Mariners of Gor (36 page)

Then he left.

I did not know how long he had been present.

The body of Seremides shook with tears.

“Stop it,” I said. “You are a man.”

Whereas Warriors, or men, might weep, as under the snake, which would draw tears from rocks, or weep as might larls in raging grief, if a city falls, a fellow is slain, or a Home Stone dishonored, this was unseemly. Did those on his galley, whom Seremides had so roundly abused, carry on so?

“Do not hurt me,” said Seremides.

Seremides, unarmed, no longer whole, clad in a cast-off tunic, cringing, might have been the sorriest beggar in the Metellan district, in Ar. So the dreaded master of the elite Taurentians had come to this?

I wondered if he would be any longer regarded as worth the impaling spear in Ar. Would it not embarrass the city to publicly expose so abominable and craven a wretch upon her lofty walls? Surely better the bow string in the darkness of a prison’s cellar.

“Hail, Rutilius, mighty master!” laughed Iole, first amongst the lingering slaves.

There was laughter from the girls.

The body of Seremides shook with weeping.

“You are a man,” I said to Seremides. “Be silent.”

“He is no longer a man!” scoffed Iole.

I wondered if this were so.

“Hail, Rutilius!” laughed another of the girls, Pyrrha.

I regarded the girls, angrily, and they instantly became subdued.

“Who amongst you dares to so speak the name of a free man?” I asked.

“None, Master,” whispered Iole, quickly.

“You are in the presence of a free man,” I informed them.

“Master?” said Thetis.

“First obeisance position!” I snapped.

Moaning, frightened, the six girls went instantly to first obeisance position, kneeling, their heads to the deck, the palms of their hands beside their head. I let them remain that way for a time, waiting to learn their fate.

“May I speak, Master?” whispered Iole.

I went to her and pulled her head up, by the hair. She tried to turn her head away, and down, but, by the hair, I, crouching, held it so that she must look at me. Her eyes were bright with fear, and tears.

“Yes,” I said.

“Forgive us, Master,” she said, “if we have been displeasing.”

“You have not been fully pleasing,” I said.

“Forgive us, Master!” begged Iole.

“Yes, Master,” said the others.

It is the duty of a slave to be fully pleasing, to the best of her ability, and it is for the master to judge of her ability.

“Be as you were,” I told Iole, releasing her, and she resumed first obeisance position. She trembled.

“It is no wonder we put you in collars,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she whispered.

“I have a mind,” I said, “to send for punishment tags, wire them to your collars, and send you running, hands thonged behind you, to your keeping areas.”

In such a case the girl is expected to beg her keepers for discipline, that she may be improved. If she does not, the punishment is doubled, or trebled.

“Please, do not, Master,” begged Iole. “We are contrite!”

“Up,” I said, “go, be about your work.”

The six slaves sprang gratefully to their feet and fled from the open deck.

Tereus, and his fellows, had been neither reprimanded, nor punished. Why then should the lash be put to the vulnerable, bared backs and legs of slaves? Their guilt, if guilt it was, was less.

I recalled them.

How delightful they were, in their tiny tunics. How pleased I was that there were two sexes, and one that of the female. How utterly beautiful, and fascinating, is the human female, so utterly different from the male, such a delicious and perfect complement to him, and his needs, as he to her, and his to hers.

They make lovely slaves. And that, of course, is what they should be. Women require masters, as men require slaves. Women are lost without a master, and men forlorn without a slave.

It is the truth of nature.

I turned to face Seremides, crouching on the deck.

“You have not been under the snake,” I said.

He put his head down.

“Perhaps you should be put in a collar, and given to girls for their play,” I said.

“Do not hurt me,” he whispered.

“Where has Seremides gone?” I asked.

He looked about, frightened, for I had used his true name, and had spoken it aloud. Then he said, “I am he.”

“Perhaps you were always thus,” I said. “But before we could not see it. Before it was well concealed.”

“I was feared,” he said, tears in his eyes.

“Now,” I said, “you are the sport of slave girls.”

“Tyrtaios,” he said, suddenly, looking beyond me.

I had not noted the approach of Lord Okimoto’s new high officer.

“Tyrtaios,” said Seremides, plaintively, and put his hand out to him. “Tyrtaios, will you not help me? Have we not plans? Are we not equals? Are we not to share in all things? Are we not friends, allies?”

Tyrtaios continued on his way.

“I fear,” I said, “your succor, your allegiance, all that you could supply of profit or value to another, is now naught.”

As Tyrtaios made his way forward, he passed a slave girl, making her way aft, a small sa-tarna pannier on her back. The officers, as the men, eat in shifts, during designated watches, but the officers and the men do not eat together. The officers’ cabins are aft, some in the stern-castle itself.

Now that we were free of the Vine Sea, Tersites was occasionally seen, on the stern-castle deck. Aëtius, however, discouraged his presence amongst the men.

When the girl had passed Tyrtaios she had averted her eyes and lowered her head, deferently, as befitted her status, slave. If he had addressed her, or placed himself before her, she would have knelt. The entire mien of the slave, behaviorally and verbally, is to make clear to herself and others her truth, that she is only a slave. She is to be docile, complaisant, submissive, and beautiful. A free woman may speak and behave as she wishes, a slave may not. When a free woman stands proudly she may do so as she wishes, independently, regally, even defiantly. When a slave stands proudly it is commonly to display her beauty before free men.

