“Yet,” said Lady Delia, “I have seen them sweaty and filthy, naked, chained by the neck, in coffles, being herded through the streets. I have seen them stinking on slave shelves, standing, in rags, their wrists bound before them, or behind them, placards hung on their necks. I have seen them filthy, too, standing on such shelves, displayed, not even in rags, but naked, not even bound, held in place simply by the Master’s will, their placards hanging about their necks.”
“Perhaps, too,” said the man with the rifle, “you have seen them laboring under burdens, pulling plows in the fields, carrying water, tending pigs, cleaning stables.”
“They are slaves, despicable slaves,” said Lady Delia.
“Slave,” said the man with the rifle to Cornhair, kneeling before him, “are you a despicable slave?”
“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair.
Lady Delia laughed merrily.
Were not all slaves despicable? But why, then, would men buy them, and prize them? Of course, because they might then be lovely, domestic animals.
“Perhaps the slave would be less offensive,” said the man, “if she were clothed?”
“Perhaps,” said Lady Delia.
“You are richly robed,” said the man.
“I patronize only the finest shops in Telnar,” said Lady Delia.
The man gestured, curtly, to one of his fellows. “A length,” he said.
“Yes, Lord,” said the man.
“Stop!” cried Lady Delia. “What are you doing?”
The fellow’s knife, moving swiftly, removed a swath of cloth from the outer, silken, summer robe of Lady Delia.
He threw the fruit of his work to the floor, before Cornhair.
“Slave,” said the man with the rifle, “twisting, tearing, and tying, fashion for yourself from that material the semblance of a tunic.”
“Do not!” screamed Lady Delia.
“I must, Mistress,” moaned Cornhair.
“Make it short,” he said, “slave short.”
“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair.
“Despicable slave!” said Lady Delia.
“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.
“What is your name, slave?” inquired the man with a rifle.
Cornhair, kneeling, grasping the light, silken cloth cut from Lady Delia’s outer summer robe in two hands, instantly put her head down. “Whatever Masters or Mistresses please,” she said.
“She is Cornhair,” said Lady Delia.
“That will do,” said the man. “You are Cornhair.”
“She is already named,” said Lady Delia.
“I have renamed her,” said the man. “What is your name, slave?”
“‘Cornhair’, Master,” said Cornhair.
“Contrive your garment, slave,” said the man.
“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair, stretching the cloth out.
“If I think it is too long,” he said, “you will be lashed.”
“Yes, Master,” whispered Cornhair.
“Clothe them in revealing, degrading brevity,” said Lady Delia.
“If they are to be clothed, at all,” said the man.
“Doubtless,” said Lady Delia, coldly.
“I have seen no men here,” said the man.
“There are none,” said Lady Delia.
“That scarcely seems wise,” said the man.
“Two keepers of dogs will return for their animals tomorrow. The day after, pilots, with hoverers, will arrive, to return my party to Telnar.”
“Still,” said the man.
“We are no more than a hundred miles from Telnar,” said Lady Delia. “We deemed ourselves safe.”
“Still,” said the man.
“We are here on woman’s business,” she said, “the business of free women.”
“What sort of business?” he asked.
“Vengeance,” she said, “vengeance on slaves.”
“May I speak, Master?” asked Cornhair.
“Yes,” he said.
Cornhair rose to her feet, and smoothed down the ragged hem of her improvised tunic. “Is Master pleased?” she asked. “I can make it shorter.”
“You have lovely legs, pleasant flanks,” said the man.
“For a slave,” said Lady Delia.
“Surely, for any woman,” said the man.
“Thank you, Master,” said Cornhair.
“Perhaps,” said Lady Delia. “I understand men buy them with such things in mind.”
“So you gathered here for vengeance on slaves?” said the man.
“Yes,” said Lady Delia, angrily.
“And how were you injured by slaves?” asked the man.
“It is a personal matter,” she said.
“But on its nature it is not difficult to speculate,” said the man.
“Perhaps,” she said.
“The women here, in your party,” he said, “seem uniformly young, and rather attractive.”
“We are a sisterhood, of sorts,” she said.
“You have much in common?” he said.
“Yes,” she said.
“And perhaps you share a grievance?”
“Perhaps,” she said.
“The members of your party seem of an age, and such, where they might be interested in contracting useful alliances, fortunate and profitable relationships, with males of prominence, means, and station.”
“Perhaps,” she said.
“And so, in the way of women, you thought to dangle your charm and body before men, to improve your prospects, and win treasure.”
“Do not be vulgar,” she said.
“But, in each case,” he said, “your intended conquest brought home something in a collar, to crawl about his feet, to fear his whip, and beg to please him.”
“Perhaps,” she said.
“This frustrated your mercenary intentions,” he said.
“Perhaps,” she said.
“And what is your name, fine Lady?” asked the man of Lady Delia.
“‘Delia Cotina’,” she said, “of the Telnar Farnacii.”
“So you are she?” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “You know of me?”
“By reputation,” he said.
“Strange that you should know that, unusual intelligence for a river pirate,” she said.
“I am not a river pirate,” he said.
“I assume you are in touch with, or can soon be in touch with, certain parties in Telnar, through whom ransoms can be arranged.”
“Possibly,” he said.
“I shall give you specifics on the matter,” she said, “as will other members of my party, on their own behalf. I am sure we will all wish this matter to be concluded as expeditiously as possible.”
“I expect it will be,” he said.
“I am curious,” she said. “What had you heard of me?”
“I had heard that you were one of the most beautiful women in Telnar,” he said.
“I see,” she said, pleased.
“And, it seems,” he said, “that the other members of your party were also noted beauties in the society of the city.”
“Perhaps,” she said.
“Otherwise how could they have hoped to trap such fine game?”
“I object,” she said, “to the crudeness of your discourse.”
“It is surprising, is it not,” he asked, “given your beauty, and that of your friends, that the males whom you sought to interest and entice, from whom you hoped to win position and treasure, failed to succumb and languish, failed to surrender to your charms, failed to lift you to the heights you hoped to reach, failed to fall prey to your plots?”
Lady Delia turned away, angrily.
“How could it be?” he asked.
Lady Delia spun about, in fury. “Slaves!” she cried. “Meaningless, worthless, buyable, stinking slaves!”
She then flung herself on Cornhair, her small fists flying, striking her, again, and again, pounding on her, until two of the men pulled her away.
“Steady, steady, fine lady,” said the man with the rifle.
Cornhair, her head down, almost to the floor, her hands held over her head, cringed in fear.
“Forgive me, Mistress!” she begged.
“And so,” said the man with a rifle, “you and your friends gathered together, and would have your vengeance on slaves.”
“They are only slaves,” said Lady Delia. “Now let us discuss terms of ransom.”