Cornhair, crouching under the wagon, pondered approaching the men who were intent on their gambling. They might not wish to be interrupted. But she was very hungry.
“See! See!” cried White Ankles. “There, hiding under the wagon!”
“Come out, Cornhair!” screamed Borchu.
Miserable, and trembling, Cornhair crawled out from under the wagon, the slave bell clanking, and put herself to her belly before Borchu.
“I told her you wanted to see her!” said White Ankles. “She did not rush to the wagon! She dallied! She hid herself!”
“No, no, Noble Mistress,” said Cornhair. “I knew nothing of your pleasure!”
“Liar, liar!” cried White Ankles.
“No!” wept Cornhair.
“Which of you is lying?” asked Borchu.
“Cornhair!” cried White Ankles.
“White Ankles!” cried Cornhair.
“You are both filthy pigs, both liars!” said Borchu.
“No!” said White Ankles.
“No!” said Cornhair.
“Kneel up, look at me!” said Borchu, and Cornhair rose to her knees, but feared to look into that narrow, long, scaled face. The eyes were round and bright. The head was smooth, oval, and elongated, the nostrils no more than a pair of holes in the face. No ears were visible, but there were two holes, listening holes, one on each side of the head. The eyesight of Heruls was much akin to that of humans. Their hearing and sense of smell seems to have been more acute.
Borchu adjusted Cornhair’s head with her switch, so that it was lifted and looking up at her.
Cornhair’s neck hurt.
“How ugly humans are,” said Borchu.
Why, one wonders, would this have been of interest to Borchu?
Notions of beauty, one supposes, would tend to vary from species to species, naturally enough, as most humans would not bid avidly for most female Heruls, nor would most Heruls risk a dozen hides for most human females, but, one supposes, attractiveness and beauty are not always a matter of idiosyncratic species preference. For example, both Heruls and humans might respond to the glory of grass, to the ruggedness of mountains, to the force of rushing streams, to the turbulence of clouds, to the rhapsody of a sunset, to the unsheathing of the cold knife of dawn. Do not Heruls and humans both see beauty in the dog and wolf, in the bull and horse, in the vi-cat and hawk? And certainly, as we have noted, some Herul males have viewed certain of their human properties with interests transcending those of a purely utilitarian nature.
Borchu, it must be confessed, had not been much sought for by male Heruls, with seeding in mind.
“Get your clothes off, pig,” said Borchu to Cornhair.
“Please do not beat me!” said Cornhair.
“Now, pig!” said Borchu.
White Ankles laughed.
Cornhair now wore but her slave bell.
“White Ankles,” snapped Borchu, “remove your waist cord, and bind the wrists of Cornhair together, and then take her to the wagon wheel, put her on her knees, and tie her wrists to a spoke.”
“Please, no, Mistress!” said Cornhair.
“Yes, Mistress,” said White Ankles, untying her waist cord, and hurrying to Cornhair.
Shortly thereafter Cornhair faced the wagon wheel, on her knees, her wrists tied to a spoke.
She looked behind her, terrified, but saw no hint of mercy in the visage of her custodian.
“May I beat her?” inquired White Ankles.
“Perhaps it is you who are the liar,” said Borchu.
“No, Noble Mistress!” said White Ankles.
“Fetch me the waist cord from the dress of Cornhair,” said Borchu.
Swiftly, White Ankles complied.
The waist cord on the dress of a slave is such that, by intention, the slave may be bound with it. Commonly it encircles the waist twice, snugly, and is tied at the left hip, as most Masters are right-handed. This is a common feature of many slave garments, on many worlds. There seems to be three aspects to this practice; first, as a utilitarian measure, the slave may be conveniently rendered helpless, bound, hand and foot; second, carrying her bond about her body, knotted, reminds the slave of her helplessness, her vulnerability, and bondage; and, thirdly, as her figure is emphasized, attention is called to the fact that she is a sexual creature, no longer secretly and shamefully, but now openly and unapologetically, essentially and radically. Let free women pretend what they wish and deny what they will; such privileges are theirs; they are not permitted to the most female of all women, the female slave. Let them not deny their sexuality; that would be farcical in the case of a slave; it is that for which they are purchased. The slave quickly learns the meaning of her collar, which, to her joy and gratitude, frees her to be herself. Perhaps it is little wonder that free women so hate and envy them.
“Mistress?” said White Ankles.
“Remove your clothing, pig,” said Borchu. “Kneel before me, your head down, your arms lifted, your wrists crossed!”
“Please, no, Noble Mistress!” wept White Ankles, but she hastened to obey. In moments, head down, she could see only the dirt before her. She also felt her small wrists tied together, closely.
Moments later White Ankles was on her knees, beside Cornhair, the large, painted hub of the wheel between them, the wrists of each bound to a spoke.
“Confess!” begged White Ankles. “Tell the noble Mistress I told you she wished to see you!”
“You told me nothing!” said Cornhair.
“She is lying Noble Mistress,” cried White Ankles over her shoulder.
“Who is lying?” inquired Borchu.
“Cornhair!” cried White Ankles.
“White Ankles!” cried Cornhair.
“I will beat both,” said Borchu. “I am thus assured the guilty one is punished.”
“I will tear out your hair! I will scratch your eyes out!” cried White Ankles to Cornhair, pulling at her wrists.
“The Noble Masters and Mistresses would not be pleased,” hissed Cornhair.
White Ankles turned white, sobbed, and pulled again at her tethered wrists.
“I will throw dirt into the pan of your food, dirt into the pan of your water,” said White Ankles.
“And I into yours!” said Cornhair.
“I am larger than you,” said White Ankles. “I will beat you, and beat you!”
Tears sprang into the eyes of Cornhair, and she jerked helplessly at the cords that held her bound to the spoke. Her knees ground into the dust at the side of the wheel. She knew she was no match for White Ankles.
And then the switch began to fall on the both of them.
“Pigs, pigs!” said Borchu, gasping with her efforts.
“Mercy, Noble Mistress!” begged White Ankles.
“Mercy, Noble Mistress!” wept Cornhair.
“Admit that you are pigs!” cried Borchu.
“We are pigs!” cried White Ankles and Cornhair, their wrists bound to a spoke, their heads down between the spokes.
“Admit that you are less than pigs!” screamed Borchu.
“I am less than a pig!” cried White Ankles.
“I am less than a pig!” cried Cornhair. “Please stop, Noble Mistress!”
“You were purchased for a pig!” said Borchu. “A fool purchased you for a pig. He was cheated. You are not worth so much! You are worth less than a pig!”
“Yes, Noble Mistress!” wept Cornhair. “I am worth less than a pig! Please beat me no more!”