She had not seen Nika since Tangara, when Nika, accompanied by Julian of the Aureliani and his colleague, Tuvo Ausonius, had been forced to identify her as her former Mistress. Where was Nika now? Cornhair had no idea. Slaves are commodities, and can be traded about, sold and so on, as other commodities. Doubtless Nika was still in a collar. Men kept beauties like Nika in collars. They wanted them that way. She also suspected that Nika wanted to be in a collar, though, she supposed, she would have preferred to pick the man whose collar she wore. But, of course, the slave is in no position to do that.
Cornhair was aware of a purple-hemmed robe before her, and small, golden slippers.
“You changed your position on the street,” said the woman, “doubtless to evade the guardsmen. Why?”
“Oh, no, Mistress!” said Cornhair. “I search for an address.”
“What address?” said the woman.
“Forgive me, Mistress,” whispered Cornhair.
“I thought so,” she said.
“May I proceed, Mistress?” asked Cornhair.
“Ah! I see!” said the woman. “Your collar! Where is it?”
“It was taken, Mistress,” said Cornhair. “The barbarians!”
“They took it, and not you?” she asked.
“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.
“Liar!” she said. “It is the same with all you sluts. The less clothing you wear the more you lie!”
“Forgive me, Mistress,” said Cornhair. Actually, of course, the penalties for lying in a slave are grievous, whereas in a free woman they are nonexistent or negligible. Cornhair, sensing herself in severe straits, dared not speak the truth.
“Why are you tied?” asked the woman.
“Masters were pleased to have it so,” she said.
“Who is your Master?” asked the woman.
“Forgive me,” said Cornhair. “I do not know, Mistress.”
“Absurd,” said the woman. “Have you had a fall? Are you drugged? Are you a runaway?”
“I am bound, Mistress,” said Cornhair, weakly.
“Speak up,” she said, “who is your Master?”
“I do not know, Mistress,” said Cornhair.
“I see you are a slave,” she said. “Need I examine your thigh?”
“No, Mistress,” said Cornhair. “I am a slave.”
“But you are uncollared.”
“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.
“That is a serious matter,” said the woman. “I shall summon a guardsman.”
“No, please, do not, Mistress!” begged Cornhair.
“You are at my mercy, wholly,” said the woman.
“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair, in misery.
“Your Master!” demanded the woman.
“I think, Mistress,” said Cornhair, “I was purchased by an unknown traitor, who fled with the barbarians.”
“That is a rich story,” she said.
“I think it is true, Mistress,” said Cornhair.
“I pronounce you a loose, unclaimed slave,” said the woman.
“Mistress?” said Cornhair.
“I claim you,” she said.
“Mistress?” said Cornhair.
“Get your head up, slave,” she snapped, “and look at me!”
Cornhair raised her head.
“I thought so!” said the woman. “Excellent!”
“Mistress?” said Cornhair, bewildered.
“You are claimed, and owned,” she said. “Like a loose dog.”
Cornhair looked about, wildly, from her knees.
“You do not recognize me, do you?” asked the woman.
“No, Mistress,” said Cornhair.
“What have your Masters called you, worthless slut?” she asked.
“‘Cornhair’,” said Cornhair.
“Excellent,” said the woman, “an excellent slave name for you, a name based on a physical characteristic, as in many animals. I like it much better than ‘Publennia’.”
Cornhair groaned.
“Yes,” she said, “I knew you well, though from afar, when you were so proud, so superior and beautiful in your gowns and jewels, sparkling at the races and gambling tables, witty in the galleries and salons, esteemed at banquets, applauded in the streets, beleaguered by suitors, celebrated by sycophants, the jewel of the society of a dozen worlds, until the crash of your fortunes, the Larial Calasalii’s loss of patience with your profligacy, and now you have come to this, a trembling, marked, tunicked slave kneeling on the pavement in Telnar.”
“Be merciful, Mistress,” said Cornhair.
“You still do not know me, do you?” said the woman.
“No, Mistress,”’ said Cornhair.
“Even in the days of your triumphs and glory,” said the woman, “I saw through the finery and show to the worthless slut beneath, who deserved no better than a collar, and a minute or two on a cheap slave block.”
“Forgive me, Mistress,” said Cornhair. “I do not remember you.”
“I remember you well enough,” she said. “You declined my overtures of friendship. Though I extended you invitations you would not respond in kind. I might not attend your salons, nor would you attend mine. You mocked my state, you would not greet me, you ignored me in public. I, though of the honestori, was too small for you, of the noble patricians, even of the senatorial class! What pleasure you must have taken in humiliating me! How pleased I was at the reversal of your fortunes, and now, what a triumph, to have you on your knees before me, a meaningless slave.”
“Please, Mistress,” said Cornhair. “Be kind!”
“To a slave?” she laughed.
Cornhair moaned.
“I now own you, slave,” she cried.
Some men, and two women, had gathered about.
“Behold my slave!” said the woman to the small crowd. She then returned her attention to Cornhair. “Bend down, slave,” she snapped, “head to the pavement, and cover my slippers with kisses.”
Cornhair, miserable, terrified, bent down, and, again and again, desperately, pressed her lips, kissing, to the golden slippers of the Lady Gia Alexia.
“Whose property are you?” demanded the Lady Gia Alexia.
“I do not know,” wept Cornhair. “I do not remember you.”
“Stupid slave!” said the woman.
“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.
“I am the Lady Gia Alexia, of the Darsai, of Telnar!” said the woman.
“Oh, yes, yes!” cried Cornhair, in misery.
“You remember?”
“Yes, Mistress,” wept Cornhair.
“There were doubtless many such as I,” said Lady Gia Alexia.
“Forgive me, Mistress,” said Cornhair.
“So, speak!” demanded the Lady Gia Alexia. “Whose property are you?”
“I am the property of the Lady Gia Alexia, of the Darsai!” wept Cornhair, her lips barely lifted from the slippers of her Mistress.
“Of Telnar!” demanded the woman.
“Of Telnar!” said Cornhair.
“Minister again, to my slippers,” said the woman.
“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.
“She is not collared,” observed one of the men.
“On the way home,” said the Lady Gia Alexia, “I will purchase a collar, and a whip.”
The small crowd then dissipated.
“On your feet, slave,” said the Lady Gia Alexia.
Cornhair struggled to her feet.
“Get your head up,” said the Lady Gia Alexia.
“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.
“Good,” said the Lady Gia Alexia.
“What are you going to do with me?” begged Cornhair.
“Treat you as the slave you are,” said the woman. “And then I shall sell you and make some coin on you. In this way, you will be good for something, perhaps for the first time in your life, if not much.”
“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.
“We will now go to my domicile,” said the Lady Gia Alexia.
“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.
“But, first,” she said, “we will stop by a shop I know, and buy a collar and a whip.”
“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.
“That way, move,” said the Lady Gia Alexia, gesturing.
“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.
45
“So,” said Iaachus, “it is the Day of a Thousand Martyrs.”
“It seems Sidonicus, the noble Exarch of Telnar, will have it so,” said Julian.