Princess of Zenina

by Giselle Marks

  He left Marina alone with the healed leper Marina had addressed as Mr. Burg. Marina put Bromarsh’s problems to the back of her mind as she could see Burg was terrified about her asking him for a private talk. He spoke first.

  “You recognised the tattoo, please don’t send me back, I’d rather die than go back to her, ma’am.”

  “I wanted to reassure you. You have nothing to fear, Xenzia is dead. You’re free to leave, or stay in Zenina. You’re no longer a slave.”

  “Even if she’s dead I’d be owned by her heirs, I was on Zenina for two months, but I learnt that much about your property laws. I didn’t know the slave-mark would regenerate, I burnt it off when I fled, ma’am.”

  “I was going to offer to remove it for you. It won’t hurt.” Marina stretched out the fingers of her left hand, gently brushed the small black and red tracery of design upon his breastbone. The colours faded and merged into the background skin colour. “I killed Xenzia myself three years ago. You’re technically my property as were her fifteen slaves when she died. I freed eight, but five chose new owners who paid me a nominal fee. One insisted on being auctioned for the highest price he could make, he seems happy. The last stayed with me for a year and then requested transfer to a new owner who’d have more time for him.”

  “Would you mind telling me how she died and why you killed her, ma’am? I’ve had years of nightmares about her. I’ll sleep better knowing what happened.”

  “It was caused by the last slave, who I kept for a while. Late one night two slaves begged me to treat a slave who’d been badly beaten. They came to me because I’ve spoken out against unnecessary violence to slaves and I have treated slaves in similar circumstances before. Many feared fighting Xenzia and they thought my position would protect me from challenge.”

  “Yes Princess, I understand who you are. I am very grateful to you for you regenerating me. I am not surprised other Zeninans were frightened to challenge Xenzia, she killed two girls in fights, whilst I was in her sweet care,” Burg said with some heat.

  “Xenzia had a reputation for forcing fights on the unwary. I went to her house and was shown the slave. He was close to death but he pulled through. I’ll not enumerate his injuries, but he’d not survive another serious beating. Xenzia was not home, or the slaves wouldn’t have risked fetching me. She’d gone to a country gathering where she remained a few weeks, uncaring she’d left this slave dying. He was not fully conscious by her return, but I’d notified the Council of my action,” Marina paused thinking back over the events. Then she carried on explaining what had happened.

  “You probably know that it is legal in Zenina to kill your slaves. However it is not lawful to leave a slave without medical attention, without declaring your intention to kill them. It’s an obscure legal point. You can stake a slave out and leave him to die, but you must write a declaration of your intention to kill the slave and sign it. It should be attached to the body or left prominently nearby. Without a declaration, any Zeninan is entitled to render medical assistance as she deems necessary. The slave still belongs to his owner, but the healer can claim recompense for her time and any expense she has been put to. There was no document, so I applied to the courts. Leaving the slave alive, but untreated, Xenzia had broken Zeninan law. I asked for the slave to be forfeit to the court, as a fine for her behaviour and that I be declared custodian of the slave, until the matter was brought to court.”

  A look of disgust crossed her face briefly before she resumed speaking,

  “Xenzia had killed and severely injured slaves before. I intended to have her declared “not a fit and proper person to own slaves;” then have her slaves confiscated and an injunction set in place preventing her acquisition of new slaves, at the risk of crippling fines. The court named me as the slave’s custodian until a decision was reached. Xenzia returned after the preliminary hearing and was served notice of the writ I had brought against her. Furious she challenged me in public and I had to fight her.”

  “So she was killed in a fair fight, then?”

  “I wish it had been so. We summoned our friends and went together to a square, as is the law. I was fitter and better-trained than her. I held back, not intending to kill her. I wanted to beat her, but to let her regain a little face by making a good show against me. We fought. She landed some blows but I was pushing her to the edge of the square. She stumbled and fell into the crowd. The crowd drew back and she was standing facing me with a blaster in her hands. I was not prepared to let her melt my face, or put the crowd at risk. She’d broken the rules of a fair fight, so I mind-blasted her. She collapsed, dropping the blaster without setting it off, dead,” Marina stated a little uncomfortable about telling the story.

  “Did she die, instantly? I thought mind-blasting could be used to stun someone?”

  “That is its purpose and was my intention, but she had some knowledge of the technique. She put up a rudimentary mental defence. My blow was diverted from hitting where I intended, causing irreparable damage to her brain. It was in no one’s interest for her to live as a cabbage, so I gave her a second blast and she died.”

  “Thank you for telling me ma’am. Xenzia will no longer haunt my dreams, I’m glad you killed her.”

  “I hope you will not judge all Zeninans by Xenzia’s standards. If you require a paper officially granting you freedom, I’ll arrange it tomorrow. But if that’s all I’ll wish you goodnight.”

  Chapter Seven – Bedtime

  With that Marina excused herself and went to the bridge, where she talked briefly with Vlama and Adelza, who were at the controls, although the ship was on autopilot. She then went on to cabin six. The rear of the cabin had been screened off and the young girl was asleep behind it. Ondiella had showered with Chilka’s assistance and was considering going to bed.

