Anthropology

Chapter 11 : Day Fifteen – The Household Of Keshren Kerrich

Karen had worn a veil many times in the past but somehow this felt particularly odd. To be sitting there, in normal clothes, especially someone else’s, but with her face obscured from view, felt strange. Added to that, the fact that the veil concealed not only herself but also her assumed identity, felt even more curious.

The driver seemed unconcerned as the car bounced through the suburbs of Kolin. It slid to a dusty halt outside a large wooden door. He turned around, pointed to Karen and then to the door and waved for her to get out. He made no attempt to get out to help her with her luggage so she pulled the cases from the boot. No sooner were they out and she had closed the lid than the car roared off, leaving her standing in the gravel and dust beside the door. On the side of the door was a battered enamel sign that read in Kushtian script, “The Household of Keshren Kerrich.”

There didn’t seem to be a bell or knocker so she just made a fist and hit against it. Almost at once there was a sound of Kushtian voices from inside. She reached up to ensure that her veil still gave her an appropriately modest look and waited for the door to be opened.  

The door was opened by a man she took to be the household Overseer, the one charged with keeping good order amongst the servants and ensuring that the tasks needed to keep the house running smoothly were carried out. She showed him her blue and white folder. He grunted in recognition and showed her in, muttering a greeting in Kushtian. Karen thought it not a good idea to show that she spoke and understood, Kushtian. After all, the real Lucy Baildon almost certainly didn’t. She showed the Overseer her folder, pointing to the name on its cover and then to herself, saying “Lucy, Lucy.”

He looked at her, seemingly uninterested and pointed her to a small room where other women of the household were sat. Some were working at a loom, others mending clothes, others still folding clothes that had evidently just been laundered. Her arrival caused something of a stir, the women clustered around her, plucking at her clothes, unfastening her veil, taking her by the hand and gesturing for her to sit down all the while, muttering the Kushtian welcome greeting, “Venesh. Venesh.” 

Karen smiled in response nodding her head, keen to make friends with the women of the household as soon as she could.  One of them offered her a small clay cup of steaming liquid and Karen took it gratefully. She pulled the small phrase book given to all programme participants from her bag and thumbed through it. “Thaknarish. Thank you,” she said haltingly trying to not to let her grasp of Kushtian pronunciation appear too competent. She pointed to the book as if not confident that she was being understood. “Thaknarish.” She smiled again and held up the cup, taking a drink of the strong black tea.

Two of the other women clapped approvingly. “Thaknarish. Thaknarish.” They nodded, showing Karen that they understood. They took her by the hand, led her to a range of cushions alongside one wall and indicated for her to sit. Karen did so. As she did so another woman appeared in the room. She was younger than any of the others, barely twenty Karen thought, and her pale skin marked her out from the others. As soon as she saw Karen she rushed across to her.

“Are you English?” she asked. “Here as part of the programme?” Karen nodded. “Oh, thank goodness. I’ve been so lonely, it’s been so strange. Not at all like I thought it would be. I so want to go home and …” she stopped as suddenly as she had started, conscious that all the other women in the room were looking at her. “Please,” she said, “please help me.”

A moment later the Overseer appeared and barked some orders at one of the elder women. Karen managed to make out some of it. “The young English woman. She is for concubine tonight. For the first son. She will dance for him. Then he will dance with her. Dress her. And manuses.”

The girl obviously understood little of what was said apart from the last word. Manuses  - the shackles worn as a symbol of a woman’s dependence on her household.  She shook her head. “No manuses,” she said, “no manuses.” The other women clustered around her, ignoring her protests, pulling her to a large chest in the corner of the room.

“You dance,” the oldest one said slowly in stumbling English. “Dance for Kesrentic.” The girl looked worried. The other women were helping her take off her dark brown robes; one of the others was rummaging through the contents of the chest. “Shake bosom. Make Kesrentic happy. He like that.”

Karen had a pretty good idea of what “dancing” for Kesrentic would mean. It was common practice to select one of the women of the household to give the eldest boy of the family his first sexual experience. Whatever dancing skills the girl had, dancing would not be all she was expected to do tonight. The girl stood naked, shivering but not from cold. The women had found a costume for her. The silver, sparkling, halter neck top was adorned with silver coins stitched to it like monetary chain mail. The grey silken skirt was trimmed in silver wire embroidery and cut in panels so that as she moved it exposed her legs. Silver slippers and a heavy, broad, coin-hung, belt to sit around her hips were brought from the chest as well. They fastened bangles around her arms. They put rings on each of her fingers, with fine silver chains linking one to another. The oldest women brought out a fine grey silk veil, draping it carefully across her face, and fastening it to her hair with pins. In spite of the reassuring clucking and fussing of the women, the girl’s eyes were still wide with fright and her fear became worse as they brought the heavy iron manacles, the “manuses”, for her wrists.

As the girl wriggled in her manacles, prepared by the women of the house for her fate, the Overseer returned. Smiling with approval he took the girl by the arm, quelling her struggles with a violent shake. “Come,” he said. “Dance.” He dragged her away. Behind her veil, it was clear she was sobbing in distress.  

