The Naming of the Young Master by Tracker

 

Note from Emma: I’m always delighted when any of you are inspired to write Gor fiction of your own, and, as I’ve mentioned before, you’re all welcome to reference any of my characters or plots as background if you like. Master Tracker has been contributing short pieces in the comments section recently, and a few days ago he contacted me to say he had fleshed out some recent pieces into a short story which he sent through for my consideration, along with some pictures to accompany it. Here then is a tale set in Vonda, that illustrates the importance of close family bonds in Gorean society, and reminds us all of the importance of Free Women in producing children for their city. 

 

The Naming of the Young Master by Tracker

 

While Aefic and Mary celebrated the arrival of a new slave, a greater celebration was taking place in a quarter in a different part of Vonda.

 

A household was celebrating the arrival of a Young Master and heir; a boy baby to follow his father in their caste and to take his place among the citizens of the City.  A boy baby!  A Young Master!  He had survived the ten days of waiting after his birth and today was his naming day.  His father was proud and happy.  His mother was happy, and after two girls, relieved.  She had worried that if she had provided another girl, her man might take instead a new Free Companion.  But no worries now, her son had survived the ten days of waiting to make sure he was hale and healthy, and today was his naming day.  Her mother was also happy and relieved; a Young Master to boast about to her friends.  She preened herself as if it were all her doing – after all – had she not advised on the proper herbs to ensure a healthy and male child!

 

A last worry had disappeared with the arrival of a wet-nurse to suckle the babe. A high borne Free Lady could not be expected to fulfil such a duty herself, and of course, a slave nurse was out of the question.  The babe might ingest slavery along with the milk.  No, only a free nurse would do.  The nurse was likewise happy: a year in a well-off household would provide her and her new borne daughter better food and clothing than could be supplied by her own Free Companion.  The Free Companion was happy: the money for the hire of his woman would give him an opportunity to carry out some long-cherished plans.  He was now a porter at the docks by the river, unloading and loading cargo and taking it to the warehouses.  But with the money paid, he should be able to save enough to purchase a Kajirus every few months and slowly put together a gang of slaves he could rent out and build up a business.  He had big plans.

 

The only one not entirely happy was old Marusa, the arranger.  Every quarter in Vonda, indeed on Gor, had two or three of these old women who made a living Arranging.  Arranging Free Companionship introductions for a small fee, arranging apprenticeships for a small fee, binding the neighbourhood together with gossip and small mutual obligations.  Although there had been a fee for finding the wet nurse, it was small, as was the fee for contacting the caterer for the food (a task the Lady would have performed had she not been prostate following the birth.  The fee for finding and making the introductions for a new  Free Companion for a Master who had had only daughters would have been greater.

 

And so the celebration commenced.  The Master was so happy he did not even begrudge the fee for Three Initiates to conduct the naming ceremony.  His status demanded three Initiates, so three he would have, but the Master suspected the first knowledge the Initiates learned was how to extort fees.  The Young Master was named Kustius, after the younger of the two twins who had founded Vonda.  Kustius the loyal, who had found the stone that became the Home Stone of the city and carved the name of his older twin on it.  Kustius the Strong, who had put in place of the first gates of the village that would become the city.  Kustius the Brave, who had died fifteen years after the placing of the gates fighting off the forces of Cos, come to strangle the young city before it grew.  Many boys in Vonda were named for Kustius.

 

Few boys were named for Vondar the Fierce, Kustius’s twin.  The founder of Vonda had been harsh and cruel, and his grandson, also Vondar, had betrayed the city and led malcontents against it after he had not been elected Administrator.  He had been killed and was still anathematized centuries after his death.

 

The Young Master was Named and wine flowed.  His mother bowed before him as he would grow up to be her protector against evil, and bad fortune.  His sisters, dressed in their best robes, were brought before the babe, the younger and thus less important first.  The two year old bowed her head and the Young Master’s little right foot was placed on the back of her neck in symbol of his authority over her.  The two year old was already wilful and looked resentful. Her mother sighed, as she knew she would have trouble with that one.  The elder and senior and thus more important daughter was next.  She was a sweet biddable child and gracefully and happily bowed her neck and smiled as the little foot of her protector was placed on her neck.  The wet nurse bowed and vowed that the Young Master would always feed first, even before her own daughter, as he was male, and, the second Master of the Household.  And the party divided, the mother, her daughter, the grandmother and their women friends to their part of the house to feast on cakes, gossip, and watered wine while the men, taking the slaves, moved to a louder celebration in another part of the house.