  “Good evening, how are you feeling? “ Marina said quietly to her, not wishing to wake the girl.

  “Fairly well under the circumstances,” Ondiella said.

  Marina checked Ondiella’s medical condition, using no medical instruments to take her vital signs, but mentally observed how Ondiella’s body was reinstating itself from the trauma of the birth. Marina had helped to expel the afterbirth and repaired the slight tear made during her son’s final push into the world, before leaving Qu. She satisfied herself that Ondiella had no serious post-partum problems, apart from her refusal to accept her son. Then Marina stripped Ondiella’s bed of furs, folding them and stowing them away in a cupboard. Marina unrolled something that looked a little like an inflatable mattress. This she inflated, although she did not blow into it or attach a device to do so.

  Ondiella was unsure whether the object which formed a deep trough, inflated automatically or whether Marina was doing it mentally. Then Marina lifted her gently into the trough and began to wind kaolin impregnated bandages around every part of her. Ondiella was covered in the bandages from neck to wrist, around her body, covering every part and down her legs including her feet and toes. Only her hands and head were left uncovered. Ondiella did not understand why she was being bandaged. She did not question it, as she assumed Marina had some reason to do it. Marina’s medical skills in treating the lepers went far beyond anything Ondiella had seen before, or even heard tell of. She was quite comfortable in the trough so she submitted.

  “This treatment is nicknamed the Zeninan diet. The bandages will be removed in six hours’ time when you’ll find your figure back to normal, without stretch marks. Try and sleep if you can, call for help if you need it. Chilka’s cabin has been connected by a sound link to this one for that purpose.” Marina said, before wishing her goodnight, darkening the cabin and closing the door behind her.

  Having checked mentally on her other guests, Marina sought the refuge of her own cabin. Bromarsh had climbed into bed. He was tired and had undressed and washed without enthusiasm. He had attempted to switch off the lights, but could find nothing resembling a switch. Finally he gave up and attempted to sleep with them on. He has not rem
oved the prosthetic because he loathed the mutilation and had felt embarrassed to do so, when he would be sharing the huge bed.

  He tried to sleep but his thoughts drifted back to when he had last seen his eldest sons by Chloxena. His boys, Kendan and Janavime had been only nine and six when he’d last seen them. The thought of them just made him remember his anger and resentment to his ex-wife.

  An hour had passed when Marina entered.

  “How do you turn off the lights? I could not find any switches, ma’am,” he asked.

  “I am sorry, they are telepathically operated and there is no manual override. You’ll have to ask for lights to be switched on or off. I have some paper work I wish to do before sleeping. I’ll turn the bed lights off and try not to disturb you. Please try to get some sleep.”

  Bromarsh tried to recapture the drowsiness he had felt when he had climbed into bed, but sleep had entirely left his thoughts. His body, roused by her presence was interested in its other needs. He was aware of her sitting a few yards away. He breathed her fragrance into his bloodstream, although used to sleeping in greater discomfort, sleep would not come. Fantasies of her joining him in the huge bed crowded into his brain. Brutally he attempted to suppress his thoughts. He glanced to where Marina sat engrossed in her papers, occasionally glancing at a computer terminal which made up part of the desk.

  “Has she read my thoughts? She shows no sign, how could I tell? I must stop thinking about her, or she’ll know that too.”

  Bromarsh’s body treacherously ignored his mental attempts at self-control. His thoughts were now manifest in the strength of his arousal. The bed covers seemed inadequate to cover his embarrassment at his reaction to her. He did not know how to deal with his problem. She was a Zeninan woman, the only Zeninans he had seen before were whores. Expensive whores at that. He had always been too fastidious to buy a woman, risking the transmission of diseases; some of them were incurable by non-Zeninan medicine. He had heard barrack room talk that Zeninan women were the hottest in bed and guaranteed no infections. The guarantee of no infection was mooted as justifying the exorbitant prices they charged, even if they were not so libidinous. Some old hand assured him sex with a Zeninan cured all sexually transmitted diseases anyway.

  After what he had witnessed that afternoon, he inclined to believe it true. The risk of infertility was never what the soldiers had dwelt on, the esoteric and improbable minutia of their exploits with Zeninan whores had caused much ribald laughter in the barracks, laughter Bromarsh had found embarrassing. He had not wanted to be part of it.

  “Marina has put me in her bed. Am I expected to have her as well? What is the etiquette of the situation? Will she be offended or amused by my desire? I’m not even whole or that young and I’ve been without a woman for far too long. Should I ask or remain silent? Does she know what I’m thinking and wanting? I found it hard to believe she’s unaware.”

  “A woman like her knows the effect she has on men. Her comment on allocating me to her bed was explicit that she preferred not to sleep with another woman. That implied a heterosexual preference, but it wasn’t explicit enough. I wish spoken words didn’t obscure the meanings or thoughts behind a blunt statement of fact.”

  He could not read her at all. She was working without appearing to think of him. He turned his back to her, burying his head in the downy pillows. His skin tingled as he slid on the silken sheets. The luxury of the long-haired fur bed cover seemed incongruous in the technological simplicity of the cabin and its furnishings.

