The Emperor

by Norman, John;

  Again there were cries of approval, and some appreciative strikings of fists on the table. Some goblets were lifted, saluting the figure at the head of the table. “Long live Ottonius, the First,” called more than one fellow. In this case there was little, if any, lifting of utensils and tappings of metal on metal or metal on glass.

  Viviana, shrinking down, concealing herself amongst the other slaves, was aware of the frowning scrutiny of the free women, some several, at the table.

  “Are they rented?” asked a fellow. “Need they be returned?”

  “He is drunk,” laughed a fellow.

  Many of the guests, Viviana knew not. But there was no mistaking the mighty figure at the head of the table, the Usurper, an Otung, Otto, from Tangara. She glimpsed, too, several she well knew, amongst them Iaachus, the Arbiter of Protocol and Julian, an officer, a scion of the proud Aureliani. She did recognize Clearchus Pyrides, senator from Inez IV. She did not see Timon Safarius Rhodius, of the Telnar Rhodii, primarius of the senate of Telnaria. She was startled to see Abrogastes, king of the Drisriaks, at the table. Too, he was seated at the emperor’s side, to the emperor’s left. What business had he here in Telnar? She knew him well from Tenguthaxichai. Behind his chair, lying down, were two large, terrible creatures, seen once as fierce and implacable, now as passive and docile, blinking, even somnolent, well recalled from Circumspection Street. She feared to be in the same room with them. Beside Abrogastes was another barbarian, one she did not know, presumably also a Drisriak. Some slaves she was familiar with but did not recall their names. All the slaves in the chamber, save Viviana and those with her, and the dancer, were modestly garmented, clad in light robes falling to their ankles, a concession, doubtless, to the free women present. To her surprise two Heruls sat high at the table, one, an older one, at the emperor’s right hand. Two places near the head of the table were empty.

  “The collars on their necks are palace collars,” called Otto, the emperor, at the head of the table.

  This clarification, needless as it was, was greeted with acclaim by several of the men at the table.

  “For now,” called the servitor, “we will put them to work. Consider them later, as they serve, regard them with care. Which might well please you, or which the most? Make choices. If more than one guest is interested in a given slave, you may later amuse yourselves by playing for her.” The servitor then turned to the slaves. “Hasten now, be quick,” he said, indicating a door to the side, to the right, “to the kitchen and pantries.”

  Viviana, her head down, amidst the others, hurried through the door indicated.

  “Oh!” she breathed, startled, turning her head away. A slave had passed her, not even noticing her, carrying a tray, moving toward the dining area. She was older than the others, or, rather, seemed older, as there was white hair about her temples, and lovely white streaks in her sheen of otherwise black hair. Viviana recognized her as the slave who had been enamored of Ingeld, she who had so resented her on Tenguthaxichai, the slave who was owned by Abrogastes, she who had conspired with Urta to poison him and might have succeeded had it not been for Viviana’s intervention, Huta, the once-priestess of the Timbri. Viviana’s heart leaped. “She did not recognize me!” she said to herself. “Who, then, might do so?” In the kitchen, while she was standing in line, waiting to be commanded, Viviana noted, sitting with his back against the wall, his knees drawn up, a male figure, bound and gagged. As there was no collar on his neck, Viviana supposed him a prisoner of some sort, perhaps an apprehended thief. He was blond-haired, and blue-eyed, and might once have been quite handsome, though the left side of his face was now muchly scarred. His head was down. He was clad in the garment of a slave.

