The Usurper

26

Cornhair, kneeling in the darkness, and dampness, chained to the wall ring, her hands high, by her forehead, sobbed. Her back still burned, from the lash.

She heard the key turn in the heavy lock of the door, behind her.

She turned her head about, as she could.

The door creaked open, slowly. She could see the light, from a small lamp, being borne by someone, presumably a man, a keeper. In its light, she could see the dampness glistening on the wall before her. She cried out, frightened, as a small filch scampered over her left calf, presumably disturbed by the opening of the door and the bit of light. She knew that she shared her quarters with such small, furtive forms of life, for she had heard them scratch about, but they had not bothered her. This was the first time one had touched her. Her cell was not a pleasant one, and she had little doubt but what it served as a suitable holding place for recalcitrant prisoners, or slaves who had failed to be found fully pleasing. Indeed, the building, as she had learned, served as a prison, as well as a slave house. Although the conditions of her incarceration were far from ideal, Cornhair had been relieved not to have been killed, and there is a security, of course, in being chained, for one knows then that one is still being kept, at least for a time.

The tiny light was still behind her, and not moving. She could not make out what was in the room with her. She turned about, again, as she could. She sensed there were at least two men present, one back in the hall, and perhaps others.

“Please do not whip me further, Masters,” she said. “I will be good. I will call out well. I will smile. I will try to please you. I will try to bring you coin!”

Cornhair had now learned what it is to be a whipped slave, and she was prepared to go to great lengths to avoid any further encounters with the hissing lash. No longer was it a mystery to her why slave girls were so eager to be found pleasing. They knew their softness and beauty was subject to the leather, and that they must expect to be punished for any infractions of rules or lapses of discipline. Even a careless word, a clumsy movement, a tardy response to a command, might bring the sting of a switch. Most Masters are kind, but they expect beauty, grace, and obedience in a slave, and will have it so.

There was no response to her protestations.

“Masters?” she said, uneasily.

She pulled a little, at the manacles.

“Is this the one?” asked a male voice.

“Hold the light closer, higher,” said a woman’s voice.

“This was lot number two hundred and twenty-seven,” said a male voice, from back in the hall.

“Yes,” said the woman’s voice, “this is the one.”

“Five darins,” said the man.

Cornhair heard the coins being counted out.

“You have been sold, 227,” said a man’s voice.

“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair. “To a woman, Master?” she asked.

“Yes, dear,” said a woman’s voice.

“We have something special in mind for you,” said the voice of another woman.

“Hood her,” said the first woman. “Then unchain her and tie her hands behind her back. I have a leash.”