An Encounter on a Train - Part 6

 An Encounter on a Train - 6

    We discovered that we both had vivid imaginations, and enjoyed  
science-fiction, though for differing reasons, and on occasions she  
spun me some wonderfully fanciful tales.

    One red envelope contained the following message.
 

    'You'd recognize her anywhere...I mean it. Well, unless you ran  
into one of her compatriots, and one as rich as she was. What's that  
got to do with it? Everything, that's what.

    See, the girls I'm talking about have a common characteristic,  
one which isn't seen much nowadays, or not since the discovery of  
Viplastic. You know, that stuff they use for replacing parts of  
injured legs and arms; the stuff that twitches like muscles.

    Begin to see what I'm driving at? Another clue is that she came  
from Tympandrum, and they're very rich there, and in particular,  
have some very unusual ideas...and she was the daughter of one of  
the richest families with some of the most unusual of all.

    Still not got the drift? Don't fancy you as a Triv-player,  
then. Fortunately I'm Telling, and you're Listening on this  
occasion. And there's no money around, either. To resume, however...
she was both incredibly rich...and I mean incredibly, and had been  
brought up with some decidedly 'different' ideas.

    You met her at a public celebration, something system-local to  
the Deneb volume, doesn't matter what. The actual event was a  
match-patch dinner-dance. The rules are that all the girls have to  
bring a patch of cloth which is cut in half. They keep one piece,  
and the rest are put in a barrel which each fellah dips into when he  
arrives; he then has to find the girl with the matching piece, who  
becomes his partner for the evening. Good idea, I think...saves all  
kinds of trouble in deciding who to talk to when you're faced with  
as many choices as you were.

    Maybe that's why they fix it that way...a high female  
birthrate, healthy population, lots of room and plenty to eat...the  
result was a planet full of highly attractive women. And not much in  
the way of local taboos, either.'
 

    On the bottom, in her handwriting, was a note telling me that  
she'd be at Peppermint Park Discotheque at 10.00pm, and I was to  
come with my patch, which was in the envelope.

    Following her instructions, I dressed in some suitable clothes,  
and went to the rendezvous.

    I walked in, looked around, and went over to an attractive  
girl. She was the best-looking of a double-alpha-plus group, and  
caught my eye, sitting alone at a table right at the front, on the  
little dais above the dance-floor, but I didn't even check any of  
the other girl's patches...I just walked straight over.

    "I'm off-planet, so I apologize if I'm doing this wrong, but is  
this your patch?" I asked, offering it to her.

    She held hers out...they matched. "Actually, I'm off-planet,  
too, so I can't really say, but whatever, they match...I'm Direna  
Plash, Tympanian."

    "I'm delighted, Direna Plash. I'm Rosji Mennanalt, born on  
Stopover, raised on the ISV."

    "A Wanderer?" she asked, adding, "Where do you Register, then?"

    "I trace back to Earth, but I'm not snobbish...I keep mine on  
Stopover...it's a bit of a dump, but it's home."

    "I've not been there...is it that bad?"

    "It's not wonderful...that's what gave it the name...most  
people arrived, stopped over, and went on. No minerals worth a damn,  
vegetation that's so primitive it's either useless, or a poor  
duplication of some other planet's version, no animals above worms,  
and ours can't eat the local food."

    "So no reason to stay?"

    "Yes...that's part of it...the other part is personal."

    "I won't pry." she said. I thought I better start talking about  
her.

    "What're you doing here?"

    "I'm a kind of Wanderer, too...I like sight-seeing, and I can  
afford to let others look after things for me."

    That made me think a bit...she was saying she was rich...in the  
polite codes of the interstellar traveler. What she meant was, she  
was so rich that she could not only pay the immense prices that  
private tickets cost, but that the possible consequences of being  
totally out-of-touch with her business affairs were literally  
unthinkable. Put simply, she couldn't be bankrupted because she  
owned the bank.

    "That must be interesting."  I replied:  again code...read as  
'I'm not being nosy, and I may be out of my league, but please tell  
me more.' However, the band had started playing, and it seemed like  
a good moment to take a break, so I asked if she'd like to dance.

    "Love to!" she exclaimed, but instead of standing up, the first  
thing she did was to reach down beside her. I figured she must be  
adjusting her shoes, or something, and looked towards the floor...
when I turned round again Direna was standing behind me, so I  
stepped down onto the floor, moved a distance toward the center and  
turned to my partner. And stopped dead in my tracks.

    I'd said she was beautiful, and she was...quite tall, dark  
hair, shoulder-length, slim but with large, perfectly-shaped  
breasts. That was all I'd seen...I'd assumed that the rest was as  
perfect. I came to realize, later, that she was, in her eyes, but I  
can't say I was entirely expecting to find her leaning on a pair of  
crutches.

