The Price of Hubris (1) Peony D Beckside

 

The Price of Hubris

Peony D Beckside

Chapter One

I am the Tatrix.  Tatrix of the city state of Tharna, but not for much longer.  In what I believe is the language where this document is to be sent, the term would be ‘Queen’.  Another few days at best, is all that I have to ostensibly rule.  I am a figurehead ruler.  It wasn’t always so.  I am not downhearted.  I am not to be killed, or at least not unless I try to remain longer than is reasonable.  I have trepidation over what will happen to me.  Well, I know what will happen to me, but not the day to day specifics.  My future comfort will depend much more on my own efforts and actions than ever before.  If I freely accept my fate, then I can have some say as to where I am to be sent, for the city will become no longer mine.  Orders issued before that, will still be obeyed… hopefully.

My thoughts stray as I take in my morning craterus of ka-la-na wine and platerus of ram-berries.  The luxury of time to muse is something that I may not have much of in the future.  The lower castes spend all their time surviving.  They even believe the world is flat!  I will be lesser even than them.  The Upper Castes, the intelligentsia, if you like, those of the Upper Knowledge know different.  There are even some who postulate another planet similar to our own, counterbalancing our orbit, on the other side of the sun.  The more imaginative would have it revolving in the opposite direction, so that the sun rises in the East and sets in the West!  How absurd!  Assuming that people exist on such a planet, how would their social structures have developed.  Different from ours I dare say.  Enough of this idle speculation.  It’s pointless.

It is my own fault to some extent that I must cease to rule.  I did not create the conditions for revolution, but when in my turn as Tatrix regnant, I did not do anything to alleviate the complex tensions and conflicts in the city.  I was as oblivious to them as I was vain and cruel.  I thought myself akin to a Goddess.  What Hubris!  It never occurred to me that I was not invulnerable.  I expected the status-quo to last forever, me passing the Golden Mask, the symbol of the sovereign to my successor in due course.

The city was a Matriarchy.  All women wore silver masks, only the Queen, a golden one.  But then, the city was rich from its silver mines.  Over generations the men had become churls.  We, the women should have been happy.  We had won!  The city, however was cheerless, grey, lacking an indefinable something.  Into my city came a man, a warrior.  Tarl was his name.  He appeared to be an outlaw. His shield bore no city identification mark.  Later it became known that he was Tarl of Ko-ro-ba, the doomed city whose name should not be spoken.  In the annals and songs of Ar, he is known as Tarl of Bristol.  He, it was, to be the catalyst that would tear my complacent world down, but I was not to know it at that time.  I was cruel to him, sentencing him to the Arena, from which he escaped.  When re-captured he was sent to the mines, to die under the workload and the whips of the overseers.

It’s not relevant here to recount how the revolution had begun or what course it took; it is written of elsewhere.  Suffice it to say that in the middle of the conflict, I fell from grace and became this man’s slave.  I would be still, but he chose to free me for political reasons.  The city was beginning to descend into civil war, and not just between the men and the women.  Whatever happened the women would never again attain such power as they had, but the warrior, Tarl recognised that as a figurehead, I could still bring the various factions together again.  So it was that I retained my title.  The golden mask I would never wear again, but I retained it, as I already had an idea as to it’s future use.  Tarl of Ko-ro-ba drifted away on a quest that was greater than our internecine squabbles.

As for the women, the men would not countenance a return to their overbearing ways, so it fell to me to not only pronounce, but decide their fate.  It would not be a popular decision, but in hindsight, I think it a fair one.  Perhaps one in nine found Free Companions among the men, the rest became the slaves of the men, duly branded and collared as per Merchant Law.  The brand to indicate status, or more precisely lack of it, for only animals and property are branded.  The collar also to show lack of status, but in addition as an identification mark indicating who owns the slave.

Now, the divisions between the factions are healed, I recognise that the need for a figurehead is over.  There is no place for someone such as I.  Correction, there is one place…

 

“Kron would you dine with me tonight?”

“Certainly, Tatrix.  At what hour?”

“At the seventeenth ahn, if convenient...”

“I shall attend.”

“I look forward to it”

 

Kron is Administrator of the city.  A big blocky man, which is unsurprising given his previous calling, that of a Metalworker.  Even though from the lower castes, he has a good decisive brain and enough subtlety to control the Administrative Council.

