“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.
Such strictures, of course, impractical on the street, were limited to the domicile.
As mentioned earlier, the last few days had been amongst the worst in Cornhair’s life. She was confined to lowly domestic labors, primarily the scrubbing of floors, naked and shackled, and, in this task, was loaned out, for a pittance, to several neighbors. She was also used for laundering, polishing leather, polishing silver, and such. Occasionally, she accompanied her Mistress to the market, bearing her basket, some steps behind her. Once, on the street, encountering some of her friends, the Lady Gia Alexia had turned to Cornhair, and had held out her switch to her. “Take it, if you wish,” she said. “I give you permission to strike me with it.” “No, no, Mistress!” had cried Cornhair, terrified, and fell to her knees, and put down her head, and piteously, in her terror, kissed, again and again, the Lady Gia Alexia’s slippers. One of her friends had laughed. “Now,” she said, “dear Gia, you need not cut off her ears and nose.” Cornhair, of course, from her days of freedom, was fully cognizant of the penalties which might attend such things, perceived imperfections in a slave’s deportment or service, things, for example, such as failing to speak deferentially to a free person, let alone such things as raising one’s hand to a free person, or striking a free person.
Nights were unpleasant for Cornhair, for the Lady Gia Alexia kept her in close chains, and chained by the neck, closely, to a ring in the foot of her couch. The morning and bedtime switchings, brief as they were, were also unpleasant.
Cornhair, in her days of freedom, with her slaves, and, later, after her reduction in wealth and status, consequent upon the Larial Calasalii’s loss of patience with her profligacy, with her single slave, Nika, had never considered that she herself might one day find herself in her present position, herself a slave at the mercy of a free woman.
The free woman hates the slave; the slave lives in terror of the free woman. And Cornhair was now a slave.
Aside from her various tasks, scrubbing, laundering, and such, Cornhair had also been utilized, as is not unknown for a free woman’s slave, to convey messages on behalf of her Mistress.
Naturally it is much preferable to use one’s own slave for such a purpose, particularly in certain instances, than to rely on the slave of a friend, a friend who has friends, with whom she is accustomed to exchange pleasantries.
The free woman’s slave, as she is inconspicuous, generally not known, and such, is, accordingly, a frequently relied upon instrument in her Mistress’ adventures. She constitutes an invaluable go-between in situations where a visible presence of the Mistress would be perilous, if not unthinkable. Indeed, the intrigues and assignations of a free woman would scarcely be conceivable were it not for the mediation of the free woman’s slave. By means of the slave, of course, bearing the relevant notes back and forth, assignations, trysts, secret meetings, and such, may be conveniently and discreetly arranged.
Four times, and twice in one day, Cornhair had borne a note from her Mistress to a gentleman in the Lycon district, an attorney and rhetor, Titus Gelinus, prominent in the courts. Indeed, his cross-examinations, summations, and perorations were commonly greeted with applause by auditors, many of whom, it seems, had crowded into the galleries to hear him speak. This was particularly impressive because, apparently, this applause was not previously arranged for, and paid for, as was rumored to be the case in many trials. Sitting in on trials, and following interesting cases, and such, was a favorite pastime of many citizens of Telnar, at least those who, apparently, had little else to do.
Cornhair knew little of the law. She did know, even from her days of freedom, that the testimony of slaves was taken under torture.
“There are many welts on your body,” had said Titus Gelinus, when first Cornhair had knelt before him, head down, and held up, in two hands, she small, scented note she was to deliver.
“My Mistress was not pleased with me, Master,” had said Cornhair.
“I suspect she is seldom pleased with anyone,” said Titus Gelinus.
Cornhair remained silent.
“Are you a good slave?” asked Titus Gelinus.
“I am a slave,” said Cornhair. “I try to be a good slave.”
“Look up,” said the rhetor.
Cornhair looked up, but avoided meeting the rhetor’s eyes.
“I have seen many such as you on the rack,” he said.
Cornhair, again, was silent. She did shudder.
Titus Gelinus then took the note, held it briefly to his nose, smelled it, and then opened it, and glanced at it, following which, with an annoyed gesture, he put it on a silver dish, on a marble-topped table to the side.
The rhetor had then returned his attention to Cornhair. “You are new,” he said.
“I have only recently had the honor of being put in Mistress’ collar,” said Cornhair.
“You are well-curved,” he said.
“Thank you, Master,” said Cornhair.
“You should be a man’s slave,” he said.
Cornhair put down her head, and dared not respond. Cornhair realized that he, no more than anyone else, had questioned that she should be a slave, only that she would be more suitably owned by a male. And Cornhair herself, as we have gathered, had come to the realization, from her deepest thoughts, fought against for so long, in stark contrast to all that she had been taught, and her former life of arrogance and affluence, that she was appropriately a slave. That former life had been a lie. She belonged in a collar, at a man’s feet. She could not be herself otherwise; she could not be whole otherwise.
“Do you know the contents of this note?” asked Titus Gelinus.
“No, Master,” said Cornhair.
“Can you read?”
“Yes, Master, but I did not read the note.”
“Your Mistress wishes a tryst in a secret place,” he said.
“She is a free woman,” said Cornhair.
“Doubtless she fears for her reputation,” he said.
“Doubtless, Master,” said Cornhair.
“I am tempted to oblige her,” he said.
“I am sure she would be delighted, Master,” said Cornhair.
“You are pretty,” he said. “Perhaps you are worth a roll on the rug at the foot of my couch.”
“Please, no, Master!” said Cornhair. “I am a woman’s slave!”
“You are to be denied the touch of men?”
“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair. “Please do not put me to your pleasure, lest I be maimed, mutilated, or slain by my Mistress!”
“She would know?”
“I fear so, Master,” said Cornhair.
“I grow weary of your Mistress, and the others, their kind,” he said. “I would, if I could, bar them from the galleries. Let them keep to the theaters, let them adore actors who portray heroes; let them applaud and acclaim poets, singers, gladiators, wrestlers, muleteers, drivers of four-horse and two-horse teams, athletes, vegetable growers, whoever, whatever, and refrain from wasting my time.”
“Is there a response to the note, Master?” asked Cornhair. “My Mistress will be waiting.”
“Tell your Mistress,” he said, “I have never received a more remarkable note.”
“I am sure she will be pleased,” said Cornhair.
“I am a man of influence and power,” he said.
“That is my understanding,” said Cornhair.
“Times are uncertain, and trying,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair.
“Would your Mistress’ ankles look well in shackles?” he asked.
“I do not know, Master,” said Cornhair, uneasily. “I have never thought of it. But perhaps, Master, she is a woman.”
“Good,” said Titus Gelinus, attorney and rhetor. “Leave through the kitchen. Ask for food, and a draught of kana.”
“Yes, Master!” said Cornhair, gratefully.
“You will take such things on your knees,” he said.