 

The Feasts in the House of Procus

 

While Aefic and Mary choked down the inedible stew assembled by the new slave Cassie and went to bed discontented, and Cassie choked down the bile of slavery and went to bed hungry and sore, in another part of Vonda the naming day of the Young Master, Kustius, concluded with two feasts and no one, not the lowliest slave went to bed hungry.  Indeed they went to bed rather full of the good things that life can provide, even the slaves.

 

In the protected rear of the house, the women’s feast began with great masses of dainty foods, and trays of dainties, including a whole platter of Ba-Kla-Va.  So much Ba-Kla-Va that one might be forgiven for thinking there would certainly be leftovers, enough even for the slaves of the house.  There would be no leftovers.  Not one crumb of flaky pastry or filling would be left – the little that was not eaten would be carried away by honoured guests.  Ba-Kla-Va for slaves is not allowed, not in the House of Procus!  There was wine, (watered for women), Black Wine, (for the House of Procus was displaying its wealth) for a First Young Master is not named every day, and all manner of good things to eat and drink.  The feast was brought in by two Kanjira: Cook, named after her job, and Phoebe, named after the first slaves brought to Vonda by Vondar the Fierce.  Phoebe was a Lady’s slave; Cook the first girl, although she was so old no one could remember her having any other.  Procus had brought her with him from his father’s house when he first set up his own household.  Cook and Phoebe laid the feast before the ladies and discreetly slipped away.  They had roles to play at the Men’s feast in the receiving hall of Procus.

 

The mother of Procus was there, as was the mother of the Free Companion, giving themselves such airs as one would have thought that they had themselves laboured to produce the Young Master.  Also in attendance were friends of the two mothers, matriarchs of the city of Vonda, each group with their particular mother, like seconds expecting a duel to break out.  But on this day at least, each was on their best behaviour, though gathering ammunition of slights to be used later.

 

Less grim were the friends of Procus’s Free Companion to marvel publicly at the wonder and handsomeness of the babe, and to privately assure themselves that their offspring were better looking, better formed, healthier, and in general, better in every way.

 

Also present were ladies not yet companioned, but there to make all the other ladies feel superior and to condition the single to enter into companionship.  All these competing strands stretched tightly across the room to make a web so strong it could have held a tarn!  There was one last guest, a plain woman in flamboyant clothes who played a stringed instrument.  Her conversation was boring and her voice was as sharp and off-key as her playing of her instrument.  Yet she was invited to all such parties.

 

The ladies talked and gossiped and reminded themselves that they were there to have a good time.  The mothers-in-law glared at each other yet neither drew a blade.  Ladies absent had their characters dissected and their morals questioned or outright assassinated.  Shortly a hubbub of male laughter and shouting penetrated (hateful word to these ladies – penetrated!) to the women’s quarters at the rear of the house.  The mother of the Young Master gestured to the dull woman.  And she picked up her instrument and played.  Her playing was not skilful, nor her voice tuneful, but the reason she was invited as evident.  She was loud!  Her instrument was loud, every untuneful chord!  Her voice was loud, every dull word and sharp phrase.  But the men and the kajirae could not be heard over her.  And the Ladies were satisfied, and ate their dainties, including all the Ba-Kla-Va as they sipped their Black Wine.

