The Emperor

by Norman, John;

  “One is not well advised to do lance sport or cross swords with one whose skills far exceed one’s own,” said Otto.

  “Let others now move the cups,” had said Ramos.

  “No, no, Ramos, Ramos,” said the others.

  “Very well,” had said Ramos. “But if I choose to gamble, say, for a certain brunette, another must move the cups.”

  “Yes,” said the others.

  “Give her to him now,” had said a guest.

  It was late in the evening now. The feast was largely done. Only liqueurs, nuts, dried fruit, and sweets, remained on the table.

  Many gifts had been distributed by servitors earlier. It had then been the time for the gamblings.

  The musicians had withdrawn, each with a gold darin.

  The modestly tunicked slaves stood largely aside, watching while the Varick’s-Market girls were played for. Amongst these was Huta, once a priestess of the Timbri, slave of Abrogastes, and Delia and Virginia, both once of Telnar, one the former Lady Delia Cotina, of the Telnar Farnacii, and the other, the former Lady Virginia Serena, of the lesser Serenii, both now slaves of Ortog, son of Abrogastes. Pig was present, once the Lady Gia Alexia of Telnar, now the property of Titus Gelinus. Rurik’s slave, Cornhair, the former Lady Publennia, of the Larial Calasalii, clung close to her Master. Iaachus’ slave, lovely gray-eyed, brown-haired Elena, once a lady in waiting to Atalana, the empress mother, stood beside the chair of her Master, who was now attending the gambling. She hoped he would not acquire another slave, unless it were to market her. The emperor’s three favorite slaves knelt about his chair, while he, sitting, watched the men at the silver cups. One was Flora, still in a bit of dancing silk, who had once been an officer of a court on Terennia, a “same world.” She had once, in her days of freedom, been named ‘Tribonius Auresius’, a not uncommon sort of name for a woman on a “same world,” it being masculine or gender-neutral. In a collar she had learned her womanhood. Another, Renata, had been met on the street of a Summer World, near a Summer Palace, one in which the royal family was then in residence. Otto, a barbarian chieftain, conducted by Julian, of the Aureliani, who recognized the need for new and strong blood in the empire, was to be introduced to the royal family, that a captaincy might be granted him. She, weakened, overcome, and stunned, helpless before a masculinity and power she had not realized could exist, after a night of hope and torment, had presented herself to the mighty barbarian whose glance had, in effect, collared her, and begged to be kept as a slave. Her request had been granted. The third slave was lithe Janina, a prize girl who had been acquired long ago, on the Alaria, a cruise ship. Attention might be called, as well, to three other slaves, amongst those modestly tunicked. We have already met Nika, a small, exquisite red-head, who had been given to Aesilesius by Otto. Another was Sesella, once Sesella Gardener, a stewardess in the employ of a commercial spaceline, Wings Between Worlds. Tuvo Ausonius, a former civil servant, once of the “same world” Miton, was her Master. The last slave to whom we might draw attention was owned by Julian, he of the Aureliani. She had been a Drisriak, the daughter of Abrogastes, the Far Grasper, king of the Drisriaks. She had joined her brother, Ortog, in his attempted secession from the Drisriaks, to form his own tribe, to be called the Ortungen. Captured, in lieu of execution, she had been given as a slave to Julian who, at that time, clad in rags, was a lowly, muchly worked prisoner of Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs on Varna.

  Ramos himself, as agreed, moved the cups, unless he himself gambled, and they were then shifted about by a servitor, one who only too obviously had been prepared for the task. The order in which participants gambled was determined by numbered slips drawn from a bowl, this in the keeping of another servitor. If seven were to gamble for a given slave, and she was not won in the first specific round, then a second specific round took place, in the same order, and a third, and so on, until the girl was won. Given the skill with which the cups were moved, victory was essentially a matter of fortune, each player having, given a specific round, one chance in five of success.

