“There is a coordinator of batteries,” said Iaachus, “and two captains, one in charge of each battery. The coordinator’s and the captain’s names will be, I am sure, familiar to at least our friend, Captain Ottonius. The coordinator’s name is ‘Phidias’. The two captains are named ‘Lysis’ and ‘Corelius’.”
“Yes,” said Otto. “The names are familiar.”
44
Cornhair, standing, alone, frightened, in the deserted street, Palace Street, several hundred yards from the palace, did not know which way to turn. She stood, uncertain, on the paving.
By the time she had been ordered to leave the palace, the many vehicles which had crowded the courtyard had withdrawn, doubtless to rendezvous with the waiting ships, outside the walls, in the large, much-avoided area of the noisome pits.
She had fled through the great portal, now unguarded, and had made her way down the several broad steps, more than fifty, to the level of the courtyard, then deserted.
Several fountains still sprayed their cascading rainbows of perfumed water. In the general silence one could hear the soft falling of water into water.
Then her small, lonely figure, had sped away, down Palace Street.
Now, out of breath, she stood in the street, far from doors on each side. Who knew what might issue forth from a door?
She pulled at the thongs which held her wrists behind her back. She was helpless. It is not even easy to run when so bound.
But she was alive!
But she wore no collar.
This made her decidedly uneasy.
Slaves are to be in collars. Free persons are clear on that. An uncollared slave could be in considerable jeopardy. Who is it who owns her? It is much safer for a slave to be in her collar. Too, of course, there is much security in the collar. It makes her status perfectly clear and it identifies her Master. Slaves know they must belong and the collar makes it clear they do belong, and to whom they belong. It says, in effect, this is not a stray. It tells us she has a home, that there is a pan from which she eats, a ring to which she is chained, a Master at whose feet she will warmly and happily curl.
To be in her Master’s collar is reassuring to a slave.
It makes clear the nature of the proprietorship to which she is subject, that she is her Master’s property.
Let free women scorn the slave, despise her, and beat her, but they do not know the joys of the slave, who lives to be owned and to submit to her Master. They do not know the wholeness of a submitted femininity, the rewards accruing to the female who is her Master’s slave. She rejoices, knowing that she is owned, wholly, as a dog or shoe is owned; that she must obey and will be punished if she is not pleasing. She has a perfect identity, sanctioned by culture and grounded in nature.
In the collar, choiceless, owned, serving, she finds her fulfillment.
No woman can be truly happy who is not collared.
But, as we recall, Cornhair was not collared.
To be sure, she, barefoot, lovely, marked, half naked, her hands tied behind her, was in no danger of being mistaken for a free woman. Iaachus had assured her of that.
She started, hearing the creak of a hinge, on a door, to her left.
“Have they gone?” inquired a free man, through a crack in the doorway.
Addressed, she went to her knees. “Yes, Master,” she said. “I think so, Master.”
He emerged a yard or so into the street, and looked to the left and right. He then withdrew into the domicile. Cornhair had glimpsed a woman behind him, and a child. The door was narrow, and stout. There were no windows on the street level, but there were windows on the second level, the third, and fourth level. One was unshuttered, as she knelt.
She sensed a door opening some yards away, on her right. There would probably be others, shortly.
She sensed no one was now concerned with her. She leapt up, and hurried farther along Palace Street. As suggested earlier, she had no destination in mind, other than, perhaps, to put the palace, and its terrors, far behind her. She did not know what to do. Certainly she would not wish to return to the outlet of the House of Worlds, on Varl Street, as she had been sold from that house, and might be returned to the very Master who had planned to dispose of her in a particularly hideous and efficient manner. Indeed, it would have been as though she had never been. His two agents, of course, were dead, one killed by his companion and the other, the murderer, incinerated in his attempt to reach the city.
“Who owns me, or owned me,” she wondered. Surely not even a madman would buy a slave simply to dispose of her. And the agents had been paid in gold, which betokens someone of affluence. Who would profit from her disappearance? She had mostly feared Iaachus, of course. He knew much, he had resources. The knowledge she bore, she had feared, if injudiciously broadcast, might put his role, his power, even his person, at risk. Yet now, from her experience in the palace, she no longer feared Iaachus. He had dismissed her. She was no longer important. Too, Julian, of the Aureliani, and his mighty friend, the barbarian, were clearly aware of his schemes, but, apparently, intended no prosecution or vengeance for several reasons, not simply for lack of evidence, and for recognition that his work would be likely to have been approved at higher levels, but, most significantly, because of their desire to recruit the Arbiter and what influence he might retain in some common cause. This left the three who had been given the charge of abetting the projected assassination, those who had brought her, on the freighter, Narcona, to Venitzia on Tangara, who had placed her in the remote camp in the wilderness near the Otung forest, who had supplied the poisoned dagger, those who had abandoned her, those who had doubtless given assurances to the Arbiter that the barbarian, Captain Ottonius, was no more, thus precluding the success of the plan of Julian, scion of the Aureliani, to recruit barbarians, and perhaps personal liegemen, in the imperial forces. These would be Phidias, who had been captain of the Narcona, and two of his officers, Lysis and Corelius. Surely these would have much to fear from Iaachus and his power, if he learned of their presumed incompetence, and, surely, of their duplicity. Indeed, she had learned in the palace that these three had been rewarded for a service they had failed to perform, and one whose failure they had concealed. It would be, then, she was sure, that one or more of these three had discovered her in Telnar and arranged for her disposal. Too, it seemed that these three, either for gold, or for fear of exposure, had betrayed their posts, permitting the safe landing of the six Lion Ships of Abrogastes. She did not know for certain, of course, of the present whereabouts of these three. As their lives would be forfeit in Telnar following their treachery, it seemed likely that they would have withdrawn from Telnaria with Abrogastes in the Lion Ships. This supposition, as it turned out, though she could not have been sure of it at the time, was correct. One may despise traitors; one may deny them trust; but one is well advised to reward them well and see to their security and welfare. Else it may prove difficult to recruit others in the future.
Cornhair was reasonably sure that no one in Telnar bore her ill will, at least to the extent of seeing fit to cast her into one of the vast refuse pits outside the city. One who is dissatisfied with a slave commonly beats her and sells her. After all, she is a commodity and, like any other domestic animal, has some value, however negligible. Iaachus had had her in his power, and released her. And Phidias, Lysis, and Corelius were presumably no longer in Telnar, or even on Telnaria.
She was now making her way, uncertainly, confused, anxiously, bound, down Palace Street, presumably because she had no idea what else to do. She was very much afraid she would be stopped. Frighteningly, there was no collar. Too, if the name of her Master was demanded, what could she do, or say? She did not know who had bought her. And who would believe that? Presumably it had been one or more of three traitors who had facilitated the raid of Abrogastes, but she could not know that for certain.