 

Meanwhile in Procus’s receiving hall, the last part of the naming ceremony and feast began.  Along the long side of the hall, facing the door ran a long table, holding the twenty guests.  These guests included his fellow masters of their guild and caste, friends of Procus’s from outside the guild, the local head of the guardsmen in the quarter, and, because Procus might develop  political ambitions, the Praetor’s magistrate for the ward.  The Praetor himself had sent his regrets along with a present more munificent than necessary as a token of his esteem.  Along the short wall to Procus’s right, at a table of their own, sat Procus’s five apprentices.  Yes, five. This is Procus the silversmith, famous even beyond Vonda even though still relatively young.  Along the wall at the left are seven slaves, five kajirae and two kajirus, hulking brutes who carry fuel for the furnaces and carry heavy commissions to the houses of buyers.  If they had more intelligence they would rival the low tharlarion for quickness of wit.  One had been captured by Procus when he carried his spear and shield in the citizen militia in the wars of Vonda.  Two of the kajirae we have met; old Cook, who prepared meals for the whole household, and Phoebe, the Lady’s maid.  She was afraid of men and dreaded this night and the ceremony and celebration.  The two household maids, were like Cook and Phoebe, born on Gor.  Cook was a born slave, Phoebe captured in a raid by Cosian pirates and sold in the markets.  The two household slaves, Kim and Khloe were also Gorean born but given the names of two notorious Barbarian slaves, famous even on Gor for their unbridled sensuality and large, nay, magnificent rears.  Unlike Kassie, the famous Earth slaves’ ample rears were muscled and well exercised by constant usage, not as a result of too much good living and insufficient exercise!  The Kim and Khloe owned by Procus were not as ample and magnificent as their earth counterparts but were good enough to generate envy for Procus.  The fifth slave, Clarissa, or Klarissa, as it says on her collar, which matches Kim and Khloe’s, was born on earth.  She helps Cook in the kitchen and sees to the needs of the five apprentices, which are many.  Like the other kajirae she is naked, this being the men’s part of the house.

There is a sharp rap on the door.  At a signal from Procus, Cook, the first girl, arises and answers, kneeling in tower, as soon as the door is partially open.  Standing there is the nurse, eyes showing disapproval.  She is a respectable woman, she is, and should not have to be anywhere near this male ceremony.  Looking straight ahead, not down at Cook’s blatant bareness, she passes the Young Master, Kustius, to Cook, who takes the child in her arms.  Nurse scuttles away, and eight men, the journeymen of Procus enter, forming a procession behind the slave carrying the Young Master, the hope of the House of Procus.

 

Cook kneels, holding up Kustius to his father.  In a good omen, the babe does not cry or fuss in his father’s arms.  One by one, in order of their seniority, the journeymen swear to obey the Master and the Young Master as long as they are in the service of Procus.  Then each receives a generous sum of money, graduated by seniority, to drink to the health of the heir.  They will not stay for the rest of the night, being employees who live at their own lodgings, not members of the household.  Now, prudent men would return to their various lodgings, putting the heir-money in their strongboxes, saving for the future, but what man can be prudent all the time? They go to the Silver Chain, a Paga Tavern frequented by the Silversmiths guild and go to a private room they had already booked.  There they will drink and ‘pound their hammers’.  This is an old joke in the metal working castes and guilds.  It is short for ‘pound their hammers on her anvil’, but they use the shorter phrase as they think that their Companions will be fooled.  (All the metal workers, the workers in iron, copper, silver, bronze and gold use the phrase, although some, especially the iron and silver workers say the goldsmiths work in such a soft and ductile metal because their hammers are small and soft).

 

Next, the apprentices come forward one at a time, starting with Rufino who is full grown and soon to be a journeyman.  Each takes the right ankle of the Young Master Kustius in his right hand and swears full allegiance as long as he is of the household of Procus.  Last to swear is Juba, just out of boyhood and beginning his apprenticeship.  Then the two Kajirus, are called forward, they are put in obeisance position, with the right foot of Kustius on their necks and swear that they are his slaves.  When they are done, two of the red caste employed by Procus take them away and lock them in their kennels for the night.  Because it is a night of celebration and feasting, each receives an extra portion of slave gruel.

 

Next come the slave girls, lined up facing the table of the guests, each first in nadu, then in obeisance position, then fully prostate.  The guests watched this part of the ceremony more intently.  Procus carried Kustius down the line of slaves, placing his little right foot on the neck of each slave in turn, intoning “this is your young Master”.  Klarissa, who had three terms of psychology at the University of Cleveland in the USA thought, “I didn’t need to graduate to understand the psychology of that”, as she felt the young master’s foot on her neck.  It touched her neck and the collar that encircled it.  Then the Kajirae were ordered back into nadu for the next, most important part of the ceremony.

