“Yes, Master! Yes, Master!” said Cornhair.
“You are not to rise to your feet,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair.
“Begin,” he said.
A few minutes later, the officer said, “Stop,” and Cornhair lay on the carpet before the dais, on her belly, gasping for breath, drenched with sweat. She realized, half failing to understand it, that the leather had not touched her once. She also tried to grasp what had occurred, and what might be its import. She knew she had never felt more female than she had before these men, unclothed, and collared, writhing, begging, rolling, kneeling, extending limbs for scrutiny, casting glances, engaging in the display behaviors of the female slave. How thrilled she was to be so free, to exhibit herself as the purchasable object she was. How devastatingly was she then aware of her sex, and its fundamental, radical difference from that of the male. How could it not be so, as she was naked and collared, vulnerable and helpless, commanded, under the will of Masters. She was not exploited. She was owned, and must obey. Never before had she been so aware of her sex, its nature, and its meaning. She was satisfied with herself, and lay there gasping, and sweating, joyful to be a woman and a slave, rejoicing that she wore a man’s collar.
It was so much what she wanted, and it was on her neck, and, owned, she could not remove it.
“You have been trained,” said the officer.
“No,” said Cornhair, gasping, “no, Master.”
“You belong in a collar,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” whispered Cornhair, “I belong in a collar.”
The officer turned to a subordinate. “Take her away,” he said, “and see that she is cleaned, rested, and fed. Then, tonight, at the tenth hour, bring her to my chambers. There, on her knees, this woman, naked and collared, once of the Larial Calasalii, will serve me kana.”
Several men laughed.
“And then,” said a man, “have a pleasant time with her, Rurik.”
“I will,” said the officer.
So Cornhair lay curled at the feet of her Master, Rurik, in the Farnichi enclave, overlooking the Turning Serpent, somewhat northeast of Telnar. A silver chain, as we recall, ran from the ring on her silver overcollar to the ring set in the floor to the left of his thronelike chair, in which he received visitors. Beneath the overcollar she wore a simple close-fitting collar bearing the Farnichi emblem, the five petaled Pin Flower, native to Larial VII. She was not clothed, quite possibly for reasons we earlier suggested.
“We await guests,” had said Rurik.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“I am curious as to their business,” he said. “It is interesting. They come incognito.”
“Master may have me removed,” she said, “or he may unchain me, and I shall hurry to my cage, and crawl within.”
“You will remain,” he had said. “I enjoy displaying you, a pretty slave, once a woman of the Calasalii.”
At that point a staff, presumably that of the constable, or some other official, smote thrice, in a measured fashion, on the outside of the large, double door leading into the audience chamber.
“Enter,” called Rurik.
The two doors swung open, and three men approached, in nondescript garb; the first was blond, handsome, and well-formed, whose bearing, despite his garmenture, suggested that of the military; the second was a very large man, with bold, coarse features which suggested barbarian blood; the third was the slightest of the three and seemed more suited to accounts and records than traversing the possibly dangerous precincts of a Farnichi enclave in the vicinity of Telnar.
“We are gown-and-jewel merchants from Tinos,” announced the young man with military bearing.
Behind them, at the end of the long carpet, the double doors closed.
“Scarcely,” said Rurik.
“Sir?” said the young man.
“We are alone,” said Rurik. “You may speak openly.”
“I gather we are expected,” said the young man. “Our credentials have been transmitted?”
“Yes,” said Rurik, “but not the purport of your call.”
“I am Julian, of the Aureliani,” said the young man, “cousin to the emperor, now embarked on imperial business of the greatest moment.” He then indicated the large form to his right. “This,” he said, “is Ottonius, captain in the imperial auxiliaries, and this,” and here he indicated the third of the visitors, “is Tuvo Ausonius, formerly of the imperial civil service.”
“I am Rurik,” said the host, “Tenth Consul of Larial VII, Rurik, of the Larial Farnichi.”
“Forgive me, sir,” said Julian, “but I find it strange that the Tenth Consul of Larial VII should be on Telnaria.”
“And perhaps also,” said Rurik, “that a foreign enclave this redoubtable should be located so close to the imperial palace and senate?”
“Doubtless there is a purpose,” said Julian.
“There is,” said Rurik, “but I suspect that it is only now that the purpose will become clear.”
In the exchange of introductions, Cornhair, a slave, was no more to be introduced than a dog lying at his Master’s feet.
Needless to say, Cornhair was much disturbed to see Otto and Julian, whom she had not seen since the palace, and Tuvo Ausonius, whom she had not seen since the trouble in Orik’s camp, on the shore of the Turning Serpent. She kept her head down, and lay very still, hoping not to be noticed. To be sure, the beautiful curves of a chained slave are not likely to escape notice.
“We have been referred to you,” said Julian, “by a high personage, close to the throne.”
“Iaachus, Arbiter of Protocol,” said Rurik.
“Possibly,” said Julian.
“It is interesting,” said Rurik. “One would suppose that an arbiter of protocol would be a minor officiant, little more than an authority on the etiquette of receiving and announcing visitors, a determiner of seating arrangements at state banquets, and such.”
“The title of an office and its power are not always congruent,” said Julian. “Sometimes an office or role is instituted which, over time, in the hands of the bold and ambitious, arrogates to itself functions and powers never envisaged by its founders, indeed, functions and powers which would be likely to have dismayed its founders.”
“Let us suppose your principal is Iaachus, the Arbiter of Protocol,” said Rurik.
“There seems no harm in the supposition,” said Julian.
“Proceed,” said Rurik.
“You are aware, of course,” said Julian, “that a raid, brief and fierce, took place recently in Telnar.”
“Batteries failed,” said Rurik.
“By intent,” said Julian.
“The point of the raid was to assassinate the emperor?” said Rurik.
“Better for the enemies of the empire that the emperor should thrive,” said Julian, “given his weakness and simplicity, his gibbering inanity.”
“The emperor is well?” asked Rurik.
“Yes,” said Julian.
“What, then, could be the point of the raid?” asked Rurik. “Merely an endeavor to inform the empire of its vulnerability?”
“Bold dynastic pretensions,” said Julian. “The princesses, Viviana and Alacida, have been abducted, to be wedded to the sons of Abrogastes, king of the Drisriaks, high tribe of the Aatii.”
“Surely this is not known,” said Rurik, leaning forward.
“It is not generally known,” said Julian.
“Surely such a matter cannot be long concealed,” said Rurik.
“We fear not,” said Julian.
“I begin to suspect the point of your presence here,” said Rurik, leaning back.
“As I understand it,” said Julian, “Larial VII and certain worlds were ravaged by internal strife, the clash of large, well-equipped, private armies.”
“Those of the Larial Calasalii and the Larial Farnichi,” said Rurik.
“Strife appears to have been costly, and indecisive,” said Julian.
“Worlds were in flames,” said Rurik. “It was madness.”
“Truce would seem to have been in order,” said Julian, “some sensible demarcation of territories, some rational division of authority, some acceptable allotment of spoils.”