by John Norman
"Do not touch me, slave," he said, with unmistakable menace in his voice.
"Master!" protested Tupita.
I looked back, at the stranger, frightened.
"Very well," said the stranger, to Mirus. I knelt back on my heels.
I realized now what the plan of Tupita and the stranger must have been. In the two days or so since he had been with Mirus and her he had doubtless been informed, or had gathered, what the situation was amongst us. The specific suggestion I suppose had been Tupita's. I looked at Mirus. I did not think, really, now, he still wanted to kill me. I think that had gone from him. On the other hand he was still, obviously, consumed with hatred for me. Too, undoubtedly somehow, on some deep level, perhaps something far beneath the level of discourse, of excuses, of considerations, of reason, he may have felt that he had been denied or thwarted, that he had been deprived of some due satisfaction. Surely his decision to spare me had not come from deeply within him, spurred by his own insight and newly found understandings, and acceptable to him, but had been the result of yielding to the unwelcome, perhaps resented intercession of Tupita. His hand had been stayed not by the merits of my case, if it had them, or even by a master's decision to spare a contrite, errant slave, but by his love for a woman, and, indeed, one who was only a slave. In this he may even have felt that he had lost honor. The plan, then, of Tupita and the stranger had been a simple one, involving the utilization of a common biological universal, the placatory behaviors of the errant female before the dominant male. In this way, it seemed, they hoped that his wrath might be diverted to desire, and that in place of my blood he might be persuaded to accept in substitution something as simple as my beauty, and my total subjugation and conquest. This sort of thing is not unknown. Many times in conquered cities women kneel before invading warriors, baring their breasts and bodies, begging not to be put to the sword but rather to be permitted to please them, and then be kept as slaves. It is a well-known fact, too, that it is not easy for a man to remain angry with a beautiful, contrite female who strips herself before him, who kneels, kisses his feet, begs his forgiveness, and pleads to be ordered to the furs, that she may there await him in trepidation, and, when he chooses, attempt to assuage the harshness of his wrath with the softness of her beauty and love.
"You do not mind, do you?" asked the stranger, "if she performs for the rest of us?"
"Of course not," said Mirus.
"I understand, girl," he said, "that you are a dancer."
"Yes, Master," I said. "I have danced."
"Are you a dancer?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," I said. "I am a dancer."
"And have you danced before men?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," I said. Surely he knew this. I gathered then that he did not wish it known that he knew me. This, like his features concealed in the mask, it seemed, he wished to keep secret, at least from Mirus and Tupita. It was possible, of course, I suppose, that he really did not remember me from before. But I knew him, even with the mask. Surely he must know me. I was not even masked. Indeed, I was hardly clothed. If he did not remember me, then, I supposed, it was because there had been little about me of interest to him, or to make me worth remembering. But if he gave me a chance I would try, and desperately, through sedulous service and unstinting love, to make myself well worth remembering to him! Perhaps he had known many women, and really did not remember me?
"Do you feel," he asked, "that you truly know how to dance—before men."
"I think so, Master," I said, reddening.
"There are no free women present," he said. "Therefore your performance need not be inhibited."
"I understand, Master," I said. Too, to my pleasure, I gathered that he himself was not disinterested in seeing me dance, and that I was to dance as what I was, a slave.
"You may begin," he said.
"Dance, dance, Tuka," urged Tupita.
I rose to my feet. I rubbed my hands on my thighs. I touched myself about the waist, lifting my hands slightly, calling attention to my bosom. Such things are subtle. I wanted so to please the stranger. I wanted to show him what I could do, and now was.
"Your legs are short," said the stranger.
"Forgive me, Master," I said.
"It is not a criticism," he said.
"Thank you, Master," I said. Such legs, I knew, were splendid for this form of dance, in which, from time to time, the woman becomes a writhing, cuddly love animal, made for a man's hands and arms.
