased with that in mind,” she said, “that I might be presented so to some high and worthy person, perhaps an ally, or guest, of the empire.”

  “An interesting forethought,” he said.

  “It seems so,” she said.

  “Perhaps,” he said, “to one such as I?”

  “I know not, of course,” she said.

  “Of course not,” he said.

  “In view of my newness to the collar,” she said, “and the comity with which I am sure you would hold a former free woman of the empire, I would crave your indulgence.”

  “In what way?” he asked.

  “You are not unfamiliar with the ways of the empire,” she said. “You learned them, at least, on the Narcona. You must have observed the manners of gentlemen, such as our noble officers, Lysis and Corelius. I petition then, though I am naught but a miserable and lowly slave, to be accorded, for moments at least, in view of my antecedents, some respect and civility.”

  “You wish to be treated somewhat as though you might be a free woman?” he said.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “At least for a moment?” he said.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Civilitas,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Not barbaritas,” he said.

  “No,” she said.

  “You have seen your gentlemen in certain settings, incidentally, not others,” said the barbarian.

  “I am sure they are gentlemen,” she said.

  “Some gentlemen,” he said, “know well the purposes and uses of slaves. Some gentlemen are cunning, shrewd, dangerous, intelligent, and powerful, superb and uncompromising Masters. The empire, I assure you, in all its wealth, in all its expanse and depth, in all its might and terror, was not founded by, nor enlarged and maintained by, weaklings.”

  “Still,” she said.

  “You do not wish to be whipped, or used as a pig?”

  “No, Master,” she said.

  “Though a slave?”

  “Though a slave,” she said.

  “Some women find it instructive to be used as a pig,” he said.

  “Please, Master!” she said.

  “What then would you have me do, and how would you have me be?” he asked.

  “Be kind,” she said. “Realize my fears, and feelings. Permit me to ascend the surface of the couch, as might be permitted a high or preferred slave, and permit me, too, in deference to my shyness, modesty, and timidity, to conceal myself within the furs, as might a free woman. And then join me there, tenderly and sweetly.”

  “I see,” said the barbarian, skeptically.

  “Please, Master!” she said.

  “How then will you learn your collar?” he said.

  “It need not be taught to me tonight,” she said.

  “You must learn it,” he said.

  “Not tonight, not now,” she said. “Please, please be kind to a lowly, frightened, miserable slave.”

  “I am to remove my own robe?” he asked.

  “No, no,” she said. “I will do so.”

  She rose to her feet, and, going behind him, lifted the long, flowing, white dinner robe from his broad shoulders.

  She was uneasy, gazing on the breadth of that back. She resisted the impulse to lean forward, and touch it gently, timidly, with her lips.

  No, she thought, no!

  How terrible it would be, she thought, to be a slave!

  She looked to the side.

  The knife, beneath the covers, was close.

  She was holding the robe before her, in two hands. She considered casting it down and darting to the knife. It would take a moment to throw back the furs and get her hands on the implement.

  He turned to face her.

  She must wait!

  “Why are you clutching the robe so?” he asked. “You might wrinkle it.”

  “Forgive me, Master,” she said.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” she said. “Thank you, Master.”

  “You may fold the robe and place it in the chest,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said. “Thank you, Master.”

  She then folded the robe, went to the chest, opened it, and placed the robe within it, carefully. Uneasily she noted certain articles within the chest, thongs, coils of cord, some lengths of chain, such things. Too, she noted, dully gleaming, reflecting the light of the nearest lamp, slender and attractive, metal slave cuffs. How easily, she thought, and how effectively, a slave might be rendered helpless!

  She was facing away from him.

  “I plead to be permitted the surface of the couch,” she said.

  “Very well,” he said.

  “Master is kind to a poor, miserable slave,” she said.

  “Perhaps,” he said.

  I have won, she thought, elatedly. What a fool he is! How could a simple, crude barbarian, a boor of the fields or forests, from some tiny village or remote farm, but succumb to the wiles and cleverness of a woman of the empire, one of the honestori, one even of the patrician class, even of the senatorial class itself!

  “Hold,” he said.

  “Master?” she said.

  “Turn about,” he said.

  She did not think she could run to the couch. She must be patient.

  He went to the chest, now behind her, which was still open, and withdrew something from it. It was a short thong.

  “Master?” she said, uneasily.

  He was now before her.

  “Master?” she said.

  He bound her wrists together, crossed, before her body, at the center of the thong, and, with its loose ends, tied them about the chain o
n her neck. Her hands, then, bound closely together, were fastened before her, just below her chin.

