Daughter of Regals (46 page)

With one long pull, Ser
Visal emptied his flagon, then glowered at us as though he were outraged. But
almost at once the flesh swelled around his eyes, and he smiled humorlessly.

“To slaving day,” he
said, “came Dom Sen Peralt and his two cohorts in debauch, Domson Franc and
Serson Lew.

“He had not the full
size of his father, but still he was
large
of frame, and neither wine
nor feast had softened the edges of his strength. He bore his head high, as if
he were of regal birth. The black curls which crowned his head gleamed darkly.
His gaze shone in the sunlight. His stride was strong, immune to the mud
sucking at his boots. His fine mouth above his chin showed a bemused contempt
for all the human ruin enchained around him. And his comrades slogged at his
side, struggling to match him and appearing only foolish.

“Do I make him seem
grand?” asked Ser Visal acidly. “He was as drunk as a tinker. Only the prospect
of more drink kept him on his feet. If he had tripped, he might have lain face
down in the mud and been trampled without noticing it.”

At once, however, our
instructor reverted to piety. “But God’s will was otherwise. Before Dom Peralt
had crossed the marketplace to the inn he sought, he was accosted by a man
nearly as large as himself—by Growt, most feared of the slavers.

“It is said of Growt—but
such tales are told everywhere, especially among boys. Weil, my puppies, the
tales are true. Growt is feared because he asks no questions concerning those
he hales into slavery. If the Templemen desire a man or woman punished, they
merely give the name to Growt. If a miller comes to loathe his good-woman’s
shrewish tongue, he gives her name to Growt. If a usurer covets the property of
a debtor, he gives the name to Growt. And when he has not enough commissions
to fill his quota, Growt takes minstrels and travelers and gypsies where he
finds them.

“Now among slavers, as
in the Temple of God, such men as Dom Peralt are looked upon with resentment—
and perhaps also with fear—because they take no slaves. Their wealth is denied
to those who most merit it. And on this slaving day Growt’s resentment had
grown beyond its usual blackness. His wares were in little demand. It will not
surprise you that innocent travelers and shrewish goodwomen are not always
docile slaves. Growt’s wares were rendered suspect by his means of obtaining
them. Therefore it was in no mood of good fellowship that he set himself in the
way of Dom Sen Peralt.

“Burly as a bear, but
entirely hairless from the knob of his pate to the tops of his toes, and
dressed in his slavers’ leathers, he was a formidable obstacle to be found in
any man’s path, were the man drunk or sober. But he was not content merely to
bar Dom Peralt’s way. When the young Dom neared him, Growt thrust out an arm as
heavy as an axletree and jolted Dom Peralt in his tracks.

“It appeared momentarily
that Dom Peralt would go sprawling at the feet of Growt’s slaves. But he
regained his balance. Young Nason and Beau Frane gaped at Growt as if he had
been translated from the nether regions to appall them. Indeed, he was
blackened and dirty enough to be a fiend—but of course he was not, being about
the Temple’s business. Arms akimbo, he stood his ground and awaited Dom Peralt’s
reaction.

“Hauling himself
upright, Dom Peralt turned a smile upon Growt. For a moment, he seemed to study
this barrier—though in truth he was hardly able to focus his eyes for drink.
Then he said in a friendly manner, ‘Slaver, you stand between me and a flagon
of ripe sack. Already it languishes for me, and I mean to relieve it of its longing.’
His cohorts giggled at this. ‘Do not hinder me,’ Dom Peralt concluded, ‘in my
errand of mercy.’ To which Domson Frane, the bolder of the two, added, ‘You
mustn’t hinder him, no, you mustn’t. Hindrance makes him bilious.’

“‘Your pardon,’ replied Growt
with admirable insincerity. ‘Buy a slave, and I will let you pass.’

“Dom Peralt blinked in
response, his smile unaltered. ‘A slave?’ he asked, betraying the impairment of
his wits. ‘You wish me to buy a slave? Heinous custom. Why should I buy a slave?’

“Growt had the trick of
appearing to bristle with menace instead of hair. ‘You insult me, Dom,’ he
answered. ‘I do the work of the Temple of God. It is not heinous. And I do not
wish
you to buy a slave. I
mean
you to buy a slave.’

“Sunlight or some other
gleam kindled in Dom Peralt’s eyes. ‘You are mistaken, slaver,’ he said
affably. ‘I have not insulted you. It is not possible to insult you.’

