"You enjoy such things," said Marcus.
"Perhaps," I said. "I am not sure." It is often easier to know others than ourselves. Perhaps that is because there is less need to tell lies about them. Few of us recognize the stranger in the shadows, who is ourself.
"I am a simple warrior," said Marcus. "Set me a formation, or a field, or a city. I think I know how to solve them, or set about the matter. Let things be clear and plain. Let me see my foe, let me meet him face to face."
"Subtlety and deception are not new weapons in the arsenal of war," I said. "They are undoubtedly as ancient as the club, the stone, the sharpened stick." Marcus regarded me, angrily.
"Study the campaigns of Dietrich of Tarnburg," I said.
Marcus shrugged, angrily.
"He has sowed silver and harvested cities," I said.
"More gates are opened with gold than iron," he said.
"You pretend to simplicity," I said. "Yet you quote from the Diaries." These were the field diaries attributed by many to Carl Commenius of Argentum. The reference would be clear to Marcus, a trained warrior.
"That I do not care for such games," said Marcus, "does not mean I cannot play them."
"How many are in the Delta Brigade? I asked him.
"Two," he smiled. "We are the Delta Brigade."
"No," I said, "there are more."
He looked at me, puzzled.
"This morning," I said, "four soldiers, doubtless Cosians, were found slain in the vicinity of the Avenue of Turia. The delka was found there."
Marcus was silent.
"We have allies," I said. "Too, I have learned that the delka appears elsewhere in Ar, presumably mostly in poorer districts."
"I do not welcome unknown allies," he said.
"At least we cannot betray them under torture, nor they us."
"Am I to derive comfort from that thought?" he asked.
"Why not?" I asked.
"We cannot control them," he said.
"Nor they us," I said.
"We began this," said Marcus. "But I do not know where it will end."
"Cos will be forced to unsheath her claws."
"And then?" he asked.
"And then we do not know where it will end," I said.
"What of the Home Stone of Ar's Station?" he asked.
"Is that your only concern?" I asked.
"For all I care, traitorous Ar may be burned to the ground," he said.
"It will be again publicly displayed," I said.
"That is part of your Kaissa?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
"You see far ahead," he said.
"No," I said. "It is a forced continuation."
"I do not understand," he said.
"Ar will have no choice," I said.
"And if the Home Stone of Ar's Station is again displayed, what then?" he asked. "It was displayed before."
"I know a fellow who can obtain it for you," I said.
"A magician?" he asked.
I smiled.
"The Delta Brigade," he asked, "the two of us?"
"I think there are more," I said.
He looked at the delka, scratched on the exterior wall of the shop.
"You are curious as to its meaning, and its power?" I asked.
"Yes," he said.
"So, too, am I," I said.
"I am afraid," he said.
"So, too, am I" I said.
"And what of this?" asked Marcus, indicating the chest on the street, near us. "Bring it along," I said.
"What are we going to do with it?" he asked.
"You will see," I said.
"You saw her mouth was uncovered," he said. "She belongs with other lewd women in the loot pits of the Anbar district, awaiting their brands and collars."
"With other needful women," I said.
"She is a slave slut," he said.
"And will perhaps one day find her rightful master," I said.
"What are we going to do with her?" he asked.
"You will see," I said.
We then went to the chest. "Help me lift it," I said.
In a moment we had it in hand. It was a bit bulky to be easily carried by one man, but it was not heavy.
We felt its contents more within it.
12 The Countries of Courage
"Put it down here," I said.
We were in a deserted alleyway, about two pasangs from the shop, rather between it and the Anbar district. It might well appear that we had been on our way to that district.
"Over her, more," I said. Marcus and I put the chest against one wall, that it might not move further in that direction. I then stepped back a bit and forcibly, with the flat of my foot, with four or five blows, kicked back the side of the chest, forcing it some inches inward, breaking it muchly from the ends, tearing it free of the nails and the lid. I delivered similar blows to the two ends of the chest, splintering it loose of nails and the back. the girl within cried out in misery. I then, with my hands, seizing it, now muchly freed, flung up the lid, revealing her within, and she cried out again, and hid her head, putting her hands over it. She lay there, terrified, among the splinters and nails, the sides and ends muchly loosened, collapsed about her. I then turned to the shambles of the chest to its side, spilling her to the stones of the alley. Shuddering she was on her belly to us and crawled to my feet, pressing her lips to them.
"She desires to please, as a slave," observed Marcus.
"Do you object?" I asked.
She now pressed her lips similarly upon the feet of Marcus.
"No," he said. "She is obviously a slave, and is both comely and desirable. Too, she is of Ar, and all of the women of Ar should be slaves."
She then knelt before us, the palms of her hands on the stones, her head down to them, as well.
"Doubtless she has seen slaves kneel in such a way," said Marcus.
"Probably," I said. It was a common position of slave obeisance.
"She is a slave," he said.
"She is frightened," I said.
"She is a slave," he said.
"That, too," I granted him.
"Look up, girl," said Marcus.
She looked up, frightened.
"Are you a slave?" asked Marcus.
Her lip trembled.
"She is legally free," I pointed out.
"Are you a slave?" pressed Marcus.
"Yes," she whispered.
"Yes, what?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," she whispered. I suspected she had used that word to men before only in her imagination, or speaking it softly to her pillow in the night. "Legally free," he said, "but still a slave, and rightfully so?" he asked. "Yes, Master," she said.
"Lacking only the legalities of the brand and collar?" he asked.
"Yes, Master!" she said.
"Yet she is young to be a slave," I said.
"Do you think we cannot be slaves?" she asked.
"Some men enjoy them," said Marcus, "squirming in the furs, panting, begging for more."
The girl closed her eyes, and sobbed. I wondered if she understood these things. "She is young," I said.
"Do you scorn me for my youth?" she asked. "Do you think we do have feelings? Do you think we are not yet capable of love, that we are not yet women? You are wrong! How little you understand us! We are young and desirable, and ready to serve!"
"You are young," I said. "Your surrender cannot be the full surrender of the mature woman, the woman experienced in life, the woman who has come to understand the barrenness of the conventions by which she is expected to abide, who has discerned the vacuity of the principles to which she is expected to mindlessly subscribe, who has learned the emptiness of the roles imposed upon her by society, roles alien to, and inimical to, the needs of her deepest self. You are not such a woman, a full, mature, knowledgeable, cognizant woman, a woman profoundly in touch with her passion and deepest self, one who has come to understand that her only hope for true happiness and fulfillment lies in obedience, love and service, one craving the collar, one yearning for a master."