  She tried to separate her hands, fruitlessly. The chain pulled against the back of her neck.

  “Master!” she protested.

  The barbarian then lifted her, easily, and threw her, feet away, to the surface of the vast couch, where she tumbled, and rolled amidst the furs.

  She scrambled to her knees on the couch. She feared to stand, lest she lose her balance, and fall.

  She felt a mighty hand grasp her hair, and jerk her head back. She cried out. She tried to free her hands. The chain shook on her neck, the pendant metal disk, with its three languages, including its pictograph, shook, and rattled against the sturdy links of her collar, the slave necklace. Then she was touched as a slave may be touched. She shrieked with dismay. Her knees moved, wildly. Her body shook. Her fingers twisted. She jerked at the thong and chain holding her hands together, helplessly, at her collar. She could scarcely move. She could not defend the sweet, exposed latitudes of her vulnerable beauty, no more than a slave. Then she was touched, again. Again she shrieked, with dismay, and misery. She wanted to cry out, “Desist! Desist! I am a free woman! I am a free woman!” but she knew she must not do so. Too, she was in the hands of a barbarian. Would such a cry deter a man, any man, from the prey designed for him by nature?

  “Civilitas!” she cried. “Civilitas!”

  The barbarian then did desist.

  “Civilitas!” she wept.

  The mighty hand was removed from her hair.

  “Free my hands, Master,” she begged. “Free my hands, if not for my sake, for yours! I am bound! So tethered, so helpless, how can I please you? I would touch you. I would hold you! I would caress you! I long for you! I want you! How can I, so bound, please you, and caress you? Free my hands! Free my hands!”

  He then reached to her throat, to free her hands.

  Chapter Eight

  “There!” cried Tuvo Ausonius, pointing.

  A blast of fire rushed forth from the rifle of Julian, of the Aureliani, and one of the large beasts spun a dozen feet into the air, twisting, and howling, alit with fire, the darkness of the now heavily clouded night suddenly blinded with light, an incongruous instant of heat and noontide in the cold, bitter darkness.

  “Another!” said Tuvo, discharging his own weapon, brought from Venitzia.

  In the moment of brightness, the men had seen two of the creatures tearing at, and devouring, one of their own, struck by earlier fire.

  A hundred yards away a tree burned in the night, where a charge had carried past its intended target.

  “How many are there?” said Tuvo.

  “Few, ten, twelve,” said Julian.

  As will be understood there is, depending on several conditions, primarily the nature and abundance of game, an ideal pack count. A pack may be too small or too large. Too large a pack is hard to feed, and likely to overhunt the available game. A smaller pack needs less food. On the other hand, too small a pack may not be adequate to bring down certain large animals, such as the Tangaran hroth, the field stag, the forest bull, and certainly the Tangaran torodont, scarcely smaller than the Thalasian torodont. In times of plenty a pack waxes; in times of scarcity a pack wanes. Kinship relations commonly determine pack membership, except when game is abundant, a time which coincides, as one would expect, with the common mating season. In times of starvation, male pack members become irritable and intragroup attacks may occur, dominance competitions, and such, the result of which is cannibalism. Needless to say it is the older and weaker animals which tend, statistically, to be eliminated. Also, as would be expected, save for the mating season, packs tend to be territorial, which tends to distribute the packs, which enlarges the hunting areas for each pack.

  “There!” said Julian.

  “My charges are gone,” said Tuvo.

  “I have two left,” said Julian.

  “Each is precious,” said Tuvo.

  “I think they are waiting,” said Julian.

  The men stood almost back to back. Between them, kneeling in the snow, was the small, exquisite, red-haired slave, Nika.

  “Burn the sled, the provisions,” said Julian.

  “Is that wise?” said Tuvo.

  “It is necessary,” said Julian.

  “They may have no fear of fire,” said Tuvo.

  “Then let them regard it with circumspection, with puzzlement, with wary curiosity,” said Julian.

  Tuvo Ausonius applied the tiny camp torch to the small sled, and its freight.

  Nika cried out in fear, pointing.

  Two pair of eyes, intent, and gleaming, burned in the darkness.

  “I see another,” said Tuvo.

  “I, as well,” said Julian.

  “There may be others,” said Tuvo, “farther from the fire.”

  “I fear so,” said Julian.