Karen stared after her. She had a good idea of the fate that awaited the girl. “Dancing” was a common euphemism for copulation in Kushtian and it was usual practice for a young girl from the household to be selected as the initiation partner for any male of the household at their coming of age. “At least,” Karen thought, “it will be short if not sweet.” At best Kushtian lovemaking was fairly perfunctory; for a male just coming of age she would be unlucky if it took more than a few moments. Frightening, yes, degrading, yes, but Karen could imagine far worse forms of forced sexual encounter.

The other women took Karen and set her to work, cleaning pots and dishes. She listened to their chatter as she worked away at the tub of grimy water, hearing the gossip of the household of how the Overseer was cheating on his two wives; of how the chief wife of the house had discovered that her husband had a new concubine that she had not been told of; of the price of rice in the market and poor quality chickens that had been brought for the week-end’s meals. As the sun began to set the women drifted away to different corners of the room. There was no artificial light and the onset of night meant there was nothing to do but sleep. Karen found her own corner, pushing a sack of rice to the floor as a pillow and dragging a strip of worn carpet across to cover her as she slept.

She was woken by the return of the girl. In the gloom of the room she watched as the girl was pushed back into the room. She looked around her before she saw where Karen was and made her way towards her, crouching down alongside her. “Please,” the girl said, “please help.”

Karen sat up. The girl fell into her arms. Karen could see that her costume was torn, that there were scratches across her shoulders and chest. Her veil hung loosely from the pins in her hair but no longer covered her face. Karen just held on to her, the girl sobbing quietly. “Did he rape you?” she asked quietly.

The girl looked at her. “Yes – no – well, no, not really. He tried but he’s not been with a woman before. He was just violent. Rough, brutal and he made me, well, no….”

“Its all right,” said Karen. “Come here and rest. We’ll make things right in the morning.” She took the girl in her arms and the two of them lay back against the sack of rice, both sleeping fitfully beneath their carpet blanket, Karen still in the street clothes she had stolen from Lucy, the girl in her torn dancing costume, her wrists still locked in their manuses.

Chapter 12 : Day Sixteen – Working For Keshren

Karen was woken by the quiet sobbing of her companion. A pink flush at the barred window of the room announced the imminent arrival of dawn. The other women were already stirring busying themselves at lighting the cooking fires and heating water. One of the Overseer’s men walked up to their couch, pushed Suzie over onto her face and unfastened her manuses. The girl sat up, rubbed her wrists and pushed the hair away from her tear streaked face. “I’m sorry,” she said, you must think me so foolish. To have got into this and then to complain so.” 

Karen smiled sympathetically. “No,” she said reassuringly, “of course not. It’s frightening.” The girl gave a grateful grin. “Look, I’m Lucy Baildon,” she said. “Perhaps we can help each other?”

The girl nodded. “Suzie,” she said, “Suzie Barwick. The women here are all right really. They’ve been kind. It’s just… well, it’s just all so strange. In the programme they said I would be a part of the household, a doenya?”

“Mmm,” said Karen, “like a servant. I think that’s what I am to be too.”

“And that is fine. The work is hard but the other women have helped me a lot. They are all very kind. But the men! They are far worse than I thought. They see any woman and they think of sex. I was cleaning in the bathrooms yesterday with one of the other doenyes. The head of the household came in – Keshren Kerrich – he told the other girl to suck his… his thing .. his cock. And he told me to stand and watch. To learn. So I would know how the head of the household needed to be treated. And she just did it. And he said nothing to her. He didn’t touch her. He just… well stood there. She didn’t even pause. She just dropped to her knees and did it. Right there. Just as he asked.”

“Of course,” said Karen. “She would see it as an honour.” Suzie looked startled. “For a doenya to be asked by the head of the household. That is a matter of status for her. She will have boasted of it to her friends.”

“It’s true. There was a lot of talk when we got back to the doenyes hall. I couldn’t follow it.”

“I’m sure that’s what it was. I know it must seem very strange.” Karen wanted to do what she could to reassure Suzie, but he knew from her studies that Kushtian men viewed sex as something to be taken when desire arose. The only good thing was that they were usually satisfied fairly swiftly. “Just think yourself lucky you’re not a concubine! At least as a doenya anything like that is going to be occasional. Concubines are expected to be on hand for the head of household at any time, day or night. And they are supposed to amuse and entertain him, playing music, joining in games. I’d rather be working in the kitchen!”

“Me too,” said Suzie with a smile, evidently pleased to have found an ally in Karen. “But why didn’t they give a concubine to Kesrentic? Why me? He hurt me. Look.” Suzie showed Karen the scratch marks on her shoulder.  

“It’s a tradition,” Karen said. “A young man is considered too inexperienced to go with a concubine. They are only for someone that has achieved some experience in the ‘art’ as they see it. So they use a servant. It’s the usual way.”

“Oh,” said Suzie. “You know a lot about this, Lucy. I don’t remember seeing that in the programme guide. But then the programme guide doesn’t really prepare you for this does it?”

Karen shook her head. “No it doesn’t, does it? But I’m determined to learn from this what I can. That’s why I came on the programme.”

Suzie nodded, “Well, yes. Mostly it’s not so bad. As I say, the other women are kind and not all of the men are brutes. It’s a simple life here and somehow the work lets you think, It’s quite – well – peaceful in some ways.”