  Shortly thereafter Viviana had been given a pitcher of kana and returned to the dining area. She waited, hovering about the table, happily not the only tender of kana. Commonly a guest would merely, wishing more, lift his cup, and it would be filled, to the extent desired, commonly from behind. In this way, the slave might be scarcely noticed. Viviana’s fellow slaves, on the other hand, would have little of that. “Good,” thought Viviana to herself, “let them smile, let them turn and twist, let the plates and vessels they bear melt in their hands, let them be slaves such as they might seduce the very figures painted on the wall, that they would tear themselves free from the wall and rush forth to embrace them. The better for me, as I shall not attract the attention of Masters. Let me be overlooked. I will be not as a slave, but as a free woman wrongly garbed, stiff, awkward, unfeminine, unneedful, proud, cool, superior, disinterested!” But then, with a sinking feeling, she realized that such a feigning, now so distasteful and false to herself, herself as she now knew herself to be, as nothing else, might draw attention to her, and even suggest a reminiscence of the vain, haughty, royally clad, bejeweled Viviana of her days of freedom. In this torment, she saw, to her terror, the eyes of the Otung, Otto, the Usurper, upon her. She stood still, absolutely. She thought of turning, and running to the portal, but it was closed, and flanked by guards. Without taking his eyes from her, the emperor motioned, with a lifted goblet, that she should approach him. “Has he recognized me?” she asked herself, trembling. She began to pour kana into the emperor’s cup, and had hardly poured a drop when he said, “Enough.” She made to turn away, but he said, “Stay. I may wish more.”

  Viviana remained where she was, trembling.

  The two beasts behind the chair of Abrogastes began to stir. The nearest lifted its head, and its ears, and, almost inaudible, a low growl rumbled in its furred throat. The other animal then aroused itself, as well. Its tail lashed twice.

  “My dear friend,” said Otto, goblet in hand, leaning toward Abrogastes, “Otungs, and guards and police, have long sought in vain for a renegade Otung, once a King Namer on Tangara, one I would take into custody. He was recently a member of the now-disbanded temple guard. His name is Urta. He was in Telnar, but I fear he has now escaped the city.”

  Abrogastes looked carefully at Viviana, and she feared she might fall.

  “Remain where you are, slave,” said Otto.

  “Yes, Master,” said Viviana.

  “What is your name?” asked Otto.

  “Whatever Masters may please,” said Viviana.

  “What have you been called?” asked Otto.

  “I have been called ‘Yana’,” said Viviana.

  “You are pretty, Yana,” said Otto.

  “Thank you, Master,” said Viviana. “May I leave now?”

  “Tarry a moment,” said Otto.

  “Yes, Master,” whispered Viviana.

  Abrogastes turned from Viviana, musingly, as though puzzled, and then back to Otto.

  “I know the Otung, Urta, of whom you speak,” said Abrogastes. “He was involved in a plot to kill me, a plot in which he was joined by a slave. He did not escape the city.”

  “Your dogs seem to be interested in this slave,” said Otto.

  “I obtained these pets,” said Abrogastes, “as you recall, in the fourth basement beneath the warehouse of Dardanis, a Telnarian merchant.”

  “I recall,” said Otto. “You do not think Urta escaped the city?”

  “I thought he might be in Telnar,” said Abrogastes. “I had brought bedding on which he had slept in Tenguthaxichai to Telnar. From this I gave his scent to my pets. The rest was easy.”

  Both dogs were now crouching, eying Viviana. They growled softly, tails lashing.

  “No,” said Abrogastes. “No, no. Down.”

  The two beasts then subsided.

  “A slave was with Urta when he was discovered, attacked, torn, and eaten,” said Abrogastes.

  “I was she,” whispered Viviana.

  “That explains the interest of the dogs,” said Otto. “You were recognized.”

  “This slave reminds me,” said Abrogastes, “of the Princess Viviana, who saved my life, of whom I was fond.�
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  “Surely not,” said Otto. “Look at her. This woman is every inch a slave. One might buy her sort in any market.”

  “True,” said Abrogastes. “Yet there is a resemblance.”

  “You may withdraw,” said Otto.

