“I do not know if my master knows that what he owns is truly a slave girl,” said Sesella.
“Oh?” said Julian.
Tuvo Ausonius regarded her, with interest.
“The thought means much to me,” she said.
“Speak clearly,” said Julian.
“I want my slavery to be real,” she said. “I want to know that I am a slave.”
“The lightness of your slavery is not important to you?” asked Julian.
“Such matters,” she said, “are at the discretion of the master. I am a slave.”
“A master is to be under no obligations in such matters?”
“No, Master,” she said.
“But surely you would wish a kind master,” said Julian.
“I want a strong master,” she said, “one who is not weak, one who will take what he wants from me, as he wants it, and how he wants it, one who will not compromise in the least with me.”
“Surely you would want him to be kind?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “At least sometimes. And sometimes we hope desperately for that.”
“I see,” said Julian.
“But such things are meaningless,” she said, “except against a background of strength, a background of leather and iron.”
“Give me the papers,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
Julian handed the papers, and the envelope, to Ausonius.
To the wonder of Sesella, and the others there, Tuvo Ausonius tore the papers, and even the envelope, to bits.
“I see I was too lenient with you, slave girl,” said Tuvo Ausonius. “No special provisions should have been made for you, for you are a true slave girl. Should anything happen to me now, you will be merely another of my properties, to be disposed of at the discretion of others, as what you are, merely a chattel. You will take your chances, like any other slave, in the open market.”
“Yes, Master,” she said. “Thank you, Master!”
He regarded her.
“But I want to be yours!” she said.
“I may sell you,” he said.
“No!” she cried. Then she hurried to him, and put her head to his feet. “Let me serve you that you will desire to keep me!” she said.
“I will have you serve me as few slaves have ever served a man,” he said, “now that I know, fully, what you are!”
“Yes, Master,” she said. “I want to serve as what I am, fully. I love you! I love you!”
He rose to his feet, and nodded to Julian and Otto.
“What of the same garb?” asked Julian.
“Burn it,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“It will be done,” said Julian.
“It is unbecoming to a slave girl,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“True,” said Julian.
Sesella looked down at the gray, formless heap of concealing, disguising materials thrown to the floor.
“Heel me,” said Tuvo Ausonius, “slave girl.”
“Yes, Master!” she said.
At the door to the room she looked back, once, at the same garb on the floor. She realized that she might never again be put in such garb. She was a slave girl and would now, presumably, be clad, if she were clad, accordingly.
“No!” said Tuvo Ausonius, suddenly, a little beyond the portal. “You will precede me.”
“As a free woman?” she asked.
“No,” said he, “as a female slave on whom I look at my pleasure.”
“I do not know the way,” she said.
“I shall direct you,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Move,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
She hurried on ahead then, clutching in her right hand a tiny bit of scarlet silk.
“It is late,” said Julian.
Gerune hurried to Julian, and knelt before him.
“What is it?” he asked.
“You have taught me that I am a slave,” she said. “I would serve you as such.”
“Is this the proud Gerune, the barbarian princess, the princess of the Ortungs and Drisriaks?” he asked.
“No, Master,” she said. “It is only Gerune, your slave, naked and in her collar, who begs to serve you.”
He looked at her for some time.
Tears were in her eyes.
“Hurry before me to my chambers,” he said. “Prepare them for love.”
“Yes, Master!” she cried, and leapt to her feet, hurrying from the room.
Julian rose to his feet.
“It is the turn of Renata, as I recall, from the roster in the kitchen, to clear, and to restore the room,” said Julian.
Otto looked up.
“Unless you wish otherwise,” said Julian.
Otto had made it clear earlier that Renata, his curvaceous blond slave from the summer world, was to participate in the duties of the house.
“No,” said Otto.
Flora looked up, startled.
“What of the guard?” asked Julian.
“What of this one?” asked Otto, indicating Flora.
“But it is Renata who is on the roster,” said Julian.
“Surely he should receive some compensation for his inconvenience, supervising her labors,” said Otto.
“Excellent,” said Julian.
The guard would presumably enjoy Renata on the tiles of the floor of the dining hall, and he might, also, if he wished, take her by the hair to the mat in his quarters. She should, however, be kenneled before dawn.
“I will want a good report on you before noon,” said Otto. “I do not wish to have to have to whip you.”
“It will not be necessary to whip me, Master,” she said.
“If the guard should show interest in you,” said Otto, “see to it that you are fully pleasing.”
“I will not be able to help myself, Master,” she said. “He is a man. I am a slave.”
“You may begin to clear,” said Julian.
“Yes, Master,” said Renata, attending to the table.
“I am going to my room,” said Otto.
“Master!” said Flora.
“I did not realize that it was Renata’s turn on the roster,” said Otto.
“It seems to have turned out that way,” said Julian.
“Master, please, Master!” said Flora.
“Treacherous, lying slut,” snarled Otto at the kneeling slave. “It is fortunate for you that Tuvo Ausonius recommended lenience. Otherwise you might have been thrown to the dogs.”
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
Otto then turned about and strode angrily from the room.
Julian gathered up the commission from the table.
He looked down at the slave who knelt there, her head in her hands.
“It is growing late,” he said. “It is appropriate then that you should either be in your cell or chained in your master’s room.”
“Master?” she asked.
“There is a slave rose in the kitchen,” he said. “It is fresh, and beautiful.”
CHAPTER 33
The dark-haired slave knelt before Otto, in the privacy of his chambers.
A lamp, suspended on three chains, burned to one side. Heavy tapestries were about, hunting and battle scenes, but they were muchly dark now, their thick, heavily woven textures hardly discernible. There were narrow bars on the window. Shadows were cast by the massive couch.
“How dare you have come here?” had inquired Otto, who had opened the door in response to the timid knock. There, kneeling in the threshold, had been the slave.
“Master Julian has sent me,” she said, frightened.
In her hands there was a silver tray, on which were a flask of wine, with a goblet, and some viands, and a flower.
“It is thoughtful of him to send me a light collation,” said Otto.
He gestured that the slave might enter.
She did so, and placed the tray on a table, near the couch.
She was dressed in a brief slave tunic, much like Renata and Gerune had worn earlier.
It seemed that Julian, who had much taken her garmenting and her quarters in hand, had decided that she would no longer wear the long, sleeveless garment of wool, that which had been for so long her garment in her cell.