  Ramos himself failed to win the brunette, doubtless to his chagrin, but the approval of the other players. She was won by a high merchant, a slaver, who subsequently, naturally enough, promptly put her up for bidding, a bidding in which Ramos, to his satisfaction, proved successful. The merchant received twenty gold darins for his property, which had cost him nothing. This muchly pleased the slave who, by her glances and smiles, had left little doubt but what she would not be loath to decorate the chains of Ramos, the master of the silver cups. Ramos himself gambled no more that night, nor did he continue to move the cups, but respectfully took his leave of the emperor, and left the chamber, leading his new slave on a leash. His duties were then assumed by the servitor who had been his alternate in moving the cups. Most of the slaves from Varick’s Market were more than pleased to figure as prizes in such a gambling. Few slaves would be so fortunate as to have a master of so high a station, and probably wealth, as to have feasted at an emperor’s table. The exception amongst them, expectedly, was Viviana.

  Amidst the shouts of men, gamblers and onlookers, the slave who had been fifth in the coffle was lifted to the table.

  She smiled, and posed, her hands behind the back of her head.

  “How insolent, how brazen!” thought Viviana.

  “At least the prizes were not put nude upon the table,” thought Viviana. “This is a gambling, not a selling.”

  Viviana noted the movements of the girl on the table.

  “There is something stressful about her, beneath those smiles,” thought Viviana. “I think she is desperate for the touch of a Master.”

  Girls are often starved for caresses prior to a sale. Viviana’s own belly was restless. By such things and a thousand others one is reminded that one is a slave.

  Additional men who had not intended to gamble now hastened to the servitor with the bowl, to draw numbers.

  The cups, now in the hands of the servitor, began again to spin and twirl, their motion a blur of silver on the table.

  Viviana clutched the vessel of kana to her body, tightly.

  How could she bear to be so displayed?

  Why could the gambling not be discreet, or aside, only one of various entertainments?

  The fifth girl was shortly won, as the second contestant guessed the cup which contained the olive.

  The sixth girl was seized and lifted to the table.

  Viviana, clutching the vessel of kana, moved as subtly and unobtrusively as possible toward the corridor that led to the kitchen and pantries. If questioned, could she not pretend the vessel needed refilling? She would linger in the corridor. In the kitchen or one of the pantries a servitor would be sure to note her. Surely she would not be missed, not for a time, hopefully a time long enough. Who was counting girls? Might they not move to the eighth girl, and so on, and eventually to the twelfth, and the gambling would be finished. Might she, overlooked and forgotten, not even be sold back to the Market of Varick?

  Viviana, with her vessel of kana, now cowered in the short hallway leading to the kitchen and pantries. From where she was, she could see the gagged, bound figure of the male seen earlier, he sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, his knees drawn up, clad in the tunic of a slave. He, now that the evening was drawing to a close, seemed more apprehensive than before. In his eyes, there was dread and fear. He struggled in his bonds, futilely. He looked at Viviana, pleadingly, as though he would enlist her aid, if not to free him, at least to understand his plight.

  Viviana turned away, in the short corridor, at the edge of the portal leading to the floor. Occasionally a slave passed her, coming from the floor to the kitchen or a pantry, or proceeding from one or the other back to the floor.

  As the gambling proceeded, one after the other of the girls from Varick’s Market were placed, standing, on the table. After the sixth girl, Viviana, in her weakness,
clutching the kana vessel, struggled to stay on her feet, and not slip, terrified, to her knees. Then, to her relief, the eighth girl was put in place, standing on the table. Viviana, who had been seventh in the coffle, had not been seized, or conducted, to the platform of display. The eighth, ninth, tenth, eleventh, and twelfth girl were won, no one calling for, or seeking, Viviana, and then, as men called for more sport, the emperor, lavish in his role as host, contributed to the evening’s entertainment by designating several of the modestly tunicked palace slaves to be played for. Two of those slaves had been displayed and played for, and won, when Viviana, to her uneasiness, sensed a figure near her, behind her.

  “What are you doing here?” said a masculine voice, presumably that of a servitor.

  “I hurry to the kitchen, to refill the vessel,” said Viviana, turning about to move toward the kitchen.

  But her way was blocked. It was indeed a servitor, but, happily, not he who had supervised the coffle after its delivery to the palace.