  “Thank you, Master,” said Viviana, and she withdrew, backing away from the emperor. “Kana!” called a fellow, and Viviana hurried to him. “I have been recognized,” thought Viviana to herself, in misery. “The emperor, I am sure, knows me. I can tell. I saw it in his eyes. I do not think Abrogastes knows me. He may, but I do not know. They did not speak. Are they toying with me? Abrogastes was fond of a princess. Surely he sees in me only a lowly slave, one present when the Otung, Urta, fell to his dogs. How could she be Viviana, who supposedly perished on Tenguthaxichai? He believed that, that I died, but does he believe it now? I do not know. The emperor knows the child is not mine, I am sure. If it were truly mine would I not have been spared, to be its mother, to further Ingeld’s ambitions? The emperor, I am sure, is aware of the child’s origins, which would doubtless be far from Tenguthaxichai. He may even know some system, or city, or village, from whence it came. Now he knows I am not dead, as well. Am I now to be done away with? But perhaps he is not sure. Even so, would he risk my survival? But I am a slave! What more could he want! There is nothing to fear, in Telnarian law, from a slave. I might be simply marketed. Perhaps he knows me. Perhaps he does not know me. I am afraid.”

  Conversation continued about the table, amongst the guests. The music, now, as it had been since the finish of the dancer’s performance, was subdued and unobtrusive, pleasant, refined, and scarcely noted.

  “My dear Clearchus,” said Iaachus, across the table, “we are delighted to find you present at our small collation. Your presence does us honor.”

  “It is I who am honored,” said Clearchus Pyrides, senator from Inez IV. “Indeed, such an honor I did not think it wise to refuse.”

  “I wish to congratulate you,” said Iaachus.

  “On what?” asked Clearchus Pyrides.

  “On your accession to the post of primarius of the senate of Telnaria,” said Iaachus.

  “Timon Safarius Rhodius, of the Telnar Rhodii, is primarius of the senate of Telnaria,” said Clearchus.

  “The noble Safarius,” said Iaachus, “seems to have disappeared. It seems possible that his absence may prove permanent. Too, should he appear, he will be arrested for perpetrating a double murder in the house of the senate. As you can see, both considerations suggest the advisability of a replacement.”

  “A primarius can be elected only by a majority vote of the senate,” said Clearchus Pyrides.

  “Up to now,” smiled Iaachus.

  “I see,” said Clearchus Pyrides.

  “But the throne is sensitive to such matters,” said Iaachus. “It would prefer to respect tradition, honor proprieties, and such. Thus, you will be elected by a majority vote, indeed, considering your worthiness and qualifications, by acclamation.”

  “Such would be unusual,” said Clearchus Pyrides.

  “So, too,” said Iaachus, “would be the slaughter of senators, the confiscations of their properties, and the abolition of the institution of the senate itself.”

  “I shall do my best,” said Clearchus Pyrides.

  “Enjoy your kana,” said Iaachus.

  “Two places at the table remain empty,” said Tuvo Ausonius to Titus Gelinus, attorney and rhetor.

  “Those reserved for Aesilesius and Atalana, the empress mother,” said Titus Gelinus.

  “It grows late,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “Presumably the empress mother does not wish to sit the table of an Otung,” said Titus Gelinus, “and, I suppose, she has prevailed upon Aesilesius, for reasons of state, to remain apart, as well.”

  “I do not think the emperor bears ill will to Aesilesius,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “Nor Aesilesius to the emperor,” said Titus Gelinus. “Indeed, at the side of the emperor, Aesilesius has become a man.”

  “Or nearly,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  “He is the son of Atalana,” said Titus Gelinus.

  “He is a son,” said Tuvo Ausonius. “He is not yet a man.”

  “Slave,” snapped a free woman, glaring at Viviana.

  Viviana, with her vessel of kana, which had now been twice refilled in the kitchen, hurried to the free woman.

  She prepared to pour, but the free woman placed her hand over the goblet.

  “Mistress?” said Viviana, uneasily.

  “Look about you,” said the free woman. “See the other slaves. Most are modestly tunicked.”

  “The emperor defers to your sensibilities, beautiful, noble lady,” said Viviana.

  “But the tunics of twelve, as I count, including yours,” said the free woman, “are quite short.”

  “We are clothed, if clothed,” said Viviana, “as Masters please.”

  “I think you rejoice, are pleased, and thrilled, to be so treated, to have no choice in such matters,” said the free woman.

  Viviana was silent.

