Of Bondlings and Blesh Chapter 48
Chapter 48
At our feet, the once polished floor was rough and splintered, stained with dark splashes that were probably blood. The room smelt of an astringent cleaning fluid, the kind that would have been suitable for a public toilet. My eye traced the limits of what had been large windows, but fresh brickwork left only narrow archery slits that bathed the room in shadow. Music sounded faintly from outside, almost certainly soldiers practicing the dance of death.
This was the University gatehouse[1], formerly a pleasant place in which welcome visitors were received. While I hadn’t expected the reception due to a long lost beloved, the suspicion and surliness of the guards came as an unpleasant surprise. After a few gruff questions, they had tied our hands tightly behind our backs, and thrust us without ceremony into the building. One of the sentries had gone to fetch a superior officer while her comrades, standing only a few feet from us, trained crossbows in our direction.
“Look,” said Lisa-Louise, “is this really necessary? We’re friends. We came to warn you of danger. Honestly!”
“Shut up,” was the reply. “Or do you want a shaft in yer eye socket?”
The question being clearly rhetorical, none of us answered, and an uneasy silence descended – apart from two sounds. One was the continuing music from outside, now growing a little louder. The other was the corporal tapping her foot – probably betokening impatience. It seemed to take the officer a long time to arrive.
“Prisoners, eh?” a lieutenant[2] barked on entering the gatehouse. “What are they? Tub-luggers?”
“Yes, ma’am!” the corporal replied. “That’s the way it seems to me.”
“We are not tub-luggers!” Lisa-Louise protested. “What we are is a bit complicated, but we’ve come here to warn you.”
“Warning, eh? Warn us of what, young lady?”
“There’s a force from Lundin on its way – probably in Dorking by now – aiming to harm persons in the University.”
“A force from Lundin, eh? And just how big is this force?”
“They started off at about sixty strong, but we’ve killed a few…”
“Less than sixty, eh?” The lieutenant snorted with laughter. “We’ve seen off an entire regiment of Nadine’s crack troops. Pardon me if I don’t shit meself.”
“They’re more dangerous than you think…”
“Be quiet! I’ve heard enough from you. Why’s one of them wearing a mask, eh? Private West – remove it!”
There clearly being no point in advancing the usual lie about a sabre scar, I didn’t attempt to do so. Unless done calmly and gently, the mask was not easy to unlace, as I’d discovered after killing my mother. The soldier, relying on force rather than finesse, took some time to accomplish my unmasking – in the process pulling my hair and wrenching my neck. Still tapping her foot, the corporal’s signs of impatience were joined by the lieutenant drumming her fingers on the desk.
“Ah!” the officer said, as the mask finally lifted from my forehead. “An RBS mark, eh? She’s a whore, by rights. They really are tub-luggers.”
“I’m the personal property of Isobel Ironhand!” I protested.
“Oh yeah!” The lieutenant produced another snort of laughter. “I suppose you’re Tuerqui, her ladyship’s lost love, eh? As if!”
All of the guards laughed – seemingly unfeigned, if malicious, merriment – rather than a polite or respectful response to the officer’s joke. It occurred to me later than this implied that they’d all heard of me – they weren’t reacting to an obscure remark concerning an unknown slave. At the time, I was too weary to puzzle this out, but felt affronted by their reaction. After a minute or two, the giggling subsided, and relative quiet returned.
“As a matter of fact, I am,” I said.
“And I’m Lady Isobel’s cousin,” Tipsi added.
“You know, ma’am,” the corporal said, “she does look a bit like her ladyship.”
“Yes, Corporal Ellis, she does. I think we’d better take a look at the supposed Tuerqui’s brand. Private West – remove her padded breeches. And be a bit more gentle than you were with her mask – we don’t want to offend her ladyship, do we, eh?”
“No ma’am! Yes, ma’am! Straight away, ma’am!”
She unfastened my breeches very gently, and had I not felt so wretched after too little sleep, her touch would probably have been sexually arousing. Leaving aside her austere military expression, and entirely functional uniform, Private West was an attractive young woman. As it was, not only I was too weary to enjoy having a girl undress me, but still felt as though about to be physically sick. That was, in itself, alarming – the soldier was armed, and few people react well to someone vomiting upon them.
“Tuerqui, right enough, ma’am,” she said, sliding the breeches down my thighs.
“It’s a genuine brand,” the officer said, running her finger over the mark, “and not a recent one. Well, girls, I think we’d better untie these ladies.”
The lieutenant herself unknotted the cord at my wrists, while the corporal unfastened Tipsi’s and Private West Lisa-Louise’s. Presumably, this betokened our perceived order of importance – the beloved Tuerqui, followed by her ladyship’s cousin and then she who had spoken on behalf of the others. Afterwards, I thought it might have been interesting to observe the remainder of the sequence – but, at the time, was more interested in massaging the points at which the rope had constricted my circulation. When I did think, it was to shift out of the others’ way, in expectation of vomiting – sooner rather than later.
“You know about Tuerqui?” Lisa-Louise asked, clearly puzzled.
“Everyone knows about Tuerqui, ma’am,” the lieutenant replied – now according Lisa-Louise the respect due to a superior. “Isobel Ironhand’s lost love, snatched away by pollygoggers. Why, there’s even a song about her.”
Private West began:
The Ironhand lady weeps tonight
Fair Tuerqui is out of sight…[3]
“That will do, private,” the officer said gently.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Private Spurrin, summon the ostlers. Ensure that these ladies’ horses are tended, unharnessed and properly stabled. I’ll conduct the ladies themselves to her ladyship.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Before you lead away my horse,” said Lisa-Louise, “there’s something I’d like from the saddlebags.”
“Of course, ma’am,” Private Spurrin replied.
“If it’s a change of clothing, ma’am,” the officer said, “or some other practical necessity, I’m sure her ladyship would oblige.”
“No,” said Lisa-Louise, “it’s something I need to return to Isobel Ironhand.”
“In that case, ma’am, Private Spurrin will ensure that you have it.”
The lieutenant conducted us through the military camp, Lisa-Louise now carrying a cloth bag slung over her shoulder. Tired though I was, the contrast between this encampment and Sir Garrafad’s, south of Teddy’s Town, made an impression upon me. Each tent’s snowy whiteness was a model of perfection – if any warrior girl was less than immaculate, she escaped my attention. A powerful cleaning fluid was the only unpleasant smell – it was clear that the latrines had been properly dug, and filled in as necessary.
“You keep a smart camp,” Modesty observed.
“Thank you, ma’am. We like to think our regiment is the best.”
As we stepped, the music I’d heard faintly, whilst in the gatehouse, grew louder. In a large clear space immediately in front of University House, perhaps fifty young women were practicing with Surrey infantry swords. Looking at them with some interest, I saw that the training we’d received from Bob Bosset was very little different from these soldiers’ dancing steps and flickering arms. Without thinking, I reached for my blade – instinctively seeking to join the group – but I’d left my weapons strapped to my horse.
When the lieutenant knocked, the door was opened by Fluzi, a slave I recognised, although we had not been close friends. Peering over her shoulder, I could see a child polishing the balustrade of the main staircase. Feeling sure that she was Tuerquelle, I was consumed by an irrepressible urge to run to my daughter and take her in my arms. Glancing back at the door, a few minutes later, Fluzi was staring at me open mouthed, the officer looked concerned, the others were laughing.
“Mummy?” Tuerquelle said.
“Yes, darling, it’s me. I’m back.”
“Whatever is this commotion?” it was Veronica Melchet, emerging from her office.
“Sorry, ma’am.” The lieutenant, saluted. “It’s just that Tuerqui has returned.”
“Well – Tuerqui may have acquired a celebrity status, but I believe that she’s still a slave. There is seemly conduct for a slave, and there is the reverse of that[4]. However, Tuerqui is the personal property of Isobel Ironhand. Fluzi – inform her ladyship that her pollygogged slave has returned.”
“Yes, your ladyship,” Fluzi replied, curtsying.
