Slaver of Gor - Chapter Seven

 

 

Five days later, Beth, my slave, came across me crying as I lay on the couch in my rooms. I had thrown the Arcessitus Propter to the tiled floor, where it lay open, the unfolded parchment document with its heavy wax seal visible between the two stiff cover bindings.

 

“Mistress?” Beth advanced into the room and watched as I sniffed back some fresh tears. I looked up, ashamed to have been found like this.

 

“Beth…” I hadn’t expected her back from her errands so soon. I rose from the couch and blew my nose, trying to appear calm again.

 

“What is it, Mistress?” She crossed the room to stand beside me. “What is wrong?”

 

“Oh, Beth…” I gazed at the Arcessitus Propter that lay where I had thrown it after reading. “I have been summoned.”

 

“Summoned, Mistress?” the girl didn’t understand, of course. She had no idea what an Arcessitus Propter was, and even if she did, she was illiterate and wouldn’t have recognised it. 

 

“I have been summoned to make an account of myself.” I pointed at the stiff covers. The girl could at least determine from the wax seal that it was an important document. “The law courts require me to attend.”

“For what purpose Mistress?” She knelt down beside me and waited for an instruction of some kind. 

 

“They… I am being accused… well,” I sniffed again, wiping my nose with my silken arm. “Not accused, as such, not yet, but… they say they have grounds to question me.”

 

“What grounds, Mistress? What questions? I do not understand.”

 

“That detestable court official, Antipedes, he seems to think there are grounds for believing I have been, in his words, ‘conducting myself in a manner inappropriate for a free woman’! He has issued an Arcessitus Propterthat requires me to present myself before an enquiry of my peers for further questioning!”

 

“What inappropriate conduct, Mistress?”

 

“There is nothing! He has nothing! He is just a suspicious little man who hates the idea of a free woman owning a silk slave!” I rose from my couch. “But he has the power to summon me to the Pudoris Concilio!”

 

The Pudoris Concilio – the ‘council of chastity’ - is a chamber of my peers within Argentum – basically a group of anonymous, and frightening, robed and masked free women – who have the legal power to investigate  and consider charges of impropriety amongst their own sex. They have the power to submit their findings and judgements upwards in the court structure to the personal secretary of the chief magistrate, Magnus Evander, himself. The head of the all-female Concilio is Lady Cressida – a fierce and unrelenting woman who delights in sniffing out lewd behaviour amongst her own sex. And now I was apparently in her sights.

 

“But if you have done nothing wrong, there is nothing to fear, Mistress,” said Beth as she touched my arm.

 

“It’s never that simple with free women,” I said. “There are factions and rivalries. Once a woman is summoned before the Concilio, word spreads and her enemies circle like carrion. Suddenly everyone has a story to tell about her, or a deep seated suspicion that has never been shared before. Suddenly the Lady in question is having to defend herself against defamatory comments relating to something that may have happened three years ago that she no longer even recalls. It is a nightmare.”

 

“But there is no evidence, Mistress? No evidence of anything?”

 

“Well,” I sniffed again. “The document claims there is.”

“Oh?” Beth gazed at me. “What exactly, Mistress?”

 

“Antipedes demanded to see my wrists.”

 

Beth said nothing.

 

“He claims to have seen bruising on my left wrist that he describes in his vile document as the sort of bruising found on a woman who has worn slave bracelets!”

 

Beth placed both her hands before her mouth in shock. “Mistress, did you?”

 

“Of course not!” I gazed at her angrily. “How dare you even ask!”

 

I saw Beth flinch and move back from where she knelt.   

 

“I could whip you for even suggesting that! How dare you doubt your mistress! How dare you!”

 

“I beg your forgiveness, Mistress! Please do not whip me!” Beth fell to the floor in obeisance, pressing her lips to my left slipper.

 

I was angry, but not angry enough to actually whip her. 

 

“It is all a mistake,” I said. “I must have bruised my wrist against the table earlier in the morning. It happens!”

 

“Of course, Mistress, of course,” said Beth as she raised her head. She realised now that she wasn’t going to be whipped. “Can they do anything to you? Issue fines?”