Karen looked sympathetically at Suzie. “I can imagine it is. That’s what I hoped to find here.”

Suzie seemed to gather herself together. “Well, Miss Lucy Baildon,” she said with new found confidence, “I’d better show you around. Just let me change.” She shrugged off the tatters of her dance costume and pulled on a simple one piece robe that covered her from neck to ankle. She reached out a hand to Karen. “Come on,” she said. “I can’t take your manuses off, though. The Overseer will have to do that.” Suzie led the way across the doenyes hall. A large bowl of water stood on a table. She splashed her face and then turned to Karen before picking up a cloth to dry herself. “Here,” she said, “we might get hot water for a wash later but this is all there is for now.”

Karen nodded and followed Suzie’s example. She had barely finished when she became aware that the women in the hall had fallen silent. She looked around. All of them, Suzie included, had drawn their veils across their faces. Standing in the door to the hall was a heavily built man that Karen took to be Keshren Kerrich’s Overseer. Karen pulled her own veil into place. The Overseer beckoned her forward. As she responded to his gesture, one of the other  women went forward with her. The Overseer grunted out a stream of instructions in Kushtian. Even though Karen understood most of it, the woman translated slowly into broken English.

“He says you are here as a doenya in the household of Keshren Kerrich. Kerrich say you are to be freed of your manuses so that you can take up your duties. Hold out your hands.” As Karen obeyed the Overseer’s instructions he took a key from his belt and unlocked the cuffs from around her wrists. Another stream of Kushtian followed. “Now you must take off those western clothes. Here a doenya wears Kushtian dress.” Karen looked around. The other women were all watching her as she stepped out of the skirt and pulled off her silk top and the Overseer was staring appreciatively as she stood there in her underwear. The woman who was translating passed Karen a robe like the one Suzie had put on and Karen put it on over her head. The Overseer grunted his approval as she allowed the robe to fall loosely into place and then reached into the pocket of his tunic. He took out a metal disk that carried the same design that had appeared on the door plate of the household. Karen knew what it was – a properta, the symbol worn by all women showing the household to which they belonged.

The Overseer hung the disk on its cord around Karen’s neck and muttered some further words. “He says, this is your properta as part of the household of Keshren Kerrich. Remember to follow the traditions of our household. You will follow our rules and the household will care for you.” Karen nodded her head in acknowledgement. The Overseer nodded in response and left without a further word.

As soon as the Overseer left the other women clustered around Karen. They had thrown off their veils now and were smiling and laughing, welcoming her to the household. Suzie stood by on one side. “You see,” she said. “They are pleased we are here.”

The woman who had translated for the Overseer said, “Now for some work. Then some food. You bring water. She,” the woman pointed to Suzie, “she will show you where.”

Karen followed Suzie’s lead. The two of them worked hard for an hour or more, both fetching water from the well, emptying the pottery jars they carried into the great stone cisterns to one side of the kitchen area. After a dozen loads, the older woman signalled that they should take a rest and brought them each a bowl of tea. Karen felt as though every one of her muscles were aching already. The two of them sat quietly enjoying their tea. Karen looked up and saw two of the Overseer’s men approaching. Instinctively she pulled her veil across her face and lowered her eyes in the way she knew Kushtian women were expected to.  It was only when she heard the chatter of voices beside her that she turned to see the two young men attempting to flirt with Suzie. “Hello lovely lady,” the taller of the young men was saying, Karen heard. “Don’t work too hard, you come play with us,” the other said. Karen wasn’t worried by the conversation – these two would be under as strict supervision by the Overseer as the women were in the doenyes hall, this would be just an amusing way for them to pass a few moments in their busy day. It was only when Suzie turned towards her that she realised the reason for their flirtation; surprised by their approach, Suzie had forgotten to pull her veil up over her face and was now enjoying their attention, not registering the fascinated stares on the young men’s face as they stared into the face of an unveiled woman for what was probably the first time.

A barked order from behind Karen disturbed the two men and Suzie. The Overseer pushed Karen aside as he jerked Suzie to her feet. The two men scuttled away. The over seer dealt Suzie a hard slap to the face before he pulled her veil up, snarling at her all the time that she was immodest, little better than a whore, seducing his workers. Suzie was sobbing as she tried to break free of the Overseers grasp. Karen knew better than tot try to help her. By failing to cover her face she would give offence to any traditionally minded man. Even the most licentious of concubines was expected to offer at least the pretence of covering her face.

The Overseer was dragging Suzie by her wrist. He was shouting at the woman that had translated for Karen earlier. She in turn was remonstrating with him but eventually shaking her head went off to the side of the room, only to return with a pair of manuses. The Overseer locked them onto Suzie’s wrists and held her by the chain that linked them. With a twist if his wrist he forced Suzie to her knees. The girl was yelling in fear as he twisted his grip again and dragged her down to the floor. Placing his boot on her neck to keep her from moving he reached out to unfasten a rope from its cleat on the wall. As he loosened, it a large hook lowered from the ceiling. He pushed the tip of the hook through the links of Suzie’s manuses and hauled on the rope. Suzie was dragged back to her knees, then to her feet and finally onto the tips of her toes her arms stretching up towards the roof.

