Filene stood before him.
He sat, rather as before, on the edge of the couch.
“I am a free woman,” she said.
“I am sure you have supposed so,” said the barbarian.
“I am free!” she said.
“There are papers on you,” said the barbarian, “suitably certified.”
“False papers!” she said.
“Names may be false, details might be false,” he said. “But the woman herself was enslaved. The measurements and descriptions, the toeprints, and fingerprints, the body codes, were all registered, and checked.”
“But I am free!” she said.
“Not at all,” he said. “Unbeknownst to yourself, you have been as much a slave as the others, the nineteen others, brought with you from Inez IV on the Narcona.”
“No!” she said.
“You are a slave,” said the barbarian.
“No!” she said.
“Rest assured,” said the barbarian. “All is legal, all is in order.”
“No,” she said. “No!”
“Do not fret,” said the barbarian. “You are not unique. Many women are made slaves. It is a common fate for them in thousands of societies on thousands of worlds.”
“No!” she cried.
“Kneel,” said the barbarian.
“As though I might be a slave?” she said.
“As a slave,” he said.
She knelt before him, shuddering. Her fingers were locked inside the chain on her neck.
“Palms of your hands down, on your thighs,” said the barbarian.
She complied.
“You will now be silent,” he said, “until you are given permission to speak.”
“Let me cut her throat,” said Qualius.
A tiny sound of fear escaped the kneeling slave.
“Who fled in the hoverer?” asked the barbarian.
“Phidias, Lysis, and Corelius,” said Ronisius.
“It seems they did not trust the matter, arranging the slave, and such, to a single man,” said the barbarian.
“It seems not,” said Ronisius.
“Why was there no pursuit?” asked the barbarian.
“The other hoverer, and the two treaded vehicles,” said Qualius, “were disabled.”
“It is perhaps just as well,” said the barbarian. “Perhaps they will believe the business was accomplished to their satisfaction.”
“Let us hope so,” said Ronisius.
“Attend to the camp,” said the barbarian. “There will be fruitless speculation, much confusion. Consternation will abound.”
“Officers,” said Ronisius, “were suddenly recalled to Venitzia, due to some unforeseen emergency.”
“Excellent,” said the barbarian. “That will do nicely.”
“The slave,” said Qualius, “may be taken outside the perimeter, and bound naked to a tree. Earlier in the evening I heard, far off, the baying of wolves. There must be such brutes about.”
“Attend to the camp, my friends,” said Otto.
Ronisius, standing, looked to the surface of the couch. “Captain,” he said.
“I know,” said Otto.
The dropped knife lay amongst the furs, half hidden.
The two men then withdrew, taking the tunnel exit which led to the main tenting.
“On whose behalf did you engage in your enterprise?” asked Otto.
She shook her head, frightened.
“You are not a free woman,” said Otto. “A slave may be punished terribly for not telling the truth.”
“I am afraid to speak,” she said.
“He is elsewhere,” said Otto. “You are here. I would expect you to be more afraid not to speak.”
“Have mercy,” she whispered.
“It would be easy to turn you over to Qualius,” said Otto.
“—Iaachus,” she said, “Arbiter of Protocol.”
“So high a personage?” said Otto.
“Yes,” she said.
“So close to the throne?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she said.
“‘Yes’?” said Otto.
“Yes,” she said, “—Master.”
“Perhaps you find it surprising that one so highly placed, so exalted, might deal directly in this matter,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“It is not so surprising,” he said. “Who would he trust with such a charge? Too, he would not expect you to return.”
“I fear so, now,” she said, “Master.”
Otto stood up, facing the frightened, kneeling slave.
“On the couch,” he said, “you will find a knife. It is there, amidst the furs. Obviously you are familiar with it. Fetch it, and bring it to me.”
“It is dangerous,” she said. “It is painted with poison.”
“Must a command be repeated?” asked Otto. That, of course, can be cause for discipline.
She crawled to the surface of the great couch, ascended it, made her way to the knife, and returned, holding it by the handle, careful not to touch the blade, to the vicinity of the barbarian.
“Stand,” said Otto.
She was small, standing before him.
“Perhaps you would like to drive it into my body?” he said.
“No, Master,” she said, handing it to him.
“On many worlds,” said Otto, “it is a capital offense for a slave to touch a weapon.”
“Has Master tricked me,” she asked, “that I may now be slain?”
“No,” said Otto.
“A slave is grateful,” she said.
“One punishes a slave for disobedience,” said Otto, “not for obedience.”
She put down her head, trembling. “Thank you, Master,” she said. “Master is merciful.”
“Perhaps not,” he said.
“Master?” she said, apprehensively.
“On your knees,” said he.
Swiftly she knelt, before him.
“Straighten your body,” he snapped, “belly in, head up, hands down, palms on your thighs; shake your hair behind you; it is not to interfere with my looking upon you. Do you not know where you are? You are before a man. You are not a free woman. You are a slave, a commodity. Be beautiful!”
She looked at him, frightened.
“Good,” he said. “That is how a slave kneels, beautifully.”
“Master!” she wept.
“It is true, you are pretty,” he said. “Yes,” he said, “quite pretty. And you are doubtless aware that a pretty woman is even prettier, far prettier, with her neck in a collar. Yes, the noble Iaachus chose his agent well, an inviting, lovely, supposedly unarmed naked slave. Who would suspect a source of mischief so unlikely? And is this tiny, lovely dagger not a surprising instrument by means of which to address oneself to the commonly crude work of assassination?”
“Beware the blade, Master,” she whispered.
“Beware this unportentous thing,” he asked, “this inauspicious, slight piece of metal, tapering to so negligible a point?”
“Unseen death,” she said, “inhabits its small terrain of steel.”
“Dangerous, this tiny needlelike blade?” he asked, poising its point at her left cheek.
“Yes, Master,” she whispered. “Death reclines there, in covert secrecy, ready to spring forth. Through the smallest portal put ajar swift death rushes in.”
“Shall we see?” he asked.
“No, please!” she wept, drawing back a tiny bit.
“Only a crease, only a scratch?” he suggested.
“Please, no, Master!” she begged.
“Very well,” he said, removing the point from her cheek, under the left eye, drawing back.
“Behold,” he said. He thrust back the sleeve of the dinner robe.
“Master!” she cried.
He had drawn the blade across the inside of his left forearm, and, where it had taken its short journey, there was a thin, bright line of fresh blood.
He wiped the blood away with a small cloth.
“I do not understand,” she said.
“It was clear to several of us, certainly to Ronisius, Qualius, and myself, even on the Narcona, that you, though a slave, did not take yourself to be a slave. What, then, was to be your role on Tangara? It was not difficult to speculate. What was not known were your confederates, one or more, who would abet you in your business. The weapon then, presumably, would be poison. Given the time involved, and your recent freedom, we supposed you were not a poison girl, prepared over a period of years, whose bite would be venomous. Too, in your medical examination, it was determined your teeth were sound, none hollowed to hold poison, thence to be discharged, as though by a fang, into a wound. This suggested, then, either poison to be administered in food or drink, or by a knife. If the deed were to be done secretly, as you fully expected to be extracted from the camp, it would presumably be administered in a private collation or by means of a blade or point. It was easy, even on the Narcona, to determine that no collation would be accepted in circumstances which might favor a conspirator or conspirators. Things became simpler here, in the camp. Ronisius, surreptitiously investigating the gear of officers, discovered the case, with the knife, amongst the belongings of Corelius. We did not know, of course, if others were in league with him. If there were others, and who they might be, had to remain undetermined for at least a time, until the assassination would be attempted. Their identities and number, of course, became clear with the flight of the hoverer.”