Hurrying to complete the errand, Fluzi was gone. Lifting Tuerquelle, I continued to hold her tight, she wrapped her arms about my shoulders. Veronica Melchet peered in turn at Lisa-Louise, Modesty, then Jane – her facial expression conveying a low estimation of each woman’s appearance. When her gaze reached Tipsi, she did a double take.
“Good gracious,” she said, “you look extraordinarily like…”
“I’m her cousin. Was her cousin Abigail, but I’m Tipsi now. Lundin slavers grabbed both of us on the same raid.”
The rapid footfalls of a person running sounded from above[5]. Looking upwards, I saw my mistress – care worn but still lovely – clattering down the stairs. Gently placing Tuerquelle on the floor, I rushed to meet Lady Isobel. We met on the first landing and embraced, hugging one another for what seemed a long time before we kissed.
“Tuerqui,” she said at last, “how on earth did you manage to make it back here?”
“It wasn’t easy, mistress, but I had a lot of help. You should thank my warriors. They’re down in the hall.”
“Warriors, Tuerqui?” She looked down at the cluster of figures waiting just inside the doorway. “Hey! Isn’t that…?”
“Your cousin Abigail, mistress. She deserves an especially big reward. She’s really sweet, but put aside her girliness to take up the sword for me – and for Tuerquelle.”
“Abby! Come here! Oh wow!”
Then everybody – other than the lieutenant, Fluzi and Veronica Melchet – seemed to be trying to hug everyone else. All of us were attempting to speak, while nobody bothered to listen, but it didn’t matter. The things that needed to be expressed most urgently didn’t require words. Eventually, a semblance of order descended upon us, and Lisa-Louise opened her cloth bag to present Lady Isobel with my beautiful royal blue and silver harness.
“Oh thank you!” my mistress said. “Not only my slave returned, but her harness, too. You know you could have sold the sapphires?”
“That would’ve been stealing – and a desecration.”
“A desecration of a beautiful harness?”
“And of your mistress-slave relationship. Are you going to re-harness her now? Personage doesn’t much become the girl, she needs to be owned.”
“No, I’m too excited, and she looks too tired, to do that today. In any case, her re-harnessing must be an occasion. Let her remain in personage for tonight, and tomorrow we’ll have her formal investiture into slavery.”
“Thank you, mistress, I am tired.”
“And dirty, too. I think that a bath should be at the top of your priorities.”
It wasn’t long before all seven of us were soaking in a huge tub[6] of hot perfumed water while a bevy of attentive slaves lathered us. The bath was my first since my wedding morning, nineteen days before – it lifted from me not only the dirt, but also much of my weariness and the sick feeling in my stomach. Passibelle, flannelling my back, leaned forward to nibble at my ear. On the far side of the tub, Modesty and Honeyminge had their tongues in each other’s mouths.
By the time we were towelled dry, the stitch slaves had prepared for each of us a floor length, loose-fitting, satin dress – their colours forming a rainbow. Lisa-Louise’s frock was red, Barguin’s orange, Jane’s yellow, Tipsi’s green, mine blue, Diqui’s indigo and Modesty’s violet. When we sat for dinner, my mistress wore a similar dress in white. Seemingly without thought, we seated ourselves in rainbow sequence with Lady Isobel at one end of the table, Lisa-Louise to her right, Modesty to her left – Tipsi occupying the far end with Jane on her left and me on her right.
There were several roast ducks, served with plum sauce, peas and new season potatoes. Amongst the serving slaves was Tuerquelle, clearly not only delighted by my return, but also extremely proud of her supposedly valuable mother. There were several bottles of wine – parsnip, I think. The dessert was of the previous autumn’s fruits preserved in strong spirits.
“I think,” said Lisa-Louise, “that Sir Garrafad and his men present you with a real danger. You – Isobel Ironhand – and Tuerquelle – are their main targets.”
“As you can see, I have heavy protection. A whole regiment of Berenice’s best troops. All the same, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll see that your weapons are returned. There can’t be any harm in doing that, can there?”
“Thanks, I think having weapons would make me feel a bit easier, however many and no matter how good the soldiers are. How come the army’s here, anyway?”
“The answer to that is gynozoa. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Yes – we did get some news in Lundin. It’s a new way of making babies – from the essences of two women. Berenice had a gynozoa daughter, didn’t she?”
“She did indeed, and there you have it. Nadine wanted a gynozoa daughter, too, and sent a regiment[7] to kidnap the scientists. This is where the research was done – so this is where they came[8].”
“And, I suppose, Berenice sent one of her regiments, and they defeated Nadine’s girls?”
“Exactly. And the soldiers are still here, protecting me, Tuerquelle, the University staff, my serving slaves, my concubines…”
“Am I to rejoin your concubines, mistress?” I asked. “It’d be an honour and a pleasure, of course – but the truth is that I’m a bit tired tonight, and think I might be unworthy of so great a lady.”
“Tomorrow, Tuerqui. Believe me, you’ll need a good night’s sleep before I take you between the sheets. Not that I don’t appreciate having you back – and Abby too, of course.”
“Thanks for calling me Abby,” Tipsi said. “But, thinking about it Izzy,” – it was the first time I’d heard my mistress’ name so contracted – “I might stick with Tipsi.”
“How come, Abby, I mean Tipsi?”
“When my friend Fluff was restored to personage, she said she’d keep her slave name because it was as Fluff that we’d all come to love her. It seems to me that Tipsi has shown herself capable of things Abby could hardly have dreamed. I’ll be glad to get back to a girly life, but I’m proud of what Tipsi’s done, and never want to lose touch with that. Does that make sense?”
“Tipsi, it makes a lot of sense,” Diqui said. “I’m going to stick with my slave name, too. I was reckoning to become Ingrid again, but everything you said goes for me. In any case, Diqui sums me up pretty well.”
“What about me?” said Barguin. “I’m sure I really was a bargain for anyone who bought me, but… Oh, shit – I can’t break ranks with my comrades – I’m not going back to being Linda.”
“You don’t have to keep your slave name, if you don’t want to,” said Tipsi. “I was speaking just for me.”
“Nah! The more I think about it, the more it seems a good joke. I like being Barguin.”
It was Spanqumi who, shortly after the meal, escorted me to the blue bedroom, where I was to spend the night. Almost sufficiently tired to doze in my chair – and a little drunk – without my fellow slave’s aid, I probably wouldn’t have found the right door. Slipping out of the blue satin dress, I changed into the confection of chiffon that had been left on the pillow. With a sense of luxury, I inserted myself between clean sheets scented with lavender, and sank deep into a feather mattress.
Against my expectations, I failed to slip instantly into a dreamless oblivion, lying awake instead, thinking of the last few months, and about being my mistress’ concubine in this bed. Drifting close to sleep at last, I felt the pressure of a hand upon the bed and smelt a girl’s perfume. After life in camp, my reaction was automatic – to spring to my feet and reach into the pillow, where my sword should have been. In place of the reassuringly firm hilt of my blade, I encountered only softness.
“I’m sorry Tuerqui.” It was Passibelle’s voice. “I didn’t mean to make you jump.”
“Passibelle! It’s you?”
“Of course it’s me, Tuerqui. Did you think I wouldn’t come?”
“I’m sorry, Passibelle, but I’m so tired. I won’t do you justice tonight.”
“Don’t be silly, Tuerqui. As if that matters! But I’d like to touch you in the night. Have you beside me.”
She slipped into the bed, we kissed, touched one another gently, then sleep took me at last. Briefly emerging from a formless dream in the middle of night, I kissed Passibelle’s hair, she stirred but didn’t wake. For some time I lay enjoying her warmth next to me, noticing for the first time that she wore concubine’s draperies. Then it was bright daylight, and she was bringing me a breakfast tray – rosehip tea, sausages, eggs and thickly buttered crusty bread.