 

One by one, in order of their importance in the guild, Procus’s guild brother swore to be a second father to Kustius in all things, especially should any misfortune befall his father. They would protect him, protect his interests, and protect those under his protection; his sisters, and mother, and younger brothers should he have any. 

For the world of Gor is an uncertain place, full of dangers and snares, of foreign war and domestic tumult, of raids on caravans and thieves inside the walls, of sickness and business misfortune.  Procus was relieved that his house would be protected to some extent in case of misfortune. One can place a daughter under the protection of a guild brother or friend, but sometimes men, even Gorean men, can be tempted to behave dishonourably.  Sometimes they might secretly sell the daughter and keep the property earmarked for her.  But an obligation to a man, even a baby-man would be taken more seriously.  With his daughters under the protection of his son Kustius, and Kustius under the protection of his ‘second fathers’, his girls would be far safer.

 

While these oaths were being taken, Klarissa’s thoughts wandered.  She was already a slave, had no property, and it was too late for anyone to protect her.  Her gaze wandered across to the five apprentices, whom she served.  She was fond of them all, but especially the oldest and the youngest, Rufino and Juba.  Rufino was full grown and more, built more like a blacksmith than a silversmith.  There was no doubt about his hammer.  But his huge hands were capable of the most delicate work and he had an eye for the beauty in a curve and the correctness of proportion that goes to give an indefinable special glory to some works.  She remembered happily when Rufino was designing breast cages and supports how delicately his hands had shaped the silver pieces around her, how he had caressed her as he attached the glorious silver pieces by cunning wires to the nipple so the pieces just seemed to float of their own accord.  Bunches of grapes or fruit rendered in silver, tiny twigs with delicate little leaves in silver that but for the colour, one would swear were real.  Customers paid Procus fine sums to bedeck their favourite slaves and dancing girls.  Not that Klarissa got to model them for the customers, she was the lowest and least of the slaves of Procus; it was Kim and Khloe, higher slaves serving in the shop and more amply endowed who did that, but Klarissa consoled herself with the knowledge that they were first designed using her.

 

The middle three apprentices were all right, and duly appreciated Klarissa and regularly made her yield, but they were competent workmen of other’s designs with no inspiration of their own, they would never be anything but ordinary journeymen.    But young Juba, she was very fond of young Juba, just come to the house three months ago to begin his apprenticeship.  He had been very homesick when he first arrived, it was his first time away from home.  Being alone in his cubicle, in the dark at night, away from his younger brothers for the first time, he had been anxious.  But Rufino had sent Klarissa to share his cubicle for the first ten nights, something warm and soft to comfort him in the night.  From the second night on, he had made her yield in the dark, she was sure she was the first slave he had taken, though he brusquely claimed he had had “dozens” before he came to the House of Procus.  Now, three months later, he was stern with her, as a master should be, and was becoming confident in his work and his place in the house.  She was sure, that like Rufino he would be a Silver Master someday, and not just a journeyman.

 

Procus’s guild brothers having sworn to be Second Fathers to Kustius, his other guests now were making oaths to ‘be as uncles’ to the baby.  This weaving of oaths, of brotherhood, and friendship were the strands that bound the society of a Gorean City together.  For a city was its people, and the oaths they swore each other like strands that made up a web, a web of obligation that made the city a whole.  Each strand, each single strand was weak perhaps, but together as the saying goes, strong enough to hold up the weight of the Home Stone to the heavens.  With all the people of a Home Stone bound together by mutual obligation and ties of friendship and family, the City was strong.  “The walls of the City are the People of the City” was the phrase that ended each of the oaths of Second Fatherhood, and Uncleship, and as long as the People stayed strong to each other the City stayed strong.  Cities that were weakened by Civic strife were cities that were prey to their enemies, as many cases proved, including that of the Fall of Ar, and the fall of the Tatrix of Corcyrus.

