“Did Abrogastes know that?” asked Julian.
“I think it possible,” said Otto. “Besides, is it so different, being a mating pawn, or being bought and sold in markets. Is it not much the same thing?”
“Yes,” said Julian.
“At least in markets,” said Otto, “the bidding, and its meaning, and such, is clear.”
“Yes,” said Julian.
“And would you kill your own son?” asked Otto.
“No,” said Julian.
“I think that Abrogastes might,” said Otto.
“But this time he did not,” said Julian.
“No,” said Otto. “This time he did not.”
“Do you think that Huta is a slave?” asked Julian.
“She looks well in a collar,” said Otto.
“Do you think she is a slave?”
“She will need a strong hand, and a taste of the whip,” said Otto.
“But do you think she is a slave?”
“Certainly,” said Otto.
“It seems that many women are slaves,” said Julian.
“Yes,” said Otto.
“Do you think that all women should be slaves?” asked Julian.
“Yes,” said Otto.
“I think you are right,” said Julian.
“Gentlemen,” said the officer, from the deck of the hoverer, “I have informed the shuttler of our imminent departure.”
Otto and Julian shortly thereafter boarded the hoverer.
It was, like most such ships, circular, and open, rather like a metallic coracle.
This particular vessel was some twenty feet in diameter. Its hull was armored. The crew of such a vessel normally consists of two men, and these were the two who had remained with the vessel when it had been left across the meadow, but there were now seven men on board, not counting Otto and Julian. The officer, and his four companions, figured more in the category of soldiers, or, perhaps better, marines, than crew.
“We will soon be at the shuttle,” said the officer.
Julian went to the side of the vessel, just within the bulwarks.
He lifted aside a piece of canvas.
There, beneath it, on the metal plating of the deck of the hoverer, lay Gerune, who looked up at him, seeing him bending over her, and the black sky, and stars, above him. Her wrists were now before her body, held closely together there, locked in slave cuffs; a chain ran from the linkage of the cuffs through a metal ring, to her ankles; there, at the ankles, the chain joined another linkage, that linking her shackles.
“How did you like wearing a slave leash?” asked Julian.
“I must go where it bids me,” she said.
He continued to look upon her.
“It is fitting that it was on me, for I am a slave,” she said.
“This is the first time you have worn slave chains, is it not?” inquired Julian.
“Yes,” she said.
He continued to regard her.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“How do you like them?” he asked.
“I may not object,” she said, “for I am a slave.”
“How do you like them?” he asked.
She put her head to one side.
“It is fitting that they are upon me,” she said, “for I am a slave.”
“The cargo is stowed, and secured, to your satisfaction, I trust,” said the officer.
“Yes,” said Julian.
The arrangement would not only keep the cargo in place, and helpless, but would serve, as well, to keep it within the vessel, even in events such as steep climbs and perilous bankings, even inversions.
“I hope you do not mind that we put a canvas over her,” said the officer, “but my men have been a long time without women.”
Gerune trembled, looking toward the men.
She began to suspect what it might be to be a slave, and she knew herself a slave.
There was a tiny sound of chain on the metal plating, and against the ring, as she, frightened, drew her wrists in, more closely to her body.
“I understand,” said Julian.
He lifted the corner of the canvas, to throw it again over the slave.
“Please, wait, Master,” she whispered.
He crouched down, beside her, the corner of the canvas in his right hand.
“You are not really going to have me branded, are you, Master?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“But I was a princess,” she said.
“Barbarian princesses, and women who were once barbarian princesses, are not unknown in imperial markets,” he said.
“I was the daughter of Abrogastes,” she said.
“You are now no more than a slave, and you will be branded,” said Julian.
“But how can you have such a thing done?” she asked. “It is not civilized.”
“On the contrary,” said Julian, “it is preeminently civilized. Indeed, it is a feature of a civilized society. Its efficiency is unquestioned. Surely you can understand that it is useful and appropriate, for legal and other purposes, to identify properties.”
She looked away.
“The highest civilizations,” said Julian, “have always held slaves.”
“And doubtless there has always been some means of appropriately identifying them?”
“Yes.”
“I will be branded then,” she said.
“Yes,” he said.
“I beg you to relent,” she said.
“No,” he said.
“You are going to do with me exactly as you please, aren’t you?” she said.
“Yes,” he said.
“Even to the iron?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Your excellency,” pressed the officer.
“Look forward to your branding,” said Julian.
Gerune looked up at him, wildly.
He prepared to throw the cover over her.
“You are my master, aren’t you?” she said.
“Yes,” he said.
Then his visage was blotted out, and the dimly lit bulwarks, lit by the instrument lights, and the black sky, and the bright stars.
She then lay there, on the metal plating, beneath the canvas.
“I, Gerune, am going to be branded,” she said softly to herself. That seemed to her for a moment incomprehensible, that Gerune should wear a brand. But then she realized that there was nothing untoward or surprising in that. ‘Gerune’ was, after all, only a slave name. In one sense, then, she was no longer Gerune, certainly not the Gerune she had once been. In another, of course, she was Gerune, because that was the name that her master had decided to give her. In this second sense, then, there was surely nothing surprising about an iron being heated for her, as for countless others.
She shuddered.
There was a tiny sound of chain. She heard men laugh, but she could not see them.
She lay there very quietly then, fearing to move.
She supposed it would not do to tell her master, or others, that she had been thrilled to be on a leash, that it excited her to wear slave chains.
What ancient, strange message, what profound message, did these things speak to her?
She lay there then, not moving, knowing herself naked, and a slave, under a canvas, at the mercy of men.
“Belt in,” she heard the officer say. Shortly thereafter the hoverer rose into the air.
She lay there, beneath the canvas, astounded, not at the motion of the vessel, but at herself.
“Yes,” she whispered to herself, softly, “yes!”
She feared to be branded, of course. It would not do to deny that. But, too, now that she was a slave, now that that was what she was, she wanted it done.
Indeed, she had often wondered, from the time of puberty on, what it would be, to be branded.
Her emotions were complex, for, mixed with her fear, you see, there were many other emotions, as well, those of curiosity, of anticipation, of tremulous excitement, of literal elation, even, I suppose it should be admitted, of eagerness.
Oh, she would protest, or cry, or such, particularly if such things were expected of her.