by John Norman
Tajima had regarded her, she kneeling at hand, head down, in the headquarters tent, in the camp of tarns.
“Look at me,” he had said.
She had raised her head, instantly.
“Go to the kitchen tent,” he said. “Go, cook our food.”
“Yes, Master,” she had said, rising, and hurrying to obey.
“Nezumi,” he had called.
She had turned, in the opening of the tent.
He slapped a switch down, sharply, on the table, and Nezumi flinched, as though the blow had fallen on her smooth, bared skin.
“I trust we will be pleased,” he said.
“Yes, Master!” she had cried, and hurried away.
“It is pleasant to own a woman,” he said to me.
“What pleasure can compare to that of the mastery?” I said.
“Women are comfortable in the collar,” he said.
“They belong in it,” I said.
“They are grateful, and joyful, in the collar,” he said, “owned and mastered.”
“It does not matter,” I said, “as they are slaves.”
“True,” he said.
“Where is Nezumi?” I asked, standing on the wharf, in the bustle, men moving about me, Pani and barbarians.
“I left her at the camp,” he said, “chained by the neck to a post.”
“You know she loves you,” I said.
“What is the vulnerable, helpless love of a slave?” he asked.
“The deepest and most profound love that a woman can bear a man,” I said.
“They cannot help themselves,” he said. “They need masters. They have been bred for masters.”
“I know a world where many never find their masters,” I said.
“I recall such a world,” said Tajima.
“I think you love Nezumi,” I said.
“Do not joke,” said Tajima. “She is a slave.”
“I think you would die for her,” I said.
“Quite possibly,” said Tajima. “She is my property.”
“I wish you well,” I said, bowing.
“And I, you,” said he, returning the bow.
He then withdrew, and I could see him no longer, for the many men, and even slaves, about.
Interestingly, I had never received the opportunity to give Aiko to Ichiro, my bannerman. It may be recalled that Haruki had ventured to the hiding place of Ichiro and the tarns, where Aiko was in attendance, and that they had then returned, by tarn, to the grounds of the palace. It was after that that Ichiro had waited for darkness, to retrieve me, if possible, from the camp of the house of Temmu, where I had presented myself to Lords Nishida and Okimoto, in the hope, first, of preventing the advance of the invasion force, and, secondly, of somehow managing to make contact with the cavalry. My ultimate goal, naturally enough, under the circumstances, was to bring the situation between the rival houses of Temmu and Yamada to the point where neither house could achieve, or plausibly claim, victory. In this way neither Priest-Kings nor Kurii could claim the benefits accruing to the outcome of a dark, portentous wager, one in which the stakes were, substantially, a world, and perhaps two.
So Aiko found herself on the palace grounds, brought by Ichiro and Haruki, while Lord Yamada, Nodachi, I, and some others, and the many peasants of Arashi, advanced to meet, and discomfit, the forces of Temmu on the north road. Once I had arranged the peasants, and set them about their diversions, and had arrested the progress of Lord Yamada, in such a way as to suggest he was fully ready for battle, but hoped to lure the invasion force farther south, perhaps deeper into a trap, I had contacted Lords Nishida and Okimoto under the pretense of warning them of imminent danger. Given the higher rank and the usual circumspection of Lord Okimoto, on which I had counted, I had managed to halt their march, at least temporarily, and purchase some days of truce, while messages were being exchanged between their road camp and the distant holding of the northern shogun. These days, and the availability of tarns, allowing an expedited communication, gave me the opportunity to marshal the cavalry in such a way that I would be justified in issuing my ultimatum to both houses, peace, or destruction. During these days Aiko came to the attention of Lord Yamada, who had returned to his palace, following the fortification of the road camp. He regarded her, naturally enough, given her beauty, as a possible wife. Indeed, without discounting the sometimes marvelous beauty of the daughters of peasants, whose sales tend to fill the ranks of contract women, Lord Yamada suspected, given not only her features and lines, but the obscurity of her antecedents, and