 

But slaves have no honour, for honour is a possession, which slaves cannot have; and anyway Klarissa was a barbarian who had never had a Home Stone.  As the oaths went on, her mind drifted and she watched herapprentices, the young men to whom her master apportioned her.  At the fountain in the plaza, where several times a day Klarissa pulled the water cart to collect water for kitchen use and for the laundry of the apprentices’ clothes, she gossiped about her apprentices.  Kajirae are curious and they so wanted to know about Rufino.  Was he in proportion?, “oh more so” she said.  And all five of them?  You poor girl.  Among the slaves drawing water from the lowest level of the fountain, Klarissa was pitied and envied in equal measure.  Khloe who drew her own water cart for household and shop purposes, tried to shift the attention to herself, but most of the other slaves were household girls as well, serving family, master, and shop, so she got no special attention.  As a result, Khloe often cruelly pinched Klarissa on the way back to the shop and house of Procus.  Klarissa could do nothing – she was the low girl.  But pinch away as Khloe might, it could not change the fact the Klarissa was happy in the service of her five apprentices.

 

As the Praetor’s Magistrate was taking an oath to do equal justice to Kustius as a citizen of Vonda, Klarissa nudged Phoebe.  “Knees further apart, you are in the presence of men”.  As a one-time student of psychology, Klarissa worried about Phoebe.  Her mistress kept her far away from being tempted by the presence of demanding men, so she was seldom used.  She had gone from being a white silk captive to being a lady’s slave with barely an interval of being opened for use by men, so her slave fires were seldom kindled.  It was only in situations like this, a party thrown by Procus, that Phoebe was pressed into service, then her fires were truly raging as she was forced to yield many times, satisfying her as a slave, then the next morning or even that night, switched by the Mistress for being a low slut.  Such aversion therapy, thought Klarissa, worked against Phoebe ever being satisfied as a slave.  Then she told herself, “Clarissa, you think too much, you are a slave now, nothing you can do, not your problem”.  Phoebe gave a strangled yelp as Khloe pinched her and hissed, “legs apart, you are a slut like us tonight”.

 

The oaths taken, Kim and Khloe were summoned to serve wine to the Guests while they awaited the arrival of the food and dancers from the Entertainment Company, Coloured Chains, who Procus had hired to cater for the party.  He was not pleased they were late.  Cook headed to the kitchen to await the Entertainment Company, while Rufino fitted Klarissa with dancing chains.  The Praetor’s Magistrate for the quarter, seeing Phoebe shivering alone was attracted by her pale fragility and called her over.  He had his assistant from the Caste of Scribes fondle her in a desultory way.  Mistaking her shivering in apprehension as excitement they redoubled their attentions.  Despite the certainty of a switching in the morning, Phoebe began to feel a warmth in her lower belly.

 

The dancing chains that Rufina affixed to Klarissa were of his own making, each link twisted so the chain lay flat, each alike for he was an excellent craftsman.  He felt her up as he chained her of course, for she was to dance her arousal and her availability.  At the top there was a larger ring of silver that attached to her collar. To this were attached three chains.  One fell straight down her body to another large ring that lay flat on her lower belly, between her navel and her sex, to this was attached chains that ran to ankle rings.  Two chains ran from the ring at her neck to bracelets on her wrists.  All the chains had plenty of slack to allow her to dance freely but certainly evoked the sirik in the mind of everyone who watched.  Klarissa had the same feeling.  At intervals along the chains there were little bells quite small, silver bells that tinkled in time as she danced. There was no other music.

 

Klarissa had not been trained as a Gorean dancer, though she dearly wanted to be trained, but what chance did a low kitchen girl serving apprentices have to get trained?  She hoped if she did well Procus would notice and send her for training.  But Procus wasn’t even watching.  He was deep in conversation with a couple of guild brothers over some matter of business or guild politics.  So she began by stamping her little foot twice, making the little bells jingle.  Then she stretched her body into basic ballet positions and moves, moving gracefully as she had practiced for so many years.  The little bells tinkled as she moved and she blessed Rufino for his craftsmanship.

 

As she danced, it occurred to her that ballet had been invented by someone who had wanted to display the female form and its grace in motion.

 

Up on her toes and twirling, her butt tightened, her calves and the beauty of her legs were displayed. Klarissa had a nice firm butt, quite different from the ample abundance of Khloe and Kim, but men liked variety.  She was vain of her butt.

