The Emperor

by Norman, John;

  “Perhaps one day you will find out,” he said, “when I am through with you—on some mud world.”

  “Be merciful,” begged Viviana.

  “You seem less haughty, less arrogant, now, than heretofore,” he said.

  “I am naked, before my husband and lord,” she said. “I have been chained. I have been whipped.”

  “—as a slave?” asked Ingeld.

  “Yes, my husband and lord,” she said, “—as a slave.”

  “Excellent, noble spouse,” he said. “You are doubtless now much improved.”

  “I trust so, my husband and lord,” she said.

  “Did you enjoy your gruel?” he asked.

  “I am grateful to have been fed,” she said.

  “As a slave is grateful to be fed,” he said.

  “Yes, my husband and lord,” she said.

  “It was slave gruel,” he said.

  “I know,” she said.

  He regarded her.

  “It would be easy enough to have you collared and marked,” he said.

  “Of what value would I then be to you?” she asked.

  “Slave value,” he said.

  “I am not a slave,” she said.

  “Nor were thousands of others,” he said, “seized and sold like pigs in our markets.”

  “My husband and lord summoned me,” she said.

  “You despise me,” he said.

  She refused to meet his eyes.

  “Do you not?” he said.

  “How can I despise one who may occupy the throne of Telnaria?” she asked.

  “One who will occupy the throne of Telnaria,” he said.

  “What of your noble brother, Hrothgar?” she asked.

  “He will not occupy the throne,” he said, “nor does he wish to do so.”

  “Who knows what dawn may begin a new day?” she said.

  Ingeld pointed to a position on the floor, beside the bed, toward its bottom, on the right side. “Kneel there,” he said.

  “‘Kneel’?” she asked.

  “There,” he said.

  “I am not a slave,” she said.

  “There,” he said.

  Viviana, of royal blood, knelt at the place indicated.

  “I have grown weary of your coldness,” he said, “your stiffness, your aloofness, your lack of responsiveness, your inertness, your air of superiority.”

  “Permit me to rise, my husband and lord,” she said.

  “Remain as you are,” he said.

  “Yes, my husband and lord,” she said.

  “It is hard for a woman to maintain her arrogance, her haughtiness, her dignity, her air of superiority, when she is naked, on her knees before a man.”

  Viviana shuddered.

  “Now, noble spouse,” he said, “put your two hands under the coverlets, and lift them, gently. Now put your head down to the coverlets, and kiss them, reverently. You may hope to be permitted on the surface of the couch.”

  Viviana trembled, keenly aware of a surprising, lovely, if unwanted, unwelcome warmth in her body.

  “There are no golden screens here, Telnarian bitch,” said Ingeld.

  “No, my husband and lord,” she said.

  “Will you be pleasing?” asked Ingeld.

  “I will try, my husband and lord,” said Viviana. Well did she recall her whipping, when chained to the high seat in the hall. She would do much to avoid being returned to the custody of Huta.

  “You are free,” said Ingeld, “but you will address me now, not as husband and lord, but Master.

  “Yes, Master,” whispered Viviana.

  “Louder!” said Ingeld, impatiently.

  “Yes, Master,” said Viviana.

  Never in her life had she felt as she did then, never before so understood her sex, never before felt so female.

  Then she cried out in misery, for Ingeld had seized her by the hair, pulled her up, and hurled her to the coverlets, spread upon the deep, soft surface of the broad couch.

  She was turned about, rudely.

  She looked up, wide-eyed.

  Ingeld’s hands thrust apart her ankles.

  “Master!” she cried.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “Do not be afraid,” said Aesilesius.

  “Master?” whispered Nika, not turning about.

  “Rise up, and stand, facing me,” said Aesilesius. “I would read your collar.”

  “Master can read?” asked Nika, uncertainly, standing, facing he with whom she shared this unusual chamber, littered with toys.

  She felt uneasy, standing so close to him, for, unbent, his frame was upright, straight and strong.

  “Interesting,” he said, holding the collar and lifting it, slightly. “You have been given to me.”

  “I am a gift of the emperor,” she said.

  “I am the emperor,” he said.

  “You speak,” she said. “Your body is no longer small, twisted, contorted, and knotted.”

  “It is hard to hold it so,” he said. “It builds up pain. When it becomes too uncomfortable, one need only whimper, and feign distraction. The audience is then soon ended.”

  “You are thought to be simple, and slow, feeble minded, even mad.”

  “And thus I have survived,” he said.

  “I understand none of this,” she said.

  “You have been named ‘Nika’,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “It is on your collar,” he said. “Can you read?”

  “No, Master,” she said.

  “I might teach you,” he said. “But you must not reveal such a skill, for speculation would arise as to its surprising acquisition.”

  “I am afraid,” she said.

  “And well you might be,” he said.

  “I am now apprised of a secret which I wish had been better kept.”

  “It would be impractical, even an agony, would it not, to maintain such a pretense indefinitely, another in the chamber?” he said.

