They nodded.
Endowed with speech, Caroline asked, woodenly:
“Punish me, not her. She was only trying to help—”
“It was I who cried out, lord. Punish me! Poor darling, she—”
Nykobe laughed at their concern, waving it away with a gesture. “Not that again, please! I refuse to punish either of you.” Amusedly, he untied his beloved’s hands and arms. “There! You are free. Are you going to run away?”
“No.” She sparkled up at him. “But please untie—”
He held up a hand to stem the flood. “Yes, yes, yes! I know! Please untie darling Caroline because her elbows hurt . . . !” He motioned to his hostage. “Come here.”
The President’s Mistress obeyed, turning her back and standing still while her elbows were relieved of their biting strictures. She sighed in relief and said a polite “Thank you.”
“You’ll have to wear those handcuffs, I don’t have a key.” He frowned at her. “I have to remember you’re a prisoner. I suppose you’d run if you got the chance?”
“Yes.”
Nykobe nodded. “A good honest answer. I’ll try and not burden you with opportunity.” He went to a cupboard, rummaged, and returned with a collar and chain. “Hold still. Tilt your chin.”
Caroline knew herself blushing as the strong fingers fitted the metal circlet on her throat and pressed it tight to make its lock respond with a daunting click. It was snug upon her neck, obviously fashioned for a woman. The chain tether was long, he dropped the handful of links on the floor and padlocked its end round an upright support for the roof. It would need an earthquake or a key to set her free. She felt shamed, but made no demur. It was Trudy who exclaimed:
“But you’ve chained her like a dog! Collars are beastly—and all that chain—!”
“Trudy, keep quiet.” It was Caroline the captive who admonished. “Mr. Nykobe’s being quite kind to me. There’s enough chain so I can sit at the table with you. I simply can’t run away. Look, I’ve got quite a lot of freedom.” She paced back and forth to the limits of her tether. “See, it’s not really cruel—I don’t hurt.”
“Mrs. Dowling is a sensible woman,” Nykobe approved. “She will make an admirable hostage. Help her remove her clothes, Trudy. She looks absurd attired for a tea party.”
“How can I get her clothes off, the way you’ve got her fixed!”
Caroline, ruefully, tore at her clothes herself, her joined hands making the task difficult. Why make a fuss! If Nykobe wanted her naked he would ensure she was stripped. “You haven’t a stitch on yourself, y’know, dear.” She comforted a sulky girl whose hands were reluctant to her lord’s command.
“With daylight we make a run for it,” Nicholas Nykobe informed his women soberly. “We cannot stay here. Now we sleep.”
“But, please lord, what are you going to do with Caroline?” Trudy persisted dangerously.
“She is a hostage. Her price is half of Zindawba.” The prisoner was stricken. “Abhad will never pay that! When he refuses, what will you do with me?”
“We will consider the means of your execution tomorrow,” said Nicholas Nykobe blandly. He stretched out on the floor. “The two of you may hold each other for comfort. If you utter another word you will both be thrashed.”
The silence in the room was heavy with unspoken words.
The sound of the trucks had no more than become audible when the door burst open, light flooded, and Khalief Abhad stood, huge and menacing in the glare, an automatic rifle at the ready. He wore only a breech-clout. At his back were soldiers, their rifle barrels hungry for the trigger. Two of the trio on the floor were prudent in immobility. Caroline was trembling in shame and longed only to die.
“We followed,” Abhad said simply. He smiled at the startled and naked member of his Guard. “My apologies, child. We used you as bait for the tiger.” He turned his regard upon his mortified Mistress but said no word, waiting . . .
Mrs. Caroline Dowling disengaged herself from loving arms. At the full length of her neck tether she knelt in submission before her Master. “I am guilty, lord,” she said without emotion. “I am guilty, I do not plead.”
“You will be flogged.”
“Of course, lord. It is only proper.”
“I trusted you!”
Caroline wept piteously.
“By setting your little sweetheart free you nearly ruined our whole plan—a few minutes either way—!” Khalief was angry.
The delinquent sobbed. “Yes, yes, punish me!” Khalief pointed a commanding finger at a nude trooper about to burst into speech. “Quiet, you! I don’t want to hear.” He winked sardonically. “If the just punishments of your lesbian love are too much for you to bear I may allow you to share them. But if you go to prison for five years it is by your own persistence.” Abhad smiled inwardly at the visible impact of this pronouncement upon the naked girl. “Or perhaps you would like to resume your twenty-four hours on that post?”
Trudy wept too. Their future seemed bleak. She slithered over to Nykobe and wet his chest with her own wet cheeks. “I am sorry, lord. Oh—oh—oh damn everything! It’s all gone wrong!” She nestled into the cradle of his arms.
“Most touching!” The President sounded genuinely regretful. “You will forget him, child. Believe me, time will erase—”
“When d’you intend to have me shot?” Nykobe inquired.
“Immediately would be pleasantly simple.” Abhad examined his enemy reflectively. “But I suppose I had best extract the most political profit from a magnificent trial as a prelude to the firing squad. Imagine what the world’s press will make of it!”
“This girl? Will you harm her?”
“No. Her infatuation for you is no doubt a natural reflex of her glands. Actually she deserves some honour. She is a member of my Guard. She will return to its ranks, esteemed by all.”
Caroline knew herself so totally condemned she could toss caution to the winds. Unconsciously she reverted to the Mrs. Robert Dowling of long ago. “Khalief, don’t be so mean! You don’t have to kill this poor man—or take his girl away. They love each other.”
“How kind of you to explain.” Abhad’s voice was cold.
“Oh, don’t sound so stuffy! Why don’t you offer Mr. Nykobe some sort of job? I’m sure he’d make a good—”
“Silence, woman!” Nicholas Nykobe was outraged. “I need no woman to plead—and as for working for this vulture—!”
“See, you’re just as bad as he is!” Caroline turned her feminine fury on the disgruntled rebel. “You men, you’re all the same—sound and fury! And we could have had the nicest wedding—!”
“Can you run a nation when you cannot control a woman!” Nykobe glared at his enemy, scoring heavily with sarcasm.
“Would you happen to have a cane or whip around this place . . . ?”
The warring males had become allies against a woman’s scorn. With thudding heart, Caroline watched her lord and master take the limber length from his enemy and flex it in satisfaction. Without a word, she tossed her head in disdain and positioned her ready nakedness, bent forward, her linked hands on each side of the post to which her neck was chained. Her pink bottom was a perfect target.
The President of Zindawba thrashed his Mistress with cold skill. Caroline knew he would not have hurt her so much had Nykobe not been watching. She kept her moans and cries to the barest minimum she could manage as the cane cut and sliced her flesh.
“Thank you, lord. I was impertinent.”
Caroline was panting with the pain, but was a woman possessed. Kneeling submissively, she looked at the two dictators impartially. “Please. please—don’t you see! You can be friends. You don’t have to keep killing . . . ! You’ve got Trudy and me: when you’re angry, whip us! That’s what women are for. Don’t you both feel better now for having cut my bottom half to bits?” She glared at a startled Nykobe. “Do you want to have a go at me now? I’ll bend over if you do. Or would you sooner use a whip on my back?”