 

As she lifted her arms in a graceful bow above her head, her bust lifted and was displayed from all angles, she wrapped the loose lengths of chain around her arms, imitating a captive tight bound and helpless.  Yes, she thought, ballet was definitely invented by a man who liked to display the bodies of women and their muscles and forms in tension.  How alive I feel, how exposed, how beautiful I feel, exposed like this.

 

Klarissa stood swaying on one leg, the other lifted high over her head held in one outstretched hand, chains entangled and jangling.  I am totally exposed she thought, more open than even in nadu, she arched her back, thrusting forth her bust, pulling it back, thrusting it out again.

 

She moved into a delicate graceful series of short quick steps.  It reminded her of the woman who had come to do a study at the University when she was in her third term.  She had worn a hobble type skirt and had moved in short steps like that.  Klarissa remembered her almost bound in tight foundation garments, and smiled as she danced naked in front of men.  The woman had claimed she was doing a study “on whether former dancers keep their form and musculature even if they stop dancing”.  She had claimed to be a “new feminist” whatever that was, but seemed more like a Betty Page fantasy.  The woman had collected quite a group for her study, mostly students in psychology, history, philosophy, anthropology.  “I am looking for girls of intelligence who have an appreciation of the past,” as well as former dancers she had said. All the girls had been subjected to psychological tests as well as quite detailed physical checks, “because we are testing your fitness.”

 

Twirl, smile, push out the bum, make Procus desire you, shake your bells, shake your tits; there the Praetor’s man is smiling.

 

At the  end of the study, she and some of the other girls had been almost naked in a dance studio, and it had seemed strange when the woman was joined by a couple of men “who are helping with study”, but it had been so gradual and she was used to skimpy dance costumes when in the studio.

 

Up on the toes, jingle the bells, wrap the chain around the thigh, make like you are trying to get away, remember to smile, stick out the bum again, now a pelvic thrust.

 

In the end, six girls, including Clarissa, had been chosen to go on with the study.  They had been told to meet at a secluded rural place and not to tell the others so they wouldn’t be jealous that they weren’t picked.  And that is how I was harvested for Gor, Clarissa thought.

 

Make the bells ring as you move your arms gracefully, wrap the chain around a breast then away, make the chain running to my belly sway, draw attention to the ring just above my sex as it moves, shake my hips in an unballetic but entirely feminine way.

 

Klarissa continued to dance naked. She stopped in front of the apprentices, as they were all transfixed. She remembered going to dance class three times a week until she left school to go to University to study psychology.  Well, I know a lot about the psychology of men’s desire for women she thought.  There had been a girl in the class, that all the other girls shunned.  This girl had had two boyfriends in eight months and had slept with them both, and likely with the instructor as well.  Three men in eight months and we thought her a slut!  Well now three apprentices can take me between breakfast and lunch.  But there is a difference between a slut on earth, and a slave on Gor.  One is despised for feeling her needs and begging for use, the other is happy and satisfied to be owned and used.  How lucky I am to be here, dancing, happy, aware of my needs.

 

Stamp the feet, set the bells ringing, raise the arms, shake them, move the body in time with the ringing of the bells, fall to the ground exhausted.

 

As Klarissa collapsed on the floor, a thump of fists striking the shoulder gave applause.  She had done well enough she hoped that she wouldn’t be switched.  The apprentices were hopeful she would be thrown to them and not be monopolized by the guests.

 

A knock at the double doors at that front of the hall.  Then again, impatient.  Procus looked around, Kim and Khloe were serving wine, Phoebe was on the arms of the Scribe of the Praetor’s Magistrate.  It looked like he would soon be using his pen, as the Scribes say.  The Master motioned Klarissa to answer the knock.  Sweaty and aroused from her dancing and exposure, Klarissa answered the door.  A sight to gladden the eyes of any man come to a feast, a girl glistening with sweat, smelling of animal spirits  Unfortunately it wasn’t a man. It was the nurse, a respectable woman who should not have had to fulfil this function. Looking straight ahead, and not down at the kneeling slave, the nurse commanded that the ladies were ready to leave and needed escorts and that she should be brought young Kustius.  “For I am not going in there with you sluts, I am a respectable woman, I am.”  Klarissa brought Kustius to the nurse, and kneeling passed the baby up to her.  She was still looking straight ahead and certainly not at a naked slave.  Did I mention that she was a respectable woman?