  It was like a high class courtesan’s bed without the mirrors on the ceiling, with no lurid picture of naked cupids and voluptuous wantons doing something allegorical to complete the scene. Except this ship’s owner, the occupant of this cabin was a Princess; and a powerful one.

  “The other cabins, had furs in other colours and designs. But of course, she chose the furnishings. You can’t buy a yacht like this off the peg, so what does it tell me about her tastes? This isn’t the bed of a woman who is prurient about sex. I’ve never forced a woman, and despise those who do, but it is an academic point. She is physically far stronger than me. She easily carried a man of nearly two hundred pounds; Burg is over six feet tall and of a heavy build, which indicates much higher body strength than is implied by the size of her body.”

  His body throbbed with desire, despite all his attempts at squashing his arousal or ignoring it. The bed was an exquisite torment. Her scent was all around him as he held himself rigid and considered his options.

  “If I get up and take a cold shower, I’ll have to walk past her. I doubt even freezing water will dampen my ardour, masturbation isn’t an alternative. She’d know what I’m doing; I won’t shame myself further, adding to her amusement. Should I interrupt her work to invite her to her own bed? We hardly hit it off right for that. She is concentrating; it might annoy her to be disturbed.”

  Bromarsh therefore waited in silence, hoping she might condescend to relieve him of his suffering when she came to bed. He went through mind exercises to stifle his impatience. He planned attacks on imaginary enemies, organised the supplies for the defence of an attacked position, and even planned the strategic withdrawal from a town having first evacuated all civilians to safety. Finally he was setting problems for an examination paper for an unknown group of cadets.

  Marina considered what she had discovered about Bromarsh’s recent past having carefully examined his mind. She had known for a long time about the story of the massacre at Xandabal, never believing he had been responsible. Since he had left Markaba after the death of his second wife, working his passage on a freighter headed for Alpha, where he disembarked. He had been uncaring about what he did, never giving his real name wandering aimlessly from town to town. Eventually he was accepted by a Merchant Collective, as the colourful polyglot crew euphemistically called themselves. He failed to understand that it was not a merchant ship but was pirate. But by the time he did realise, he was a shipmate having made his first friends in a long time.

  The pirates had not cared who he was or what he was supposed to have done. Only his courage and skill at fighting mattered to them. They thought him too nice about not killing civilians or selling captured women into slavery. But they welcomed him because he was the best battle tactician they had ever had. His actions with the pirates had been nearly as bad as those attributed to him when he was drummed out of the Army. It seemed ironic to Marina that with the pirates they won approbation not disgrace.

  He had lost his right arm in a skirmish with Kurgians but the pirates had been lucky to escape, leaving a quarter of their number dead or wounded where they fell. He had bound up the stump of his arm as they retreated, firing left-handed as they went. The last aboard and, in their defeat, he was briefly feted as their saviour. It was a raid he had counselled against. The pirate’s quack tidied up his stump and without complaining, Bromarsh had learned to live without it. At the next port he had a false arm made.

  Marina knew he hated the prosthetic with passive loathing, but it made his life easier. Life on board ship after he lost his arm became strained. The pirates seemed to have finally discovered he was not truly one of them. Meetings were held from which he was excluded. The omissions increased until he knew he must leave. When Burg and Clevan fell sick with space leprosy two months previously, he proposed bringing them to Qu. Space leprosy was a death sentence without Zeninan medical assistance. Tippy had been injured in a raid on a Blengarian ship, leaving him child-like. So when Bromarsh had repeated the idea including Tippy, the woman Ondiella who was heavily with child, the two children and the priest.

  Bromarsh had begged for their lives, risking his own standing between them. The pirates no longer listened to his advice, but could not bring themselves to kill him, a comrade in arms. So when he volunteered to stay with the lepers, Tippy and the passengers from the Blengarian ship, to protect them when marooned on planet Qu, it was greeted with universal agreement. They anticipated losing eight mouths to feed, the stenc
h from the sick-room and Ondiella’s acid tongue. The deciding factor had been his own inclusion in the party and the uncomfortable atmosphere he caused.

  Chapter Eight – Renewal

  Eventually Marina tidied away her papers, switching off the terminal, as Bromarsh was deeply engaged in a siege with no relief for many months to come. As she stripped and showered, he found his imaginary situation a facsimile of his real desire. She unbound her hair from its formal plait, letting it tumble to her feet on the floor. Scooping her hair over one arm, she climbed under the furs beside him. He groaned inwardly as he registered that his mental control had had no effect on his desire or arousal.

  “I’ll sleep for two hours now, Major, I’m sorry if my working prevented you sleeping, you can rest in today if you want.”

  Dimming the rest of the lights so they were in perfect dark, she turned her back on him and went to sleep. Her breathing became regular and slow, indicating Marina at least had a clear conscience. Bromarsh had believed the ache in his groin could not get any worse. He swiftly discovered how wrong he could be. The close proximity of her naked skin was torturing him, he wanted to touch. Her hair flowed over the pillows, brushing his shoulder and filling him with her scent. Now in close proximity her body’s perfume was overwhelming.