“Girl!” I said.

Frightened, the slave turned, catching sight of me, I think for the first time, and probably, too, the fallen Seremides.

I motioned her to me.

She seemed startled, and grateful, almost pathetically so, that I had deigned to note her. Ship slaves, in any event, aside from my personal knowledge of the slave, are often starved for attention, that of masters. It is very different from a private slave, who is likely to live a life closely intertwined with that of her master, one in which she is no stranger to his table and his furs, one in which she is frequently well apprised of the warmth of his arms and the weight of his chains. She is worked and used, prized and celebrated, day in and day out. She is his, in the fullest sense, desired, owned, and mastered. How could she respect a man who does not so desire her that he will be satisfied with nothing less than the owning of her? Is she truly so little thought of that he will not make her his, that he will not collar her? I had given the slave no notice, in weeks. But, too, aside from her delight at being recognized, and summoned, she seemed uneasy, even frightened, perhaps because the sa-tarna in the small pannier on her back might be warm, wrapped in napkins, and bound for an officers’ mess.

She suddenly caught sight of Seremides, helpless on the deck, unable to rise. I did not know if she had heard of his fate or not, but, I think, clearly, this was the first time she had seen him, since the Vine Sea. I was curious to see how she might act. I remembered her from Ar. I could well anticipate her relief, perhaps delight, to find the man she most feared so reduced, so miserable, so helpless.

Might she not shriek with triumph, and pour upon him with impunity her scorn?

But she seemed startled, uncertain, almost frightened.

“You know this man?” I asked her.

I was not sure she even recognized the handsome, proud, temperamental, dangerous Seremides in this cringing, abject creature half lying before her on the deck.

“Yes,” she whispered, “—Master.”

I thought she would have little to fear from him now. Certainly I had been freer on the ship since the Vine Sea. Indeed, it now seemed the crippled Seremides avoided me. Did he fear I might kill him?

The slave regarded the creature before her.

There was little chance now he would bring her to Ar, and arrange her delivery to Marlenus.

Too, there was little chance now, as far as I knew, that he could locate Talena, and bring her to Ar, thereby winning not only her bounty but his own amnesty.

“You are smiling!” cried Seremides.

“No, Master!” she said, and knelt.

If anything, I saw horror, and pity, in the frightened eyes of the slave.

“Girl,” I said.

She looked at me. I pointed to the crutch which had been kicked across the deck, out of the reach of Seremides. Left alone, I had little doubt he could drag himself to it, and, with it, perhaps clinging to the rail, rise to his feet.

Alcinoë rose, fetched the crutch, and returned to a place before Seremides, where she knelt and, head down, between her arms, lifted the crutch to him.

He seized the crutch.

I feared he would use it to strike the girl. He was still a strong man, and a harsh blow, as she knelt, might break her arm or shatter an elbow.

I held the crutch, and Seremides could not use it. I felt the wood move in my hand, as he tried to free it, but he could not do so.

“If you wish,
kajira
,” I said to the girl, “you may abuse him, scorn him, taunt him, beat him, speak to him and treat him however you may wish.”

She shook her head. “No, Master,” she said.

“You do not desire to do so?” I asked.

“I may not,” she said.

“You do not desire to do so?” I asked.

“No, Master,” she said.

I was pleased at this answer.

“Be about your business,
kajira
,” I said.

She rose up, backed away a little, and then hurried aft. I could see the white napkins in which the sa-tarna loaves were wrapped, through the wicker of the pannier.

“Sleen,” said Seremides, “you wanted her to abuse me!”

“No,” I said.

“You would have permitted it!” he said, angrily.

“No,” I said.

“You could have left me amongst the vines,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Why did you not let me die?” asked Seremides.

“You are of the ship,” I said.

I then left him, to hoist himself, by means of the crutch, to his feet. I gave him no help. I had no wish to demean him.

“Callias,” said Tarl Cabot, who came from forward.

“Commander,” I said.

“I want you on the foremast, every third watch,” he said.

“As you wish,” I said.

“We need good eyes, and alert fellows aloft,” he said.

“I will do my best, commander,” I said.

“Good,” he said. “I am informed by Lord Nishida that these are dangerous waters.”

I remembered the beacon.

“Yes, commander,” I said.

Chapter Sixteen

The Warning Ship;

The Small Boats;

Assassins;

The Fleet of Lord Yamada

I let the glass of the Builders, in its sling, drop to my hip. “Ho!” I called down to the deck. “Ship! Ship, to the bow, starboard!”

Those on deck rushed to the starboard rail. I saw men moving about, too, on both the stem and stern castles. Officers were emerging from below decks, men, too. The bar, under its hammer, rang alert.

We had seen little that seemed dangerous in the last several days, despite the fears of Lord Nishida. Oddly, however, once or twice, we had noted a dark cloud in the sky, from which a dust of ash had coated sails and fallen to the deck. At the same time, the wind, fitfully, had seemed acrid, and breathing had been unpleasant.

Now, however, the sky was blue, the clouds white, the air clear. Thassa was serene, the wind gentle.

Orders had been issued from the stern castle, for the great ship heaved to. Shortly thereafter one of the nested galleys was being lowered to the water. An Ahn later I reported the galley had hoisted the green pennon.

The ship that I had seen was much like those lost amongst the serpentine entanglements of the Vine Sea.

It held no steady course, and was, as far as we could tell, until investigated, adrift.