“Whore,” he spat at Suzie as he pulled a large knife from his belt. She began screaming again in terror as he advanced towards her. Karen looked to see if there was anything she could do to save the girl, deciding that the only thing to hand was one of the pots she had been fetching water with. The Overseer however, seeing that Karen might intervene turned towards her and threatened her with the knife before turning back to Suzie and using his knife to slice her robe from her, leaving her naked except for her veil. He looked at her as she tried to ease the pain from her arms, stretched upwards as they were. He gave a nod of satisfaction and then spoke again to the translator before stalking from the room. “Da huna batradi,” Karen heard him say. “Beat the bitch.”

“Oh, please let me down,” begged Suzie. “My arms … it’s so painful.”

The translator shook her head. “You must stay there,” she said. “To be seen without your veil is a great offence. You must stay there to think about your mistake.”

“But my arms…”

“That pain is not so great,” the translator said. “But the pain from the beating will be.”

“No! No!” called Suzie as she saw the woman pick up a bunch of willow wands used to beat the dust from carpets. “Please you don’t have to beat me.”

“We must do this. The Overseer insists that we doenyes carry out our own punishments. I must punish you or I will be punished.”

Karen knew that there was no escape for Suzie. This was how the household managed its affairs. The Overseer let it know what was needed and it happened. He didn’t have to do anything, they all knew how the household had to work and they all acted to see that order was maintained. She could do nothing but watch as the woman cracked the canes across Suzie’s naked thighs, buttocks and back. After a dozen strokes or more Suzie’s cries of pain at each blow had combined into one continuing wail that went on even after the woman stopped beating her and loosened the rope to allow Suzie down from her tip-toes. She collapsed to the floor. The woman crouched beside her. “You must stay naked except for your veil for the rest of the day,” she said, “and you where the manuses too. Now please get back to your work as soon as you can.” She walked away returning the bundle of canes to the rack on the wall.

Karen ran across to the sobbing Suzie and tried to comfort her but one of the other women waved her away. “Your work,” she said, “do your work. She must work as soon as she can too.” Karen looked down at the sobbing Suzie and then across at the defiant Kushtian woman. She reached the conclusion that there was nothing to be gained frm making more trouble and went to fetch another pitcher of water.

In time Suzie recovered sufficiently to start her own work again and the two of them worked on into the afternoon until the sun began to slip down towards the horizon.

Karen had finished her tasks for the evening meal. Much of the wood she had gathered for the stove was piled neatly beside it; some was burning with a sweet smelling smoke within. On top, a large cauldron filled with water Karen had brought from the well was slowly heating. Suzie, moving slowly because of the pain of her beating, was working to mix the dough for the flat breads that would be baked in the side oven. She worked steadily, not speaking, embarrassed by the stupidity that had led to her punishment. Two of the other women were supervising her efforts, nodding or shaking their heads as she kneaded the dough and then teased out the flat fingers of the mixture that would go into the oven. Once she was finished she was sent to kneel naked in one corner of the room

Karen stood back from the heat of the stove pushing her hair back from her face and wiping sweat from her forehead. As she did so she saw the Overseer gesture from the far door, beckoning to her. She looked around, decided that it was indeed she the man was summoning, and went across towards him. “A visitor,” he said, demonstrating that he spoke at least some English. “Not long to talk though – soon supper.”

Karen nodded wondering who could have come to see her. A veiled woman in long grey robes came into the room. The Overseer, not interested in women’s talk, left them. As he disappeared, the woman drew back her veil, revealing herself as Alana.   “Hello decadent Yankee,” she said with a smile. She reached out for the disk hanging from the cord around Karen’s neck. “I see you are wearing the properta of Keshren Kerrich. I had thought you might save yourself for me.”

“I had no choice, even if I wanted otherwise.” Karen scowled at Alana’s flirtatious remark. I am here in the household as part of the programme Lucy would wear Kerrich’s properta. What choice do I have?” Karen looked at Alana and saw her put her head to one side. “Besides, what makes you think I should wear your properta? Doesn’t that just mean you are accepting the same standards as Kerrich? As all the other men?”

“Perhaps,” Alana said. “But enough of that for now. I wanted to see how you were getting on. Have you made contact with others from the programme? Are there others here?”

Karen nodded. “Yes,” she said, “one. An English girl. She is distressed. Abused. She wishes to return home. I have seen much of how she is mistreated. Help us to get away from here.”

Alana shook her head. “No, you want to stay here for longer yet.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“I know I’m right. You know you must stay here for Natsumi and Miyako. For Anouk. They don’t understand why they are being kept as they are. Anouk, she doesn’t understand why she must submit to the Kushtian guard that is her captor. She was not as ready for my attentions as you were, Yankee.”

“Bitch,” hissed Karen but Alana just smiled in response and drew a finger along Karen’s robe where it draped across her thigh. Karen bit her lip as Alana’s stroking hand swept upwards to her hip. She turned to the Kushtian. “What do you want?”

“Stay longer. Find more. We need longer to be ready. Make the English girl ready to speak against her owner, not just the Overseer, she must be ready to speak against Kerrich. If you do well then Anouk will be happy. And Natsumi and Miyako.”