“Growt glowered. Again,
his great arm jabbed Dom Peralt, nearly depriving him of balance. Serson Lew retreated
a step. Beau Franc looked to his leader for some hint of what was to be done.
But Growt ignored those whelps as he would ignore you. ‘Nevertheless,’ he repeated,
‘I mean you to buy a slave.’ As Dom Peralt steadied himself, the slaver
gestured toward his wares. ‘I have young ones and old ones. I have women with
open legs and men with strong backs. I have skilled laborers and dumb cattle.  I
even have one’—his mouth leered, but his eyes did not—’who will tune a lute—and
a song with it— if you know the way to twist his thumbs.’ Then, abruptly, his
manner changed, and he used the voice which kept his charges cowering by day
and pliant by night.
‘Buy one.’

“Again, Dom Peralt
contrived to regain his bearing. On his lips was the smile which made maidens
blush and caused women some weakness in their knees. He paid no regard to his
companions, though Nason Lew whispered for retreat and young Beau silently
urged fight. To Growt, he said sweetly, ‘Now it is I who must ask your pardon.
The cries of loin sack from yonder inn are piteous, filling my ears. I fear I
have been remiss in my attention—I did not hear you clearly. Will you be so
kind as to repeat? I believe you began by begging my pardon. Continue from
there.’

“Well, he had audacity.
That I will say for him. But a playful mood was on him. In any other mind, he
might simply have put his fist to Growt’s face and chanced the outcome. And
that,
you louts, would have gone hard for him. He was roundly drunk—and Growt was
not notably scrupulous in the use of his hands. But it is commonly said that
God watches over drunkards—and so Dom Per-alt sought contest with his sodden
wits rather than with  his equally sodden strength.

“For his part, however,
Growt had no wit. He replied with a growl which bared what remained of his
rotten teeth. Grabbing at the front of Dom Peralt’s fine jacket, he wrenched
young Sea from his feet to his knees in the mud. There Growt bent him backward
and demanded softly, ‘Buy a slave.’

“A crowd bad gathered.
Witnesses abounded, all hungry for excitement. In their hearts, most of the
townspeople would have cheered for Dom Peralt to rise up and repay some of
Growt’s great debt of grief. But there were Templemen present, watching and
wary for sins to be punished—and so most of the spectators kept the nature of
their eagerness to themselves. Serson Lew hopped from one foot to the other,
wanting to run. And his fellow had come to be of a similar mind. They were
accustomed to observe Dom Peralt’s brawls and applaud them, not to participate
in them. No one considered intervention.

“For all his follies,
however, Dom Peralt had been formed in another mold. On his knees in muck, and
nearly falling backward under the pressure of Growt’s grasp, he betrayed no
whit of consternation. His smile remained sweetly upon his lips—his gaze did
not waver from Growt’s. ‘Buy a slave?’ he said, articulating carefully through
his drunkenness. ‘Splendid idea. Why have I never done so before? Truly, my own
thoughtlessness astonishes me. I am in your debt, slaver. I will buy a slave
at once.’

“This nonplussed Growt.
He sensed Dom Peralt’s sport, but could not fathom it. Clearly, the slaver
wished to grand Dom Peralt’s smile into the mud. But how could he do so, when
Dom Peralt had just offered to meet his demand? ‘Do not toy with me,’ he
snarled, attempting to recapture his menace. ‘Buy a slave.’

“‘But of course,’
replied Dom Peralt. ‘I said the same myself. Just now, as I recall. A splendid
idea. Altogether splendid. Did I say that also?’ There was laughter in his
eyes, but none in his voice.

“Growt’s whole face
twisted as he strove to guess young Sen’s game. Bending over him, he hissed, ‘One
of mine—  or I will break your back where you kneel.’

“Dom Peralt flung his
arms wide in a gesture of appeal. ‘Slaver, you wound me. I have not deserved
this doubt. I cannot deny that I am young and thoughtless. But none accuse me
of ingratitude. You have awakened me to my error. What other wares should I
consider, except yours?’ In a subtle way, his tone turned harder as he spoke.
But his smile belied all hint of anger. ‘However,’ he continued reasonably, ‘you
must allow me to rise. I cannot inspect your merchandise from here.’

