The Usurper

3

“You remember Filene?” asked Lysis, the supply officer of the Narcona, of the blond giant, Otto, at the table.

“Yes,” said Otto, “from the Narcona.”

“Stand straighter,” said severe Ronisius, a minor officer of the vessel’s commissioned officers.

“Forgive me, Master,” said Filene, straightening her body. She carried a small, shallow tray of cakes.

She had been entered into the room later than the other three, for some reason. The meal was now nearly done.

“You were once a free woman, were you not, my dear?” inquired polite, blond Corelius, a handsome young officer, also, as Ronisius, one of the vessel’s lesser commissioned officers.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“‘Yes, Master’,” corrected Ronisius.

“Yes, Master, forgive me, Master,” said the blonde, Filene.

She feared Ronisius.

She felt helpless, and slave before him.

What would it be if she were truly a slave?

“You are no longer a free woman, Filene,” said Corelius, kindly. “So you may no longer be slovenly and clumsy. You may no longer be stiff and wooden. It is not permitted. You must be soft, feminine, inviting, attractive, ready, lovely, graceful. You are now no longer yours. You are now another’s. You are owned.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Note how Filene is painted,” said Phidias, captain of the Narcona.

“I see,” said Otto, “and scented, as well.”

“We have arranged that she is prepared for you,” said Phidias.

“My thanks, Captain,” said Otto.

“Presumably it will be pleasant to pluck and crush that flower,” said Ronisius.

Filene shuddered.

“She is new to the collar,” said Lysis. “We hope that you will much improve her. Let her learn her bondage in your arms.”

“There are others, of course,” said Ronisius. “These three,” he said, gesturing to the other slaves, “Lira, Faye, Rabbit, and there are sixteen others in the tents, whom you may inspect and have your pick, if you wish, any one, or two, or three.”

Otto smiled at Ronisius. “I am sure this one will do,” he said, nodding toward Filene.

“As you wish,” said Ronisius, smiling.

Otto had arrived in the camp near dusk, from a hall of Otungs deep in the forest. He had had retainers with him who were now encamped nearby, in amongst the shadows of trees, not far from the wired perimeter of the rude imperial enclave. It had been deemed unwise to mix soldiers of the empire with Otungs, for fear of hasty words, even angry glances, which might lead to drawn blades and the flash of discharged weapons.

Otto was now in a long, silken dinner robe.

Slaves had sought to bathe him, hoping to touch such a man.

Yesterday night, however, it might well have been different. Yesterday night they might well have fled from a terrible figure which, gaunt and hungry, might have emerged from the darkness.

Yesterday night Otto had arrived at the great hall of the Otungs, that of the King Naming, half naked, stinking and bloody, the skins of dogs, Herul dogs, tied about his body. He had survived the “running of the dogs.” He had had with him, however, the skin of a giant, white vi-cat, and a weighty long sword which few but such as he could wield. The skin of the vi-cat was that of a beast he had earlier killed, and the sword was that which he had carried toward the forest before his capture by Heruls. These were returned to him by the Herul, Hunlaki, who, by Herul means, utilizing a sensory organ foreign to humans, a form of touch, had recognized him as the Otung infant he had once, several years earlier, delivered to the brothers in the festung of Sim Giadini. When Otto, later, apprehended by Otungs in the forest, was brought to the great hall, it was the “Killing Time,” and the time of the King Naming, a yearly ritual imposed on Otungs, disunited and bickering amongst themselves, by Heruls, issuing in the naming of a temporary king, a political device well calculated to subjugate and demoralize an enemy. Long ago, it seems, on the plains of Barrionuevo, or the flats of Tung, as the Heruls will have it, the Otungs had been defeated by Herul horsemen, and driven into the forest, to be thenceforth a scattered, jealous, divided people. Then he, Otto, a stranger, but bearing the pelt of the giant, white vi-cat, traditionally taken as a mantle of kingship by the Otungs, had come to the great hall and claimed the hero’s portion of the mighty, roasting boar. In the hall much blood was shed but before the fire in the long pit had turned to ashes a new king, one defiant to Heruls, one who would be subject to no limitations imposed by enemies, was lifted on the shields.

“You may serve the cakes, Filene,” said Phidias.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“To our guest, first,” said Ronisius.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“She is stupid,” said Ronisius.

“No,” said Corelius, “merely ignorant.”