her lack of family, that she may not have been originally of the peasantry. Inquiries were made of Eito, the rich peasant who had unclaimed her in the village, and it was learned she was a scion of the nobility, in this case of a fallen house, defeated in battle, and had been sold, with other children of the house, years ago. It was as a small child, perhaps three or four years old, that she had been purchased by Eito. Lord Yamada, of course, understood her as a slave, but not as an unclaimed slave. As she was given to assisting Haruki in the garden, Lord Yamada naturally assumed that Haruki, who was a free man, owned her. It seemed she bore some resemblance to one who had once been Lord Yamada’s favorite wife, she who had been the daughter of Haruki, and the mother of, amongst others, Nodachi, whom Haruki had saved from the strangler’s cord. She had died of poison in the women’s quarters, for which crime Lord Yamada had chosen ten women by lot, and had them beheaded. As noted earlier, if she had been of high birth, all might have been slain. Ichiro, too, of course, as the matter had been concealed, did not know her as unclaimed, but also thought she must belong to Haruki. Further, he had become much enamored of her. As matters turned out, both Lord Yamada and Ichiro approached Haruki. I was present. Ichiro had no more than a handful of copper. Lord Yamada, obviously, even in the depleted state of his treasury, could offer much more. “I can take her, if I please,” said Lord Yamada. “I am shogun.” “But,” said Haruki, “who then will tend your garden?” “Very well,” said Lord Yamada, “I will offer you a golden chain. It is a hundred times her value.” “Perhaps,” said Haruki to Lord Yamada, “I will sell her to this young man, for his fine handful of copper.” “Do you dare, young tarnsman,” asked Lord Yamada, “bid against me?” “Yes, great lord,” said Ichiro. “Forgive me!” “But perhaps,” said Haruki, “she is not for sale.” “Two golden chains!” said Lord Yamada. “And I will give you a dozen slaves to help you in the garden!” “But, great lord,” said Haruki. “I do not own her.” “Who owns her?” cried both Ichiro and Lord Yamada, neither pleased, at all. Haruki looked down at Aiko, who was kneeling, as she was a slave in the presence of free persons. “I claim you!” said Haruki to Aiko. “Now I own her,” he said to Ichiro and Lord Yamada. Then he said to Aiko, “You are free!” “I do not understand,” said Ichiro. “What are you doing?” said Lord Yamada. “Rise up,” said Haruki to Aiko. He then pointed to the confused, trembling Aiko. “This is a free woman,” he said. “This is madness,” said Lord Yamada. “Not at all,” said Haruki. “I could not give her to you without injuring my friend, Ichiro, and I cannot give her to Ichiro without displeasing my shogun. Thus, she is free.” “I do not want to be free!” she wept, looking to Ichiro. “Be my wife,” said Lord Yamada. “You will be high amongst my women.” “And you?” asked Aiko of Ichiro. “Be the wife of a great shogun,” said Ichiro. And then he turned away, sadly. He had gone only a few steps when Aiko ran after him, put herself in his path, threw herself to her knees, and cried out, face uplifted, tears run upon her cheeks. “Behold this girl!” she cried. “She is before you! She is a slave, and has always been a slave. She desires a master! The secret slave is now bared to the world, as would be her body if masters wished. She acknowledges that she is a slave, publicly, before witnesses! She now performs an act of submission!” And she then put her head down and covered his feet with kisses. “I did not know that you were worthless!” said Ichiro, angrily. “Yes, Master,” she said. “I am worthless!” Then she looked up. “I
am helpless now!” she said. “I am submitted, I am at your mercy. What will you do with me?” “What would you have me do?” he asked. “Accept me!” she begged. “Accept me!” “What is your name?” he asked. “I have no name,” she said, “I am a slave.” “You are not collared,” he said. “Many women who are slaves are not collared,” she said. “We will have you fitted with one,” he said. “Slaves should be in their collars.” “Yes, Master. Thank you, Master,” she said. “I will call you ‘Aiko’,” he said. “You are Aiko.” “Yes, Master,” she said. “I am Aiko, Master!” “You are accepted,” he said, “and claimed.” She then collapsed at his feet, weeping, with joy.
