of Lord Temmu still stands, that it is not yet taken. To be sure, we did not know that even that would be seen.”
“We feared,” said Lord Okimoto, “that we were too late, that all was lost.”
“The red column,” said Lord Nishida, “we did not expect to see. It signifies that we hold the shore, that Lord Temmu has retaken ground. We rejoice.”
“The third smoke,” said Lord Okimoto, “that of green, of safety, means that a landing may be effected.”
“That is what has so inspirited the men,” said Lord Nishida.
Dozens of men had climbed on the rail, ascended the ratlines, or clung to the masts, that they might see the better.
“What I do not understand,” said Lord Nishida, “is why there should be both a red and green column. If we hold the shore, it is safe, and the green column is unnecessary.”
“It confirms the red column,” said Lord Okimoto.
“Launch the galleys, the small boats,” men cried.
“The green column,” said Lord Nishida, “might indicate that an area is safe to approach, even though it might lie in the territory of Lord Yamada, no enemy being about, or that a passage has been cleared, or a castle may be approached, or such, and thus one might have green without red, but it would be unusual to have both green and red.”
“Yes,” said Lord Okimoto, “unusual, but scarcely a cause for concern.”
“Yellow,” said Lord Nishida to Cabot, “indicates that the holding of Lord Temmu stands.”
“It would be difficult to take his castle,” said Lord Okimoto. “It is a mighty holding.”
“If we hold the shore,” said Lord Nishida, thoughtfully, “it would seem quite likely that the castle of Lord Temmu would still stand.”
“Thus,” said Cabot, “it seems only one signal, the red, would suffice.”
“Precisely, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Lord Nishida.
“All signs,” said Lord Okimoto, “are auspicious.”
“It seems so,” said Lord Nishida.
There was much clamoring amongst the men.
“I do not think they can be held longer,” said Tyrtaios.
Turgus, who was liaison to Lord Nishida, looked about, with apprehension.
“Landing parties may be formed,” said Lord Okimoto.
This decision was met with cries of approval.
“Order is to be maintained,” said Lord Okimoto.
“Certainly,” said Tyrtaios.
“Dispatch a scouting party,” said Cabot.
“The smoke was red,” said Lord Okimoto, patiently.
“Nonetheless,” said Cabot.
“The signals are secret,” said Lord Okimoto.
“We will not be able to restrain the men,” said Tyrtaios.
Already men had rushed below decks, to obtain access to the three remaining nested galleys, and the numerous tiny, tiered, ship’s boats.
Pani looked to Lords Nishida and Okimoto. Were they to use their swords?
To be sure, such an act would doubtless have cost dozens of men, and forever divided the Pani from the mariners and armsmen. As Tyrtaios had feared, war would betide the great ship. Too, the mission of the Pani, whatever it might be, would crumble.
“No,” said Lord Okimoto.
“The men must be armed,” said Lord Nishida.
“It is not necessary,” said Lord Okimoto.
But Tarl Cabot had ascended the ratlines some ten feet, to where he might be clearly seen. “Open the weapon rooms!” he called.
Many were the cheers.
Men hastened to do his bidding.
He would not send men ashore unarmed.
Lord Okimoto was not pleased. His eyes narrowed, unpleasantly. “The commander,” he said to Lord Nishida, “exceeds his authority.”
“I shall reprimand him,” said Lord Nishida.
“The commander,” said Lord Okimoto, “is circumspect.”
“He knows war,” said Lord Nishida.
“The smoke was red,” said Lord Okimoto.
“True,” said Lord Nishida.
“The signals are secret,” said Lord Okimoto.
“They were,” said Lord Nishida.
“I see,” said Lord Okimoto.
Men were hurrying below decks, to the weapon rooms.
“Who will disarm them?” asked Lord Okimoto.
“Many are secretly armed now,” said Lord Nishida. “If we deny them arms, will they not distrust us, that we would send them so ashore?”
“Perhaps,” said Lord Okimoto.
“A force of our men, fifty, divided between us, will go first,” said Lord Nishida.
“Very well,” said Lord Okimoto.
“We will keep a goodly force on board,” said Lord Nishida. “As some return, others may go.”
“No treasure is to go ashore,” said Lord Okimoto.
“No,” said Lord Nishida, “nor slaves.”
The slaves, save some, kept below, were on deck, and this intelligence was received with dismay. “Please, Masters!” wept many. They knelt piteously, and extended their hands to mariners. They, too, longed to go ashore, to feel water about their ankles, to feel sand beneath their bared feet, to touch a stone, grass, a living tree. There were moans amongst them, and sobbing. Many stood by the rail, looking toward the land, their cheeks stained with tears. Those who had been kept below, even during the days of maximum liberty, had been mostly those who, when permitted on deck, had always been hooded.
It seemed unlikely to me that the hooded slaves, however beautiful they might be, would be that much more beautiful than their chain sisters, in either the Venna or Kasra keeping areas. The concealment of beauty, of course, might be only one motivation for hooding a slave. The usual motivation for hooding a slave is to increase one’s control over the slave. A hooded slave, for example, is likely to be disoriented, confused, fearful, and helpless. Sometimes an unpopular, haughty free woman is surprised and hooded, and put by several young men to slave use, after which she is returned to her robes and freedom. Thereafter, she may speculate, encountering one young fellow or another, here or there, at one time or another, whether he is one, or not, who has enjoyed her. Can she live with this? Is that fellow smiling? What is the meaning of that look, by another, or does it have a meaning? When any fellow’s eyes are upon her she seizes her veils and holds them more closely about her face. Do other free women suspect how she is now different from them? Could they possibly know? That she, though a free woman, has been subjected to slave use? How they would shun and scorn her, if they knew. Whose pleasure has she served? That of several, as might have a slave, but she knows not one of them. Can she endure this shame, this humiliation, this uncertainty, being the one who does not know, while others look upon her, and perhaps remember, and know? Is not a paga girl, in an alcove, serving her master of the Ahn, more fortunate? She is likely to be well aware of who it is who is putting her to use. Too, the fellow is likely to want the slave to be well aware of who it is who is seeing to it that she endures the lengthy and unspeakable raptures of her bondage. It is he whom she, helpless, clutching him, must beg for more. And, too, the free woman, to her chagrin, can recall the incipient feelings in her body, and her gasping, and how her small arms touched, and then held, and then clutched, gratefully, the body in whose power she lay. How they had laughed, when a spasm, to her shame, had rocked her. Then, having been given a taste, however brief, of what it might be to be subject to the mastery, she was returned to freedom, to live as she could, the life of a free woman. Such a woman, commonly, in her misery and loneliness, in