When I saw Lady Isobel, perhaps an hour later, she announced that my re-investiture as a slave was to be a formal ceremony, to be conducted that afternoon. As a consequence, I was still in my blue satin dress when, around mid-morning, the colonel herself – commander of the entire regiment[9] – reported the defeat of Sir Garrafad’s force. Before she would hear the details, my mistress sent for Lisa-Louise, Modesty, Tipsi, Diqui, Barguin and Jane. The officer wore a buff coloured shirt and breeches with gleaming cuirass and black thigh boots, Isobel Ironhand was in her white satin dress, the rest of us in our rainbow frocks.
“Their plan seems to’ve been clever enough in its way,” the colonel said. “Not that it had any chance of succeeding. They’d taken thirty or forty prisoners and stolen a load of thin metal foil – victory decorations…”
“We saw the foil decorations yesterday,” Lisa-Louise said. “But, if Sir Garrafad wanted to celebrate his victory, it was a bit premature.”
“No ma’am, they wanted the foil to create fake armour for the prisoners.”
“Good goddess!” Lady Isobel said. “Why ever should they want to do that?”
“Well, ma’am, you know the narrow valley, where the mill is, just to the south?”
“Yes, of course I know it.”
“They were ramming sharpened stakes into the ground a bit of a way up the valley. The idea seems to have been for us to chase the prisoners up that way – thinking, with the foil cuirasses, that they were armoured infantry. Then their troops would enter the valley behind us and – with the prisoners skipping out of the way – have our heavy cavalry trapped up against the stakes.”
“But, in that case, couldn’t our cavalry have just turned and fought?”
“Maybe, ma’am, but with a tight press of us in a narrow valley, that would have been easier said than done.”
“But they never got to spring their trap?” Modesty asked.
“No, ma’am – we caught them this morning, as you might say, with their panties down. We have no less than forty-three of them enslaved. Maybe half a dozen dead, not many. It’s always a pity to waste slave muscle.”
“If we killed, say, four of them over the last couple of days, that would make ten dead in all,” Lisa-Louise said. “Ten and forty-three is fifty-three – and there were about sixty. I think a few could have escaped. Was a general killed or enslaved?”
“I think so, ma’am. One of the slaves was wearing sky blue breeches with a red and yellow stripe. According to the manual, that’s an enemy general’s uniform.”
“True. Trouble is Sir Garrafad was wearing white breeches.”
“Well, ma’am, a general may change breeches, even one from Lundin.”
“All the same, I’d feel easier if I could check. Is there any chance of me taking a look at the enslaved men?”
“Sorry ma’am, but that would easier said than done. You see, our regiment hasn’t had much in the way of prizes[10] this war, and the girls are anxious to see at least a few pennies of reward. We’re hanging on to the horses for a good price – but the slaves are already on their way to Red Hill market[11].”
Perhaps an hour later, Jane and I – contrasting in yellow and blue dresses – were passing through the hallway. Switi had, evidently, opened the door to a lieutenant accompanying Fiona – Sam the carter’s daughter – looking more than usually vacant. While much was obviously the matter with the girl, I was pleased to see that she’d survived the attack on her parents’ home. Veronica Melchet had been summoned and was involved in conversation with the officer.
“Well, I’ve no idea who she is, or what we can do with her,” Miss Melchet was saying.
“If I may butt in, ma’am,” Jane said respectfully, “I know who she is.”
“Indeed, young lady, are who is she?”
“She’s a carter’s daughter from the other side of Dorking. The Lundin soldiers attacked her home yesterday. They dragged her into the house – and what they did in there can’t have been pleasant.”
“Her name is Fiona,” I added.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Miss Melchet said. “Thank you, Tuerqui – and you, young lady…”
“Jane.”
“Thank you, Jane. Now, Fiona, do you understand what I’m saying?”
“The stone,” Fiona replied, “when you hold it up to the light you get dappled purple on the white sheet… where you turn it over… But the clear one is best… It doesn’t look much, but it makes rainbows, all over everywhere…”
“I think she’s talking about the knick knacks she used to play with, while she was supposed to be cleaning her mother’s bedroom,” I said. “Her mother used to scold her about that.”
“Fiona –” Miss Melchet tried again, “is that what you’re talking about?”
“It only really works when the sun’s shining…The moon wouldn’t do…”
“It’s no use,” Miss Melchet concluded. “We can’t let the poor creature wander the hills and valleys in this state. Switi – can you try to find a place for her in the University slaves’ quarters? I’ll have a word with Lady Isobel.”
My re-inauguration as a slave was held that afternoon in the Great Hall, profusely decorated with flowers, as though for a wedding. The ceremony, too, reminded me of a marriage. The large space was almost full, a company that included – as well as my friends – officers from the regiment camped outside, members of the University staff and a large company of slaves. Lady Isobel in her white gown, and I in blue, stood before a priestess in pink, and a sober suited civil official.
“We are gathered here,” the priestess began, “to mark the re-entry of Tuerqui into slavery. She was taken by cruel pollygoggers, who thrust her into personage. It is the express wish of Isobel Ironhand that she should now be re-enslaved by her own consent. I am here to represent every goddess who is in Surrey, so that Tuerqui’s soul may be placed into the possession of her mistress.”
“And I am here,” said the official, “on behalf of Berenice, Empress of Surrey, to register that Tuerqui’s body is placed in the possession of her mistress. Do you, Isobel Ironhand, take Tuerqui as your personal property under the laws of Surrey?”
“I do,” said my mistress.
“And do you, Isobel Ironhand,” said the priestess, “take the soul of Tuerqui as a gift from the goddesses to be yours here and in the world to come?”
“I do,” she repeated.
“Do you, Tuerqui, formerly Margaret of the Blood Victoria and daughter of the Usurper,” the official said, “renounce all claim to personage? Do you consent to be the personal property of Isobel Ironhand? To obey her in all things? To be owned in absolute and in perpetuity?”
“I do,” I said with considerable satisfaction.
“Do you, Tuerqui, formerly Margaret of the Blood Victoria and daughter of the Usurper,” the priestess said, “standing in the presence of a representative of every goddess who is in Surrey, renounce personage utterly? Do you consent that your soul be the personal property of Isobel Ironhand? To obey her in all things, to serve her upon the earth and in the world to come? To be owned in absolute and for all eternity?”
“I do,” I said solemnly.
“Then, on behalf of every goddess who is in Surrey, I pronounce you, Tuerqui, to be the personal property of Isobel Ironhand – in soul as well as body. May you serve her well upon the earth and in the world to come.”
“Isobel Ironhand, will you sign the bond of enslavement now?” asked the official. “Tuerqui will sign afterwards.”
She ushered us to a table on which lay an impressive-looking legal document carrying a large black wax seal in addition to a couple of smaller dark red ones. There was also a pot of ink and a pen with which my mistress signed her name. Uncertain as to whether I should sign as a person or a slave, I wrote Tuerqui formerly Margaret of the Blood Victoria. Afterwards, the official and then the priestess signed.
“Tuerqui,” the official said, “you are now the personal property of Isobel Ironhand. It remains for you to remove the clothing of personage and accept your mistress’ harness. My lady, you should command her.”
“As your owner, Tuerqui,” my mistress said, “I command you to remove that dress and stand naked before the assembled company, having left personage for ever more.”
Lowering first the left shoulder strap, then the right, I allowed the satin to slide from me. Stepping from the dress, I stood clothed only in a pair of lacy briefs. After a moment’s pause I slid the underwear down my legs and kicked it from me with a little flourish. To applause from the assembled company, I kneeled before my owner.
“Mistress,” I asked, “will you harness me?”
“Tuerqui, I will,” she replied.
Lisa-Louise stepped forward bearing a white cushion on which lay the harness of royal blue leather and silver, set with real sapphires. Lady Isobel snapped the collar lock shut at the nape of my neck. Then, guiding me to my feet, she closed locks at my upper arms, breast piece, belt and thighs. Raising each hand, and then my feet, my mistress placed me in bracelets and anklets.
“Mistress,” I said, “may I speak?”
“Of course you may, Tuerqui.”
“Thank you, mistress. I just wanted to say thank you for the lovely ceremony. You didn’t have to do it. Never has a slave been so honoured, mistress.”
