Slaver of Gor - Chapter Twelve

 

 

“It is acceptable for a woman to be feminine, Mistress,” said Beth as she carefully brushed my hair that evening. She first brushed one side and then the other, with measured even strokes. She was referring of course to the incident with Julian. She knew why I had ordered him chained beneath the wagon before the sun had barely set. Kajirae know everything, it seems.  

 

She was right, of course. It is not just acceptable for a woman to be feminine, but it is expected of her. Men do not permit us to live any other way.

 

“His kiss was unacceptable,” I said. Somehow I could still taste it as a tangible memory on my lips. 

 

“It is natural for a woman to wish to be kissed, Mistress.”

 

“There are kisses and there are kisses,” I said with a significant sniff to my voice. 

 

“What did it feel like, Mistress?” asked Beth. We often talked intimately in the evenings. Free women often confide in their slaves after a while. They become confidantes of sorts. 

 

“The kiss was rough, aggressive. He practically raped my lips!”

 

“Oh, I am so sorry for you, Mistress,” said Beth as she turned her brush to the other side of my hair. “I didn’t know.”

 

“I could be wrong, but…”

 

“But what, Mistress?”

 

“I think he kissed me the way he might kiss a…”

 

“Oh no, Mistress, I’m sure that’s not the case. You would know for certain if a man kissed you in that way. You didn’t have untoward feelings, did you?”

 

“No, of course not,” I lied.

 

“Then I can assure Mistress, Julian didn’t kiss her in the way he might kiss a…”

 

“There is no need to say it,” I snapped. 

 

“Of course, Mistress.” She brushed some more strokes of my long hair. It is a little luxury I enjoy in the evenings to have Beth brush my hair like that. “He was probably overcome by your beauty,” she said. “It is obvious to me how much he adores his Mistress.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Oh, yes, Mistress. He has grown to love his collar. You have so dominated him. I can imagine how miserable he must now feel, to lie under the wagon, knowing he will not be touched by his Mistress tonight.”

 

“It is his own fault. His kiss was not appropriate!”

 

“Of course, Mistress, and he will feel wretched for having become too excited. I suspect he will be very contrite in his chains. He wishes to obey you in all ways.”

 

“I see.” It was encouraging to learn the power I had over Julian. Any man can be broken if a woman has both the skill and the will. “Well, maybe I over reacted a little. But I had to be stern with him.”

 

“Of course, Mistress. He is your silk slave. It is a shame though…” Beth’s voice trailed off a little.

 

“What?”

 

“It is a shame that Mistress will be deprived of the service of her silk slave tonight.”

 

I drank a lot of wine that night and fell asleep at an early hour. By the time I woke, the rest of the camp was already up and working. A military camp can be noisy right from the break of dawn, but I had slept until the seventh ahn. 

 

I rose from the slatted camp bed and peered through the tent flap, in my modest night gown. We weren’t going anywhere for a few days, and so the camp was now being made rather more semi-permanent. High above the tents I could see that strands of tarn wire had been erected, protecting the baggage and supplies from aerial assault. That made it safer for me to walk around the slaver compound without nervously watching the sky. All it took was one daring, near suicidal, Corcyrian tarnsman to thread his way through our own aerial scouts, and he might snatch a woman away from the ground where she stood. A tarnsman can strike suddenly and with little warning, coming out of the clouds with the sun at his back. 

 

There was no sign of Julian beneath the wagon, and so sign of Beth either. Both would, I suppose, have been given work to do by Tywin, in my absence. I yawned and rubbed sleep from my eyes. Beth would be back soon to see if I was up, and, if so, to help me dress myself. Frustratingly, until then I was something of a prisoner in my tent as I was unable to fasten my gowns without assistance, and I could hardly walk out in just my night gown. It was my own fault for having slept so long. 

 

Beth returned sometime passed the eighth ahn. She was singing a song and seemed to be in high spirits as she carried a heavy yoke across her shoulders, supporting two buckets of water. 

 

“Mistress! I thought you might still be asleep,” she said as she deposited the water buckets at the front of our tent. I had opened the tent flap a little to allow fresh air to circulate as the day was already hot. I sat to one side where causal passers-by might not see me through the tent flap. 

 

“You seem happy,” I remarked.

 

“I am happy, Mistress,” beamed Beth. “Have you eaten? I shall prepare some food.”

 

I had noticed what a happy girl she was of late. Slaves become accustomed to their collars and their mistress, and Beth had been no exception. Her life in my house was good. I provided her basic needs and protected her from the shameful things men might do to her, had she belonged to a man, and for that I suppose she was grateful. But of late she had been full of vigour and good cheer. Spring does that to slaves, I suppose. 

 

“We will need to prepare your prettiest dresses and veils, Mistress, for tonight you dine with the officers.”

 

Beth went on to explain what the occasion was, for I had been invited to the table of our army commander, Gistin Androcles, he who had overall command of the combined force of five cohorts in this camp, plus our auxiliary tarnsmen and cavalry. 

