This coffle was much as the others.
The hair of the girls, sopped, and bedraggled, spread about their faces and shoulders. Their tiny tunics were drenched. And not one tunic was without its stains and soiling. Some were open at the back, cut apart, and reddishly stained, where the whip had fallen. One could see the track of rivulets of water on their necks and shoulders, and note the progress of its tiny, coursing, chill streams elsewhere on their bodies, on their arms, and muddied thighs and calves. Their scanty, revealing garmenture, suitable for slaves, was chilled and soaked, the cold, pelting water easily penetrating the light, porous cloth, not only from without but from within, as well, as water ran from their bodies. Some of the girls clutched the tunic about their neck, tightly, to keep water from slipping within the garment. Some of the girls, staggering, clung even, with both hands, desperately, to the stiff, wet, cold neck-ropes, perhaps that they might be steadied in the march, or perhaps merely that they might have something, anything, to cling to, even be it the bond which fastened them, directly or indirectly, to the back of a wagon, the very bond which in its way left them in no doubt that they were women, and slaves. Muchly were their eyes filled with anguish and fear, and muchly did they shiver and tremble. Could one not read in their countenances a mute plea for pity? They did not dare speak for fear of being struck. “Please, Master, please!” begged their eyes.
Was mercy not to be shown to them?
Was it not understood that they were females, and slaves?
I continued on my way.
I wondered how many of them, as free women, might have teased men, or led them on, or sported with them.
Such days, if they had been, were now behind them. They were now slaves, and the properties of men.
An unharnessed tharlarion was led by, his might to be applied to some wagon forward.
A whip master, too, passed by.
One is not to intrude oneself, incidentally, between a whip master and his duty.
Although one should show no concern for slaves, I felt sorry for them. They are, of course, to be understood as, and treated as, the animals they are, that goes without saying, but this does not mean that one should not be concerned for their health, comfort, and safety. After all, it is appropriate to care for one’s animals. One should be concerned with the health, comfort, and safety of all one’s stock, of whatever sort, even that which is well-curved and two-legged. To be sure, a typical husbandman is likely to be more concerned for the welfare of his kaiila than his female slaves, but then the kaiila is a far more valuable animal. But it is obvious that an animal which is well cared for is likely to provide a much better service and last longer than one which is ill fed, frightened, and abused. Slaves, like other animals, respond well to kindness, provided it occurs within a context of a never-compromised, iron discipline.
Somewhere a tharlarion bellowed.
It was probably hungry.
I hoped we would soon halt for the night. Tenting would be set up for the men, the Pani, the craftsmen, the teamsters, mercenaries, and others. Small fires, fueled with sheltered, dried kindling, collected earlier and brought hither, in the wagons, could be set under the roofing of canvas shelters, permitting some cooking. Certainly I would appreciate a cup of steaming kal-da, and later an opportunity to take refuge under a tarpaulin in the back of one of the wagons. The slaves were slept under the wagons. Bedded, they were kept on their neck-ropes, but their hands were retied, behind them, lest any be so foolish as to try to address themselves to the knots at the ends of the coffle rope. Their ankles were not bound, lest men, late at night, might be inconvenienced in the darkness.
I suspected the terminus of our journey would be the Alexandra.
As it was we were nearly in the ninth month.
A time was approaching in which the temperamental vagaries of restless Thassa would predictably begin. Goreans seldom brave her churning, often towering, violent green waves between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. That is the season of bitter cold in the northern latitudes, and of high winds and storms. In such a season Gorean mariners refrain from taunting mighty Thassa. Their ships remain in port, and, in Torvaldsland, even the slim, open dragons of the Torvaldslanders, as resilient and supple as they are, remain in the sheds. Let Thassa close her roads then as she will. Let her have then her season of privacy, of isolation and ferocity, of storms and terror. In such moments she wills to be alone. Do not then venture upon her. Leave her to her moods, and her dark, swelling frenzies. Later the sun will ascend, the air will warm, and the waves subside. Then fit and rig your vessels; then roll your dragons to the shore. No, the winter is not a time to venture forth on Thassa. It is a time rather for the taverns and halls, for fires and brew, for paga and kaissa, for brawls and slaves, and the waiting for En’Kara, when, one’s resources likely having been depleted, one will seek out captains and merchants, and seek perchance a new bench, a new oar.