  “Slave are brazen, appetitious, and meaningless,” said the free woman. “They are despicable, worthless beasts.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” said Viviana.

  “Have you “learned your collar”?” asked the free woman.

  “It has been taught to me,” said Viviana.

  “You are a Varick’s-Market girl, are you not?” asked the free woman.

  “I was purchased from Varick’s Market,” said Viviana.

  “Purchased, like a clasp or sandal, a pig or dog,” said the free woman.

  “Yes, Mistress,” said Viviana.

  The free woman then stood up in her place, and faced the head of the table. Viviana, sensing she was dismissed, backed away and knelt, in the background.

  “Your majesty,” called the free woman.

  The conversation grew silent about the table.

  The musicians ceased playing.

  “Lady,” said Otto, respectfully, attending to her.

  “Great lord,” she said, “difficult times have been in the city, and the empire has been troubled. Following perils and tribulations, despair and doubt have at last been routed. Order is restored. Commerce recurs. Civilitas soars. We salute your success, we wish prosperity, security, glory, and duration to your regime. May it last a thousand years. Tonight we celebrate peace, contentment, and victory.”

  Otto inclined his head, and there was polite applause, the tapping of utensils on the table and dinnerware, and, here and there, vocal affirmations of support and agreement.

  “We are all grateful for, and welcome, your hospitality and generosity,” continued the free woman.

  This addition to the free woman’s discourse was received even more readily and appreciatively than its precursor.

  “But, your majesty,” said she, “it must be recognized that, however welcome and great your contributions to our welfare and safety may be, your antecedents and background are not identical to ours, and, in the light of this, I might wish to call to your attention certain traditions, understandings, customs, proprieties, and conventions of which you might be unaware and on which you might welcome enlightenment.”

  Men and women looked at one another, apprehensively.

  “Please proceed,” said Otto.

  “Whereas slaves are useful and necessary,” said the free woman, “and a desirable component of any civilized society, and particularly of any high civilization, such as Telnaria, like horses and dogs, yet slaves are slaves, and not free women.”

  “True,” said Otto.

  “Accordingly,” said the free woman, “I protest, on my behalf, and on that of the free women present, the public display of several, I believe a dozen, half-naked collar girls. I, and doubtless others, find their presence offensive.�
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  “Not me,” said a male voice, from somewhere.

  “Perhaps,” said Julian, “because they suggest what you, or some of you, might be like beneath your robes.”

  “Look upon a slave, and see what a true woman is,” said Vandar, an Otung.

  “Do you wish you were so clothed?” asked a man, safely across the table from where the free woman stood.

  “That you might be more attractive to men?” inquired another.

  “There is more to being a slave than a garment, a mark, and a collar,” said another.

  “Why do you hate slaves, who are helpless and owned?” asked another.

  “Because men find them more attractive,” said another.

  This remark, uncalled for as it was, brought forth cries of rage from several of the free women.

  “Your majesty!” protested the free woman.

  “Let us select a slave,” said Otto, rising.

  He looked about and, as he stood, could easily see the slaves in the room, both those standing, with their diverse paraphernalia of service, and, too, those kneeling, at the sides of the room, with their trays, vessels, plates, large and small, bowls, shallow and deep, decanters, pitchers, and such. His eyes rested on Viviana, and he smiled. “He knows me,” she thought to herself, but could not move. “I am lost,” she thought. But then the Otung’s gaze roved elsewhere, and he regarded a brunette, she who had been fourth in the coffle, and she considered, at least by the men of Varick’s Market, as the fairest on the chain. “Go to the dancing place,” he said. She put down her tray, on the floor, and hastened to kneel in the square where the dark-haired dancer, in her bit of scarlet silk, had reminded men of how maddeningly desirable a human female could be, especially in a collar.

  Viviana, now unnoticed, now relieved, now kneeling gratefully in place, felt a breath of air on her right shoulder. She looked to her right and noticed that the portal to the chamber had been opened. The guards were in place. She saw no reason for the portal to be opened. No one was entering, no one was leaving.