 

A delegation of Corcyrian officers had accepted our offer of dinner, on what was presumably the eve of the first conflict. If this strikes you as strange, that opposing officers would dine together under a flag of truce before a major battle that might see many of them dead, that is the Gorean military way. It is considered honourable to offer hospitality to a deserving enemy before you drive a sword through his gut the next day. 

 

Traditionally the offer is made by the larger army, though there have been exceptions throughout history. The Corcyrian officers would be granted safe conduct to and from their camp, and they would be given places of honour at the table, and served by beautiful kajirae, with the finest food and wine we had in our supplies. 

 

As I was one of the few free women in the camp, Gistin Androcles had requested that I attend at his table. There are several reasons why a respectable woman might have her presence required. Firstly, the presence of a woman adds an air of grace and polite behaviour to a table that might otherwise be rather testosterone heavy. Men behave themselves when a free woman is present, and my seat at the table would have a calming influence. All the officers would strive to behave themselves while I was there.

Secondly, I think Gistin Androcles wished to show off the women of Argentum, to make it clear what he and his men were fighting for, and through my grace, dignity, charm, and beauty, make it clear to the Corcyrians that defeat would be unthinkable. He wanted to undermine their morale a little. 

 

And the arrogance of men, such as our own commander, probably meant that my presence at the table was also a daring challenge to the Corcyrians. I would in effect be paraded before them, as if to say, ‘here is a free woman of our city. See how lovely she is. Imagine stripping and binding her on the battlefield as spoils of war. Come and try, if you think you have what it takes.’ It was a challenge, because warriors enjoy challenging one another. The Corcyrians would look at me, assess me through my robes and veils, and they would take the bait, each one desiring to be the man who entered our camp, threw me to the ground and stripped me with the edge of his knife. 

 

It would be my obligation to the army of Argentum to do them proud and appear tonight, looking as lovely as I could. My finest gowns. My prettiest veils. My most gracious behaviour. Many eyes would be upon me. The officers of Argentum would be moved in passion to defend me, while the officers of Corcyrus would wish to parade me through the gates of their city, naked, in a coffle of lovely two-legged prizes.

 

War is not a game, but sometimes you might be forgiven for thinking that the caste of warriors treat it as one. 

 

And very lovely I did look, that evening, as two officers escorted me personally through the tented camp, towards the torchlit dining area, set out on a wooden platform raised six inches from the muddy ground. The officers wore clean white capes and carried their polished steel helms under their left arms. Many of the common infantry soldiers had turned out to watch a Lady being escorted through their camp. None of the men jeered or called out to me with obscene suggestions and offers. The officers would have had those men whipped to death if they had dared do so. 

 

“How many Corcyrians are we entertaining?” I asked. 

 

“Four, Lady,” said the officer to my left. “The commander of their three cohort force, Cornelius Piu, two of his staff officers, and a tarnsman.”

 

“I see.” I faltered a step but steadied myself. The ground was treacherous in places, after all. “Am I to say anything?”

 

“Impress on them, if you can, the might of Argentum, and how proud the Ladies of Argentum are. Praise the officers of Argentum over dinner, and make general polite conversation, perhaps even going so far as to ask interesting questions of the Corcyrians pertaining to their military dispositions. With some wine inside of them they may even boastfully answer some of your questions.”

 

“Of course.” I smiled to myself. Commander Androcles hoped I might draw out some crumbs of information that could prove useful. Military men can be careless when in the presence of an enquiring female mind. Even if they chose to lie, that in itself would be interesting. I had no doubt that one of our men at the table would be an intelligence officer trained to read the faces and expressions of men while they talked. 

 

All the officers present at the table stood up as I approached. They bowed and saluted me by striking their left shoulder with their right hand. I nodded and replied with a demure curtsey before allowing myself to be seated. I had been placed opposite, to the left, of Cornelius Piu. Seated directly opposite, of course, would be our own commander. 

 

“Gentlemen,” I said, addressing our own men first. I then turned to the Corcyrian delegation and smiled softly behind my veil. I curtsied to them and then stood for them to appraise me. 

 

By that I mean, appraise me as a free woman. I wore my finest gowns that covered me completely, hiding my wrists and ankles and everything in between. The layers of shimmering cloth were gorgeous, and loosely arrayed around my body so as not to suggest womanly curves. My veils too were exquisite, and loosely arrayed so that I might eat by moving my right hand beneath the fabric. I wore no hood tonight, but my hair was piled above my head in a complex arrangement, suggesting refinement and dignity. Of my face, the men could only really see my eyes, and those eyes sparkled with subtle cosmetics suitable for free women. I offered Cornelius Piu my gloved, left hand, limp at the wrist. He took my fingers very gently and touched his closed lips to the back of my glove.

 

“I am enchanted,” he said.