“You’re right, Tuerqui, if you mean that I didn’t need the ceremony to establish a legal claim to own you, but that’s not the point. You and your friends made a dangerous journey. In a legal sense, none of you had to do that. Never has a mistress been so honoured, Tuerqui.”
“I needed to return, mistress, in all sorts of ways. And all of my friends needed to come with me for their own reasons. Mistress, this is like a wedding, only much better.”
“And, just like a wedding, there’s a reception – which is where we should be, my slave.”
“Yes, mistress.”
There was a buffet table laden with tasty salads, crusty bread and butter, exquisite patties, and cold roasts. A second board carried three forms of beer, six or eight types of wine and stacks of glasses from which to sip. Slaves and persons alike were welcome to take their fill of both food and drink. Remembering the night of the pollygoggers’ raid, I drank moderately – but most of those present became at least a little inebriated.
If the ceremony and the reception had been like a marriage, the wedding night was to follow. There is, in my pillow book, a full account of our union – adding much in this place would be both inappropriate and unnecessary. What passed between my mistress and me was filled with passion and deeply satisfying. Never before had I felt myself so utterly possessed.
Thereafter, I returned with gratitude to my former life, as a slave in the University, and as Lady Isobel’s concubine. After two nights with my mistress, I spent the third with Passibelle. We made gentle and joyful love before drifting off to sleep in one another’s arms. Long before dawn someone called me, quietly but urgently.
“Tuerqui! Tuerqui!”
The voice was Jane’s – the tone that of a sentry raising the alarm. After life on the trail, sleeping with a sword in the bundle on which I rested my head, the response remained automatic. As on the night of my return, reaching where I expected my blade to be, my fingers encountered only the soft pillows provided for my mistress’ concubines. Passibelle stirred in the bed from which I had just arisen.
“Wha’ is it?” she murmured. “Wha’ matter?”
“Quickly, Tuerqui!” Jane hissed. “Take your weapons.”
She handed me two heavy objects – one a scabbarded sword, the other a morning star pack – each on a long belt. Already, I was trotting at her heels, slinging a belt over each shoulder as we ran. Our footfalls made scarcely a sound – we were both barefoot. The faint light of the moon, glimmering through the windows, was sufficient to guide us down a staircase and along a passage.
Turning a corner, a group of people were silhouetted, swords drawn. Whipping my blade from its scabbard, I might have struck, but a sense of wrongness held my arm. Perhaps it was a faint perfume that assured me these were friends. After a few heavy heartbeats, someone whispered – Lisa-Louise’s voice.
“We’re all here. Good. They’re in the hallway downstairs. Let’s go.”
A few steps brought us to the head of a staircase – below a group of people were moving furtively, but not silently. Fumbling with the fastening, I withdrew the morning star from its pouch, taking its weight in my left hand. Already, we were creeping down the steps. A board creaked – a sign that, in troubled times, the University was not as well maintained as it had been.
“What the dashed blazes was that?” – it was Sir Garrafad’s voice.
“Death!” was Lisa-Louise’s reply.
Someone lunged at me with a sword – without thought, I ducked under its deadly arc and was swinging upwards with the morning star. It was the first, and only, time I used the weapon in combat. There being no time to think, my actions could only arise from a deep primitive level of being. Reflecting on the matter later, it seemed to me that a savage self selected for him a messy death – recognising my opponent as a man bent upon the destruction of my daughter and beloved mistress.
What followed must have happened very quickly, but time was curiously stretched, and I had an illusion of unnatural slowness. My morning star connected with the man’s face with the sound of cracking bones, spraying me with moisture I didn’t yet recognise as blood. Slicing with the sword, I half severed his wrist, and my opponent’s blade clattered to the floor. He fell, while I continued to slash and pound.
“You can stop now,” Modesty’s voice said after what seemed a long time. “He’s dead. He’s been dead for a while.”
There were loud footfalls, people running, and lamps – the light revealing three distinct groups of persons and slaves. The newcomers – Lady Isobel, Passibelle and others – were clean, armed with lanterns, stair rods and other household objects, their faces masks of horror. We – Lisa-Louise, Modesty, Tipsi, Diqui, Barguin, Jane and I – were blood spattered, armed with weapons of war, and looked remarkably calm. Eight male warriors were also bloody, but lay motionless, covered in terrible wounds.
“Whatever is going on?” my mistress asked.
“It’s over, now,” Lisa-Louise said. “The last of the Lundin troops. They broke in using ropes and grappling hooks. We killed them.”
“I killed two,” said Modesty, “the rest of us one each.”
“I’m pretty sure,” Lisa-Louise added, “that you and Tuerquelle were the targets. Their orders were to re-enslave you and kill the child. But it’s hard to see how they’d have got you, chained, out of Surrey. My guess is that they’d have murdered both of you – but it’s only a guess.”
“I owe every one of you a debt I could never repay.”
“I think I speak for us all when I say that there’s no need for thanks. Back at the Palace Victoria, we agreed that we’d save Tuerquelle. Our mission is accomplished. That’s all.”
My mouth was filled with the stale taste that occupies the interval between awakening and cleaning my teeth. Footfalls sounded, latecomers – slaves and members of the University staff – emerging to investigate what had befallen. The hallway stank of recently butchered meat, and more – the dying men had evacuated their bowels. Glancing down, I saw that not only were the concubine’s draperies ruined – glued to my skin with gore – but blood had soaked into the royal blue leather of my beautiful harness.
[1] This was not the current building – but an older and larger one, originally built as a place in which to demonstrate and practice slave training techniques. It became a gatehouse as the University thrived, and new buildings were constructed.
[2] Tuerqui had, evidently, become adept at recognising rank badges. Possibly, Bob Bosset had included recognition classes in her arms training.
[3] This song was a lilting ballad, very popular and widely sung during the civil war.
[4] It is worth recalling, here, that The University of Pain had been founded purely as an institution to train slave trainers. By this time, it had grown into the foremost educational and research institution in Surrey – achieving excellence in a wide variety of disciplines. Veronica Melchet, however, was amongst the original staff – and must have been especially mindful of matters to do with the training and conduct of slaves.
[5] Presumably recognisable as the footfalls of a person, rather than a slave, because she wore boots or shoes.
[6] During the final years of the Surrey democracy, communal bathing became increasingly popular. Large baths were widely used for political, military or professional conferences – as well as for sexual activity. The great bath in University House was designed to accommodate a dozen people.
[7] The regiment was Berenice’s Own Buff Shirt Guards who were, of course, to achieve a proud record during Surrey’s wars of conquest. The Buffs remain amongst the world’s finest military units.
[8] Berenice Blackheart offered to allow Nadine Next a gynozoa child, provided Sylvia Sneak’s former place on the triumvirate was given to her daughter (the future Berenice II) with Gina Gestate acting as regent. As this would have placed Surrey effectively in Berenice’s control, Nadine instead planned to kidnap the gynozoa scientists from the University of Pain. The Battle of the University took place on Drizzlemoon 9th, and is generally considered the opening engagement of the civil war. The Buffs took many prisoners and held them awaiting enslavement. However, when foreign troops started to move against Surrey, Berenice offered the captives places in newly-formed regiments that were to form the backbone of the armies that defended Teddy’s Town and took the Green Ford.
[9] Colonel Stephanie Slaying – a fine strategist and fearless soldier. Without regard for personal safety, she invariably rode at the head of her heavy cavalry charges. Her subsequent military career was to prove brilliant.
[10] Prizes – the officers and women of victorious units were given much of the booty (including most the captured slaves) as prizes, which then served to boost their income. With their prisoners from the Battle of the University re-deployed as troops, rather than enslaved, they had been left without much booty.
[11] The slaves were, evidently, sold untrained at the first Red Hill sale after the conclusion of the civil war. This seems odd given that the University of Pain had been founded upon training slave trainers. The untrained slaves cannot have returned much money. Perhaps the calculation was that the slaves would have fetched even less after a glut of captives (from Teddy’s Town and other battles) was placed on the market.