 

Fines… how little she understood of the nature of the Pudoris Concilio, of its power and influence within Argentum society. Yes, they certainly could recommend the issue of a punitive fine, but that wasn’t the worst of it. They could ultimately recommend enslavement of a female if they felt the charges warranted it.

 

Enslavement!

 

There were many reasons why a woman might be enslaved. She could run afoul of debts she couldn’t repay. She might be convicted of treason against her Home Stone. And then there was the far more, open to interpretation, charge of ‘conduct unbecoming a free woman’. Her own sex would ultimately be the judges of what that conduct might be. But in a sense it was acting in a consistently slave-like fashion, harbouring slave like fantasies, and so forth.   

 

It wouldn’t come to that, of course. They had no case! But even so, I was tense with anxiety. At the very least I would be questioned by the terrible masked women who sat on the council. No one knew who they were, except of course for the head of the council, the Lady Cressida. For all you knew, your enemies might be in amongst the masks. It was always a concern. 

 

There was a saying, spoken by those who supported the masked ladies, and whispered by the masked ladies themselves: Gloriam Pudoris Concilio – glory to the Council of Chastity.

 

I had known cases where a woman had fled her city, rather than submit to the interrogation of the Concilio. Of course, the Concilio considered that an admission of guilt. Such women then had a price on their heads. In time they were all brought back to their city, naked, and in chains, by bounty hunters. They were fair game once they were declared outlaw. And then there was not even the semblance of an enquiry. They were simply enslaved on the spot. 

 

I met the Lady Kelapina for lunch, later that day, and confessed to her what had been handed to me by a courier of the court.

 

“Amicia! This is very serious!” said Kelapina in dismay. 

 

“I know! I know!” I must have looked wretched. “But I am innocent of everything!” 

 

“Of course,” said Kelapina, though she hesitated for a moment and couldn’t look me in the eye.

 

“You believe me, don’t you, Kelapina?”

 

“Oh, Amicia, do you really need to ask?” She avoided my gaze and addressed herself instead to the menu. “What are you going to do?”

 

“What can I do? I have to attend the Concilio.”

 

“You can’t do that, those women are venomous osts! They will find out all your wicked secrets.” She looked round quickly to reassure herself that no one might have heard her speak ill of the masked ladies.

 

“I have no wicked secrets! Kelapina, I’m innocent!”

 

“Of course, but even so, there is no smoke without fire, or so they say.” She regarded me carefully. “Was there a valid reason why you wore slave bracelets? Were you perhaps trying them out, professionally, to understand their security?”

 

“Kelapina, I didn’t wear slave bracelets!”

 

She sniffed and put the menu down. “Amicia, I’m trying to help, but how can I help you if you keep things from me?”

 

“On the subject of helping, it would help if you stood up for me in front of the Concilio as a character witness?”

 

There was a soft yelp from Kelapina as she considered that. “A witness? Before the… Concilio?!” She suddenly looked like she had stepped on a venomous ost. “I’m not sure… I mean…. I really don’t think that would help… of course I would if I thought it might, but really, Amicia, I can’t see how I could help… not in front of the…” she swallowed, “Concilio…”

 

Free women rarely stand up for a friend who is summoned, for fear of attracting the attention, herself, of these terrifying masked ladies. 

 

“Besides,” she laughed softly, “how do you know I’m not one of the ladies of the Concilio?!” 

 

It was always possible, of course. They could be anyone. 

 

“If you were, Kelapina, you’d help me, yes?” I pleaded. 

 

“But of course, though sadly I am not.”

 

“That is what an anonymous lady of the Concilio would say, of course,” I suggested.

 

“Indeed. Shall we order? The river crab looks particularly fresh today.” 

 

I could tell that Kelapina feared the influence of the terrifying ladies of the Pudoris Concilio as much as I did. Perhaps it was unfair of me to resent her lack of official support, for if our positions were switched maybe I too would be reluctant to make a stand on behalf of a woman suspected of lewd conduct. It is said that the Pudoris Concilio will investigate any woman who testifies on behalf of a woman accused of being a natural slave.

 

Not that I was a natural slave, nor was there (yet!) any suggestion that I might be accused of such a thing. It was a preliminary hearing, in theory informal in nature, but nothing with the Concillo is every truly informal. They would seek to twist every word I spoke, while all the time pretending to want to clear my name.  

