He paused to refill his flagon and toss off another draught, then said, “Of course, I have not mentioned the many other amendments which good King Traktus has imposed upon our lives at the counsel of the High Templeman. Prices and merchants have been wisely regulated. Carnivals where such louts as you are were led into folly have been banned, on pain of slavery. And slavery itself—!
“It is an admirable institution, is it not? At one stroke, we are rid of all miscreants—the poor, the idle, the wicked—We are provided with cheap service which any honest tradesman or farmer or man of station may afford, and the coffers of the Temple of God are enriched, to the benefit of our immortal souls, for by the King’s edict all the fees of the slavers are shared with the Templemen. An admirable institution.
“So you see, my eager young gallants, it is not surprising that the tale of Dom Peralt began with a slave and ended with a witch.”
At that, we all stiffened. Our attention grew even sharper, if that were possible. The sound of excommunication was in our ears. This story was precisely the one we most wished to hear.
Ser Visal smiled at the effect of his announcement. Then—perhaps recollecting that it was unwise to smile on any subject associated with the disfavor of the Temple—he frowned and slapped a fat hand to the table. “Be warned, whelps! This is not the tale of daring and passion you expect. It is sordid and foolish, and I tell it to caution you, so that you will be wiser than mad Dom Peralt, who was nothing more than a boy some few years older than yourselves.”
But we were not daunted. We watched Ser Visal brightly, our breathing thick with anticipation in our chests. And slowly his face appeared to refold itself to lines of sadness. His gaze receded, as though he were now seeing the past rather than the public room of the Hound and Whip. We knew that look. If we did not interrupt him now, he would tell his story.
“Dom Sen Peralt,” he sighed. “I knew his father. The old Dom was a goodly man, as all agreed—perhaps somewhat too little concerned for the state of the public weal, somewhat too much immersed in the private affairs of his estates and dependents, but hale of heart and whole of mind nonetheless. And grown like a tree!” The memory made Ser Visal chuckle voluminously within his robes. “An oak of a man. He bore no weapons; the threat of his fist was as good as a broadsword.” Then he relapsed to sadness. “And many folk flourished under the shade of his care. He was more interested in the commonest babe born in the farthest cottage on his lands than in all the affairs of kings and counselors. A goodly man, greatly grieved in his passing.
By ill chance, however, young Sen Peralt’s mother died during his babyhood, and the old Dom was too occupied elsewhere to attend closely to the rearing of his son. He trusted, I believe, that a decent heart would be inherited—and that his example would supply what his attention did not. In young Sen’s early youth, his father had no cause to complain. But as the boy came toward manhood, he fell among ill companions”—Ser Visal gave us a glare—”shiftless whelps and roisterers such as yourselves, Serson Nason Lew and Domson Bean Frane chief among them, and he discovered the pleasures of folly.. The old Dom was not a man to enforce his will upon others, and he knew not how to intervene. To his sorrow, his son become a tremendous gallant, dedicated to wine and minstrelsy and compliant women. Sen Peralt’s brawls became matters of legend. I shudder to think of the inns he wrecked, the virgins he—”
Abruptly, Ser Visal stopped. “You are too young to understand virgins,” he said severely. “Refill my flagon.”
But when he had replaced some of the fluid he sweated away, he resumed his tale. “Unfortunately, the old Dom died while helping one of his farmers clear a field of boulders. In his mourning, the new Dom was consoled as he had been entertained by his boon companions, Serson Lew and Domson Franc. I will say of him that he gave fit respect to his father. But when he had taken upon himself his father’s station, he showed no inclination to follow his father’s path. He did not altogether neglect his duties. And he took no slaves, as his father had taken none. But the greater part of his time was spent in carouse, defying both the advice of his father’s friends”—Ser Visal’s expression suggested that he had given Dom Peralt hogsheads of good advice—and had helped him drink them—”and the strict attention of the Templemen. He was a scandal in the region, though doubtless you louts admired him. Templeman Knarll himself let it be known that sermons would soon be preached against Dom Peralt from every pulpit within a day’s ride, if young Sen did not begin to take better care of his salvation. It was, said Templeman Knarll, precisely to protect good people from such sins that the Temple of God had become so rigorous.”
Ser Visal shrugged his round shoulders. “And it was precisely in this state of ill grace that Dom Peralt came to town on slaving day.
“You are familiar with slaving day. It is most instructive—most instructive. A lesson to us all. There in the marketplace gather the slavers to sell their wares—and the Templemen to collect their fees. The streets are thick with mud, as rank as sewers, and pickpockets work happily among the crowds, and merchants hawk all manner of commodities, and every townsman comes to consider what may be bought. It is as near to festivity as the Temple of God permits. Goodwomen remain in their homes, but jades wear their brightest colors, and gallants preen, and money seeps everywhere from hand to hand, more subtle than the mud but not less tainted.” Perhaps we saw anger in Ser Visal’s eyes—or perhaps he was simply spinning the mood of his story. “And amid it all are the new slaves for purchase.
“They are chained to each other like cattle, hardly able to lift their fetters for exhaustion or hunger, and dressed as much in muck as in rags. In their eyes—when their eyes are open and their heads raised—are every kind of hate and fear and despair, but no love. I have seen children of no more than four summers manacled to known molesters of children—and the parents bound elsewhere for their debts, helpless. I have seen the sons of impoverished farmers coupled by iron to desperate whores. I have seen innocent travelers pleading for release from the slavers’ quotas. Their filth and degradation exemplify all the evils which have brought slavery among us. The Templemen accompany them, garnering fees from the slavers—and so the world is cleansed. Most instructive. Learn its lesson well, puppies.
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 tr
avelers 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 demon
strating 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.