“Growt was snared and
knew it. Titterings and chuckles arose from the crowd, galling him—but he was
compelled by his own demand to release Dom Peralt’s jacket and stand back. He
did so with a muttered curse and a black look that stilled some of the mirth of
the onlookers. Then he pointed to the nearest chained line and said harshly, ‘There.
Choose.’ And he named a price which was twice what any of his prisoners was
worth.

“But Dom Peralt was a
match for Growt’s ill grace, and his sport had only begun. ‘I thank you slaver,’
he said with a glance at the slaves. Instead of moving to make selection, he
drew a linen handkerchief from his sleeve. With the slow care of the drunken,
he wiped the clots of mud from his breeches and boots. While Growt fretted and
waited furiously, young Sen made a great show of cleaning himself. Then, when
Growt was nearly  frustrated enough to strike him again, he tossed his handkerchief
aside and swayed toward the slaves.

“They were an
unprepossessing lot—as you have perhaps seen on other occasions. Filth and
poor food and  fear had deprived them of their charms. To be frank, those
charms might once have been substantial, considering the sources from which
Growt obtained his merchandise. But where other slavers naturally attempted to
put the best  face possible upon their wares, Growt reveled in demonstrating
the extent to which men and women created  an God’s image might be degraded.
Dom Peralt could not keep a frown from his face as he surveyed his choices.

“Domson Franc and Serson
Lew watched him with the honest astonishment of too much wine, as unable as
Growt to fathom Dom Peralt’s game. They did not fear that their leader would
abandon his principles. What did they know of principles?
Their
fathers
had slaves. Perhaps they owned slaves themselves. Doubtless they considered Dom
Per-alt’s former refusals a harmless affectation—part of the jesting and fun of
his company. No, they feared only that his reputation for courage would be
tarnished, thus diminishing his stature—and theirs—in the eyes of other young
roisterers like yourselves.

“Similarly the other
onlookers. They did not wish Dom Peralt to fight for his beliefs—if he had any.
They wished him to fight because they feared Growt. Only the Templemen felt
otherwise. For the most part, Dom Peralt was surrounded by disappointment as he
contemplated his selection.

“But he was blind and
deaf to all concerns except his own, and his concern was to make his choice. Or
perhaps
it
was simply to keep himself from falling on his face.
Resisting unsteadiness, he moved along the chained line, stopping here before a
girl still too young to live without her mother, there before a man so old that
he could hardly lift his manacles—and yet he made no choice. One cynic among
the townspeople offered wagers as to whether Dom Peralt would succeed at
picking out a slave and paying before he lapsed into unconsciousness.

“Perhaps therefore it is
open to question whether God watches over drunkards. Instead of lapsing into
unconsciousness, Dom Peralt found a young woman locked to the chain between
two battered fellows who had the look of dispossessed farmers. That she was
young could be discerned through the grime. And the tatters which remained of
her raiment suggested that she had lived for some time among gypsies—as guest,
not gypsy herself, for her blue eyes and the shape of her face lacked the swart
sullenness of that kind. But nothing of beauty survived the treatment she had
received. A swollen cheek and blood showed that some teeth had been knocked
from her jaw. Even the shade of her hair could not be determined through the
muck. Oh, she was unsavory. Faugh! I know not what attracted Dom Peralt to her.
Her wrists were gouged and infected from the efforts she had made to twist free
of her fetters. Only her eyes—Their blue was startling in her smudged and
beaten face. They suggested that she was better acquainted with anger than with
fear.

“Dom Peralt roused
himself as if he had dozed while studying her. With a nod, he said, ‘This one.
I want her.’ Then he turned to Growt, and his smile was resumed. ‘Hear you,
slaver? I want this one.’

“Growt grinned and
glowered because he had triumphed—and did not like the taste of Dom Peralt’s
manner, which deprived this triumph of the salt Growt preferred. Sourly, he
named his price again. It was twice what he had already demanded.

“Still in all the sum
was a trifle to a man with Dom Peralt’s properties. From his purse he fumbled
out coins which approximated the amount of Growt’s price and tossed them to the
slaver. So unsteady was young Sen now that Growt could not claim insult in the
way the coins were thrown so that he could not catch them all. Anger corded his
neck as he retrieved his earnings from the mud, but he had no choice left. Even
the Templemen would not smile on him if he harmed a purchaser of his wares.
Snarling and vicious, he went to unlock Dom Peralt’s selection from the chains.