 

My hand probably trembled a little as we ate together. If Kelapina noticed, she was polite enough not to refer to it. 

 

Later that day, as we had previously arranged, we assembled on the grand boulevard with many of the other ladies of the city to see our brave soldiers march out of the city. The time had come for Argentum to deploy a significant armed response. They were to march south-east of the city towards the position of the Corcyrian expeditionary force. Our soldiers would be screened by tarnsmen as they advanced. It was the duty of the good ladies of the city to assemble either side of the boulevard with wicker baskets full of flower petals to cast over the heads and feet of our men as they marched to confront the enemy. We were expected to cheer and blow (veiled) kisses towards our menfolk, urging them on to bravery and ultimate victory, though no one really thought combat was likely. As soon as Corcyrus had word that their bluff had been called, they would retreat back over their pontoon bridges and fast march back to their city.

 

Their incursion across the Issus river was simply provocation to test our mettle and resolve. Well, now they would see how angry we were. The Corcyrian upstarts would learn that Argentum does not stand idly by in the face of aggression. 

 

The boulevard leading out to the main gates of the city was lined on either side by cheering ladies in their prettiest gowns and robes by the time we arrived from the café. They threw handfuls of flower petals high in the air over the heads of the marching men, wishing them martial success, and promising them a warm welcome on their return.

 

“There will be kisses a-plenty for you when you come back with your shield,” cried one eager lady as she waved at a man she presumably knew, marching in the ranks. I cheered too, though I had no man in particular to offer kisses to. Such a thing is generally permitted at times like this, even though, strictly speaking, it is a little suggestive for a woman to shout such things. War changes our perspective and the encouragement of women always helps men stand bravely in their shield walls, because they know they are fighting for something very precious to them.

 

We were sending three cohorts of Argentum infantry, each cohort being a standard size of 480 soldiers. They would be met, ten pasangs beyond the city walls, by two contracted free companies of mercenaries commanded by none other than Blucher of Tarnburg! Argentum had contracted with Blucher to bolster our own professional forces when we confronted Corcyrus. Each free company would consist of a similar number of soldiers as one of our cohorts. The advantage would then be ours as we would be facing a Corcyrian spearhead of just one regular cohort and two free companies.

 

Fifty or so tarns with riders circled overhead, screeching down to the roar of our cheers. Our tarnsmen are among the best on mainland Gor, and they would screen our advance and scout for the enemy. Traditionally all conflicts begin with a light skirmish of opposing tarn cavalries. One side invariably drives the other away, claiming air superiority. Very often the side that loses the air engagement chooses to withdraw its ground troops rather than leave them in a compromising position. Battles can sometimes be avoided by a swift application of tarnsmen to secure the air, discouraging the enemy from closing any further. Professional infantry are trained of course to resist tarn attacks, and they do this by forming tactical squares with long pikes projecting out on all sides and facing the sky. Tarns can be reluctant to dive headlong into pike squares, but they can easily harass an infantry formation once it’s engaged in combat with enemy units. It is difficult to fight an enemy shield wall when your rear is being attacked from the air. 

 

Our infantry cohorts generally consisted of 320 heavy infantry armed with pikes and shields, and 160 lighter infantry armed with javelins. A cohort of pikes screens itself with its skirmishers, and when the shield walls clash, it is the job of the skirmishers to outflank the enemy line on either side, meet the opposing skirmishers and try to fight through them to perhaps strike at the enemy rear. All the while the heavy shields and pikes lock in position and push forward against their enemy. 

 

“They are so handsome,” said Lady Kelapina as she cheered our brave men.

 

“They are,” I said. I was caught up in the giddy excitement and the fervour of the adoring crowd. For once we ladies didn’t have to hold back. We cried out our encouragement, promising tender touches and chaste kisses on our men’s return. Even I found myself calling out to a unit of pikemen:

 

“Fight for us! Fight for your women! Do not leave us to the mercy of the Corcyrians!”

 

“I think I will allow some of them to kiss me on their return,” said an excited Kelapina.

 

“I too,” I said, “but while I am veiled, of course.”

 

“Of course,” agreed Kelapina. 