Karen scowled at the implied threats. She folded her arms, looking sullenly at Alana who smiled back, content that she had made her point.

“You must not be unhappy with me, Yankee,” Alana said, her hand now trailing up to the side of Karen’s face. She watched as Karen bit her lip attempting to hide her reaction to the brush of Alana’s fingers across her cheek. “But, I see you are not.” Alana’s fingers burrowed into Karen’s hair, stroking and squeezing at the nape of Karen’s neck, bring forth a quiet moan from the American. “Stay here, learn more. Then we will see.”

She dropped her hand from Karen’s neck. Karen could only watch wordlessly as Alana left her.

Chapter 13 : Day Seventeen – Sold

Karen was woken by the sound of noisy debate in the kitchen. The Overseer and one of the older women were arguing. About what Karen could not tell. The Overseer seemed to have his way. He stamped out with an angry shout. A few minutes later the woman came to the room that Karen and Suzie shared. By now Suzie was awake as well. The woman came in carrying clothes; western style clothes. She pushed them towards Suzie and Karen. “Habilish,” she said. “Get dressed.”

Suzie and Karen shrugged off their night shirts and pulled on the clothes that the woman had brought. After weeks spent in the all encompassing Kushtian robes, wearing these new clothes felt strange. Suzie pulled on a green dress with a skirt that reached only just below her knees and short sleeves, wildly immodest by Kushtian standards. Karen took a pale brown suit, its square jacket buttoned to the neck, its skirt straight, skimming her hips. There were veils for each of them too, they found, and gloves as well. They had only just finished dressing when the Overseer reappeared pushing past the old woman. He was followed by one of his juniors, the men told the old woman to leave. As soon as she had done so the two men seized Karen and Suzie, pushing them against the wall and wrestling their arms behind them. In spite of their struggles the two were soon locked into manuses, their wrists firmly fixed behind their backs.

Karen felt the Overseer pulling at her veil and then something soft and bulky being pushed between her lips. A moaungf, she thought, a leather padded plug gag used as a form of silencer for centuries in Kushtian households. She groaned as a strap was buckled behind her head, forcing the plug deep into her mouth. Suzie’s muffled squeals indicated that she was being treated in the same way.

The two women were pushed out of the room still struggling. Karen watched Suzie trying ineffectually to break free as she was dragged off, Suzie’s eyes wide with terror over her veil. In the next room the head of the household, Keshren Kerrich, was standing, watching impassively as the two women were brought in, another bearded Kushtian man standing beside him. Karen recognised him at once. It was Kolani Kustanki, the Kushtian Minister of Culture. Karen had seen his photograph in Lucy Baildon’s copy of the programme participants guide but she knew him by reputation. He written an official letter to her following the publication of her National Geographic article. At the time he’d protested strongly that she had presented a distorted view of Kushtian culture, although now he seemed keen to reinforce all the features that Karen’s reporting had highlighted.

Keshren walked across to the two women and unfastened the cords that held the properta disks around their necks. He tossed the disks onto a table. The other man reached into a jacket and pulled out his wallet. He took out a bundle of notes and counted a small pile onto the table beside him. Keshren Kerrich nodded with approval. Kolani Kustanki took two different disks from his pocket, walked up to the girls and hung one about each of their necks. Suzie tried to duck away from him as he did so. He laughed, slapped her face and completed his task. Keshren picked up the pile of notes and muttered an expression of thanks. “Thank you, Minister,” Karen heard him say in Kushtian. The other man nodded in response and gripped Karen and Suzie each by the arm and hustled them towards the door.

Outside a large black limousine was waiting, a chauffeur seated in the driving seat. Karen was pushed into the back of the car on one side, the door slammed shut beside her. Kustanki dragged Suzie around to the other side and climbed into the car, pulling Suzie in behind him so that he sat between the two women. The car pulled away. Karen peering out from the back watched as the house of Keshren Kerrich disappeared behind them. As the car bounced across the potholes at the end of the street, a veiled woman in grey was standing beside the road. Karen was sure it was Alana.

“Weredny, Kovash?” called the chauffeur.

“Dvorech,” the Minister called in response. “Where to, Sir? - The palace,” thought Karen. “It looks like we’re moving up in the world.” The man sat back as the car lurched over the rutted roads on the outskirts of Kolin. He reached out to either side sliding his hands up Karen’s and Suzie’s thighs, pushing Suzie’s skirt up so that her legs were exposed almost as far as her waist. The social status of their new household might be higher but, Karen noticed, there was no difference in the behaviour of this householder compared with their last. He seemed content to let his attentions go no further, though, as the car managed to pick up some speed on the tarmac of the airport road and then lurched off again onto dirt tracks.

Their final destination turned out to be a complex of low white painted buildings in the low hills to the north of Kolin. The car drove through an arched gateway and slid to a halt. A short blast on its horn brought two heavily built men out from a small room that was built onto the back of the gateway. The taller of the two flicked the stub end of his cigarette down on the ground and opened the door on Suzie’s side. He pulled her from the car and the Minister climbed out after her. The other man opened the door on Karen’s side and dragged her out too.

“Weredny, Kovach?” said the man holding Karen.