    And I definitely expected her to have two legs, not one. As I  
said, nowadays, it's very rare to see anybody who isn't outwardly  
completely whole...of course, people do have accidents, and  
sometimes lose parts of themselves, but generally it's old men or  
young know-it-all kids, getting careless, and the missing parts are  
easily repaired or replaced.

    What you don't expect is a beautiful young woman with a  
complete leg missing.

    My hesitation wasn't long, but she caught it even so. Lifting  
her crutches and taking a little hopping step towards me she came  
close.

    "I'm sorry," she said, "I should have warned you."

    "That's 'kay," I replied, "I was just wondering what kind of  
dance to do."

    "Oh, let's just free-dance," she said, "there's lots of room."  
and with that she swung into the rhythm. Dancing's not my  
speciality...I can make a reasonable show, but with this girl, I was  
stretched to the limit.

    You might think that a girl with just one leg might have some  
problems on a dance-floor. You'd be wrong, in this case...she was  
incredible...she swayed and twirled like she was on tractor-beams,  
that single leg seeming to float and drift around. Later she told me  
that one of her main pleasures was this 'crutch-dancing', but for  
the moment I could only try and keep up.

    The number ended, and I looked at her, "Another?" I asked.

    "No, let's have some refreshments." she replied, and led the  
way back to our table.

    I wondered whether I should help her in any way, but she didn't  
seem to need it, and when we were seated I ordered some chilled wine  
and savories.

    "I'm sorry about that." she said, continuing, "I was going to  
warn you, but you didn't give me time!"

    "That's true...I'm just a bit surprised, is all."

    "About this?" she asked, gesturing to her leg, now stretched  
out. I nodded. "No, we aren't a traveling people, us Tympanians...
most people have never met a woman of the Upper Families. Off-planet  
people, I mean."

    "What's these Upper Families got to do with it?" I asked.

    "You don't imagine I'd be from a Stat-family, do you? Or don't  
you know anything about Tympanum?"

    "I'd heard the name, but until you mentioned it, nothing else."

    "Oh. Well, let me explain. Tympanum has several valuable ores,  
which we export. The families who arrived first, and who own the  
minerals, are the Upper Families. The others are either local born,  
so called Statistical Families, or new arrivals. My family is one of  
the oldest, which means wealthiest, and so we can afford such  
luxuries."

    "What luxuries?" I asked, now almost completely confused.

    "This luxury!" she exclaimed, slapping her thigh.

    "I must be dense," I retorted, "I don't see the luxury."

    "No, you aren't," she replied, "I'm learning that very few  
people understand. Which may well explain why we don't travel much.  
You see, only Upper Families are sufficiently secure that they can  
afford to support a woman who has one leg, like me."

    "And that's a luxury?"

    "There's a bit more to it than that, but yes. To us, it's like  
a badge, saying 'I don't need to be able-bodied...I can afford to  
need pampering'."

    "And that's why you have, er..." I trailed off, embarrassed at  
saying it out loud.

    "That's why my Father let me be legged - you won't know that  
word, it means having a leg taken off...of course, Mother probably  
did some work on him, too."

    "You're saying your mother was involved, too?" I asked  
incredulously.

    "Of course...it was her idea for me to have my legging just  
before my eighteenth birthday.  She wanted me to have something  
special to show off at my adulthood party."

    "And did you have a good time?" I inquired politely, privately  
musing that this could all be a complete fantasy, but for the fact  
that she was sitting in front of me, and only one leg showed from  
her skirt. Which, as I've said, was completely unnecessary.  
Implying that she was telling, at least partly, the truth.

    "Wonderful!" she was saying, "All my girlfriends were wild with  
jealousy, excepting a couple...one was my best friend, who had been  
told that morning that she could have her own leg whenever she  
wanted, and another girl who'd had her legging as a little girl...
most people reckoned that was just her parents showing off, trying  
to impress by having both daughters legged at the same time. My  
parents said that they'd known this girl's mother when she was  
unmarried, and that she'd been desperate to marry someone rich  
enough to let her have herself legged. When she managed that, she  
decided that 'it would look so pretty if all us girls were legged!',  
and didn't give her husband a moment's peace until he agreed."

    "I don't believe I'm hearing this." I remarked.

    "A Wanderer ought to know that 'Space is Deep'." she retorted.

    "That's true," I acknowledged, "but nowadays most people reckon  
on perfect health."

    "I'm as healthy as anybody!" she shot back, stung by my  
clumsiness.