Pertinax and I had, from time to time, sought out Cecily and Jane who, as their embonded sisters, were tunicked and coffled. We had assured ourselves thusly that they were well, or, at least, no more miserable than the others. As at Tarncamp, we had no free women with us, and no male slaves. We did have, obviously, as at Tarncamp, several female slaves. Females make excellent slaves. Had it not been for the female slaves I do not think the discipline at Tarncamp, particularly with the mercenaries present, could have been maintained. Gorean males expect to have access to female slaves, rather as the right of a free male. They expect them to be in attendance, to be provided, rather as they might expect, on some venture or another, food and lodging to be provided. Strong men do not care to do without women in collars. This, for example, is something well known to any paga slave.
With a great bellowing, calling out, and a creaking of wagons, the long line of our march came to a halt.
It was here, on the road, we would stay for the night.
I was looking forward to meat and kal-da.
Later, after supper, and a cup of hot kal-da, this doing much to restore my spirits and reconcile me to the day’s travails, rather than immediately retiring to a damp tarpaulin and the hard, chill, soaked boards of a wagon, a respite to which I had earlier looked forward, I took it upon myself to make the rounds of the march. This could be done in less than an Ahn. Too, whereas a tarpaulin and a wagon bed may be preferable to the mud beneath a wagon it is, in itself, as you might suppose, no prize lodging either. It is certainly inferior to the furs and a well- curved slave chained at one’s feet, against whom one may warm one’s feet. Here and there a lantern hung on a wagon, and I could make my way about without much difficulty. Occasionally, in passing a wagon, I would hear a gasping and moaning, and a rolling and thrashing in the mud where, it seemed, some fellow, presumably a mercenary, had pulled a slave from under a wagon, to the end of her tether, and was in the midst of reminding her of her bondage. I did not interfere in such matters, nor was I expected to do so. These were matters internal to the camp and not within the province of myself, or guards.
“How goes the night?” I asked a fellow.
“Well, Commander,” he said.
I passed an enclosed, windowed, sutlers’ wagon. It was one of several recently allotted, given the weather, to the contract women. They would ride, of course, in any case, and not go afoot, as the collar-girls. Even so I did not doubt but what they had been jostled well about, and sorely discomfited by the lurchings and tiltings of their conveyances. I could imagine them within, amongst rattling pans, shifting vessels, and boxes, bracing themselves against walls, or clinging to supports. I supposed they would have, even so, some rude discolorations which might be laid to the account of the journey. Lord Nishida, interestingly, marched with his troops, braving the cold and mud, and slept in his pavilion tent. I did not know what might be typically the case with one of his rank amongst the Pani, but, if he were typical, they chose to share the hardships of their men. To be sure, he occasionally removed his mud-caked garments, bathed, donned a kimono, and honored his contract women with his presence.
I accepted the greeting of a guard, and continued on my way.
I have chosen, incidentally, in this narrative, as you have perhaps noted, to omit any explicit account of signs and countersigns. I am supposing the rationale for this is sufficiently obvious. Although such devices are frequently changed, some are used more than once. Also, certain recognition devices are portions of a secret tradition within Pani clans, the members of which may be separated by thousands of pasangs, and these are either permanent, or relatively so.
Pertinax, I suspected, was with his Jane. The former free brat of Ar, now nicely collared, thrashed well.
It is easy to caress a slave into submission, a submission in which she is yours, pleading and piteous, helplessly begging for the least continuation of your touch.