I saw from the stranger's eyes that I was to particularly dance myself to Mirus. I turned to face him. I lifted my left hand, holding my right low, at my hip. My head was down, humbly, and turned to the left.
I knew Mirus would try not to watch me. He would nurse his fury. He would attempt to resist me. He did not wish to permit me to placate him.
I knew I must attract his attention.
"Ai!" I cried suddenly, as though in pain, and reacted as though I had been, from his quarter, struck with a whip.
Mirus looked at me, startled, and I looked at him, reproachfully, and frightened, and then, as though he had whipped me, and commanded me, I began to dance. There was no music, of course, and so the dance must content itself largely with the expression, as it were, of my servitude, and my subjection to his will. I moved as beautifully as I could, and as though in fear before him, trying to please him, begging to placate him. From time to time in the dance I reacted again as though I had felt the whip, crying out in pain, looking at him in terror, sometimes struck even to my knees. Sometimes, too, I tried to dance before the stranger, but his eyes would inform me that it was before Mirus that I was to dance slave beauty.
"Look at her, Master!" cried Tupita. "See how beautiful she is!"
"Master," I wept to Mirus, "I beg forgiveness!"
Then I reacted, again and again, as though he might have been angered by my plea, as though I were struck with the whip. Then I was on my back, and stomach, even, reacting as though I was struck, turning, twisting, as though in terror and pain to fend blows. It was as though he were punishing me.
"She dances well," said Mirus.
"Forgive her, Master," begged Tupita. "She is sorry! She begs forgiveness!"
I looked to the stranger, in his mask, from where I lay. His eyes shone. I almost cried out with pleasure. Had he thought that he had known me? Well, perhaps now he was wondering if he had really, at all, known me!
I leaped to my feet and moved sensuously but, too, as though prodded and shoved, as though driven, herded, to the slave wagon. Tupita gasped. I seized the slave whip and thrust it between my teeth, harshly, as might have a man, and then I flung myself to the dirt. Then, bit by bit, sometimes on my knees, sometimes as though I had tried to rise, and had then again been thrust to my knees, sometimes on all fours, sometimes as though trying to rise to my knees, and being forced again to all fours, I made my way to Mirus. As I approached him it seemed I became more and more terrified, and contrite, and then, at the conclusion of my dance, I put my head down and placed the whip humbly before him. I then put my head down again and licked and kissed it, and then I put myself on my belly, prostrate before him, a slave at his mercy. "Forgive me, Master," I begged.
"You have placed a whip before me," he observed.
"That it may be used to punish a slave, Master," I said. How naturally I thought of myself as a slave! I was a slave.
"It would seem in your dance," he said, "that you were already much punished."
I said nothing. In the dance, of course, not a blow had fallen upon me.
"But it is not my whip to which you are subject," he said. I was startled, and my heart leapt to hear this. Could he mean that the stranger had put claim upon me, and that it was to his whip that I was now subject? But, of course, he may have meant only that I belonged to Ionicus of Cos. That could be read upon my collar.
"I am at your mercy," I said. "I am yours to punish."
"And for what," he asked, "would I punish you?"
"Master?"
I asked, lifting my head.
"For having obeyed your master, or your master's men?" he asked.
"Master!" I said, tears in my eyes.
"Surely such was your duty," he said.
"She might have been terribly punished, even slain otherwise!" interpolated Tupita.
"Did you choose to be a lure girl?" he asked.
"No, Master!" I said.
"I am sure now," he said, "as I reflect on these things, not in anger, that you were indeed reluctant to entice me, and might have preferred to be permitted to withdraw."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"But in my pleasure at seeing you again," he said, "such signs, obvious as they might have been, I overlooked. It did not even occur to me that you might then be a lure girl. Any other girl, one unknown, of course, I might have immediately suspected, particularly under the circumstances, the loneliness of the street, the absurdity of a key in your belt, and such."
I said nothing.
"I was a fool," he said.
"It is my fault," I said. "You were beguiled by your affection for me, by your trust in me."