“But pretty,” said Lysis.

“Like the others,” said Phidias.

“They are lovely things, slaves,” said Lysis.

“True,” said Corelius.

Earlier in the evening Otto, or Ottonius, as those of the empire will often have it, had arrived at the encampment, with several retainers. He had arrived, of course, not then in the skins of Herul dogs but in other skins, and boots, and leg-wrappings, soft, and well-tanned, from the hide of the hroth, a beast indigenous to the forests of northern Tangara, and resembling the arn bear, often encountered in beast fights, in imperial arenas. Now, however, as noted, he was in a dinner robe.

The serving had proceeded apace, with dessert wines, followed by steaming feldis.

Otto removed a cake from the Filene’s tray without glancing at her. A slave is an instrument whose presence need not be noticed.

She would presumably be sent later to his quarters, doubtless to await him, naked, in the furs of his couch.

“I am surprised at the garmenture of the slaves,” said Otto.

“They are slaves,” said Ronisius, which seemed, one supposes, an adequate explanation for the matter in question.

“How is it, Captain, that you are surprised?” asked Lysis.

“This is an imperial camp, even though in the wilderness,” said Otto. “I would have expected serving gowns, as at the captain’s suppers on the Narcona.”

“Do you object?” asked Phidias, captain of the Narcona.

“Certainly not,” said Otto. “I was merely curious, as to why the difference.”

“No free women are present,” said Lysis.

“Nor were they on the Narcona,” said the barbarian.

“True,” acknowledged Lysis.

“The tunics,” said Otto.

“They are tavern tunics,” said Lysis.

Tavern tunics are designed to display the charms of a slave and arouse the passions of men.

“Yes, or such,” said Otto.

There are many varieties of slave tunics, of course. Some are reasonably discreet, such as those often imposed on women’s serving slaves, those suitable for doing a marketing and running errands, those likely to be worn, if not gowns, in mixed company, and such. Others are less discreet, of which there are many varieties, one such variety being the sort commonly referred to as a tavern tunic, which sort of tunic, of course, is not restricted to taverns, brothels, and such. Tavern tunics are usually of plain, cheap material, usually hevis or cotton; they are seldom of silk, corton, or leel. Some tunics are “work tunics,” “house tunics,” and such, for slaves who are permitted clothing indoors. Different sorts of tunics tend to be favored on various worlds. And, naturally, there are many forms of slave garments which are not tunics, at all, such as the long, scarflike keb.

“I fear that Captain Ottonius may have taken offense,” said Corelius.

“How so?” said Phidias, concerned.

“He may resent, if not the garmenture of the slaves, the fact that it has been arranged so tonight, perhaps suspecting that he is being patronized, being confronted with a condescending concession to the simple tastes and rude manners so often ascribed to individuals of his origin.”

“And what are your origins?” inquired Lysis.

“I do not know my origins,” said Otto. “In the imperial records, I would be regarded as of the low humiliori, even of the peasants. I was raised in a small village, at the foot of the pass leading to the festung of Sim Giadini, on the heights bordering the plains of Barrionuevo. I departed from Tangara. You need not know why. On Terennia, a prisoner, condemned, I was consigned to the gladiatorial school of the landowner, Pulendius. I fought many times. I won my freedom. I became one of the bodyguards of Pulendius. Later, I came to the chieftainship of the Wolfungs, on Varna, and yesterday night, here, I was lifted on the shields of the Otungs.”

“King?” said Phidias.

“Yes,” said Otto.

“The Otungs are understood as barbarians,” said Lysis.

“Surely, as you see them,” said Otto.

“You, too, then,” said Phidias, “as their leader, their chieftain, or king, would be understood as a barbarian.”

“Yes,” said Otto.

“I trust you take no offense,” said Phidias.

“No more, I hope,” said Otto, “than you, when I regard you as citizens of the empire.”

“Citizenship has been granted to almost everyone in the empire now,” said Lysis. “One need only be born.”

