“Anything!” cried Citherix.
“One pig,” said Otto. “I want her clearly to understand her value.”
“Done, milord!” cried Citherix.
“To him, slut,” said Otto.
Yata hurried on her knees to Citherix, and, laughing and crying, performed obeisance before him, and then, putting herself to her belly in the snow and holding to his ankles, one after the other, pressed kisses upon his snowy boots.
“I thought you hated me,” said Citherix.
“I have always loved you, Master,” she said. “I have always wanted to be owned by you, wholly, uncompromisingly, as a slave is truly owned. I have always wanted to be yours, completely, and to have no choice but to obey you perfectly, helplessly, will-lessly, in all things. That is how much I love you! So much so that I wanted to be your slave! So much so that I must be your slave! So much so that I can be only your slave! I have always wanted to be your slave! I have always dreamed of being of your slave, even from the time I was a little girl and you were a little boy! And I had hoped that you might accept me not only as your slave, but that you might one day come to realize that I was not only your helpless slave, yours to do with as you wished, in any way, but that I was, too, your love slave! No matter how you may despise or mistreat me, Master, I cannot help but be your helpless love slave!”
“You will be kept, of course, as a slave,” said Citherix.
“Yes, Master!”
“As a total slave.”
“Of my own will, were it permitted me, I would have it no other way, Master.”
She shivered, in the snow. “Forgive me, Master!” she said, frightened.
“You are Hortense,” he said, naming her.
“I am Hortense,” she said. This name would serve to remind everyone that she was once Hortense, though she wore the name now only as a slave name, only as a pig or dog might be named, by the will of her master.
“Many times did I dream of owning the troublesome, insolent Hortense,” he said.
“She is now yours,” said the slave.
He bent down and folded her shivering body in his cloak, and lifted her up.
“I will carry you within the hall,” he said, “and warm you by the fire pit, and then you will serve me, beneath the table, at my place.”
“Yes, Master!” she said.
She wept with joy, kissing him.
“I have waited long to own you,” he said.
“I have waited long to be owned by you,” she said.
He gathered her more closely to him.
“How shall I treat you?” he asked.
“Remember that I cost only a pig, Master,” she said.
“I shall,” he said.
He turned about and carried her within the hall.
“Citherix would now die for you,” said Ulrich.
The giant turned about. “I would have a woman,” he said. “Where are the slaves of the Otungs?”
Men looked to one another, abashed.
“There is only one slave among the Otungs,” said a man, “and that is the slave of Citherix.”
“The Heruls do not permit us slaves,” said another man.
“It is part of their policy,” said another, “to so exercise their will over us, to mock and humiliate us, to keep us weak, to deny us the rights of dominance and possession, the rights of conquering manhood.”
“That will change,” said Otto. “Men need slaves.”
“Slaves, too, need masters, milord,” said a woman, almost inaudibly.
“There are many women in the empire,” said Otto, “who need masters.”
“And elsewhere, milord,” said a woman, softly.
“Do not become aroused by the example of a despicable slave,” said a man, angrily.
“No, no, of course not!” said the woman.
“They are different,” said the man. “You are not such as they!”
“No, of course not!” exclaimed the woman.
“You are different!” he said.
“Yes, yes!” she said.
“You are proud, noble, and free!” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes!”
The giant looked at the woman. He sized her up, as men who are practiced with women do. He did not think she would look badly, in chains. She would lick and kiss eagerly, and within the hour, with scarcely a touch of the whip, he thought.
“I think some women can be found,” said the giant. He, at that time, of course, believed that the women embarked from Inez IV were in Venitzia. To be sure, that was days away.
“The king,” said Hartnar, “will need a queen.” He thrust a young woman forward. “My daughter, Gertrude,” he said, “is a comely lass.”
The giant pushed up the girl’s chin and looked into her eyes, which she suddenly, frightened, turned away. Never had she been so looked upon. Surely she was not in a slaver’s house, for sale! Surely she was not upon a slave block!
“I have this niece,” said Gelerich. “She is of the lineage of Pertinax, of the Orti.”
Another woman was pushed forward.
“Not of the Orti!” said Astarax. “Take a woman of the Eni, Una, of the house of Fendash, or Tuse, or Gretchen, of the house of Hertzaufen. Una, Tuse, Gretchen, come forward!”
“The daughters of Gundar, Esa and Estrid, are beauties,” said a man, of the clan Oni.
“Where has he hidden them?” laughed a man.
“He does not want the Heruls to learn of them and take them for slaves,” said a man.
“Perhaps they should be slaves,” said a man.
The giant supposed that many women should be slaves, and of the Otungs, too, for their women, too, were women. Many, he supposed, might be better off, taken to far, rich, exotic worlds, in chains, there to serve strong masters.
But the Otungs, too, he thought, must have women.
“There are many comely women,” said Ulrich, “and from the Elbi, too!”
Women crowded about. Some had been thrust forward, others guided forward, or urged forward, but others had come forward of their own will, some hurrying forward.
It is not unlike the wares in a slaver’s house, thought the giant, on those rare occasions when a strong man, one deemed a desirable master, a possible buyer, is given the liberty of the premises. To be sure, the goods were not in brief silks, or stripped, and, either silked or stripped, in collars, kneeling.
The thought of Filene crossed the giant’s mind. He remembered her, from the night he had tied her at the foot of his bed. He had heard, at times during the night, when she had thought him asleep, her restlessness, her tiny, half-restrained inadvertent whimpers, and moans.
There had seemed something different about her, though he had not been sure what it was. He supposed that it was only that she had not yet learned her slavery.
That could be remedied, easily.
And she was on Tangara, presumably in Venitzia.
The giant looked upon the free women.
One smiled. Another turned, that he might conjecture her figure.
They are free, they are dangerous, he thought. They have all the power of their freedom, of custom, of rude law protecting them, rendering them invulnerable, permitting them to strive in a thousand sly ways against men, capable of reducing and diminishing men, of denying them, of using their bodies to buy what they wanted, of withholding them for gain, of offering favors for bribes, and all with impunity.
How different the slave, who is owned, and must please!
Women are the enemy, thought the giant. Why should not men then, who are stronger, simply subdue them, and then let them find themselves the spoils of war, owned and mastered. It is pleasant to tame women, to make them obedient, dutiful, passionate slaves, and to drive them to sexual ecstasies a thousand times beyond those attainable by the free woman, to have them at the foot of your bed, on the floor, perhaps bound hand and foot there, begging for your touch. Yes, thought the giant, women should be slaves; they belong in collars, and shackles. And women, interestingly, thought the giant, dream of masters. They long for the chains in which they know themselves rightfully to belong. At the master’s feet is the place of women, and this, deny it, and fear it and fight it as they will, in their hearts, they know.