"No," he said. "I was stupid."
"Forgive me, Master," I said.
"You are not stupid, Master," said Tupita. "Look at Tuka. See how well curved she is, how desirable she is! She could have lured a general!"
"Slave," said Mirus to me.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"What do you think should be the punishment for a free woman who did what you did?"
"Whatever masters please," I said, "once she was branded, and put in a collar."
"Kneel," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Are you not somewhat overdressed?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," I said. I removed the bit of clothing I wore, the belt, the narrow strip of cloth.
"Approach," he said, "on your knees!"
"Yes, Master," I said.
He rose to a crouching position. He put his hands on my upper arms. He was very strong.
"You are a well-curved slave," he said.
"Thank you, Master," I said.
"What do you think should be the punishment for a slave who did what you did?" he asked.
"Whatever masters please," I said.
"The whip?" he asked.
"If masters please," I said. I would be more than happy to settle for the whip!
"Perhaps," he said, "for the whip of the furs."
"Oh, yes, Master!" cried Tupita. "Yes! Yes!"
"My anger with you," said Mirus, "I think was in part motivated by anger with myself, that I so easily succumbed to your charms."
"Yes, Master," I said. I had never doubted that.
"Do not entirely blame yourself, Master," called Tupita. "I am sure she was a very clever lure girl, a brilliantly lovely and skillful lure girl!"
I did not think this contribution by Tupita was really necessary.
"Yes," said Mirus, looking at me, "that is true."
He then lifted me up, and carried me back, away from the fire, into the darkness.
"Use her well!" cried Tupita! "Make her pay! Teach her who is master!"
He then threw me to my side in the leaves, in the darkness. I lay there, my legs pulled up, frightened.
"I am somewhat angry," Mirus informed me.
"Yes, Master," I said. That was only too obvious.
"I am first girl, slave," called Tupita to me. "See that you serve him well! If you do not serve him well, I will beat a bucket of slave oil out of you!"
"Yes, Mistress," I called to her.
Mirus crouched beside me. He thrust me to my back. He unceremoniously flung my legs apart. I, serve him well? It seemed clearly his intention, at least at first, to help himself. I did not expect to be given much more consideration than a free woman taken in the streets of a burning city, subjected to hasty loot use, thence to be dragged away stripped after her captor, her hands bound behind her, a rope on her neck.
"Yes, you did well," said Mirus, almost a growl.
"Forgive me, Master!" I said.
I was then, helpless in his angry grasp, put to his pleasure. It was only when he was done with me, so abruptly, and I looked up into his eyes that I saw them, to my relief, cleared of anger. It had not been necessary to slay me. The thing was done now. Mirus was now again himself, the Mirus I remembered from Brundisium. The debt, if debt it were, on some deep level, had been paid. Once again I was only another slave.
"You may touch me," he said.
I bent over him.
"Do not use your hands," he said.
"Yes, Master," I whispered.
Once again, later, he put me to his use.
"Did she serve well?" called Tupita.
"Yes," said Mirus. "She served well."
I was relieved to hear his asservation. I did not doubt but what Tupita, love me though she might, would as first girl have put me well and lengthily under the whip if he had not been satisfied.
Mirus looked down at me. "And in the end," he asked, "who is master, who is slave?"
"You are the master," I said. "I am the slave."
"And who is victorious?" he asked.
"You are, Master," I said, "and totally, and I am nothing." I did not tell him that, truly, we were both victorious, that he was victorious in his victory, and I, a woman, was victorious in my utter defeat.
"Please, Master," I begged, "touch me more." Mirus was a master in the handling of women. He well knew how to subdue us, and make us beg for further subjugation.
"There is another whom I would touch," he said. "You may crawl back to the fire."