“Seragla,” Kustanki responded. Karen knew the word. “Harem,” she thought. It would seem that their new position was no longer as doenyes, household servants. It looked as though more was to be expected of them here. The man nodded. Suzie and Karen were half pushed, half dragged across the courtyard towards a flight of steps that led up to an iron grill door. An unsmiling guard opened it and allowed Karen and Suzie with their escorts into the building. Inside, the dull plainness of the exterior gave way to an opulent luxury. Mosaic tiled walls glistened with gold and deep blue geometric patterns.

They were hurried along corridors leading on through a maze like series of rooms. Iron barred grills gave glimpses of courtyards where fountains played. They turned a corner. Karen caught a glimpse of another woman, dressed in a black harem-girl’s costume trimmed with gold stitching. The woman in black, startled by their approach, swept her veil across her face and cast her eyes down as they passed. They turned another corner, right, then left. Another corridor. The same woman – or another dressed identically – stepped back into an alcove as they went by.

Eventually the men found where Suzie and Karen were to be held. The taller of the two took a large key from his belt and unlocked a heavy wooden door. Karen felt the manuses removed from her wrists but then she and Suzie were pushed inside the room. The door creaked as it was closed behind them. The sound of the door’s lock being turned served only to emphasise their captivity.  

Karen reached up behind her head and unfastened the strap of her gag. She spat out the solid leather covered plug from beneath her veil as Suzie followed suit. “Oh,” she groaned in relief before turning to Suzie. “Are you all right?”

The other girl nodded as she took off her own gag. Both girls discarded their veils. “Gach!” Suzie exclaimed in disgust at the plug of material as she threw it to one side. “Yes, I think so. Where are we? What’s happened to us?”  

“I’m not sure but I’ll tell you what I think,” Karen started. “When they changed the disks over – the properta – it’s so we are transferred from one household to another.”

“But this man gave Kerrich money. He can’t have sold us? Surely? I mean the programme doesn’t allow that? Does it?”

As far as what Karen knew of the customs of Kushtian society it seemed likely and, as she thought back over the Programme Participants Guide that she’d read as part of her briefing, it seemed that the programme did allow participants to be transferred from one household to another. “I think it does,” she said, slowly. “It’s a strong part of Kushtian culture that women can be transferred from one household to another.”

“But this isn’t like the other household. Where are the other doenyes? The other servants like us?”

“There will be doenyes here but this is not their part of the palace. We have not been brought here as doenyes.”

Suzie frowned, puzzled by Karen’s remarks. “Then what?”

“The Minister means us to serve as concubines, I am sure. This is a palace harem. The other women we saw were almost certainly concubines. ”

Suzie looked shocked. She lifted her hands to her mouth. “But that’s not why I came here. Not what I wanted from the Programme.”

“I think now we are here we must accept whatever the Programme brings,” Karen said.  

“But – concubines?”

“But you must have known? About Kushtian men and their attitudes? I mean it's all in the Guide. It’s pretty explicit. Isn’t it? It explains all that.”

“Well, yes, but, somehow I didn’t really believe that side of it. I’ve never – well, never been with a man.”

Karen held her head in her hands. “Well, whatever you do don’t let them know that!”

The lock clattered again and the door opened. A girl in black – not the same girl Karen thought - came in carrying bundles of the same silky cloth that her costume was made of. The door crashed shut and locked behind her. She gave it no heed but put down her bundles and unfastened her veil, drawing it back from her face. 

“I have your new clothes,” she said. “What we must all wear here. Like this.” She stood back with open arms showing off the costume she wore. All in black, with gold embroidery around the edges, it was cut from a silk that clung closely to the curves of her body where it covered them. The halter top left her belly naked and emphasised her cleavage The skirt, long and panelled so that it showed her legs with every movement. The heavy belt intended to be hung about the hips, set with tiny panels on glossy black leather and ornamented along its top and bottom edges with a golden cord stitched to it. The sandals of black leather straps adorned by tiny golden bells. And of course the veil, a long length of the same silken material that hung from the black pill box hat perched on the back of the girl's head. “You must change. Now. Please.”

Suzie looked at Karen. Karen shrugged and began to unfasten her jacket. She turned to the girl. “You speak good English,” she said. “Are you here as part of the Programme?”

The girl shook her head. “No. But we should not speak of this. I am one of his Excellency’s concubines. Here we are all alike; it doesn’t matter where we come from. Please change.”

Suzie followed Karen in undressing and then the two of them put on their identical harem costumes.

“Please. Your veils, we must put them on to go outside. Always when there are men we must wear the veil here. If there is no man we are free not too but outside – there are the guards. You understand?”

“No,” said Suzie. “No, I don’t. Where are we? Why are we here?”

“These are questions,” the girl said, enigmatically. “There are often questions. Sometimes there are no answers.”

Karen put one hand comfortingly on Suzie’s arm. “Come on. We’ll have to see what happens.” She picked up one corner of her veil and fastened it to the clasp that hung on a short chain from her hat. The cloth draped down covering the lower half of her face. Suzie and the girl did so too, the three women now looking exactly the same.

The girl stepped forward, about to knock on the door to signify that the three of them were ready to be released. Suzie stopped the girl as she reached the door.