  “It is a third full,” said the servitor.

  “I thought to freshen its contents,” said Viviana.

  If the servitor had just made his appearance, as was apparently the case, Viviana was sure he would not realize how long she had lingered in the corridor.

  “See her!” said a feminine voice, from the floor. There was a group of palace slaves there, waiting to be taken to the table.

  “See her tunic!” said another.

  “One of the pigs from Varick’s Market,” said another.

  “Five Masters were counting,” said another. “There was dispute on the matter. Some thought twelve were won, some only eleven.”

  “Two were heard inquiring about a blonde, a Varick’s girl seen serving,” said another. “It was thought she had been won earlier and taken from the palace.”

  “That is she!” said another.

  “She dallied, she hid, she will be well whipped,” said another.

  “Let her nose and ears be cut off,” said another.

  “What is going on here?” said another servitor, coming to the portal of the corridor.

  “It is nothing,” said the first servitor. “One of the kitchen masters kept this slave occupied in the kitchen, not realizing she was due on the floor.”

  “Then no harm is done,” said the servitor near the waiting slaves.

  The first servitor then took the vessel of kana. “Join the others,” he said.

  “Thank you, Master,” said Viviana. “Thank you, Master.”

  Viviana then went to the modestly tunicked, waiting slaves, and would have concealed herself behind them, but they seized her and thrust her, struggling, resisting, to the head of the group. She was held there by the arms, tightly, each arm in the grasp of one of the modestly tunicked slaves. “Is your tunic not a bit short, slave?” asked the girl holding her right arm. “I think I will bite off your ear, dallying slave,” said the girl holding her left arm. “Your hair will cover the place, and the blood.”

  “Mercy, Mistress!” begged Viviana.

  Viviana, surrendered, helpless, looked about. This tiny fracas had attracted the attention of several of the men. This dismayed her. She saw Otto and Abrogastes, still at the table, observing her. Did they recognize her? Did they know who she was? She feared so, but was sure it could not be. How could they? Across the table, near Iaachus, not far from Julian, within feet of two Heruls, she saw herself also regarded by a large, good-looking, young fellow in a sparkling dinner robe, an officer perhaps, poised, at ease, and confident, until, suddenly, again, she realized that this stalwart stranger was her brother, Aesilesius, the deposed emperor, so different from the Aesilesius with whom she was familiar, a timid, misshapen, puling retardate. She shook her head, this rushing her hair down about her face, and lowered her head.

  “Ho!” cried a man, triumphantly, for the manipulator of the cups, lifting a cup, had revealed an olive.

  The modestly tunicked slave who had been won was drawn from the table and turned over to her new master, who pressed upon her parted lips a kiss such that a woman is left in no doubt but what she is a possession. Within moments he had bound her wrists behind her and fastened her neck in his leash, and then, shortly thereafter, after taking his leave of the emperor, he hurried her from the chamber.

  “Next!” called the mover of the cups.

  Viviana was thrust forward and a guard lifted her bodily from her feet, carrying her to the table.

  “Please, no!” wept Viviana.

  She was lowered to the table.

  “Get on your feet,” said the guard.

  Viviana, terrified, stood on the table, unsteadily. She put her hands out, to stabilize her balance. Then she lowered them to her sides, and put her head down, turning away from Aesilesius.

  “What is wrong with her?” asked a man.

  “This, if I am not mistaken,” said the manipulator of the cups, “is the last of the Varick’s-Market girls. Who will draw from the bowl, for the order of playing?”

  “Hold!” cried Aesilesius, rising.

  Men regarded him.

  “What is wrong?” asked Otto.

  “I know this woman!” cried Aesilesius.

  “How can that be?” asked a man.

  Viviana swiftly knelt on the white table cloth, terrified, head down.

  “Get on your feet!” cried Aesilesius to the slave. “How dare you kneel, as a slave?”

  “I am a slave, Master,” said Viviana, remaining, trembling, on her knees.

  “Do you think I do not know my own sister?” cried Aesilesius, whipping off the shawl of his dinner robe. “Cover your body!” he said, spreading the shawl. “There are men here. Do you wish to be looked upon as though you might be no more than a simple, half-naked, neck-ringed beast?”