“Kron,  The city is peaceful?  The factions have come together?”

We are enjoying a craterus of paga, after a pleasing meal.

“Yes, Tatrix.”

“Then the role of Tatrix is no longer needed?”

“But you are loved by your people!  Where would you go?  What would you do?”

I laugh.

“Save the ordure for those who need it, Kron.  We both know that among the men, I am only a figurehead.  Already many are saying that I have outlived my usefulness.  They are not wrong.  As for the women, I am universally hated, particularly by the slaves.  Why should they suffer, attempting desperately to please their men, while I sit in luxury, apparently invulnerable.  No, Kron, it is time for me to vacate the post of Tatrix and be returned to Tarl of Ko-ro-ba.  In your heart, you know what must be done.  As Metalworker, you would have had experience of marking suitable merchandise?”

“Yes, Tatrix.”

I note the dubiety in his voice.  Despite how cruel I had been to him once, I think in his own way he respects me and perhaps loves me a little.  I think that he will be saddened to see me go.

“Can I call on you to do the necessary?  Common kajira mark, let me not be granted any special status.  A clean mark?”

“Yes, Tatrix.”

I give him the golden mask.

“Will you have this melted and turned into the appropriate adornment? Please mark it with Tarl’s name.”

“It shall be done, Tatrix”

“All should see,  Particularly the women.  They need to know that the Tatrix too must obey the edicts.  Can you arrange it?  In four days time at the Arena I think, if it’s available that is.  Please issue edicts ordering all free women to attend and requesting all slave owners to allow their slaves to attend.”

“It shall be as you request, Tatrix.”

“There will also be the question of my transportation.  Information has come to me that Tarl is now living in Port Kar.  Do you know of a soldier whose honour is such that he will obey a command from me to undertake the journey, knowing that I will not be able to confirm or amend that order?”

“There’s Graticus, Tatrix...”

“Yes, Kron.  I recall him from the barricades.  He offered me his life when he realised that he had mistakenly followed the usurper, thinking her me.  Yes, I think he would be perfect.  Would you ask him if he would dine with me tomorrow?”

“He will be summoned, Tatrix.”

“Not summoned, Kron.  Asked, please.  I doubt he will refuse, but I don’t want it to be an order.”

“Very good, Tatrix”

 

Graticus is a young man.  He doesn’t look it, but he is strong.  His loyalty is unquestionable.

“Graticus, I know that to you honour is all important.  You proved it at the barricades...  If I were to order you to a task, and having done so was then unable to ensure that you had carried it out, could I rely on your honour to obey that task?”

“Pardon, Tatrix?”

“Please answer Graticus, I will clarify shortly.”

“Very good Tatrix.  As long as the order that you gave me did not itself go against my honour, then by that honour, I would obey the order irrespective of whether you were able to check it had been carried out.  Now please…”

I held up my hand.

“Thank you for that reassurance Graticus.  The order would not compromise your honour.  In three days time I am going on a journey.  At that time I also want you to undertake a journey.  I want you to take a female slave to Port Kar and deliver her to a man there, or if he’s not readily available, to the steward of his household.  You may requisition the best Tarn from the Tarn-cot, and whatever money, supplies, and weapons you think you may need.  The slave will be given to you at the Arena.  Please liaise with Kron.  I’d estimate it’s about a one-moon round trip”

“As you command, Tatrix!”

“The slave will not be white silk, but will not be experienced.  She will be newly collared slave-meat.  It is unlikely that the man to whom you are to deliver her, will object to you improving her skills in all facets of slave-service, including cooking and sewing in addition to her more intimate tasks.  It goes without saying that you will have full punishment rights over her, in case she is not found pleasing.  It might be instructive to her  to be kept in some form of bondage for most of the journey, that she fully understand that for her there is no escape.”

“Certainly a wise precaution Tatrix, if only to ensure that she is not stolen.”

“I’m glad you understand, for on my honour, I must do all I can to ensure safe delivery to the slave’s owner.  Please be at the Arena two ahn before the azimuth.”

“I shall be there, and ready to travel, at that time.”