 

The ladies were leaving the house of Procus before dark.  They were going in three different directions, so one of the four guardsmen retained by Procus accompanied each party to see them safely home.  One guardsman and two apprentices went with Procus’s mother and her group, one guardsmen and two apprentices went with Procus’s Companion’s mother and her group, and the third guardsmen accompanied by that moving mountain Rofino went with the last group.  Rufino carried no blade, but had his grandfather’s blacksmith hammer over his shoulder, which would discourage any loafers or idlers from even thinking of bothering the ladies, even though it was nearly dark.

 

Only one guardsman remained to guard the house and its hoard of silver, but with 20 guests, no more were needed.

 

While the Ladies were being escorted to their homes, the caterers from the Entertainment Company, the Coloured Chain, finally arrived.  They had mistaken the time.  There was a Food Director who would supervise in the kitchen, a Feast Director who would supervise the other feast upstairs, a Dance Master who would supervise the dancers and servers, and two members of the Scarlet Caste who were guards.  Only two guards were needed, despite the valuable wines, the somewhat valuable women and their definitely valuable costumes.  For one of the silent partners in the Coloured Chain was rumoured to be a member of the Black Caste, and so they were free of molestation.

 

There were twenty girls, all in green tunics, with green collars, all coffled on a chain with green ribbons running through it.  Procus had ordered the Green Chain, one of the largest and most accomplished of the chains that the Coloured Chain offered. Cook and Klarissa were set to arranging the food brought by the caterers: platters, dainties of meat and fowl wrapped in pastries to start.  Kim and Khloe were relegated to carrying the platters from the kitchen to the feasting hall.  The slaves from the Coloured Chain were sent to serve and dance.  They would serve first in their scant tunics, then in their dancing silks or less.  

 

In her room, the Mistress and the nurse, a respectable woman, discussed in tense tones the dearth of proper cloth for robes of concealment in the markets at anything like a reasonable price.  Later they would talk about other respectable topics.

 

The feast continued.  Food and drink was consumed, dances were danced.  Topics of import and no importance at all were discussed.  Unhappily for Klarissa, her dancing was eclipsed by that of some of the best dancers in Vonda.  Procus and a friend fell into a discussion of staffing while a dancer in a girdle or stomacher danced right in front of them.

 

“I normally have ten journeymen, not eight, but two have just left to open their own small shop.  They could not be here tonight because they went on a pilgrimage to the Sardar to seek a blessing on their enterprise.  Priest Kings bring them safe home.” 

 

“Priest Kings bring them safe home,” repeated the friend automatically.  

 

The girdle of the dancer in front of them covered about four to five inches of her lower belly at the front, and about the same at the back, covering about the top third of her butt.  It curved in at the side.  It was as attractive as the slave wearing it and far more expensive.  It was cunningly beaded and had pierced coins of Cos worked into it.  It was the custom in Vonda, that sometimes a dancer who had formerly been a Free Woman in an enemy city would be set to dance in pierced coins from her former city.  The coins were pierced in the same way as ears of the girl.  The coinage of Cos was not highly thought of in Vonda.  The engraving on the dies used to stamp it were thought to be crude and the stamping was poor.  The coinage was adulterated as well, not containing as much fine metal as it should.  As the coinage of Cos was considered depreciated, slaves from Cos were considered of lower quality as well.  Maybe unfair, but such is life.  

 

The music changed, becoming faster and more wild.  The girl from Cos was replaced by one from Ar, tarn disks from Ar woven into her dancing girdle and pierced, hanging from her ears.  The silver masters approved of  the coinage of Ar.  It was well stamped, and contained much fine metal.  Next to the coins of Vonda, they thought those of Ar were almost as good.  The girl danced superbly.  She was sweetly hipped and was well trained.  She promised untold delights.

 

She danced on and was replaced by a slave who had not yet earned her dancing girdle.  She wore instead jewellery of silver attached to her breasts, jewellery fashioned into twigs with delicate leaves.

 

“My apprentice Rufino made those.  He will be made a journeyman in a couple of months.  In three year he will be a Master himself.  Come here girl, let us take a look.  You see here, my friend, the leaves on one breast are the mirror of the other.  He does that by beating out the ones on the left with his left hand.”  Procus was almost emotional describing the skills of his apprentice.  The music grew wilder and louder, the wine was poured more quickly and oftener, girls were put to use.