“It seems, gardener san,” said Lord Yamada, “that I have lost.”
“No, great shogun,” said Haruki. “You could have interfered, and did not. It is one of your greatest victories.”
“Let us inspect the state of the blue climbers,” said the shogun.
“They are doing nicely,” said Haruki.
* * *
As you may suppose, Lord Temmu, with victory almost in his grasp, was furious with the withdrawal, and return, of the small invasion force sent south. Were not defenseless lands spread out before him? Was not the very palace of his mortal enemy empty and desolate? Had not the iron dragon itself flown on his behalf? Then he found himself confronted by the ultimatum of an upstart, a mere barbarian. He and Lord Yamada, for no clear reason, were to keep within their ancestral borders and, under no circumstances, to resume hostilities. If this simple arrangement was not honored, fire was to rain from the sky. The peace was to be kept by those who had the elusiveness and power to see that it was kept. Naturally, threats were made, and bribes offered, by both sides, but the barbarian, and certain others, high in the cavalry, remained unshaken in their peculiar resolve.
“Both houses, of course,” the barbarian informed them, “will contribute to the upkeep, comfort, and welfare of the cavalry.”
“Tribute!” cried Lord Temmu.
“Rather,” said the barbarian, “a modest charge, to defray the costs of maintaining the peace.”
“You are bandits,” said Lord Okimoto.
“Astride demon birds,” suggested the barbarian, who, as you might suppose, was I.
“We may seize you, and hold you as a hostage,” said Lord Temmu.
“I have considered that possibility in the orders issued to the cavalry,” I said. “The orders are explicit. In such a development, the offending house is to be destroyed, and, if the matter is unclear, both houses are to be destroyed.”
“What of you?” asked Lord Okimoto.
“The orders are clear,” I said, “and will be obeyed.”
“We have a secret hold over you,” said Lord Temmu.
“Were you to inform me of this hold,” I said, “I fear it would no longer be a secret.”
“This is no joke,” said Lord Okimoto.
“Speak,” I said.
“This matter goes back, even to the northern forests, and before the setting forth of the ship of Tersites,” said Lord Temmu.
“It was feared,” said Lord Nishida, “that you might be reluctant to join our cause, and we had much need of a tarn cavalry, that required to balance the numerical superiority of the troops of Lord Yamada.”
“I understand,” I said.
“But you proved amenable,” he said.
“Yes,” I said.
“Why?” he asked.
“I am not sure,” I said. “Perhaps I was curious, perhaps it suggested adventure, perhaps the daring of Thassa, the seeking of the World’s End, and such, riches perhaps, perhaps the challenge of forming, equipping, training, and testing in battle a new form of tarn cavalry.” I did not mention that, significant in my choice, was my respect for, and admiration of, Lord Nishida, who had commanded at Tarncamp. Lord Okimoto had commanded at Shipcamp, from whose wharf the ship of Tersites had taken the Alexandra downstream to Thassa.
Why does one trust one man and not another? Why would one follow one man, and not another? One does trust one man rather than another. One would follow one man, rather than another. But why is seldom clear. I did trust Lord Nishida. I would follow him, at least provisionally. Ahead lay vast, green, turbulent Thassa.
“So I organized and trained the cavalry,” I said.
“And commanded it,” said Lord Okimoto, “subject, of course, to the will of the shogun.”
“Following my betrayal by the house of Temmu,” I said, “which I trust has not been forgotten, the tarn cavalry became an independent arm, and so it remains.”
“Unfortunately,” said Lord Temmu.
“The hold, of course, remains,” said Lord Okimoto.
“The secret hold?” I said.
“We were pleased, of course,” said Lord Nishida, “that we needed not have recourse to such a mode of influence.”
“I, too, then,” I said, “must be pleased.”