 

The sands of the Arena are just beginning to warm up as the structure begins to fill.  There is a susurration of discussion amongst the seats.  ‘Why have we been called here?’, ‘What’s it all about?’  The buzz gets louder as the stadium fills.  The free women, as is fitting, have the best seats, those opposite the entry.  The rest of the seats being taken up by slave-girls and those controlling them.  Some, the trusted ones are alone, others chained in pairs, triplets, etc.  Others still are accompanied by guards, chaperones or their owners.  On the floor of the arena is a tall pole, a small tent, a large broad man who gossip says is Administrator Kron, and a warrior with a large tarn.  Onto the sand I, the Tatrix, stride.  I am attired in the fine robes of a free woman, with a loose face-veil. I am accompanied by three slave girls, all of which belong to Kron, but had been loaned to me.  After today they will return to him.  I have dressed one of the slaves in the robes of a free woman, but not as fine as mine.  She appears to have her hands bound behind her and is being tugged along by a rope halter round her neck, by another of the slaves.  It’s all for show of course, and I don’t expect the ruse to last long.  Just long enough give me time to warm up my audience.  I begin my presentation.

“Greetings all!  You will recall that with the fall of the ‘silver masks’ each of you was given six months in which to find a man to whom you could propose a Free Companionship.  If such was rejected, the man could instead legally enslave you.  If at the end of six months you were still neither a slave or in a Free Companionship then you would automatically become slave and the property of he who first put a collar on you.”

There was a brief groan of remembrance.

“Here today”

I imply by my body position, indicating the slave dressed as a free woman

“We have a woman who has escaped her slavery.  Today we will rectify that.”

“Where’s your collar and brand, Tatrix?”

Such from a heckler in the front benches of slaves.  She is brave, this one.  Such insolence could get her killed!  Doubtless though she is only saying what many think, but dare not say.  However her jibe is actually just what I was looking for.  I laugh.  That shakes the audience!  They aren’t expecting that response.

“Kron, please ensure that slave is whipped before she leaves the stadium!”

A wail comes from the same woman.

“Yes, Tatrix!”

Addressing the crowd again, I continue.

“The doom that I pronounced on you, was at the time the gentlest that I could.  There was talk of slaughtering you all in revenge for your years of  repression.  Think on that before you judge me!”

There is silence.

“Bold, though she is, the slave is correct.  The doom of slavery specified ALL women of the city.  It did not say ‘except the Tatrix’.  It did not say ‘except this person or that person’.”

I speak an aside to one of my serving slaves…

“Calaria, remove your disguise.  It has done it’s job”.

I notice Kron quietly removing the tent from round the brazier and branding rack.  Turning back to the crowd, I force myself into the commitment.

“Yes, today, it is the Tatrix herself who surrenders herself up to slavery!”

There is a stunned gasp from the crowd.

“Doubtless I too will scream at the kiss of the branding iron.  I too will feel the cold metal circle my throat.”

Reaching behind me Calaria hands me the object from a box previously hidden within her robes.  I lift up the object, so that all can see it.

“This is all that is left of the gold mask of the Tatrix!”

Kron has made a good job of the slave collar.  It is beautiful.  Simple, elegant and oh-so functional!

“This collar carries the mark of my owner, Tarl of Ko-ro-ba.  What is not generally known is that during the revolution, I was briefly enslaved by Tarl of Ko-ro-ba.  I was not at that time branded or collared.  Tarl of Ko-ro-ba freed me only so that as a figurehead I was the only one who could stop the city descending into chaos.  The need for such a figurehead is now over.  It is time for me to be returned to my owner.  Until such time as my owner or some other master chooses to replace it with a simpler one, I shall wear the shame of my inability to hold my city together and myself in power locked round my neck.  Doubtless such a badge of infamy will be heavy.”

That’s it!  There is nothing else to say.  The crowd, release their collectively held breaths and cheer loudly.  Do they cheer because, I their betrayer is about to ‘get hers’, or because I have been brave enough to surrender myself to the same fate as they themselves?  It really doesn’t matter.  The noise dies down.

“Kron, will you do this final duty?”

“Yes, Tatrix!”

“Graticus, the slave that you are to take to Port Kar is the one that is newly created here today.  Will you obey the orders given you?  Do not take any ordure from her!”

“With pleasure, Tatrix!”