 

I saw some ladies reach out to passing men as they marched, offering tokens of brightly coloured silk that the men eagerly accepted, tucking them into their tunics. These tokens meant the gratitude of a Lady accompanied a man into battle. A man can be comforted during a long and dangerous campaign by the presence of a piece of softly perfumed silk inside his tunic. At night he might draw it forth, smell the pretty scent and be reminded what he is risking his life for. If fear ever grips his heart, he touches the silk, and imagines what might happen to the lady whose favour he carries, if he failed her. 

 

Ladies mark their silks with their personal signature perfumes, knowing that the man will smell the scent every night as he sits around his campfire. When he returns, he will seek out the lady who wears that scent, and it is said, many men can identify the woman easily, even in a crowd of similar veils and gowns. 

 

I suddenly found myself hurrying forward towards a particularly handsome officer and offering him a length of perfumed silk that I had brought along for the occasion.

 

“Please,” I cried, “I am the Lady Amicia Katares. Take my favour with you! I beg you!”

 

The officer grinned and, seeing my pretty eyes above my veil, nodded, taking the offering and displaying it on his uniform for all to see. He was now ‘claimed’ by a lady’s favour and could not be presented with gifts of perfumed silk from other ladies. He reached out and took my hand for a moment, and then, to my surprise, he lightly kissed my lips through my veil.

 

“I am Cato Triarius,” he said, “Captain in the twelfth, and I shall treasure your token in the long days ahead.”

 

I had let him kiss me through my veil! It was acceptable today, for many of our brave men might not return. 

 

“May I call on you, when I return, victorious?” he asked.

 

I should have said no, but I simply blushed and nodded my head. “Come back with your shield or upon it, brave warrior. And collect your reward in soft, chaste, kisses.” I offered him my wrist and he kissed the soft glove there.

 

Now he was eager to fight. Now he was eager to seize victory from Corcyrus! He saluted me and said something that was lost to the sound of thousands of ladies cheering, as he walked back towards his marching men.

 

I had done my duty to my city as a free woman. 

 

Only when I had emptied my wicker basket of flower petals did I draw back from the crowds. Three cohorts! They were the fifth, the ninth and the glorious twelfth, marching south-east to face the Corcyrian rabble.

 

“I feel proud today,” said Kelapina as she joined me away from the crowd of ladies who still had petals to throw. “I presented a silk favour to the Ninth,” she declared.

 

“And I, the Twelfth. The glorious Twelfth! None of those men will surrender. None of those men will retreat.”

 

“Glory to Argentum!” cried the Lady Kelapina.

 

“Glory to Argentum!” I replied. 

 

My joyful mood lasted for perhaps ten ehn after I bid the Lady Kelapina goodbye. I walked home through the festive mood of the city, as the sun was setting, past street vendors offering hot snacks and floral bouquets for ladies to hang outside their homes in honour of a man they knew who had marched to war. 

 

All the free women in the city were thinking now of the martial glory and ultimate victory of Argentum, but I of course had other things on my mind, and I was reminded of them as I saw two kajirae hurrying back home to their kennel pens. 

 

That was the ultimate sanction I now faced. Slavery. I told myself it could never possibly come to that, but how many women have told themselves much the same thing before they stood condemned by a magistrate? 

 

I gazed at the kajirae in their short slave tunics, so tight about their bodies, so revealing. I saw the swell of their breasts in the thin fabric and the flash of their thighs and hips where the skirt fabric was deliberately cut. They wore steel collars that they could never remove, and their left thighs had been branded with the kef. 

 

It was unthinkable that I could possibly share that fate. I was Amicia Katares! I sat on the high council of my caste! This was all a horrible mistake! And yet… and yet, I had been summoned to appear before the terrifying masked ladies of the Pudoris Concilio. How could I be certain of any favourable outcome in the hands of such uncompromising women? The motto inscribed above their high seats in the judgement chamber read, ‘castitas, puritas, oboedientiae’ – chastity, purity, obedience. 

 

Each masked Lady carried a coiled whip at her waist.

 

No one knew who they were. 

 

Every free woman feared them. 

 

I gazed at the slave girls again, and found myself crying fresh tears as I hurried back home.