“You will surrender the tarn cavalry to the house of Temmu,” said Lord Temmu. “You will relocate it to the grounds of the holding. Its former officers are to be relieved of their appointments. We will designate a new chain of command, one unequivocally loyal to our house.”
“I differ, noble lord,” I said.
“The hold remains, tarnsman,” said Lord Okimoto.
“What hold?” I said.
“Unfortunately,” said Lord Nishida, “the shogun now feels it is necessary to have recourse to such a regrettable mode of influence.”
“I do not understand,” I said.
“It has to do with a woman,” said Lord Nishida.
I recalled that, long ago, near the edge of the northern forest, on the continent, shortly after I had been placed there by the ship of Peisistratus, a slaver, come from the steel world of Lord Arcesilaus, once that of Lord Agamemnon, the unwitting slave, Constantina, foolishly thinking she was a free woman, now the acknowledged, recognized, and explicit slave, Saru, had alluded to something of this nature, but, questioned, knew little of the matter. As the whole matter seemed tenuous and obscure, and doubtful, and nothing had come of it, I had dismissed it as false, even absurd, and, at best, as hearsay, founded on ungrounded rumor, if that.
“What woman?” I said.
“Perhaps you recall,” said Lord Okimoto, “the straits of the former siege, when desolation and starvation prowled about our gates.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Slaves were bartered for as little as a fukuro of rice,” he said.
“I recall that,” I said.
“All but one,” said Lord Okimoto.
“I wondered about that,” I said. “I supposed her a favorite of the shogun.”
“Perhaps you would care to meet her,” said Lord Temmu.
“Certainly,” I said.
* * *
“Ho, Cecily,” I said, on the dock.
The former English girl, whom I had acquired on a steel world, knelt amongst the throng. I feared she might be buffeted. The wharf was crowded. The pack on her back was secured by two straps across her body.
“You are ready to board,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said, happily, looking up.
“It is pleasant to have a woman on her knees before you,” I said.
“It is pleasant for a woman to be on her knees, before her master,” she said.
“You may go to my cabin,” I said.
“How shall I greet you?” she asked.
“Naked,” I said, “in my bunk, the switch held between your teeth.”
“Yes, Master,” she said, happily, and rose up, and, a moment later, I saw her ascend the gangplank to the high deck of the River Dragon. I saw, too, that the eyes of several fellows watched, as well. I was sure the luscious she-sleen was well aware of the eyes upon her. How excited and proud, and pleased, are slaves to be so regarded, to realize how their lineaments, more than hinted at in their brief garb, lure the eye and whet the appetites of manhood. How marvelous for a woman to be so desired! How can a woman
be more a female than in a collar?
“Licinius Lysias,” I said, “he of Turmus!”
“Tal, Commander,” he said.
“You have chosen to return to the continent,” I said.
“Yes, Commander,” he said.
Licinius Lysias, long ago, in a training exercise at Tarncamp, from tarnback, had attempted the assassination of Lord Nishida. He had later figured in the attack on Tarncamp, after which, the attack successfully resisted, he had, in flight, taken refuge in a tharlarion stable, and held the slave, Saru, as a hostage. I had feigned, as though under duress, accommodating his request for a tarn, to abet his escape, with the hostage. By means of a drugged bota at the saddle and counting on the return of an unguided tarn to its cot, we had captured Licinius Lysias and rescued the slave. Learning that he was to be crucified, and as I disapproved of ugly deaths and he had not injured the slave, I had given him a chance for his life, freeing him to flee into the woods. He had been later recaptured. Perhaps wary of displeasing me, as I was important to the cavalry, he had been taken in chains aboard the ship of Tersites, where he was to be put to the oar in one of the great ship’s nested galleys. Eventually he was freed of his chains and, during the traumas and exigencies of the ensuing months, particularly once the islands had been reached, and the need for armed men became more desperate, he had been allowed to serve with our mercenary contingents, rather as though he had been originally recruited in Brundisium. In this capacity, grateful and dedicated, he had served faithfully, and well.
