“Gundlicht,” said the man with a rifle, “you may now have the slaves brought up to the tiers. See that they are neck-roped. They will not object. They are slaves. And it would not do, of course, to have one wander off, carelessly. Hendrix, you may have the free women put in the arena.”
“The arena?” said Lady Delia.
Two of the rough fellows left the tiers. They departed by means of the same exit which had been used earlier by Cornhair.
“Yes,” said the man with the rifle. “Now the slaves will sit in the tiers.”
“I do not understand,” said Lady Delia, apprehensively.
“You will, shortly,” he said.
“You are not a boat man,” she said, “not a river pirate!”
“No,” he said.
“What are you?” she said. “Who are you?”
“You are beautiful,” he said, eyeing the Lady Delia.
“Oh?” she said.
“For a free woman.”
“‘For a free woman’?” she said.
“Yes,” he said. “Surely you know that the most beautiful women are taken for slaves. Men will have it so.”
“How could the beauty of a slave compare with that of a free woman?” she said.
“Quite favorably,” he said. “Where do you think slaves come from?”
“I do not understand,” she said.
“To be sure,” he said, “in a collar, given the nature of things, a woman becomes far more beautiful.”
“Why are members of my party to be conducted to the arena?” she asked. “What has that to do with ransoms?”
“Nothing,” he said.
“I do not understand,” she said.
He turned to the men about.
“Strip her,” he said. “And use that scarf to tie her hands behind her back.”
“No!” cried Lady Delia, as rude hands tore the clothes from her body. A moment later her hands were confined behind her back, wrapped in folds of her scarf, that she had used to give the signal to open the dog gate. One of the men thrust her to her knees, and forced her head down to the floor.
“Remain as you are, female,” said the man with the rifle.
Cornhair realized that, as Lady Delia had been positioned, she could not be seen from the sand below, onto which, even now, the members of her party, in consternation, were filing.
“What of ransoms, noble sir?” said Lady Delia, frightened, kneeling, her head down to the floor.
“How many are in your party?” asked the man.
“One hundred and fifty-two,” she said, “including myself.”
“Free men,” he said, “do not approve of the killing of slaves.”
“They are only slaves,” said Lady Delia.
Meanwhile the several slaves who had assisted at the suppers with Cornhair, each on the same long rope, a section of which would be looped and knotted about the neck of one, and then taken forward and looped and knotted about the neck of the next, and so on, had been positioned in the front row of the tiers.
They had been brought up to the level of the tiers by the man who had been addressed as “Gundlicht.”
“What of ransoms, noble sir!” beseeched the Lady Delia, more urgently.
“Not all men are stupid,” said the man. “And very few are stupid who are rich, powerful, and significantly situated, the sort you and your friends chose for your victims, your dupes, and quarries.”
“I do not understand,” she said.
“Yet,” he said, “being men, being strong men, they doubtless recognized that you and your party had certain attributes of interest, lovely features, intelligence, possibly stimulatory curves.”
“What are you saying?”
“And such men,” he said, “might be willing to pool certain resources to perpetrate a joke, one worth the telling, and retelling.”
“I do not understand,” she said.
“I have already been paid,” he said.
“What of the ransoms!” she cried.
“One does not ransom slaves,” he said.
“We are not slaves!” she cried.
“One sells them,” he said.
“We are free women!” she said.
“Then you have nothing to fear,” he said. He then turned to the fellow he had addressed as “Hendrix.” “Hendrix,” said he, “are the free women now in the arena?”
“Yes, Lord,” said the man. “All, and the arena exit portal is locked.”
The man with the rifle then went to the railing before the box of the hostess, and surveyed the women in the arena.
“Ladies!” he called down to them.
“Release us!” he heard. “Let us go!” “Filch! Pirate, boor!” Some of the women shook their fists upward. “Beware!” cried others.
He extended a hand, in a gesture for silence.
“Thank you, ladies,” he said.
The women looked uneasily to one another.
“Slaves, though worthless, though meaningless, though mere commodities,” he said, “are the most female, the most perfect, the most luscious and desirable of women.”
“No! No!” several cried.
“That is why men buy them,” he said.
“Release us!” cried a woman.
“Yet,” he said, “you would waste such pleasant beasts, such silken, curvaceous objects, of such interest to men, in the arena.”
“Let us go!” cried a woman.
“It is not enough that you, in your hatred, would own, terrify, and beat them, but you would destroy them, even cast them to beasts.”
“They are slaves,” cried a woman.
“Gundlicht,” said the man with the rifle. “Exhibit Lady Delia to the free women below.”
“Oh!” cried Lady Delia, as Gundlicht yanked her to her feet by the hair, thrust her rudely to the railing, and then held her there, his right hand in her hair, holding her head up, and steadying her with his left hand, it grasping her bound, upper left arm.
Cries of dismay escaped the many women on the sand.
“My dear Lady Delia,” said the man with the rifle, softly, the words not audible beyond the box of the hostess, “it is my intention to throw you now, as you are, naked and bound, to the sand below, and release the dogs. There are four left. Doubtless they will attack you first. This should be instructive to the other women in the arena.”
“Do not do so, great and noble sir,” wept Lady Delia. “I am helpless.”
“Cast her to the sand,” said the man with the rifle to Gundlicht, who then swept the Lady Delia up easily into his arms, and readied himself to cast her over the railing.
“No, no, Master!” wept Lady Delia.
“‘Master’?” said the man with the rifle.
“Yes, yes!” wept Lady Delia.
The man with the rifle indicated that Gundlicht should stand the Lady Delia behind the railing.
“Publicly, and loudly, slut,” said the man with the rifle, “so that all may hear.”
“I am a slave!” she cried. “I beg to be made a slave! Make me a slave! I beg the collar! Keep me, Masters!”
Many were the cries of dismay, and outrage, from the sand below. “No, no!” cried Lady Virginia, and others. “Treason!” cried others. “You betrayed us!” cried a woman. “Contemptible baggage!” cried another.
Gundlicht, at a sign from the man with the rifle, pulled the former Lady Delia back and flung her to her knees behind the railing. “Untie her hands,” he said to Gundlicht, who did so, promptly.
“Go to all fours here, beside me,” said the man with the rifle, “and await your collar.”
“Yes, Master,” said the slave.
“Bring two,” said the man with the rifle, to another fellow, glancing at Cornhair, who instantly, too, unbidden, went to all fours, which is a common position in which a slave is collared.
“Now, dear ladies,” called the man to the women on the sand, “I am going to release the dogs.”
“No!” cried many. “No! No!”
“No, no, our ransoms! Our ransoms!” cried more than one.
“I have been well paid,” said the man with the rifle. “But not to hold you for ransoms. And you have not been pleasing. I shall now release the dogs!”
“No, no!” cried many of the women.
“Let us be pleasing!” cried a woman.
“Yes, yes,” cried others. “Let us be pleasing!”