Do we not admire the unslippable shackles on our trim ankles, fastening them in such proximity to one another, so inhibiting our movements? They have been put on us at the pleasure of the master. Are we blindfolded? Are we forbidden to speak? Are we gagged? Are our wrists tied behind our backs? Must we kneel naked before him? We are his. Let those who can understand these things understand how it is that a slave can love her bondage, and that she would never exchange it for the jejune inanities and boredoms of freedom-how it is that she can lie contentedly, happily, at the foot of a man’s couch, chained to his slave ring. Some, I suppose, will find this incomprehensible. There is nothing for it then, but to allow them to continue in their ignorance. But the woman at last has a place here, a condition, a station. She is now a slave. She now at last “belongs,” and in the most profound sense of belonging, that of belonging to someone. She now “belongs” in the most profound sense conceivable, that of being owned. She realizes, with a radiant warmth that floods her, that illuminates her mind and enflames her belly, that she is now goods, a property, her master’s slave. Men have found her of such interest and attractiveness, and they have wanted her so much, and so lusted for her, that they have enslaved her, that they have put her in a collar and made her theirs, that they have seen fit, in their imperious, dominating mastery to own her, and put her to their service and pleasure.
I do not know what had awakened me.
Lamps were lit in the quarters of the pit master, serving now as the command center, or headquarters, of the strangers. I could see black-tunicked figures lying about. I could hear the breathing of sleeping men. I think that only I and Gito were awake. He was sitting with his back against the wall, his knees up, he holding the. I could not see the guards at the portal.
I was about to close my eyes and try to return to sleep when I saw the body of Gito, across the way, stiffen. His eyes were wide with terror.
Within the portal, some feet within it, I saw, following his gaze, the immense figure of the peasant, barefoot, in his rags. On his neck was the collar, and a chain dangled from it. The sword which had been kicked to him by the officer was in a rag sling, suspended over his left shoulder. He looked about. I closed my eyes quickly, feigning sleep. When I opened them again I saw that he was before Gito, who was trembling in terror, making himself tiny by the wall.
I am dreaming, I thought.
The peasant sat down, cross-legged, before Gito.
“I must leave soon, my friend,” he said softly.
Gito nodded numbly.
“The planting must be done,” the peasant reminded him.
Gito nodded.
“I may not see you again,” said the peasant. “It is my desire to wish you well.”
Gito trembled.
“I wish you well,” said the peasant.
“I wish you well,” whispered Gito.
The peasant smiled, and put his great hands affectionately on Gito’s small shoulders. He then rose, turned about, and, soundlessly, left.
Yes, I must be dreaming, I thought.
But, a moment after the peasant had vanished, I would surely in any event have been awakened, for Gito leaped to his feet screaming. “Awake! Awake! He was here! He was here!”
In the room there was consternation instantly. “What? Where?” cried the leader of the strangers. “There! There!” cried Gito, pointing to the portal. “Where is the guard?” cried the leader of the strangers.
“You were dreaming,” said a man to Gito.
“No, no!” cried Gito.
“The guards are not at their posts,” said the lieutenant.
“To arms!” cried the leader of the strangers. “Out into the hall! Run! Search!”
“The lamps in the hall are out,” said a man, drawing back into the room.
“Torches, light lanterns, hurry!” cried the leader of the strangers.
The pit master sat up in his blankets, rubbing his eyes. The officer of Treve, too, bestirred himself.
Gito was jabbering incoherently.
“Bring some slaves!” screamed the leader of the strangers. Five or six of us, including Fina and myself, were quickly freed of our chains and pulled by the hair to our feet, and were thrust toward the portal. We were to be used, I gathered, as shields, or as tests, thrust before the men, of the passages, their possible dangers.
In a moment we were thrust out in the corridor, men, most with drawn swords, some with armed bows, behind us. Lanterns and torches cast light about.
“This way!” cried the leader of the strangers, pushing Fina forward.
36
Fina screamed, drawing back.
It was something like half an Ahn that we had been hurrying through one adjacent passage after another.
I think only the pit master’s skill kept us from becoming lost in what seemed sometimes, in our alarm and haste, an eerie, dreadful, unfathomable subterranean labyrinth.
The leader of the strangers had hoped to follow the dark passages, the extinguished lamps indicating the path taken by the prisoner but, at a joining of several passages, it was seen that the lamps of each were still lit, dimly flickering into the distance, thus giving no indication which, if any, might have been trod.
The pit master pressed forward. He had been almost at the elbow of Fina. She was shaking.
“Lift the torch,” said the pit master.
The pit master turned over the body in the corridor.
“It is Emmerich,” said a man.
There were coarse marks on the throat. The cartilage of the throat had been crushed.
“He was strangled with chain,” said the lieutenant.
There was little doubt as to what had left its savage imprint there.
“He has been dead several Ahn,” said the officer of Treve. He was of the scarlet caste.
The men looked about themselves, uneasily.
“Where can he have gone?” asked a man.
“He is here, somewhere,” said another.
“He must be weak,” said a man. “He has had nothing to eat.”
“When was he fed last?” asked the leader of the strangers.
“He was fed yesterday evening,” said the pit master.
“By now his reflexes will be slowed, his actions will be erratic, he must grow weaker soon, if he is not already considerably weakened,” mused the leader of the strangers.
“If he has not eaten in the meantime,” said the pit master.
“What is there to eat?” asked the leader of the strangers.
The pit master tore back a part of the black tunic.
“Aargh,” cried a man, in disgust.
“Peasants are beasts,” said a man.
There was no dearth of water in the pits, of course, particularly in the lower corridors.
“We will return to the chamber,” said the leader of the strangers.
“Where was the guard?” asked the lieutenant.
“Consider sleen, Captain,” urged a man.
Gito pressed closely to the leader of the strangers, looking fearfully about himself. The leader of the strangers angrily brushed him back. Gito retreated, but he remained so close that he might have reached out and seized his sleeve.
In a few minutes we had returned to their headquarters. Within we found two of the black-tunicked men, lying to one side. “Knaves!” cried the lieutenant. “They have slept through the alarm!”
“Kill them,” said the leader of the black-tunicked men.
“That will not be necessary,” said the officer of Treve. “Their throats have been cut.”
“They are the guard,” said the lieutenant.
They had not been noticed at the beginning of the alarm, being taken from men asleep. They had not been noticed in our haste to rush into the corridor, in our pursuit of the prisoner. He must have drawn them earlier within the chamber, and put them like that, to one side, as though they slept. If one were to awaken, and see them thusly, lying there, with others about them, men clearly asleep, breathing deeply, one might not suspect anything was amiss.
“He was truly here,” said a man.
More than one of them, I am sure, suspected that the alarm had been a false one, occasioned by the trepidation of Gito, awakening from some terrible dream.
“How is it that he can come and go as he pleases?” asked a man.