“How does he tell the difference?” she said pointing at their three veiled faces and their three identical costumes. “His Excellency; how does he know which of us …?”

“Why would he want to?”  

Chapter 14 : Day Eighteen – The Ambassador

Karen was trying to work out just how many programme members there were in the Seragla of Kolani Kustanki. It was hard to be sure. All of the women wore identical costumes. Many of the women seemed to be permanently veiled, preferring anonymity to the risk of being caught without their veil by the unannounced arrival of one of the men. To her best reckoning she had seen about thirty women in the Seragla. Of those maybe five or six were Kushtian. As far as Karen could tell the remainder were all of western origin, almost certainly programme members, although of the women she had spoken to only six had confirmed that was indeed how they came to be in Kushtia.

When she joined a large group of women in the grand hall of the Seragla that evening for the communal meal of steeped fruit, nuts and breads, the place was alive with the buzz of gossip. She sat quietly trying to overhear the exchanges between two of the Kushtian girls but Suzie, slid in beside her to interrupt. “Have you heard?” she said. “The UN Ambassador is here. He came for a meeting in Kolin and Kustanki invited him out here. Perhaps I can speak to him. Ask him to have me repatriated from the programme. Kustanki will have to agree he can’t afford to make a fuss, can he?”

Karen wasn’t sure. All her senses told her that Kustanki was unlikely to take the slightest notice of anyone else. But when Suzie begged her to help her to see the Ambassador she felt she had to.

Two of the palace guards appeared and announced in guttural tones that the girls were to make themselves ready for a visitor. One of the Kushtians translated their instructions into English. The girls were all to behave as they had been taught. They would wear their veils of course and were certainly not to speak to their visitors unless asked. Moments later a roll on the large gong that stood beside the door to the grand hall announced the arrival of the visitors.

The girls snatched their veils across their faces. Those that were standing dropped to their knees. Those already sitting turned towards the door.

Kolani Kustanki led a group of four others into the grand hall. Beside Kustanki the ambassador, a pale looking man, peered around at the group of women. “You see, Ambassador,” Kustanki announced, “these are comfortable surroundings. Of course this is not typical for programme participants. Most are doenyes not concubines and few Seragla are as grand as this. My family is old and this palace has been here many years. We have the benefits of the luxury of years.”

The ambassador nodded. Looking wherever Kustanki directed his attention. “The girls have freedom to do as they please within the Seragla,” Kustanki went on. “They are fed and clothed, their duties are light. They serve to entertain the household. Dance. Music. Traditional activities.”

“I see,” the ambassador said. “This seems most comfortable. May I look around?” 

“By all means,” Kustanki responded expansively, waving his arms as much as to say that the ambassador should go wherever he liked. As the ambassador began to look at the furnishings and the rich décor of the grand hall, Karen attracted Suzie’s attention.

“He’ll go to look at the fountain court,” Karen whispered. “You slip in there behind the curtains and try to talk to him. I’ll try to stop you from being disturbed.” Suzie nodded and slipped off towards the corridor that led to the fountain court. Karen walked across in the other direction towards the main entrance to the court.

The ambassador went through. As Kustanki was about to follow him, Karen stepped forward. “Excellency,” she said. “I must apologise for speaking without being asked but I felt I had to speak to you.” She ran her hand along the base of her veil, ostensibly straightening it but in the process, drawing it more tightly across her features so that the outline of her lips could be clearly seen beneath the veil. Kustanki’s gaze was fixed on her. “I have only just arrived here but I had hoped to be able to spend time with your Excellency. I hope you will find it in you to grant me that privilege at some point ….” Karen’s flirtatious conversation was cut off by Suzie’s cry of “No! No!” from within the Fountain Court.

Kustanki pushed Karen aside with a growl and disappeared into the court. Moments later he and the ambassador emerged smiling and laughing. The group of visitors reassembled and left the grand hall as suddenly as they had come.

Karen watched them go and then rushed back to the Fountain Court. Suzie was sitting on the tiled floor propped against one of the great lion headed spouts that gushed water into the channels that led across the court. She was sobbing. Karen bent down beside her to comfort her. “He wouldn’t do anything. He said I had to go through with the programme. That all would be well as long as I made up my mind to learn all I could of the Kushtian heritage. He didn’t want to listen at all.”

Karen tried to sympathise but her soothing words were cut off by barked orders from behind as four palace guards came into the court. Two of them seized the girls and in moments Suzie and Karen were being forced along the corridors of the Seragla and out into the Overseer’s wing of the palace.

They were pushed through a heavy wooden door into a large stone walled room. Without speaking, the guards locked the girls wrists behind their backs with manuses and then fitted each of them with leather plug gags, the maoungf.

In the very centre of the room stood a cage; steel bars stretched from floor to ceiling. Only three feet square it was barely large enough to hold the two girls standing up, much less allow them the chance to sit down. The girls were pushed inside.

They stayed in their cramped prison for an hour or more. Pressed up against one another, hardly able to move, their mouths stuffed with the leather plugs, they could only whimper as guards came and went, walking around their cage, able to observe the girls from every side.

As the girls struggled in their cage two of the guards ushered in three of the other concubines. In the same costumes as the prisoners, the group of three stood in front of the cage and confronted Suzie and Karen.

