Darkness and silence,
Anguish and loneliness
Reign in my cloistered heart.
I am the sea’s foundling,
The orphan of the winds
And Nature’s long-lost child.

– The Canticle of Menkeret.


The Lady Itelyssia, wife of our master Lord Heshuzius, may not be the most intelligent, beautiful or dynamic of women; neither is she particularly pragmatic or imaginative, but she does exhibit a degree of kindness rare amongst the Darrakhai.

Compassion and imagination are indeed uncommon amongst the warlike Darrakhai, my captors. But the Lady Mistress treats her slaves as she does her pets; with a degree of affection and with benign condescension. Her speech and her actions are the source of constant amusement to me, and while I behave subserviently in her presence and treat her with respect, as is expected of a slave, my true feelings towards her are anything but sincere.

Often I have written letters for her and corrected her grammar and spelling, even though Darrakhai is, of course, not my native tongue. I have advised her on matters of taste, precedence and etiquette and she has often confided in me. Before my arrival, only my dear friend Ara had enjoyed the favour of our mistress and now, through our friendship and kinship as slaves, we share it.

A woman of Itelyssia’s station in life is expected to entertain and while refined, intellectual diversion is largely beyond the Darrakhai, they do devote much effort to satisfying all other desires. A woman of means and leisure such as our mistress must impress. It is expected of her. Society demands her to be fashionable, refined, beautiful and to entertain with a level of opulence that befits her class; the slave-owning class.

********************************

I apply another touch of red to Ara’s cheek and gently rub it in,

“How do I look?” she asks softly.

“Like a three obol whore.”

“You mean…. just like you.”

We both struggle to suppress our laughter as the steward of the house enters. Upon hearing his brusque voice I turn. Ara and I each wear a broad collar of polished desert stones; black, white and many shades of red. Set in heavy gold, it is an ornament that is as gaudy and costly as it is tasteless. Matching armlets and bracelets adorn our limbs but apart from these, we are quite nude. Our faces are painted and our hair is adorned with sea-green ribbons and violet flowers. The steward orders us all to line up. There are five of us; all women chosen for our skill in love craft, our youth, our beauty and our desirability.

All of the other women are known to me, having been drawn from their usual duties in other parts of the estates of Heshuzius, to serve at tonight’s entertainment. There is Lorae; with her limpid blue eyes, Teyleia; dark, tall, athletic and mysterious and Illia with her sweet, trusting nature and beautiful fair skin. We stand quietly and listen to the steward’s instructions.

“Pleasure slaves, you are to stand in the enclosure prepared for you. You will stand quietly and you will not speak or interact. There will be others of you, males. With these you shall not speak. If my instructions are not followed you can expect to be punished.”

We have all heard this from him before and take little notice of it; we know what the task before us will require – our bodies, our obedience, our passive compliance. But the task is not without its compensations.

We follow the steward into the main banqueting hall of the house. This large and spacious room is fragrant with incense and sumptuously decorated. There is music and the long tables are laden with all manner of fine dishes, rare wines from Heshuzius’ extensive cellars and flowers of all kinds in glorious profusion. The lamps are few, making the space recede into shadow. The furnishings consist of silk hangings, and draped cloth, large cushions and low couches. All is as soft and as intimate as the scale of the room will allow.

The slaves ‘enclosure’ is a cage whose slender bars are made of soft wood twined with golden ribbon. Inside are cushions of dyed and richly embroidered homespun upon which we slaves might sit. Everywhere the domestic servants are still busily preparing for the banquet and leaving no detail to chance, for tonight our mistress’ reputation is at stake. We enter the cage and some of us sit decorously, while others, such as me, recline provocatively.

Soon our mistress, the Lady Itelyssia enters and proceeds quite needlessly and ineffectually, to supervise the servants. She rearranges the flowers; breaking a vase in the process, tastes all the food, orders more cushions and lastly approaches the cage.

“Oh, it seems the males are not yet here,” She frowns. “Where are the male slaves?!”

A servant runs out and soon a group of five naked men enter. Of these, all except one are familiar faces to me. The new one is not a particularly tall man but he has a fine body; tanned and muscular from physical outdoor work rather than the scarred frame of a soldier. The elements have been kind to him too and I find myself easily admiring his muscular shoulders and fine, dark features. His eyes meet mine momentarily as he enters the cage. His face is expressionless; as is expected of a slave, but in his dark eyes I see a deep glimmer.

With the cage full and all other preparations complete, we sit or stand impassively and observe the arrival of Lady Itelyssia’s guests to the accompaniment of music. They are mostly women and a few young men; all from the same social class as the Lady. Their clothes are rich, gaudy and tasteless; each guest it seems, attempting to outdistance all others in expenditure, embellishment and elaboration. The women are of all ages and some of the more mature ladies have brought their daughters for the first time, the girls now being of age. They are here to be introduced to society and so that they can indulge their desires in a manner befitting young ladies of rank. The slave enclosure is of course the primary object upon which they focus their interest; examining the men’s nudity with wide eyed stares and whispering to each other when some particular point of anatomy draws their attention. I smile as I watch them, reminded as I am of the menageries of exotic and dangerous animals that men of means collect and display back home in Mentrassanae.

The music swells in consort and the guests are seated with precedence strictly observed. I notice a severe looking woman, dressed in iridescent black sitting in the place of honour; at the right hand of Lady Itelyssia. The way that our mistress and some of the other guests fawn upon this woman indicates that she is a very important person indeed.

Food is served, the finest that the noble house of Heshuzius can provide. Wine follows in great abundance and an hour later, sweetmeats and fruit. The guests eat, drink and chatter idly; there is laughter and applause as each new course emerges from the kitchens and is served with the utmost ceremony. Hours pass and the formality of the evening is gradually relaxed. Etiquette however demands that the guest of honour has the first pick of the next and final course of the evening; the slaves.

Our lady now invites her guest in black to inspect the cage and to take her pick. During this ceremony the music is subdued and somber. The lady in question stands and approaches the cage. We slaves are expected to stand and strike suggestive poses. I have been through this process three times since becoming a slave and, while my contempt for the Darrakhai remains totally undiminished, I cooperate for the ritual never fails to intrigue me. The lady in black steps up to the cage, smiling benignly and carefully surveys each slave in turn, but she does so dispassionately. As her eyes pass over me, I feel a frisson of disquiet, a tremor of dread, but only momentarily.

“I have chosen!” she announces in a cold voice.

She picks Illia and the assembly applauds briefly. The servants release Illia from the cage and the smiling lady takes her hand. There is great poise in her movements now as she shows the assembled guests her choice and they in turn compliment her on her taste. Indeed she has taste, for Illia is a most beautiful girl, with a charming, gentle and giving nature.

The tables are cleared away and the lights are dimmed. The music changes to slow, sensual rhythms and measured, driving percussion. Incense is lit, filling the room with the sharp aromas of spring. Attended by her two personal servants, the lady in iridescent black takes Illia to a corner of the room where there is wine and where there are flowers.

One by one, in order of precedence the guests choose their slaves. Having done so, they recline upon the cushioned area and proceed to indulge their desires. The beautiful, dark haired man is chosen before me by one of the young, Darrakhai women. I watch as they settle and she orders him to undress her. A tall young man chooses me. His soft warm hands and pleasant smile are reassuring as is his gentle voice. A gentleman amongst the Darrakhai is a rare thing indeed.