  The wolves on various worlds, for we shall call them wolves, are almost invariably related to the animals which we have been accustomed to refer to as “dogs.” Except on some of the inner worlds, where they may be bred in almost any way for almost any purpose, “dogs” tend to be territorial, dangerous animals. On the outer worlds, they are bred almost exclusively for hunting and war.

  “The tracks turn,” had cried Tuvo earlier, shortly before the storm of blackness in the sky had begun to hide the pale, white moon, and the shadows of branches on the snow had fled, returned, and fled again.

  This discovery informed Julian and Tuvo that, in all likelihood, the Herul sled had discharged its passenger, presumably an Otung, that he might return, presumably in stealth, to some Otung village or holding. This suggested the possibility, as well, that the imperial camp might be near, as its expedition had hoped, in its pursuit of, and support of, Captain Ottonius, to meet and deal with Otungs. In any event, it seemed clear that they had now arrived, for better or for worse, in the vicinity of Otungs, the largest and most formidable tribe of the Vandal nation. Shortly thereafter the hurrying darknesses in the sky had intermittently obscured not only the moon but the stars, this rendering more precarious and uncertain Julian’s capacity to keep to the expedition’s original course, that allegedly determined for it in Venitzia. Nonetheless, he and Ausonius had pressed on to the best of their ability, assisted by occasional glimpses of the stars, as the clouds would break, muchly in the same direction, certainly as nearly as they could determine, in which they had been moving. It was an hour or so later that the baying of the wolves had ceased.

  “They are here, they are about,” had said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “Do not move,” had said Julian, unslinging his rifle.

  The flight of prey, of course, tends to stimulate pursuit. Too, a running animal does not defend itself. The pack tries for the hind legs, or slashes at flanks, crippling and bleeding the prey, until it slows, turns, and is set upon by the entire pack, and devoured alive. On the other hand, a wary, stationary prey is approached more tentatively, more cautiously. A blow from the paw of a hroth can break a wolf’s neck; the antlers of the field stag, the horns of the forest bull, the tusks of the torodont can shatter rib cages, impale, and disembowel wolves. The torodont is a particularly dangerous prey for a pack as it is commonly gregarious, and forms a defensive circle, with the females and young within the circle.

  “I have two charges left,” said Julian.

  “There are at least four about,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “If they maintain their distance, I will not fire,” said Julian.

  “Do not miss,” said Tuvo.

  “I am unlikely to miss at this distance,” said Julian.

  “Why do they not charge?” asked Tuvo.

  “The fire, the fire, I think,” said Julian.

  “It will not last, Masters,” said Nika.

  “Then they will attack,” said Tuvo.
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br />   The men heard a low, rumbling growl, from somewhere beyond the flickering ring of darkness and shadows.

  “That is another, another out there,” said Tuvo.

  “Yes,” said Julian.

  “One creeps forward,” said Tuvo.

  “I see him,” said Julian.

  “The trail is lost,” said Tuvo. “Provisions burn. Charges are few. Beasts abound.”

  “The fire grows less, Masters!” said Nika.

  “We are lost,” said Tuvo.

  “I will expend one charge,” said Julian. “At this distance, I will not miss. Hopefully others will feed. We have seen that. We might then, with good fortune, withdraw.”

  “To withdraw, wandering into cold and darkness, substantially defenseless, lost and facing starvation,” said Tuvo, “seems to me, dear friend, a surprising concept of good fortune.”

  “Be of good cheer,” said Julian. “We might be soon set upon by Otungs or Heruls.”

  “There are too many, they are too close,” said Tuvo. “Farewell, dear friend.”

  Julian swung the rifle about, assessing the proximity of the beasts, and then, selecting the closest, that which Tuvo had earlier noted, which was presumably the most aggressive and most likely to suddenly hasten forward, pressed the trigger.

  The beast exploded in fire and blood; the snow was melted for yards about, where it had crouched; the cold, clear night air, bright with sparks and drifting, scattered, flaming hair; was freighted, befouled, with the ugly, sweet stench of incinerated tissue.

  “They do not feed!” said Tuvo. “They approach.”

  “So, farewell, dear friend,” said Julian.

  “Iaachus is triumphant,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “I have one more charge,” said Julian.

  “Expend it,” said Tuvo.

  “It is for Nika,” said Julian.

  “No, Master!” she screamed, looking into the short, wide muzzle of the rifle.

  “I will not have you fed upon by ravening beasts,” said Julian. “You will not be torn to pieces, and eaten alive. I will spare you that.”

  “No, Master!” she cried.

  “It will be quick,” he said.

  “Please, no, Master!” she cried.

  His finger rested on the trigger.