It might be noted that at one time citizenship, with its privileges and benefits, except for those of the original, inner worlds, had to be earned, commonly by ten to twenty years of military service. When citizenship became free, so to speak, it ceased to be respected and prized. Recruitments in the military declined sharply, this imperiling borders and worlds. Alternative avenues to citizenship, too, particularly those involving danger or hardship, such as laboring in the civil bureaucracy in remote venues, were also less frequented. In the meantime, migrations of new citizens, of various species, many dispossessed by large-scale economic transitions, in particular, the formation of the great industrial farms manned by slaves, flooded toward major population centers to claim the entitlements of citizenship, such as free food, shelter, clothing, and access to massive entertainments, spectacles and pageants, beast races, arena sports, and such, these wisely provided to distract and pacify idle, restless, dangerous crowds. In the meantime the wealth of the empire, drained from better than a thousand outer worlds, accumulated in the coffers of a smaller and smaller number of individuals, on fewer and fewer worlds, producing a discrepancy between abundance, even luxury, on certain worlds and a desert of scarcity on others. These political and social developments, on various worlds, were exacerbated by the widespread exhaustion of the soil, the diminution of precious and base metals, and the crumbling of infrastructure, such as roads, bridges, aqueducts, and sewerage systems. Predictably, portions of several worlds were afflicted by both famine and disease. In some areas nature reclaimed deserted cities, and dry canals, with inert locks, were filled with wind-blown sand and dust. Dangerous animals prowled in the ruins of towns. There was also, on many worlds, the collapse of a viable tax base, which seems to have been the primary motivation for the imperial binding laws, attempting to hold peasants to the soil, sons to the crafts of their fathers, and such. On many worlds currency was now almost unknown, and exchange was largely in terms of barter. On other worlds the currency was multiplied and debased to the point that it was substantially worthless. On some worlds it was a capital offense not to accept printed paper or stamped wooden blocks for goods. On another world where a darin might once have purchased a thousand arrow points it was now cheaper to melt the darin itself and pour the bright, coarse metal into the appropriate mold. In the meantime, on many worlds, the high honestori, and, in particular, the patrician classes, once the mind, shield, fiber, heart, and sword of the empire, now wealthy, indulgent, and degenerate, were failing to reproduce themselves. “No children are born in golden beds,” had become a saying on several worlds.

“In any event,” said Phidias, captain of the freighter, Narcona, “the garmenture was thought appropriate, not because of your origins, which may be other than ours, or because your tastes might be other than ours, if they are, but because there are men and women and we, as you, are men.”

“Good,” said Otto.

“I am not satisfied,” said Corelius. “It is as though we invited him to supper and served not the delectable Safian wine he expected, and had reason to expect, but a rude bowl of Terennian field beer.”

“Surely not,” said Phidias.

“Be at ease,” said Otto. “I am not offended by the garmenture. I relish it. Indeed, if it were prescribed on my account, I am appreciative. I would take it as a token of thoughtfulness, not as an insult, irony, or mockery, but as a credit to the sensitivity of a generous, attentive host.”

“It improves the appetite of all,” said Ronisius.

“Doubtless,” said Lysis, the supply officer.

Filene’s body stiffened, in anger. She hoped no one had noticed. She feared Ronisius had noticed.

“It is true,” said Otto, “that I am a man of simple tastes and, I suppose, uncouth manners.”

“You are esteemed, Captain Ottonius,” Phidias assured him.

“On a thousand worlds,” said Ronisius, “the empire needs allies.”

“These slaves,” said Phidias, “there are twenty of them in the camp, are a picked lot.”

“They are imperial slaves, obviously,” said Lysis.

“That makes no difference,” said Otto. “Imperial slaves, as other slaves, are women. There are slaves who are more expensive and less expensive, more beautiful and less beautiful, better slaves and worse slaves. But that is all. There is little difference between a tavern tunic and a fistful of expensive slave silk. What matters is the slave herself.”

“True,” said Phidias.

“Imperial slaves,” said Otto, “as other slaves, are women, and I enjoy seeing them so presented, imperial slaves, in this way, no different from the lowest of slaves on a thousand worlds.”

“But these slaves are quite good, quite attractive, do you not agree?” asked Phidias.

“Certainly,” said Otto.

“They are high slaves,” said Lysis.

“I thought they were trade goods,” said Otto.

“But excellent trade goods,” said Phidias.

“Surely,” said Otto.

“And none, not one of the twenty, is marked,” said Lysis.

“Interesting,” said Otto, glancing at Ronisius.

“Yes,” said Ronisius.

“All slaves should be marked,” said Otto.

“Surely you would not wish such fair skins to be marked,” said Corelius.