One of the three stepped forward. “You are new here,” she said in Kushtian accented English. “We pass judgement on those among us that place the good of us all at risk. You acted in disobedience. That is not the way of Kushtian women. You caused his Excellency embarrassment. You placed at risk his relationship with the ambassador.”

The two prisoners moaned in response to the litany of their “crimes”. Their judge went on. “You will stay there in the cage for twenty four hours. Then you will each receive five strokes from the Overseer’s wand and spend the next week in ancluses.” Karen watched as the guards nodded approvingly. The three women nodded to the prisoners and then to the guards before leaving. Karen and Suzie, wedged in their cage could only watch as they were left alone in their distress.

Chapter 15 : Day Nineteen – A Visit From Alana

It was the end of the day. Karen was with a group of the other concubines, finishing off the evening meal served by two of the doenyes. The two servants scooped up the tray with their bowls and the remains of their meal upon it. Karen could see them eyeing the left overs greedily; she guessed that their own meals were less rich, less generous. The doenyes headed back towards the western wing of the palace where they lived. Karen looked around to see if she could see any sign of Suzie but there wasn’t.

Karen put her hands together in silent greeting; bowing to the others to take her leave. It was late, her back was sore from her beating, she headed for the cubicle she shared with Suzie, looking forward to her bed, picking her steps carefully, her ankles still linked by the chains of the shackles she had to wear as punishment for her part in Suzie’s attempt to talk with the Ambassador.

As Karen pulled back the curtain of their cubicle, she was confronted by the helpless form of a bound and gagged Suzie. She stepped forward to help her. The curtain slid shut behind her. Karen span around. Standing in front of the curtain, clad from head to foot in black, was Alana.

She held her finger to her lips. “You’re friend didn’t want to keep quiet. I’m sorry.”

Karen looked down at the helpless Suzie. Her wrists and ankles locked together in a vicious hog tie,  ropes jerking her elbows together until they almost touched, her own veil knotted into a gag that filled her mouth. “So sorry but so thorough,” said Karen coldly. She found it hard not to stare at the way Alana’s tightly fitting cat-suit defined every curve of her body.

“Jealous?” Alana smiled. It wasn’t clear if she was asking about how she had treated Suzie or how she looked. Perhaps it was both.

Suzie squealed in discomfort as Karen turned to face Alana impatiently. “What do you want?”

“To hear how you are progressing.” She paused for a moment. “And to see you, of course.” Alana squared up to Karen’s look of cynicism. “How many of the women here are from the programme?”

Karen ignored the question. “How are the others? Anouk? Natsumi and Miyako? Lucy Baildon?” Suzie gave a puzzled grunt at Karen for using the name by which she knew her. “Are they still safe?”

“You know that Kalassa will be true to her word. They are all well. Not free to leave, of course, but well. Now to my question; how many of the programme members are here? Have you discovered this?”

Karen felt a sense of resignation, trapped between the demands of the Seragla on one side and those of Alana and Kalasa Karench on the other. “Please,” she said, “just let the others go and I’ll get you everything you need. There are twenty women from the programme here. It will take time to learn their stories.”

Alana shook her head, “First the stories, then the others are freed. Be ready next week.” She nodded to Suzie as she continued to struggle on the couch. “I’ll look forward to seeing your friend too. I enjoyed our tussle.”

Karen looked at Alana with distaste. Alana reached up behind her neck and pulled a mask forward over head to cover her face.

“Goodbye until then decadent yankee,” she said, slipping through the curtain, out of the cubicle and into the darkened corridor outside.    

Karen sat back on the bed. Suzie’s renewed grunts and mewling dragged Karen’s attention back to the cubicle and she started to untie her room mate. “Are you all right?” she asked as she loosened the cloth that gagged the girl. Suzie gave a groan the scarf gag had been far more painful than the plug gags that were used in the palace and Alana had jerked it ruthlessly tight once she had wrestled Suzie’s wrists behind her and bound them.

“Yes, yes, I think so,” said Suzie, massaging the raw grooves in her wrists and ankles to return the blood to her limbs. “Who is she? That woman?” 

“One of a group of women that may be able to help us. She says she can. Perhaps she is right.”

“You talked about Lucy as if she was someone else.”

Karen looked embarrassed. “I know,” she said. “She is. I took her identity to try to help that woman. Now I don’t know who needs more help. Us, or Lucy, or her.

Suzie looked shocked. She sat on the bed quietly, slowly unfastening her costume as she readied herself for sleep. She turned towards Karen. “I want to help,” she said. “If I can.”

“Thank you,” said Karen. “Thank you. I’m not sure how but thank you. We can talk more in the morning.” Karen reached over and blew out the little oil lamp that lit their cubicle. She stripped off her own costume in the dark before pulling a blanket over herself and trying to sleep.

She wasn’t sure how much later it was when she heard the noise. The barking of the dogs, the shouts of palace guards from beyond the palace courtyard. It didn’t last long. Karen fell asleep once more.

© 2007 Freddie Clegg

All characters fictitious.

Dr Armstrong also features briefly in Freddie’s story “Market Forces” available here.

Download PDF copies of other Freddie Clegg stories at :

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