 

And what of Rufino, the ambidextrous clever silver smith apprentice?  He was enjoying unexpected delights.  For two of the dancers from the Coloured Chain had become lost and blundered into the apprentices.  Before being released back to the feast, the apprentices had appropriated them for their own use.

 

“They were excellent,” exclaimed Juba.  “Way better than that boring old Klarissa”.  We should not condemn Juba for ingratitude to the woman who cradled him as if she were a living teddy bear when he arrived, young and homesick.  She is a slave and is owed no gratitude from a Master, even a young one.  It is her duty and pleasure to be completely pleasing.

 

The dancers from the Coloured Chain were not really lost when they were discovered by the apprentices. They were reconnoitring.  The Chain served in many rich houses, and Procus was famous for his store of worked and unworked silver and gems.  When your owner is a member of the Black Caste and a thief to boot, you can expect to be set to spy out where the vault is and how accessible the keys are.  Due to their discovery by the apprentices the dancers failed in their mission and will be switched, at least, in the morning.  They will also be demoted from their position on the chain and suffer a change of name.  For the slaves of the Coloured Chain are known by their chain colour and coffle position.  The girls who were caught by the apprentices were GreenSeven and GreenTen.  They will be demoted to GreenFifteen and Green Sixteen.  Another offence will see them demoted to a lower chain.

 

In the kitchen, the Food Director is eying up Cook thinking about quickly taking her bent over the baking table.  It would be a courtesy to do so, as he is in her kitchen.  If Cook is scorned, she might mention certain deficiencies in the Coloured Chain’s catering.  Cook wouldn’t lie, a kajira can’t do that, but there are always things that could be mentioned that might reduce the fee owing.  Besides she looks quite fetching there, with a little bit of flour on her breast and her hair dishevelled from working in the heat of the kitchen.  So as a matter of politeness once the sweets and fruits were sent up he prepared to dip his ladle as the kitchen saying goes.

 

Similarly, the member of the scarlet caste thinks well of the look of Klarissa, still wearing her silver chains.  She jingles when she moves, as well as jiggles.  He knows she is doing it deliberately, but it is a feast, and kajirae will get frisky.  So he prepares to sheath his blade, as the warriors say.  Kim and Khloe, running back and forth from kitchen to feasting hall can get no relief.  The kitchen slaves are getting serviced by the men from the Coloured Chain, while the guests are having their way with the Green Chain girls.  But no one for them.  In the next few days, Klarissa can expect to be pinched quite often by that pair.  But what can she do, she is the low girl.

Phoebe is now completely consumed by slave fires and is the willing prey of the Praetor’s Magistrate, his Scribe, and by a tailor and maker of cloth.  The mistress will be angry tomorrow, but tonight she is helpless in her passion.

 

In the morning, the journeymen do not appear at the shop until noon.  They have spent the entire night celebrating the naming feast of the Young Master.  Even when they come in they will not be much good, their heads still ringing.  Likewise the apprentices.  The unexpected delights of GreenSeven and GreenTen made their night.  Klarissa will have quite a task cleaning up after them tomorrow.  Procus will not appear in the shop at all tomorrow.  It is not every day you name your first born son.

When people come to the shop, and it is not open in the morning, they will be at first annoyed and then grin, when neighbours tell that yesterday was the naming of the Young Master.

 

The Mistress of the House, and the Nurse, a respectable woman will be up early. Like most everyone in the house they will be suffering from headaches, in their cases from anger and frustration.  Cook and Klarissa will be set to scrubbing every bit of the kitchen, and then scrubbing it again until it shines.  Kim and Khloe will be set to cleaning the feasting hall, and what a task that will be.  It will take them three days, three days where Nurse stands over them with a switch.  Poor Phoebe will reap the rewards of her immodest behaviour and be switched in the morning, and again in the afternoon.  She will think it almost worth it.

 

Procus will forget how well Klarissa danced and his notion to send her for training.  For the next while at least, she will labour as a helper in the kitchen and at the beck and call of the apprentices.  She is after all, just the low girl.