“The brand,” said Otto, “enhances a woman’s beauty a thousand times. It puts the slave mark on her. One then sees her as slave, and she knows herself as slave. How could she be more exciting, or more meaningful, or more beautiful, than as marked slave?”

“Barbarian!” said Corelius.

“Quite,” said Otto.

“Please, Corelius,” protested Phidias, captain of the Narcona.

“Filene understands that she is to be soon sent to the couch of Captain Ottonius,” said Ronisius. “But one supposes we could heat an iron and have her marked first.”

“Do not drop the tray, Filene,” snapped Ronisius.

“I do not think there is time, Master,” said Filene.

“Were you given permission to speak?” asked Ronisius.

“No, Master, forgive me, Master,” she said.

“It seems,” said Ronisius to Otto, “that this slave, perhaps in several respects, is in need of instruction.”

“Perhaps,” said Otto.

“I will have a whip sent to your quarters,” said Ronisius.

“Excellent,” said Otto.

“You are a barbarian, indeed,” said Corelius.

“Yes,” said Otto.

“Esteemed ally,” said Phidias, “I beg you to take no umbrage at the remark or tone of my junior officer.”

“None is taken,” Otto assured him.

“I trust,” said Corelius, “you can tell the difference between Safian wine and beer.”

“I believe so,” said Otto.

“These slaves,” said he, “are Safian wine, not beer.”

“Beware, Corelius,” said Phidias.

“But,” said Otto, “they are in tavern tunics.”

Corelius looked away, angrily.

“I grant they are Safian wine,” said Otto, “but is not Safian wine especially interesting and enjoyable when it finds itself served in the way of beer?”

Filene clutched the tray. She would not dash it to the floor of the tent. She must not reveal her imposture. She must cleave to her role. Who would bring her the knife?

“Perhaps,” said Corelius.

“A tincture of humiliation,” said Otto, “a helplessness, even a tear of frustration, can make a slave oil more readily. A touch here, a touch there, and then, later, when one wishes, if one wishes, one may, perhaps gagging her first, command forth her surrender spasms.”

“You are a barbarian, indeed,” said Corelius. “Perhaps, apart from considerations of serving gowns, and such, we should not have bothered with the mockery of a tunic. Perhaps we should simply strip them.”

“That will not be necessary,” said Otto, glancing at Filene.

She stiffened, stripped by his glance.

“Whatever you might wish,” said Phidias.

The slaves exchanged glances.

“That, of course, dear friend, whose name, I take it, is Corelius,” said Otto, “is how women of the empire, even high women, often serve the feasts of their barbarian Masters.”

“Shameful!” said Corelius.

“Not at all, it is delectable,” said Otto. “Surely you do not mean to tell me that you would not like seeing these slaves, here, serve our supper naked?”

Corelius looked down, reddening, angrily.

“I see you would,” said Otto.

“The free women of the empire are not slaves,” said Corelius.

“You would be surprised,” said Otto. “They make excellent slaves. And what is the purpose of a free woman’s clothing, even the richest, finest, and most abundant, but to conceal a slave? And many of your noble free women, their trappings removed, I assure you, would do well on an auction block.”

“I see,” said Corelius.

“Surely,” said Otto, “you would enjoy seeing some of your exalted free women, and their spoiled, curvaceous brats, if they have them, stripped and put to work, marked and collared, laboring fearfully, subject to the whip.”

“Captain Phidias,” said Corelius. “I beg to be excused.”

“And I assure you,” said Otto, “they leap well, crying out, as other slaves, in the arms of their Masters.”

“You may withdraw,” said Phidias to Corelius, and Corelius, rising, with a curt nod to those at the table, including Otto, took his leave.