  “Am I now to be killed?” she asked.

  “It would be easy enough to do,” he said. “Who would blame a retarded beast for an inadvertence, a playing too roughly with a new toy, unintentionally breaking it, not knowing his own strength, or smashing it, when frustrated, when out of temper? I have labored for years to build such a persona, one unpredictable, one given to moods, and fears, and outbursts.”

  Nika backed away. She felt the heavy door at her back.

  “Your tears moved me,” he said. “How dreadful for you, a young girl, vital, alive and bright, to be caged with a monstrosity.”

  “Master is not a monstrosity,” she said. “Master is young, and handsome.”

  “Nineteen times, since my birth,” he said, “Telnaria has orbited its primary.”

  “Seventeen times since mine,” she said.

  “You are a pretty slave, Nika,” he said.

  “May I kneel?” she asked.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “I am afraid,” she said.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “You are a free man, I am a slave,” she said.

  “If you wish,” he said.

  Nika knelt.

  “Are you more comfortable, now, on your knees?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” she said. “It is where I belong. I am a slave.”

  “You are uneasy, otherwise?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” she said. “Very much so, Master.”

  “It is interesting,” he said, “having a pretty woman kneeling before one.”

  “And properly, Master,” she said, “if she be a slave.”

  “I have strange feelings,” he said.

  “I am yours to do with as you wish,” she sai
d.

  “Ah yes,” he said, “I recall. You are my new toy.”

  “But I have feelings, Master,” she said. “I cry, I laugh. I can hope, and think, and fear, and wonder, many such things.”

  “Who would have it otherwise?” he asked. “All that, and there is a collar on your neck, as well.”

  “Yes, Master. I am collared.”

  She put her head down.

  She remained so for some time, and neither spoke.

  After a time, she raised her head, and saw that he with whom she shared the chamber had withdrawn, to the back of the room, and was standing there, regarding her.

  “Am I to be killed?” she asked.

  “That my secret be protected?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Is my secret safe with you?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, “if you wish it.”

  “I wonder if any would believe you,” he said, “were you to speak what you know. I need only prolong the pretense. It would then be thought that you lied, to escape confinement with me. You might be killed.”

  “Why have you pretended so degrading and false a thing, sustaining for years such an elaborate and self-shaming hoax?” she asked. “All think you are what you present yourself to be, a witless, pathetic, vacant thing, fearful of insects, enamored of toys, a twisted, retarded child, lost in a man’s body.”

  “I think,” he said, “because I am a coward.”

  “I doubt you are such, Master,” she said. “If you were, I think I would now be dead.”

  “My grandfather,” he said, “was poisoned, before I was born. Being informed of that is one of my oldest memories. In me it created great fear, spawning nightmares and a child’s terrors, terrors of strange foods, of strangers, of empty rooms, and dark corridors. When I was five, my father died, he, too, of poison. Traumatized, I succumbed to horrors, and lost consciousness for days. When I was recovering, I heard attendants mocking a deluded, hunchbacked retardate encountered in the streets, finding in him a butt for revolting humor. But they did not fear him. They did not take him seriously. Had he been on the throne he might not have been thought worth killing. Presumably, better, he would have been seen as a convenient puppet, by means of which others might pursue their own ends. It would be easy, if others were suitably placed, to rule through him. Alive, he might be manipulated and exploited. Dead, a dynastic schism might have been precipitated, perhaps eventuating in civil war. Thus, for better or for worse, recovering from the trauma of my father’s death, and in fear for my own life, I devised the pretense of debility and incompetence. After the political murder of my father, my mother, Atalana, assumed, de facto, the regency, and ruled in my name. Years passed. Eventually, the regency was legally terminated, but, in a sense, perforce, given my supposed infirmities, it continued. I was frightened to ascend the throne, and hid in a cave of my own making. Iaachus, as I understand it, by dispensing favors here and there, in my name, to one high family or another, kept peace in the empire. Factions were pacified and carnage precluded. But surely this precarious, unstable arrangement could not continue indefinitely. It could be only a matter of time. A thousand things might have taken place. But that which did, given the recruitment of barbarians to defend the empire, was the seizure of the throne by an Otung, of the exiled, outlawed, Vandal nation.”

  “You can read,” she said. “How could that have come to be?”

  “Easily,” he said, “for tutors were engaged to teach me, and I learned, but pretended not to learn, pretended not to keep things in mind, pretended not to be able to remember the simplest things. How they struggled, so patiently, so bravely, failing to understand how successful their efforts truly were. I became skilled at reading long before they gave up, believing their task to be hopeless.”

  Nika sobbed.

  “Why do you cry?” he asked.

  “Your life is so narrow, and tragic,” she said.