“Slaves disrobe me!”

It takes little time before I stand naked, my head up, in the centre of the Arena.  Many in my situation may have worn a simple slave shift beneath my robes, but no, the women of the city have to know that in surrendering myself I become no more than them.  A slave shift would have implied standing that I have not yet earned.  I turn and walk over to where Kron is waiting.

“Common kajira marking, Kron?”

“As specified Tatrix!”

I place my thigh in the branding rack designed for it.  The belts to hold my thigh rigid, tighten fiercely.  My thigh must not move under the hot iron or the mark will be poor, smudged, marred.  My wrists are secured in shackles.  No going back now.  The iron in Kron’s hand glows cherry-red.  He presses it down firmly onto the naked flesh of my thigh.  I scream!  The pain is indescribable.  I doubt anyone, certainly any woman could have withstood such pain and not shrieked.  The touch of the iron is incontrovertible.  I am now no longer Tatrix, only a nameless slave.  Not only nameless, but ownerless.  The collar has not yet been affixed.  I am released from the branding rack.

“Kneel!”

Kron’s voice filters through the ebbing agony of my thigh.  I comply.  I must now comply with every order given me by a free person.  I hear the cheering from the seating all around me.   Reaching for the collar from Calaria, to whom I had briefly handed it back, Kron holds it before me.

“Read!”

“I am the property of Tarl of Ko-ro-ba.  Return me to him for punishment.”

The metal is cold on my neck.  I hear the ominous click of the lock.  I am owned.

“Try to remove the collar.”

I reach for it and tug every way.  Up, down, outward, inward.  I twist the collar.  It will not come off!

“Graticus, please give this key to Tarl of Ko-ro-ba or his appointed representatives.”

“Yes, Kron!”

“Guards, secure the woman to the pillar.  She must be instructed as to what happens if she isn’t found pleasing”

This isn’t in the script!  Without thinking, I cry out…

“No Kron!”

There is laughter from the audience.  Doubtless they know from experience the enormity of my stupidity.

“Whip her well Ronstedt!  Ten lashes as instruction and ten for sullying the name of a free person with her lips!”

What has got into Kron?  Where is his kindness, his caring, his submissiveness to me, even?  The awful truth of my situation dawns on me…  I am dragged to the pole, inwardly crying ‘No! No, Noooo’  My wrists are held perfectly by the manacles.  I cannot slip them.  My ankles too are secured, doubtless so I can’t twist away from the leather of the lash.  The pain is awful! Unbearable.  I howl! I scream! after only the 4^th lash I beg.

“No Master, please no more! I beg it.  I’ve learned my lesson… Please stop.”

The words come unbidden from my lips.  I’ve not consciously spoken them.  I hear laughter from the seating all around, and other comments.

“Give the bitch what she deserves!”

“About time too!”

“No better than us now, slut!”

“Now you know what it feels like!”

The punishment doesn’t stop of course, until the specified number of blows have been administered.  I scream under each and every one of them.  I hang limply from the shackles.  My eyes and cheeks covered in tears.  Released, I fall like a sack of suls.  I am dragged away and new shackles are attached to my wrists.

“Good journey, Graticus.  Come and see me when you return.”

“Thanks Kron, I will!”

There is a jerk on my arms and suddenly there is no ground beneath my feet.  The cool air passing eases the pains of my back and thighs, but the weight of my body on my wrists and shoulders is creating a new discomfort.  The last thing I see before passing over the city walls is a packed stadium below me with lots of cheering rising up to me.

I was a Tatrix once.  Now I am nothing, a servant, a slut, whatever my use-Master wants me to be.  I cannot escape him.  I am chained.  When delivered, I know not what my owner will want me to be.  Intellectually I had known that this would be how it would be, but thinking and being are two different things.  The reality is so much harsher than the fantasy.  Doubtless my new reality will have some good points, I hope... ‘I was a Tatrix once’, the refrain rings through my head.  I’d better stop thinking that.  Such airs and graces will not be permitted me.  Perhaps a new refrain.  ‘I am only a slave now’,  ‘I am only a slave now’, ‘I am only a slave...’  For all that, I am not unhappy.  Being a Tatrix is so boring!  I doubt that I’ll be bored in the future..!