Ahh, thought Filene to herself, it is Corelius who will bring the knife! How well he has managed matters, pretending to resent the barbarian’s remarks, Corelius, who now withdraws, seemingly disconcerted, thereby winning the interval, unsuspected, necessary to fetch the knife. How natural and appropriate everything seemed now, and clear, his consideration for her on the Narcona, his concern, his politeness, and such! Too, as a gallant and refined gentleman of the empire, so different from harsh, blunt Ronisius, he had, courageously, and brazenly, dared to let be known his disapproval of the person and views of the barbarian, and his sort. Captain Phidias would surely be too highly placed and conspicuous to perform so sensitive and covert a task as supplying an assassin‘s tool. The purport of his seemingly anomalous presence in the camp was now obvious. Only one of his rank would be empowered to conduct subtle negotiations having to do with the recruitment of barbarian comitates. Ronisius could be discounted, as he had, in his ignorance, known no better than to treat her as merely another slave. She did fear him. Why does he look at me in that fashion, she had once asked Faye. Tremble, my dear, had said Faye, he is considering your price. How ignorant he was! He had even been so ignorant as to speak of her, the Lady Publennia Calasalia, of the Larial Calasalii, or once so, in relation to a slaving iron, she, the agent of Iaachus, Arbiter of Protocol in the court of the emperor, Aesilesius! And Qualius, in his gross ugliness, and simplicity, a tender of livestock on the Narcona, had not even been at the supper. Let him swill with other pigs, she thought. There was another, of course, Lysis, the supply officer of the Narcona, but he, she thought, might, like the captain, Phidias, be too highly ranked, too conspicuous, for the errand in question. A lesser fellow, less likely to be noticed and observed, would be a courier better suited to transport and deliver that small artifact on whose action so much might hang. Too, Lysis did not leave the table. He had not seized an opportunity, as had Corelius, in which one might place that small, light artifact in the quarters of the barbarian, in such a place that she would find it, and he would not. Where would that be, she wondered. Presumably it could not be simply handed to her. And how would it be concealed if she were naked, or even tunicked? A tiny, brief, form-clinging tunic affords little concealment for even so slight and modest an object. Too, what if it should crease her skin as she moved, and it prove not her means to victory, power, wealth, and station, but her doom? Of course, she thought, it would be beneath the furs, where she, invitingly curled in repose, would be awaiting him!

But would Corelius have time to place the dagger, she wondered.

Surely this supper is at its end, she thought.

Be swift, Corelius.

I trust that all is in order.

Had Corelius had time to place the dagger?

Was it done?

Outside the tent she heard the whirr of a hoverer’s engines, one of two light, circular craft, air sleds or air vessels, in the camp, and then the sound, too, came from its matching vessel.

“You warm your hoverers,” said the barbarian.

“Against the cold,” said Phidias.

“An excellent precaution,” said the barbarian.

“Our treaded conveyances,” said Phidias, “will be similarly warmed.

“I hear the ignitions,” said Ronisius.

“It takes but a few moments,” said Lysis.

“Excellent,” said the barbarian. “Thus all may be activated without delay.”

“Heruls may be about,” said Phidias.

“This close to the forest?” asked Otto.

“Possibly,” said Phidias.

On the approach to the camp, in addition to the several horse-drawn sleds, and the hoverers, there had been two armored, treaded vehicles. Corelius had piloted one of the hoverers, Ronisius the other. Lysis had driven the first armored vehicle, and Qualius the other, which had brought up the rear of the column. Phidias, captain of the Narcona, had ridden in the first of the two armored vehicles.

“More feldis,” said the barbarian to Lira, holding forth his cup.

“Yes, Master,” responded Lira.

“I, as well,” said Ronisius.

“Yes, Master,” said Lira, then carrying the two-handled, silver vessel to his place

Shortly thereafter all four engines were shut down, those of the hoverers and those of the two armored vehicles.

They are now prepared, they are ready for departure, thought Filene, in the background, with her tray of cakes. All is in order, all proceeds apace.

She looked, anxiously, to Phidias, to Lysis.

Were they party to the evening’s projected deed?

“You are excused, Filene,” said Phidias.

“Yes, Master,” she said. “Thank you, Master.”

“Proceed to the quarters of Captain Ottonius, and await him, naked, in the furs.”

How humiliating, she thought. I am a free woman!

“Yes, Master,” she said.

It seemed the knife then, as she had thought, would be concealed in the furs.

She handed her tray to Rabbit.

The barbarian would not know, of course, that this was the first of the night camps in which the hoverers and treaded vehicles had been so warmed.

They will be ready, she thought.

A departure is anticipated. All, indeed, proceeds apace.

The knife, by now, must have been placed.

As she exited, her wrist was seized by Ronisius.

“Master?” she said, stopped, startled.

“Our guest is to be well pleased,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said, catching her breath, relieved.

“If he is not well pleased,” said Ronisius, “you will muchly regret your failure in the morning.”

“I will do my best,” she said.

“I trust that will be sufficient,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Do well,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

She then hurried from the room.

She was determined to do well, indeed.