For Chapter 49 click
http://bondlings.blogspot.com/2008/02/of-bondlings-and-blesh-chapter-49.html
At our feet, the once polished floor was rough and splintered, stained with dark splashes that were probably blood. The room smelt of an astringent cleaning fluid, the kind that would have been suitable for a public toilet. My eye traced the limits of what had been large windows, but fresh brickwork left only narrow archery slits that bathed the room in shadow. Music sounded faintly from outside, almost certainly soldiers practicing the dance of death.
This was the University gatehouse[1], formerly a pleasant place in which welcome visitors were received. While I hadn’t expected the reception due to a long lost beloved, the suspicion and surliness of the guards came as an unpleasant surprise. After a few gruff questions, they had tied our hands tightly behind our backs, and thrust us without ceremony into the building. One of the sentries had gone to fetch a superior officer while her comrades, standing only a few feet from us, trained crossbows in our direction.
“Look,” said Lisa-Louise, “is this really necessary? We’re friends. We came to warn you of danger. Honestly!”
“Shut up,” was the reply. “Or do you want a shaft in yer eye socket?”
The question being clearly rhetorical, none of us answered, and an uneasy silence descended – apart from two sounds. One was the continuing music from outside, now growing a little louder. The other was the corporal tapping her foot – probably betokening impatience. It seemed to take the officer a long time to arrive.
“Prisoners, eh?” a lieutenant[2] barked on entering the gatehouse. “What are they? Tub-luggers?”
“Yes, ma’am!” the corporal replied. “That’s the way it seems to me.”
“We are not tub-luggers!” Lisa-Louise protested. “What we are is a bit complicated, but we’ve come here to warn you.”
“Warning, eh? Warn us of what, young lady?”
“There’s a force from Lundin on its way – probably in Dorking by now – aiming to harm persons in the University.”
“A force from Lundin, eh? And just how big is this force?”
“They started off at about sixty strong, but we’ve killed a few…”
“Less than sixty, eh?” The lieutenant snorted with laughter. “We’ve seen off an entire regiment of Nadine’s crack troops. Pardon me if I don’t shit meself.”
“They’re more dangerous than you think…”
“Be quiet! I’ve heard enough from you. Why’s one of them wearing a mask, eh? Private West – remove it!”
There clearly being no point in advancing the usual lie about a sabre scar, I didn’t attempt to do so. Unless done calmly and gently, the mask was not easy to unlace, as I’d discovered after killing my mother. The soldier, relying on force rather than finesse, took some time to accomplish my unmasking – in the process pulling my hair and wrenching my neck. Still tapping her foot, the corporal’s signs of impatience were joined by the lieutenant drumming her fingers on the desk.
“Ah!” the officer said, as the mask finally lifted from my forehead. “An RBS mark, eh? She’s a whore, by rights. They really are tub-luggers.”
“I’m the personal property of Isobel Ironhand!” I protested.
“Oh yeah!” The lieutenant produced another snort of laughter. “I suppose you’re Tuerqui, her ladyship’s lost love, eh? As if!”
All of the guards laughed – seemingly unfeigned, if malicious, merriment – rather than a polite or respectful response to the officer’s joke. It occurred to me later than this implied that they’d all heard of me – they weren’t reacting to an obscure remark concerning an unknown slave. At the time, I was too weary to puzzle this out, but felt affronted by their reaction. After a minute or two, the giggling subsided, and relative quiet returned.
“As a matter of fact, I am,” I said.
“And I’m Lady Isobel’s cousin,” Tipsi added.
“You know, ma’am,” the corporal said, “she does look a bit like her ladyship.”
“Yes, Corporal Ellis, she does. I think we’d better take a look at the supposed Tuerqui’s brand. Private West – remove her padded breeches. And be a bit more gentle than you were with her mask – we don’t want to offend her ladyship, do we, eh?”
“No ma’am! Yes, ma’am! Straight away, ma’am!”
She unfastened my breeches very gently, and had I not felt so wretched after too little sleep, her touch would probably have been sexually arousing. Leaving aside her austere military expression, and entirely functional uniform, Private West was an attractive young woman. As it was, not only I was too weary to enjoy having a girl undress me, but still felt as though about to be physically sick. That was, in itself, alarming – the soldier was armed, and few people react well to someone vomiting upon them.
“Tuerqui, right enough, ma’am,” she said, sliding the breeches down my thighs.
“It’s a genuine brand,” the officer said, running her finger over the mark, “and not a recent one. Well, girls, I think we’d better untie these ladies.”
The lieutenant herself unknotted the cord at my wrists, while the corporal unfastened Tipsi’s and Private West Lisa-Louise’s. Presumably, this betokened our perceived order of importance – the beloved Tuerqui, followed by her ladyship’s cousin and then she who had spoken on behalf of the others. Afterwards, I thought it might have been interesting to observe the remainder of the sequence – but, at the time, was more interested in massaging the points at which the rope had constricted my circulation. When I did think, it was to shift out of the others’ way, in expectation of vomiting – sooner rather than later.
“You know about Tuerqui?” Lisa-Louise asked, clearly puzzled.
“Everyone knows about Tuerqui, ma’am,” the lieutenant replied – now according Lisa-Louise the respect due to a superior. “Isobel Ironhand’s lost love, snatched away by pollygoggers. Why, there’s even a song about her.”
Private West began:
The Ironhand lady weeps tonight
Fair Tuerqui is out of sight…[3]
“That will do, private,” the officer said gently.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Private Spurrin, summon the ostlers. Ensure that these ladies’ horses are tended, unharnessed and properly stabled. I’ll conduct the ladies themselves to her ladyship.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Before you lead away my horse,” said Lisa-Louise, “there’s something I’d like from the saddlebags.”
“Of course, ma’am,” Private Spurrin replied.
“If it’s a change of clothing, ma’am,” the officer said, “or some other practical necessity, I’m sure her ladyship would oblige.”
“No,” said Lisa-Louise, “it’s something I need to return to Isobel Ironhand.”
“In that case, ma’am, Private Spurrin will ensure that you have it.”
The lieutenant conducted us through the military camp, Lisa-Louise now carrying a cloth bag slung over her shoulder. Tired though I was, the contrast between this encampment and Sir Garrafad’s, south of Teddy’s Town, made an impression upon me. Each tent’s snowy whiteness was a model of perfection – if any warrior girl was less than immaculate, she escaped my attention. A powerful cleaning fluid was the only unpleasant smell – it was clear that the latrines had been properly dug, and filled in as necessary.
“You keep a smart camp,” Modesty observed.
“Thank you, ma’am. We like to think our regiment is the best.”
As we stepped, the music I’d heard faintly, whilst in the gatehouse, grew louder. In a large clear space immediately in front of University House, perhaps fifty young women were practicing with Surrey infantry swords. Looking at them with some interest, I saw that the training we’d received from Bob Bosset was very little different from these soldiers’ dancing steps and flickering arms. Without thinking, I reached for my blade – instinctively seeking to join the group – but I’d left my weapons strapped to my horse.
When the lieutenant knocked, the door was opened by Fluzi, a slave I recognised, although we had not been close friends. Peering over her shoulder, I could see a child polishing the balustrade of the main staircase. Feeling sure that she was Tuerquelle, I was consumed by an irrepressible urge to run to my daughter and take her in my arms. Glancing back at the door, a few minutes later, Fluzi was staring at me open mouthed, the officer looked concerned, the others were laughing.
“Mummy?” Tuerquelle said.
“Yes, darling, it’s me. I’m back.”
“Whatever is this commotion?” it was Veronica Melchet, emerging from her office.
“Sorry, ma’am.” The lieutenant, saluted. “It’s just that Tuerqui has returned.”
“Well – Tuerqui may have acquired a celebrity status, but I believe that she’s still a slave. There is seemly conduct for a slave, and there is the reverse of that[4]. However, Tuerqui is the personal property of Isobel Ironhand. Fluzi – inform her ladyship that her pollygogged slave has returned.”
“Yes, your ladyship,” Fluzi replied, curtsying.