Head down, still muchly aroused, I crawled back to the fire. He followed me and began to untie Tupita. "Is Tuka not beautiful?" asked Tupita. "Yes," he said, "but you are a thousand times more beautiful." I did not think that was really true. Certainly at any rate not a thousand times! "I love you, Master!" she exclaimed, being unbound. "Perhaps you care for me, a little?" "Yes," he smiled, "a little." "A slave is pleased," she said. She was now unbound. She knelt on the backs of her heels, her hands on her thighs, looking up, happily, at Mirus. "Kneel higher," he said, "off your heels." "Master?" she asked. This had brought her into suitable cuffing position. "Did you not speak at various times during the evening," he asked, "without having requested permission?" "Yes, Master," she said. "Forgive me, Master." She then was flung to the side, cuffed, and lay on the dirt, to the side. "Return to your former position," he said.
She returned, apprehensively, to the high kneeling position, before him. The left side of her face was a flaming red. He then took up the slave whip which was there, where I had dropped it before him, earlier, and looped it about her neck. He then, by this means, pulled her up straighter, and holding her head up, looked down into her eyes. "Did you think that in my love for you," he asked, "I would cease to be your master?"
"No, Master," she said, happily, looking up at him.
Even in the greatness of his love for her he would not cease to be her master. Indeed, had he done so, how could she have loved him so much?
He then cast aside the whip and lifted her gently in his arms, and carried her back into the shadows, away from the fire.
I was on all fours, by the fire. I looked to the stranger. I was still muchly aroused.
"Get dressed," he said.
In chagrin I found my "garments," the slave strip and belt. I knelt back, and put them on.
"On all fours," he said, "return to the slave wagon."
I looked at him in protest, but did as I was bade. I crawled across the ground to the slave wagon, and up the steps. I paused at the threshold. "May I speak?" I asked.
"No," he said.
I then entered the slave wagon. The door was shut behind me. Inside, in the darkness, I turned and knelt by the door, putting my fingers against it. I heard the door being locked, and then heard his steps descending the stairs. I had apparently served my purpose for the evening! I had now been "kenneled." He had not even permitted me to speak! H
e treated me as a slave! Then I drew back from the door, and found a bit of bread in the pan. I also felt a slice of raw vegetable. I ate these, and then took some water. I then relieved myself at the bucket in the other part of the wagon, and then lay down in the center of the wagon, on the blankets. The wagon was dark, and a firm prison, but it was not uncomfortable.
I awakened once in the middle of the night. He had treated me as a slave! But then, of course, that was what I was. I was a slave. Then I returned to sleep.
32
The Camp
"You are dressed suitably as a slave," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said. I was in the belt and cloth. On my neck was still the collar of Ionicus. I knelt in the camp, at his feet. I was tied much as Fulvius had tied me earlier, and as he had tied Tupita last night, wrists crossed and bound behind me, fastened closely to my crossed, bound ankles.
He then looked after the slave wagon. I could not see it now, but I could hear it, in the distance, descending toward the road. I could see the narrow print of its wheels in the leaves. A moment or two ago, drawn by its tharlarion, it had left camp. Mirus had been on the wagon box, Tupita beside him, in a tunic fashioned of one of the blankets which had been inside the wagon. My eyes were still moist from their departure. Tupita, her hands braceleted behind her, had knelt and kissed me. "I wish you well, Tuka," she had said. "I wish you well, too, Tupita," I had said. Mirus had then crouched near me and kissed me. "I wish you well, slave," he had said. "I wish you well, Master," I had said. They had then left. Tupita and I could not wave to one another as our restraints did not permit it, but we exchanged a common slave girls' farewell, kissing to one another, tears in our eyes. Most of the coins and valuables which had fallen to the stranger as sword loot he had divided with Mirus. The wagon and tharlarion, too, would surely have value. Such things should give Mirus more than enough means to make Brundisium. Too, it was good for Mirus to have the wagon, at least for a few days, until his strength might be fully recovered. "They are gone now," he said. The wagon, then, I gathered, must be out of sight, even from his vantage, standing. Doubtless it would soon be on the road.