  “I have no one but myself to blame,” he said. “I was afraid as a helpless child, small amongst looming, frightening adults, anyone of whom, as far as I knew, might kill me. Who knew what lay behind this smile or that? I was frightened of the dark. I feared to be with others, and I feared to be alone. I scarcely dared to sleep, or eat, or drink. What might creep toward me in the darkness? Who might give me poison in food, poison in drink? And I am afraid now, still, as a man. I have refused to claim my rightful place. My pretense as a child I have maintained into my manhood. How could one, after years, abandon it in safety? And, shames and sorrows, I am still afraid to die. And how could I now be in greater jeopardy? At a word from he who sits upon the throne I might be killed. Any knock at my door might be that of an instructed, obedient assassin.”

  “Poor Master,” said Nika.

  “So I am a fraud,” he said, “and worse, a coward.”

  “I do not think so, Master,” she said.

  “I dare not abandon my pretense,” he said. “It has preserved me.”

  “But for so little, Master,” said Nika.

  “I am still alive,” he said.

  “Is it a life worth living?” she asked.

  “In any event,” he said, “matters are done now. A barbarian sits upon the throne. If he knew me as I am, whole and thoughtful, I do not doubt but what he would instantly dispose of me.”

  “I do not think so, Master,” said Nika.

  “How so?” he asked.

  “I know something of him, and of others about him,” she said.

  “What?” he asked.

  “It has to do with honor,” she said.

  “I have read of honor in the histories,” he said. “It perished long ago.”

  “In the hearts of some, it lives,” she said.

  “In the hearts of barbarians?” he asked.

  “Surely in the hearts of some,” she said. “And even, surely, amongst Telnarians, in the hearts of some.”

  “Beware,” said he, “slave.”

  “Forgive me, Master,” she said.

  “I have no honor,” he said.

  “Had you lacked honor,” she said, “I would now be dead.”

  “There is a tear upon your cheek,” he said. “Wipe it away.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “Use your hair,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “Why do you cry?” he asked.

  “For you, my Master,” she said.

  “I do not understand,” he said.

  “You are intelligent, young, strong, active, and fine,” she said, “and yet you are a prisoner twice over, once in the dreadful persona you have contrived to create, and, again, your body, your youth and promise, incarcerated in a cell, a sealed chamber, which you may not leave, save under supervision and guard.”

  “Do not concern yourself with the locked chamber,” he said.

  “Master?” she asked.

  “They think I am a prisoner in this room,” he said, “but I am not.”

  “The door is locked,” she said, “from the outside. I have seen the key.”

  “There are panels,” he said, “passages, small hidden corridors. I may go much where I please.”

  She regarded him, startled.

  “In the dangers of a palace,” he said, “where assassins may lurk in dark thresholds, eager blades unsheathed and hungry for blood, where concealed springs may launch poisoned darts, where vipers might be uncabineted outside a portal, where the walls themselves may smoke of ambition and intrigue, of envy and malice, where intruding mobs might sweep aside surprised, inadequate defenses, wise men devised means to conceal themselves, even to move about, undetected.”

  “How can it be?” she said.

  “Have you not heard of the miraculous custards bestowed upon the empress mother,” he asked.

  “I have heard of them,”
she whispered, wonderingly.

  “The matter is simple,” he said. “I surreptitiously obtain them from the kitchen and, when the empress mother is asleep, I leave them in her chamber, and withdraw, unseen, undetected.”

  “You can come and go as you please?” said Nika.

  “Subject to precautions, of course,” he said. “One must be careful. Perhaps you would like such a custard?”

  “Do not risk yourself on my behalf,” said Nika.

  “I have stolen a knife from the kitchen,” he said.

  “Perhaps you should not have done so,” she said.

  “It was not difficult,” he said.

  “Have you access to the sleeping chamber of Master Ottonius?” asked Nika.

  “Yes,” he said. “I could kill him any night.”

  “Do not do so,” said Nika.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “He is not a bad man,” she said.

  “He is a barbarian,” he said.

  “Even so,” she said.

  “Do you fear for him?” he asked.

  “He is large, strong, alert, wary, skilled, and dangerous. He has been trained for the arena and has fought and survived on the sand. He is a warrior. He won the throne of the Otungs, on Tangara, in a festival of blood. He is given to fits of uncontrollable rage. It is you for whom I would fear.”

  “For me?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “Few have feared for me,” he said.

  “Perhaps more than you know,” she said.

  “There is no hurry,” he said. “I shall bide my time. Knives are patient. He might be replaced by another, who might be worse.”

  “Currently,” said Nika, “the empire, though fragile and tense, is stable. The imperial forces, abetted by the Vandalii, with its tribes, hold the Aatii and others at bay. Plotting and diplomacy are rampant, men scheme and plan, but mighty wars do not now rage, engulfing worlds and systems of worlds.”

  “I have heard of the marriages of my sisters,” he said, “haughty, spoiled Viviana and gentle Alacida.”

  “Abrogastes, the Far-Grasper, lord of the Drisriaks, hegemonic tribe of the Aatii, has disappeared,” said Nika. “Sidonicus, the exarch of Telnar, despite the example and teachings of Floon, like a fat, giant spider, grows richer, and more ambitious and powerful.”