Hurrying to complete the errand, Fluzi was gone. Lifting Tuerquelle, I continued to hold her tight, she wrapped her arms about my shoulders. Veronica Melchet peered in turn at Lisa-Louise, Modesty, then Jane – her facial expression conveying a low estimation of each woman’s appearance. When her gaze reached Tipsi, she did a double take.
“Good gracious,” she said, “you look extraordinarily like…”
“I’m her cousin. Was her cousin Abigail, but I’m Tipsi now. Lundin slavers grabbed both of us on the same raid.”
The rapid footfalls of a person running sounded from above[5]. Looking upwards, I saw my mistress – care worn but still lovely – clattering down the stairs. Gently placing Tuerquelle on the floor, I rushed to meet Lady Isobel. We met on the first landing and embraced, hugging one another for what seemed a long time before we kissed.
“Tuerqui,” she said at last, “how on earth did you manage to make it back here?”
“It wasn’t easy, mistress, but I had a lot of help. You should thank my warriors. They’re down in the hall.”
“Warriors, Tuerqui?” She looked down at the cluster of figures waiting just inside the doorway. “Hey! Isn’t that…?”
“Your cousin Abigail, mistress. She deserves an especially big reward. She’s really sweet, but put aside her girliness to take up the sword for me – and for Tuerquelle.”
“Abby! Come here! Oh wow!”
Then everybody – other than the lieutenant, Fluzi and Veronica Melchet – seemed to be trying to hug everyone else. All of us were attempting to speak, while nobody bothered to listen, but it didn’t matter. The things that needed to be expressed most urgently didn’t require words. Eventually, a semblance of order descended upon us, and Lisa-Louise opened her cloth bag to present Lady Isobel with my beautiful royal blue and silver harness.
“Oh thank you!” my mistress said. “Not only my slave returned, but her harness, too. You know you could have sold the sapphires?”
“That would’ve been stealing – and a desecration.”
“A desecration of a beautiful harness?”
“And of your mistress-slave relationship. Are you going to re-harness her now? Personage doesn’t much become the girl, she needs to be owned.”
“No, I’m too excited, and she looks too tired, to do that today. In any case, her re-harnessing must be an occasion. Let her remain in personage for tonight, and tomorrow we’ll have her formal investiture into slavery.”
“Thank you, mistress, I am tired.”
“And dirty, too. I think that a bath should be at the top of your priorities.”
It wasn’t long before all seven of us were soaking in a huge tub[6] of hot perfumed water while a bevy of attentive slaves lathered us. The bath was my first since my wedding morning, nineteen days before – it lifted from me not only the dirt, but also much of my weariness and the sick feeling in my stomach. Passibelle, flannelling my back, leaned forward to nibble at my ear. On the far side of the tub, Modesty and Honeyminge had their tongues in each other’s mouths.
By the time we were towelled dry, the stitch slaves had prepared for each of us a floor length, loose-fitting, satin dress – their colours forming a rainbow. Lisa-Louise’s frock was red, Barguin’s orange, Jane’s yellow, Tipsi’s green, mine blue, Diqui’s indigo and Modesty’s violet. When we sat for dinner, my mistress wore a similar dress in white. Seemingly without thought, we seated ourselves in rainbow sequence with Lady Isobel at one end of the table, Lisa-Louise to her right, Modesty to her left – Tipsi occupying the far end with Jane on her left and me on her right.
There were several roast ducks, served with plum sauce, peas and new season potatoes. Amongst the serving slaves was Tuerquelle, clearly not only delighted by my return, but also extremely proud of her supposedly valuable mother. There were several bottles of wine – parsnip, I think. The dessert was of the previous autumn’s fruits preserved in strong spirits.
“I think,” said Lisa-Louise, “that Sir Garrafad and his men present you with a real danger. You – Isobel Ironhand – and Tuerquelle – are their main targets.”
“As you can see, I have heavy protection. A whole regiment of Berenice’s best troops. All the same, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll see that your weapons are returned. There can’t be any harm in doing that, can there?”
“Thanks, I think having weapons would make me feel a bit easier, however many and no matter how good the soldiers are. How come the army’s here, anyway?”
“The answer to that is gynozoa. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Yes – we did get some news in Lundin. It’s a new way of making babies – from the essences of two women. Berenice had a gynozoa daughter, didn’t she?”
“She did indeed, and there you have it. Nadine wanted a gynozoa daughter, too, and sent a regiment[7] to kidnap the scientists. This is where the research was done – so this is where they came[8].”
“And, I suppose, Berenice sent one of her regiments, and they defeated Nadine’s girls?”
“Exactly. And the soldiers are still here, protecting me, Tuerquelle, the University staff, my serving slaves, my concubines…”
“Am I to rejoin your concubines, mistress?” I asked. “It’d be an honour and a pleasure, of course – but the truth is that I’m a bit tired tonight, and think I might be unworthy of so great a lady.”
“Tomorrow, Tuerqui. Believe me, you’ll need a good night’s sleep before I take you between the sheets. Not that I don’t appreciate having you back – and Abby too, of course.”
“Thanks for calling me Abby,” Tipsi said. “But, thinking about it Izzy,” – it was the first time I’d heard my mistress’ name so contracted – “I might stick with Tipsi.”
“How come, Abby, I mean Tipsi?”
“When my friend Fluff was restored to personage, she said she’d keep her slave name because it was as Fluff that we’d all come to love her. It seems to me that Tipsi has shown herself capable of things Abby could hardly have dreamed. I’ll be glad to get back to a girly life, but I’m proud of what Tipsi’s done, and never want to lose touch with that. Does that make sense?”
“Tipsi, it makes a lot of sense,” Diqui said. “I’m going to stick with my slave name, too. I was reckoning to become Ingrid again, but everything you said goes for me. In any case, Diqui sums me up pretty well.”
“What about me?” said Barguin. “I’m sure I really was a bargain for anyone who bought me, but… Oh, shit – I can’t break ranks with my comrades – I’m not going back to being Linda.”
“You don’t have to keep your slave name, if you don’t want to,” said Tipsi. “I was speaking just for me.”
“Nah! The more I think about it, the more it seems a good joke. I like being Barguin.”
It was Spanqumi who, shortly after the meal, escorted me to the blue bedroom, where I was to spend the night. Almost sufficiently tired to doze in my chair – and a little drunk – without my fellow slave’s aid, I probably wouldn’t have found the right door. Slipping out of the blue satin dress, I changed into the confection of chiffon that had been left on the pillow. With a sense of luxury, I inserted myself between clean sheets scented with lavender, and sank deep into a feather mattress.
Against my expectations, I failed to slip instantly into a dreamless oblivion, lying awake instead, thinking of the last few months, and about being my mistress’ concubine in this bed. Drifting close to sleep at last, I felt the pressure of a hand upon the bed and smelt a girl’s perfume. After life in camp, my reaction was automatic – to spring to my feet and reach into the pillow, where my sword should have been. In place of the reassuringly firm hilt of my blade, I encountered only softness.
“I’m sorry Tuerqui.” It was Passibelle’s voice. “I didn’t mean to make you jump.”
“Passibelle! It’s you?”
“Of course it’s me, Tuerqui. Did you think I wouldn’t come?”
“I’m sorry, Passibelle, but I’m so tired. I won’t do you justice tonight.”
“Don’t be silly, Tuerqui. As if that matters! But I’d like to touch you in the night. Have you beside me.”
She slipped into the bed, we kissed, touched one another gently, then sleep took me at last. Briefly emerging from a formless dream in the middle of night, I kissed Passibelle’s hair, she stirred but didn’t wake. For some time I lay enjoying her warmth next to me, noticing for the first time that she wore concubine’s draperies. Then it was bright daylight, and she was bringing me a breakfast tray – rosehip tea, sausages, eggs and thickly buttered crusty bread.
When I saw Lady Isobel, perhaps an hour later, she announced that my re-investiture as a slave was to be a formal ceremony, to be conducted that afternoon. As a consequence, I was still in my blue satin dress when, around mid-morning, the colonel herself – commander of the entire regiment[9] – reported the defeat of Sir Garrafad’s force. Before she would hear the details, my mistress sent for Lisa-Louise, Modesty, Tipsi, Diqui, Barguin and Jane. The officer wore a buff coloured shirt and breeches with gleaming cuirass and black thigh boots, Isobel Ironhand was in her white satin dress, the rest of us in our rainbow frocks.