 

“This is the Lady Amicia Katares,” said one of the Argentum officers. “A gentle flower of Argentum womanhood.”

 

“I am honoured,” said Cornelius with a smile as he regarded me with fresh interest now.

 

As soon as I was comfortably seated, the men, too, sat down.

 

“May I enquire why such a gentle Lady is present in an army camp?” asked Cornelius as he took a glass of wine from one of the serving slaves. 

 

“I am a slaver,” I said. “It is my business to be here.”

 

“Ah, quite. And have the pickings been good?”

 

“Adequate, but I anticipate much greater acquisitions soon enough.” I left my own glass of wine untouched. It sat there, close to my hand, but I had decided I would not be drinking this evening.  

 

“The fair ladies of Corcyrus, perhaps?” suggested Cornelius with a chuckle. 

 

“I would not be so forward as to suggest such a thing to an honoured guest, but of course if their men fail to protect them, they become fair game to my caste.”

 

“But they have men here,  ready to protect them,” said Cornelius. He tapped his own chest.

 

“Your confidence seems to exceed your tactical dispositions,” I suggested. “Three cohorts, only one of which consist of bold Corcyrian warriors, and so far from their city walls, with no line of retreat back to the Issus.” I clicked my tongue in sympathy. “A careless position, perhaps.”

 

“Oh?” Cornelius grinned and leaned forward a little. “This Lady seems a shrewd strategist. Does she perhaps direct your armies, Gistin, you old sleen?” he asked with a wink.

 

“She has a shrewd understanding of your position,” remarked the commander. “I shall appoint her in charge of a shock division of kajirae that we shall send, perfumed and silked, into your ranks to sow confusion amongst your mercenaries. They will be too busy rutting to help you!”

 

The men around the table laughed at this, as did Cornelius himself. 

 

“I must have missed that lesson when I was at the Academy,” said Cornelius. “Perhaps Tacitus has a chapter devoted to it?”

 

The food was served and the conversation turned to rather banal subjects as the men pretended they weren’t going to kill one another in the next couple of days. I think they discussed tharlarion racing, the current military dispositions of both Ar and Cos, and the state of the slave market; that last topic being something I could join in with my own insights. 

 

I probed occasionally, throughout the conversation, asking questions that seemed to be borne out of ignorant female curiosity. Cornelius was always polite and courteous with his answers, but frustratingly gave little away. He seemed less prone to boastful statements than his counterparts, and I felt sure he understood I had been primed to ask the questions I did.

 

“It is a shame that you gentlemen need to fight at all,” I remarked after the third course was delivered and devoured. “Your forces, Sir, if you don’t mind me speaking, seem to have strayed too far from their own supply lines. Perhaps honourable terms might be sought with Argentum? No blood has yet been spilled. We would probably only levy a small gratuity on Corcyrus.”

 

“Kind of you to offer, Lady Amicia,” said Cornelius as he dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “But I feel my warriors are precisely where I want them to be, and I personally look forward to war. It will be my first serious command at this level.”

 

“I have plenty of battlefield experience under my belt,” said Androcles. “And we fight for the dignity of ladies such as the beautiful and graceful, Lady Amicia.” He inclined his head towards me. “You understand my men would not retreat a single inch behind her skirts.”

 

“But of course,” said Cornelius as he regarded me again. “And what a prize she would be. A Lady of Argentum! I have the utmost admiration for the ladies of your city.”

 

“You have met some ladies of Argentum?” enquired Androcles. The tone in his voice suggested it would not be fit and proper for Cornelius to now make some crude and dishonourable jest in front of me about how he rutted with one or two Argentum ladies when he found them in steel collars in a paga tavern in Corcyrus, for that I am sure is what he thought Cornelius was driving at.

 

I, of course, knew differently.

 

“I have. In fact I am indebted to one in particular.” He smiled and gazed around the table, obviously wishing to recount an anecdote. “This was many years ago, when I was just a junior officer, attached to our diplomatic corps, stationed in Argentum. I found myself lost one day in one of your sprawling quarters. I must have looked a young fool, bumbling about. Well, one of your ladies stepped over to me and gave me assistance. I must have been a sorry sight, and she took pity on me. She was very beautiful.” He gazed around the table at everyone except me. “Incredibly beautiful. I was lost for words to be honest, when she spoke to me. I asked her to dinner, thinking she would just laugh at a young Corcyrian officer, but she accepted. We courted, politely, for a while, but then I was recalled to duty, subject to a year’s posting, at least, on our northern frontier. I have never seen her again, but I shall never forget her eyes and that soft, lovely voice.” He smiled, and then slowly turned his gaze back to me. “But Lady Amicia, forgive me, I have been ignoring you, with my pitiful recollections. I am truly pleased that you grace our table tonight. They called you the flower of Argentum womanhood, and truly you are.”

 

He raised his glass, as I gazed at the man who had made me metaglana, all those many years ago.