  “Master is mistaken,” said Viviana. “I am a slave.”

  “You are Viviana,” he said, “my sister, daughter of Atalana, the empress mother of Telnaria, sister to Alacida, espoused to the Drisriak, Hrothgar, son of Abrogastes.”

  “Forgive me, Master,” said Viviana. “Master is mistaken.”

  “Do not think to sport with me,” said Aesilesius. “Do not confuse me with the pathetic thing you despised in the palace. Even in the midst of my protracted imposture, I was aware, keen-eyed, and perceptive. “You are Viviana of Telnar, my sister.”

  “No, Master,” said Viviana.

  “Do you think I was unaware of your airs, your vaunted superiority, your vanity, your contempt for me?”

  “I do not know what Master is talking about,” said Viviana.

  “This cannot be she,” said a man.

  “Viviana died in childbirth on Tenguthaxichai,” said another.

  “Describe for me,” said Aesilesius to Viviana, “the location and appointments of the chamber of the Princess Viviana in the palace.”

  “I cannot do so, Master,” said Viviana. “This is the first time that I have been in the palace.”

  “You lie!” said Aesilesius.

  “Your claim is scarcely to be believed,” said Iaachus. “Are you sure?”

  “It is she,” said Aesilesius.

  “Perhaps you are mistaken,” said Julian.

  “How could that be?” asked Aesilesius. He turned to Nika. “Is she not Viviana, Princess of Telnaria?” he asked.

  “I do not know, Master,” said Nika, plaintively. “I did not know your sister well.”

  “Perhaps you are misled by a resemblance,” said Titus Gelinus.

  “The resemblance is indeed remarkable,” said Iaachus.

  “You once, craven courtier, pretentious knave, despite your lowly origins, presuming on your influence in the palace, dared to aspire to her hand,” said Aesilesius. “It nearly cost you your position, and your head.”

  “Fortunately I retain both,” said Iaachus. “In
sober moments I share your outrage at so preposterous an ambition.”

  “What do they call you, slave?” asked Julian.

  “Whatever Masters please,” said Viviana. “I am commonly called ‘Yana’.”

  “‘Yana’ will do nicely,” said Julian. “This young man in the dinner robe, holding the shawl, rather pointlessly in my view, is Aesilesius. He is a resident of the palace, a member, I trust, of the party of the emperor. He seems to think you are his sister.”

  Viviana remained silent.

  “His sister died on Tenguthaxichai,” said a man.

  “Perhaps not,” said Aesilesius.

  “Speak, slave,” said Julian.

  “Master?” asked Viviana.

  “Tell us of yourself.”

  “I am Yana,” said Viviana. “I am of lowly origins, of the humiliori, the daughter of a bootmaker on Safa Major. There was a town war. I was captured and delivered to a victory camp. From this camp I was sold to an itinerant slaver. I was later taken to Inez II, where I was sold in the merchant city of Carleton. I have worn various collars on three, no, now four, worlds.”

  “Your majesty!” said Aesilesius.

  “It seems she is not Viviana,” said Otto.

  “He knows me,” thought Viviana to herself. “I am sure of it.”

  “Great Abrogastes, king of the Drisriaks,” called Aesilesius, “you knew my sister, Viviana, on Tenguthaxichai. Is this woman not she?”

  “It does not appear so,” said Abrogastes. “I acknowledge a resemblance.”

  “He knows me, too,” thought Viviana. “I am sure of it. How kind they are not to expose me, not to let me shame and endanger the house of Aesilesius and the empire, to allow me to be the slave I now know myself to be. But do they know me? Now, again, I am not sure.”

  “Can I be mistaken?” asked Aesilesius.

  “Blue-eyed and blonde-haired slaves are less common than dark-haired, dark-eyed slaves,” said Iaachus, “but they are all alike, blue-eyed and blonde-haired, and thus might be more likely to be confused with one another than slaves with more familiar eye and hair colors, where we are accustomed to the necessity of making subtler discriminations.”