“Their plan seems to’ve been clever enough in its way,” the colonel said. “Not that it had any chance of succeeding. They’d taken thirty or forty prisoners and stolen a load of thin metal foil – victory decorations…”
“We saw the foil decorations yesterday,” Lisa-Louise said. “But, if Sir Garrafad wanted to celebrate his victory, it was a bit premature.”
“No ma’am, they wanted the foil to create fake armour for the prisoners.”
“Good goddess!” Lady Isobel said. “Why ever should they want to do that?”
“Well, ma’am, you know the narrow valley, where the mill is, just to the south?”
“Yes, of course I know it.”
“They were ramming sharpened stakes into the ground a bit of a way up the valley. The idea seems to have been for us to chase the prisoners up that way – thinking, with the foil cuirasses, that they were armoured infantry. Then their troops would enter the valley behind us and – with the prisoners skipping out of the way – have our heavy cavalry trapped up against the stakes.”
“But, in that case, couldn’t our cavalry have just turned and fought?”
“Maybe, ma’am, but with a tight press of us in a narrow valley, that would have been easier said than done.”
“But they never got to spring their trap?” Modesty asked.
“No, ma’am – we caught them this morning, as you might say, with their panties down. We have no less than forty-three of them enslaved. Maybe half a dozen dead, not many. It’s always a pity to waste slave muscle.”
“If we killed, say, four of them over the last couple of days, that would make ten dead in all,” Lisa-Louise said. “Ten and forty-three is fifty-three – and there were about sixty. I think a few could have escaped. Was a general killed or enslaved?”
“I think so, ma’am. One of the slaves was wearing sky blue breeches with a red and yellow stripe. According to the manual, that’s an enemy general’s uniform.”
“True. Trouble is Sir Garrafad was wearing white breeches.”
“Well, ma’am, a general may change breeches, even one from Lundin.”
“All the same, I’d feel easier if I could check. Is there any chance of me taking a look at the enslaved men?”
“Sorry ma’am, but that would easier said than done. You see, our regiment hasn’t had much in the way of prizes[10] this war, and the girls are anxious to see at least a few pennies of reward. We’re hanging on to the horses for a good price – but the slaves are already on their way to Red Hill market[11].”
Perhaps an hour later, Jane and I – contrasting in yellow and blue dresses – were passing through the hallway. Switi had, evidently, opened the door to a lieutenant accompanying Fiona – Sam the carter’s daughter – looking more than usually vacant. While much was obviously the matter with the girl, I was pleased to see that she’d survived the attack on her parents’ home. Veronica Melchet had been summoned and was involved in conversation with the officer.
“Well, I’ve no idea who she is, or what we can do with her,” Miss Melchet was saying.
“If I may butt in, ma’am,” Jane said respectfully, “I know who she is.”
“Indeed, young lady, are who is she?”
“She’s a carter’s daughter from the other side of Dorking. The Lundin soldiers attacked her home yesterday. They dragged her into the house – and what they did in there can’t have been pleasant.”
“Her name is Fiona,” I added.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Miss Melchet said. “Thank you, Tuerqui – and you, young lady…”
“Jane.”
“Thank you, Jane. Now, Fiona, do you understand what I’m saying?”
“The stone,” Fiona replied, “when you hold it up to the light you get dappled purple on the white sheet… where you turn it over… But the clear one is best… It doesn’t look much, but it makes rainbows, all over everywhere…”
“I think she’s talking about the knick knacks she used to play with, while she was supposed to be cleaning her mother’s bedroom,” I said. “Her mother used to scold her about that.”
“Fiona –” Miss Melchet tried again, “is that what you’re talking about?”
“It only really works when the sun’s shining…The moon wouldn’t do…”
“It’s no use,” Miss Melchet concluded. “We can’t let the poor creature wander the hills and valleys in this state. Switi – can you try to find a place for her in the University slaves’ quarters? I’ll have a word with Lady Isobel.”
My re-inauguration as a slave was held that afternoon in the Great Hall, profusely decorated with flowers, as though for a wedding. The ceremony, too, reminded me of a marriage. The large space was almost full, a company that included – as well as my friends – officers from the regiment camped outside, members of the University staff and a large company of slaves. Lady Isobel in her white gown, and I in blue, stood before a priestess in pink, and a sober suited civil official.
“We are gathered here,” the priestess began, “to mark the re-entry of Tuerqui into slavery. She was taken by cruel pollygoggers, who thrust her into personage. It is the express wish of Isobel Ironhand that she should now be re-enslaved by her own consent. I am here to represent every goddess who is in Surrey, so that Tuerqui’s soul may be placed into the possession of her mistress.”
“And I am here,” said the official, “on behalf of Berenice, Empress of Surrey, to register that Tuerqui’s body is placed in the possession of her mistress. Do you, Isobel Ironhand, take Tuerqui as your personal property under the laws of Surrey?”
“I do,” said my mistress.
“And do you, Isobel Ironhand,” said the priestess, “take the soul of Tuerqui as a gift from the goddesses to be yours here and in the world to come?”
“I do,” she repeated.
“Do you, Tuerqui, formerly Margaret of the Blood Victoria and daughter of the Usurper,” the official said, “renounce all claim to personage? Do you consent to be the personal property of Isobel Ironhand? To obey her in all things? To be owned in absolute and in perpetuity?”
“I do,” I said with considerable satisfaction.
“Do you, Tuerqui, formerly Margaret of the Blood Victoria and daughter of the Usurper,” the priestess said, “standing in the presence of a representative of every goddess who is in Surrey, renounce personage utterly? Do you consent that your soul be the personal property of Isobel Ironhand? To obey her in all things, to serve her upon the earth and in the world to come? To be owned in absolute and for all eternity?”
“I do,” I said solemnly.
“Then, on behalf of every goddess who is in Surrey, I pronounce you, Tuerqui, to be the personal property of Isobel Ironhand – in soul as well as body. May you serve her well upon the earth and in the world to come.”
“Isobel Ironhand, will you sign the bond of enslavement now?” asked the official. “Tuerqui will sign afterwards.”
She ushered us to a table on which lay an impressive-looking legal document carrying a large black wax seal in addition to a couple of smaller dark red ones. There was also a pot of ink and a pen with which my mistress signed her name. Uncertain as to whether I should sign as a person or a slave, I wrote Tuerqui formerly Margaret of the Blood Victoria. Afterwards, the official and then the priestess signed.
“Tuerqui,” the official said, “you are now the personal property of Isobel Ironhand. It remains for you to remove the clothing of personage and accept your mistress’ harness. My lady, you should command her.”
“As your owner, Tuerqui,” my mistress said, “I command you to remove that dress and stand naked before the assembled company, having left personage for ever more.”
Lowering first the left shoulder strap, then the right, I allowed the satin to slide from me. Stepping from the dress, I stood clothed only in a pair of lacy briefs. After a moment’s pause I slid the underwear down my legs and kicked it from me with a little flourish. To applause from the assembled company, I kneeled before my owner.
“Mistress,” I asked, “will you harness me?”
“Tuerqui, I will,” she replied.
Lisa-Louise stepped forward bearing a white cushion on which lay the harness of royal blue leather and silver, set with real sapphires. Lady Isobel snapped the collar lock shut at the nape of my neck. Then, guiding me to my feet, she closed locks at my upper arms, breast piece, belt and thighs. Raising each hand, and then my feet, my mistress placed me in bracelets and anklets.
“Mistress,” I said, “may I speak?”
“Of course you may, Tuerqui.”
“Thank you, mistress. I just wanted to say thank you for the lovely ceremony. You didn’t have to do it. Never has a slave been so honoured, mistress.”
“You’re right, Tuerqui, if you mean that I didn’t need the ceremony to establish a legal claim to own you, but that’s not the point. You and your friends made a dangerous journey. In a legal sense, none of you had to do that. Never has a mistress been so honoured, Tuerqui.”
