The Chieftan

She was horrified, of course, to see how the women fought for the food.

“Please, more!” cried a woman. “Me! Me!” begged another, putting out her hands. But, too, she was acutely aware of her own hunger and thirst. She feared she might die. Could she have secured some of those scraps if she were below? Would she be quick enough, agile enough? Would the slaves with the buckets take pity on her and throw her something? Could she keep it? Would larger, stronger women take it away from her? Could she pull away, and thrust it in her mouth and swallow it before another could deprive her of it? She did not know.

She looked down at the women, scrambling for what scraps might be cast to them.

At least they were being fed, as she was not. They had, at least, the chance, down there, on the carpeting, to snatch up some bit of food.

The ship slaves, she was sure, did not fight in such a way for their food.

Presumably this form of feeding was a lesson, that the prisoners must now depend on the will of others, for even their food. How cruel seemed the ship slaves to the prisoners. She did not think that masters would be so cruel. Indeed, might not masters even grow fond of their slaves, being careful, of course, not to relax the discipline in which they were held. Let the prisoners then hope that they might soon escape the supervision of the ship slaves, that they might soon, by gift or sale, come into the ownership of men, whose interest and affection they might strive to win by their heat and beauty, and devotion and selfless service.

“You feed eagerly,” said one of the ship slaves. “Obviously you know it is better than you would receive in the steel bins.” The officer of the court shuddered.

But this suggested there must be other prisoners, or slaves, doubtless kept on the barbarian ships. There had been a passenger list of over two thousand. The officer of the court did not think the ship could be recovered. Moreover, she had heard, in the theatre, that engineering was soon expected to fall into the hands of the barbarians. That would surely mean the end of resistance. Too, in the early moments of the fighting, if not earlier, distress signals had doubtless been sent out. The barbarians would not risk their vessels, presumably, against imperial cruisers. Ortog had been studying a chart. Perhaps on it, hour by hour, were being marked the advances of an imperial force. She remembered the men monitoring various devices. But this was a remote sector of space, at the fringe of the empire. The arrival of an imperial force was surely not imminent. It was not likely that one could arrive for several days, if one were on its way at all. Certainly the barbarians seemed in no hurry to abandon the vessel. It seemed they wished to obtain all the loot possible, human and otherwise, from the Alaria. The thought struck her, frightening her, that she herself was, from the point of view of the barbarians, booty, as much as a golden coin or those black high-heeled pumps, tied together, which the ship slave had cast onto the pile of loot. What hope was there for her? Was she not, already, in effect, a woman owned by men, like the women below, only that she was not now naked, and her ankles were not shackled, assuming that they might find her of sufficient interest to keep her? Too, she had little doubt that when it came time for the barbarians to leave the Alaria, perhaps to slip away from an imperial force, they would not be likely to simply leave her behind, even as a silent, lifeless wreck, dead in space. She would be destroyed, to eliminate any witnesses who might somehow have survived, eluding discovery and capture, and to eliminate any evidence that might prove relevant to the identity of her attackers. The officer did not know it, of course, but her conjectures were quite sound. Tending to confirm them would have been the information that the small base on Tinos had been destroyed. What hope was there for her? To hide, and then to be blown to pieces in space, with the shattered Alaria, or to hide and then, in some tiny obscure confine, die of thirst or hunger? “No,” she thought to herself, “I must surrender.” “Am I not already, in effect,” she thought to herself, the thought strangely unnerving her, and thrilling her, “a woman like those below, one owned by men?” She then stood up, behind the railing on the upper level of the lounge, between the white tables, her mind made up. She placed her hands, clasped, on the top of her head, as she understood the barbarians wished men to surrender, for she was, of course, of Terennia. Too, they could not have seen her otherwise, where she was, for the railing. She stepped toward the railing. For a moment she was in full view, up, behind the railing on the higher level of the lounge. Any who had glanced up at that moment would have immediately seen her. But none at that moment happened to have had their attention directed in that unlikely direction. Had they done so they would have noted not only the officer of the court, but also the large, armored figure who had come up behind her.

Suddenly a large, gloved hand had closed, from behind, over the mouth of the officer of the court, holding her head back. She was helpless. Her right upper arm, too, was clasped in a mighty grip. She was drawn back.

A voice whispered in her ear. “Do not straggle, stupid little slave.”

Both were now no longer visible from the main floor of the lounge.

The officer of the court felt giddy, being held with such strength.

As if her straggles might have been availing against it!

But she obediently ceased even to squirm.

Too, she was frightened that she might, somehow, for who knew what strange sorts of things men were, excite it, with who knew what fearful consequences, if she straggled.

She was then drawn backwards through a side door from the lounge, and down a long, dim corridor. She did not understand this. She had not expected to be taken into custody in this fashion. He had not even given her a chance, yet, she, a citizen of the empire, of the honestori, even of the blood, to formally surrender to him.

Then she was drawn into a small, dark, steel room, something like a utility room, it seemed.

The door shut with a heavy sound.

She could feel air in the room.

He removed his gloved hand from her mouth and she sank down, weakly, to the steel floor, she sensed at his feet.

She put out her hands and touched the heavy boots. She knelt before him and put her head down to those boots. “I am a slave,” she said. “I confess myself such, honestly and openly. Please do not kill me.”

Then she pressed her head down upon the boots, and then, drawing back a little, she kissed them, clearly, firmly, that he might well understand, even in the dark, that it was done. She then licked them, on the tops and the sides, making certain, too, that her cheeks rubbed down, now and again, firmly, against them, that there be no mistaking the matter, even in the darkness.

“Yes, you are a slave,” said a voice, which she feared she might recognize, and then the light in the room snapped on.

She looked up from the boots and saw herself surely before the large, armored figure who had, but moments before, been on the main floor of the lounge. The armor, the weapons, the accouterments, the insignia, were the same. The helmet, muchly concealing his features, and its markings, too, were the same.

Startling her, to one side, to her right, on the steel flooring, there lay a woman. She had long, blond hair, which was plaited in two thick braids, which, had she been standing, would have fallen to the soft flesh at the back of her knees. She was naked, and gagged, and bound, hand and foot.

She looked over, in consternation, and rage, at the officer of the court.

The huge figure removed his helmet.

“You!” cried the officer of the court, for it was the gladiator.

“She is poor stuff, Master,” said a voice. “Why do you bother with her?”

The officer of the court, turning, saw the slave girl, Janina.

The officer of the court, in fury, sprang to her feet.

“Kneel!” said the officer of the court to Janina, in fury.

“Be silent, slave girl,” said Janina.

The officer of the court looked immediately to the gladiator, for redress, that he would cruelly punish the errant slave, but he made no motion to do so.

The gladiator grinned.

Would he not adjudicate the matter? Surely he did not think she was merely, too, a slave?

She turned to Janina, angrily.

But Janina stood her ground against her, insolently, it seemed.

The officer of the court turned, then, lightly, to the gladiator.

“Where did you obtain your present garb, and accouterments?” she asked.

“From one who loaned them to me,” he said. “I do not think his neck is broken, but he is likely to remain unconscious for several hours.”