“I needed to return, mistress, in all sorts of ways. And all of my friends needed to come with me for their own reasons. Mistress, this is like a wedding, only much better.”
“And, just like a wedding, there’s a reception – which is where we should be, my slave.”
“Yes, mistress.”
There was a buffet table laden with tasty salads, crusty bread and butter, exquisite patties, and cold roasts. A second board carried three forms of beer, six or eight types of wine and stacks of glasses from which to sip. Slaves and persons alike were welcome to take their fill of both food and drink. Remembering the night of the pollygoggers’ raid, I drank moderately – but most of those present became at least a little inebriated.
If the ceremony and the reception had been like a marriage, the wedding night was to follow. There is, in my pillow book, a full account of our union – adding much in this place would be both inappropriate and unnecessary. What passed between my mistress and me was filled with passion and deeply satisfying. Never before had I felt myself so utterly possessed.
Thereafter, I returned with gratitude to my former life, as a slave in the University, and as Lady Isobel’s concubine. After two nights with my mistress, I spent the third with Passibelle. We made gentle and joyful love before drifting off to sleep in one another’s arms. Long before dawn someone called me, quietly but urgently.
“Tuerqui! Tuerqui!”
The voice was Jane’s – the tone that of a sentry raising the alarm. After life on the trail, sleeping with a sword in the bundle on which I rested my head, the response remained automatic. As on the night of my return, reaching where I expected my blade to be, my fingers encountered only the soft pillows provided for my mistress’ concubines. Passibelle stirred in the bed from which I had just arisen.
“Wha’ is it?” she murmured. “Wha’ matter?”
“Quickly, Tuerqui!” Jane hissed. “Take your weapons.”
She handed me two heavy objects – one a scabbarded sword, the other a morning star pack – each on a long belt. Already, I was trotting at her heels, slinging a belt over each shoulder as we ran. Our footfalls made scarcely a sound – we were both barefoot. The faint light of the moon, glimmering through the windows, was sufficient to guide us down a staircase and along a passage.
Turning a corner, a group of people were silhouetted, swords drawn. Whipping my blade from its scabbard, I might have struck, but a sense of wrongness held my arm. Perhaps it was a faint perfume that assured me these were friends. After a few heavy heartbeats, someone whispered – Lisa-Louise’s voice.
“We’re all here. Good. They’re in the hallway downstairs. Let’s go.”
A few steps brought us to the head of a staircase – below a group of people were moving furtively, but not silently. Fumbling with the fastening, I withdrew the morning star from its pouch, taking its weight in my left hand. Already, we were creeping down the steps. A board creaked – a sign that, in troubled times, the University was not as well maintained as it had been.
“What the dashed blazes was that?” – it was Sir Garrafad’s voice.
“Death!” was Lisa-Louise’s reply.
Someone lunged at me with a sword – without thought, I ducked under its deadly arc and was swinging upwards with the morning star. It was the first, and only, time I used the weapon in combat. There being no time to think, my actions could only arise from a deep primitive level of being. Reflecting on the matter later, it seemed to me that a savage self selected for him a messy death – recognising my opponent as a man bent upon the destruction of my daughter and beloved mistress.
What followed must have happened very quickly, but time was curiously stretched, and I had an illusion of unnatural slowness. My morning star connected with the man’s face with the sound of cracking bones, spraying me with moisture I didn’t yet recognise as blood. Slicing with the sword, I half severed his wrist, and my opponent’s blade clattered to the floor. He fell, while I continued to slash and pound.
“You can stop now,” Modesty’s voice said after what seemed a long time. “He’s dead. He’s been dead for a while.”
There were loud footfalls, people running, and lamps – the light revealing three distinct groups of persons and slaves. The newcomers – Lady Isobel, Passibelle and others – were clean, armed with lanterns, stair rods and other household objects, their faces masks of horror. We – Lisa-Louise, Modesty, Tipsi, Diqui, Barguin, Jane and I – were blood spattered, armed with weapons of war, and looked remarkably calm. Eight male warriors were also bloody, but lay motionless, covered in terrible wounds.
“Whatever is going on?” my mistress asked.
“It’s over, now,” Lisa-Louise said. “The last of the Lundin troops. They broke in using ropes and grappling hooks. We killed them.”
“I killed two,” said Modesty, “the rest of us one each.”
“I’m pretty sure,” Lisa-Louise added, “that you and Tuerquelle were the targets. Their orders were to re-enslave you and kill the child. But it’s hard to see how they’d have got you, chained, out of Surrey. My guess is that they’d have murdered both of you – but it’s only a guess.”
“I owe every one of you a debt I could never repay.”
“I think I speak for us all when I say that there’s no need for thanks. Back at the Palace Victoria, we agreed that we’d save Tuerquelle. Our mission is accomplished. That’s all.”
My mouth was filled with the stale taste that occupies the interval between awakening and cleaning my teeth. Footfalls sounded, latecomers – slaves and members of the University staff – emerging to investigate what had befallen. The hallway stank of recently butchered meat, and more – the dying men had evacuated their bowels. Glancing down, I saw that not only were the concubine’s draperies ruined – glued to my skin with gore – but blood had soaked into the royal blue leather of my beautiful harness.
[1] This was not the current building – but an older and larger one, originally built as a place in which to demonstrate and practice slave training techniques. It became a gatehouse as the University thrived, and new buildings were constructed.
[2] Tuerqui had, evidently, become adept at recognising rank badges. Possibly, Bob Bosset had included recognition classes in her arms training.
[3] This song was a lilting ballad, very popular and widely sung during the civil war.
[4] It is worth recalling, here, that The University of Pain had been founded purely as an institution to train slave trainers. By this time, it had grown into the foremost educational and research institution in Surrey – achieving excellence in a wide variety of disciplines. Veronica Melchet, however, was amongst the original staff – and must have been especially mindful of matters to do with the training and conduct of slaves.
[5] Presumably recognisable as the footfalls of a person, rather than a slave, because she wore boots or shoes.
[6] During the final years of the Surrey democracy, communal bathing became increasingly popular. Large baths were widely used for political, military or professional conferences – as well as for sexual activity. The great bath in University House was designed to accommodate a dozen people.
[7] The regiment was Berenice’s Own Buff Shirt Guards who were, of course, to achieve a proud record during Surrey’s wars of conquest. The Buffs remain amongst the world’s finest military units.
[8] Berenice Blackheart offered to allow Nadine Next a gynozoa child, provided Sylvia Sneak’s former place on the triumvirate was given to her daughter (the future Berenice II) with Gina Gestate acting as regent. As this would have placed Surrey effectively in Berenice’s control, Nadine instead planned to kidnap the gynozoa scientists from the University of Pain. The Battle of the University took place on Drizzlemoon 9th, and is generally considered the opening engagement of the civil war. The Buffs took many prisoners and held them awaiting enslavement. However, when foreign troops started to move against Surrey, Berenice offered the captives places in newly-formed regiments that were to form the backbone of the armies that defended Teddy’s Town and took the Green Ford.
[9] Colonel Stephanie Slaying – a fine strategist and fearless soldier. Without regard for personal safety, she invariably rode at the head of her heavy cavalry charges. Her subsequent military career was to prove brilliant.
[10] Prizes – the officers and women of victorious units were given much of the booty (including most the captured slaves) as prizes, which then served to boost their income. With their prisoners from the Battle of the University re-deployed as troops, rather than enslaved, they had been left without much booty.
[11] The slaves were, evidently, sold untrained at the first Red Hill sale after the conclusion of the civil war. This seems odd given that the University of Pain had been founded upon training slave trainers. The untrained slaves cannot have returned much money. Perhaps the calculation was that the slaves would have fetched even less after a glut of captives (from Teddy’s Town and other battles) was placed on the market.
For Chapter 49 click
http://bondlings.blogspot.com/2008/02/of-bondlings-and-blesh-chapter-49.html
posted by Pet at 6:07 PM
0 comments