    "But you've been legged." I pointed out, using her  
colloquialism.

    "You don't get the point...legging isn't available to just  
anybody, you know. It's not exactly convenient, at times, so you  
have to be pretty sure of yourself."

    "I don't know what you mean, or not entirely."

    "Meaning that you are certain that you can afford to pay when  
you need help, no matter what the cost, and that you're prepared to  
take the time to enjoy it."

    "Do you enjoy it?" I asked, almost beyond surprise.

    "Now that I'm learning to, yes." she answered, continuing, "I'm  
finding out that very few people know how to help me, though."

    I can recognize a hint when I see one, but I couldn't figure  
out what the lure was. "What sort of help do you need?"

    "I can't really enjoy myself if everybody tries to ignore my  
legging. You see, off-Tympanum, no-one considers it important, and I  
rather miss it!"

    "You mean we should talk about it?"

    "Of course! Haven't I been trying hard enough?"

    "I'd be happy to oblige, but I'm not too sure what to say." I  
admitted.

    "Just talk. And if you can think of any, pay me some  
compliments...especially on my leg. Or ask me about it?" she  
finished, hopefully.

    "Alright..." I said, thinking hard, "Are you the only one in  
your family?"

    "Only one who's been legged?" she prompted, then answering,  
"No, my Mother was legged as a wedding-present from Dad, and my  
older sister had her legging when she was sixteen, as a celebration  
of the year my Father inherited the family estate. Then there's me,  
and my little sister."

    "How old is she?" I asked, guessing that this was my cue. It  
was.

    "Fifteen." she replied, not saying more. I realized I was  
supposed to ask more, probably about this sister.

    "Has she been legged, as well?" I tried.

    "Not yet...she keeps asking when, but we don't think she's  
ready to decide, yet."

    "She sounds like she's made up her mind already."

    "So had I; at fifteen I thought that legging must be the most  
wonderful experience...at sixteen and a half I was mad-keen on  
becoming a test-pilot. You can't do that if you're one-legged, so I  
was just as dead against the idea. I even started pilot-training,  
but developed another couple of disadvantages (from a pilot's  
point-of-view), which I was equally proud of." To illustrate, her  
hands cupped her breasts for a split-second. Beautiful, but not  
comfortable when you're pulling ten or twelve Gs.

    "So you gave it up?"

    "And took another look at the idea of having myself legged."

    "With the desired result?"

    "Yes, eventually. I was so proud of my figure that I didn't  
mind having to give away speed-flying, and was quite happy to  
specialize in being female. Which started me thinking about being  
legged."

    "Go on."

    "So I talked to my Mother and sister, who both thought I'd  
grown up enough to know my own mind, and between us, we persuaded  
Dad. I don't think he was all that unwilling, actually...the  
Principal's daughter was younger than me, and she'd had her legging  
a full year before, so he wouldn't be treading on any toes."

    "How long did you have to wait before it could be done?"

    "Not long...just a few weeks, in fact."

    "How did you feel, afterwards?"

    "Bit wobbly, to be honest...you don't adjust immediately, in  
fact it takes a few weeks to get used to it, but that's part of the  
thrill."

    "And how long have you been on one leg?" I inquired.

    "The proper title is 'a legdy'." she said, and continued, "and  
I've been a legdy for four years."

    "A 'legdy'?" I asked, unsure.

    "Yes. On Tympanum, my title is the Legdy Direna Plash. So that  
people can tell. Otherwise I'd be the Lady Direna Plash."

    "How did all this come about?"

    "The custom of legging?" she asked. I nodded, and she  
explained, "About five or six generations ago, when the First  
Families were still working their original claims, doing it  
themselves, I mean, Old Marty Strong's wife Annabelle was injured in  
a cave-in. Her leg was trapped, and she'd have to be cut from the  
rockfall, because they didn't dare work on the rock for fear of  
another cave-in. The problem was, on a Frontier planet, an amputee  
is usually too much of a liability and not much of a help, and in  
such cases it's often safer for the group to sacrifice that person.  
You know what I mean?"

    I knew what she meant. As she pointed out, life on a Frontier  
planet is not only uncomfortable and hard, it's also very, very  
dangerous. Someone who is not completely fit, and able to outrun,  
outfight, outthink and out-endure the local nasties - usually as  
Terran as you or I, and also walking on two legs, but not even  
remotely describable as human, occasionally native and unexpectedly  
stupid or aggressive, considering we seldom look anything like  
they've ever eaten before, and thus we shouldn't look like food, to  
them - is basically putting several other lives on the line  
alongside theirs. It's considered polite for an injured colonist to  
request a Big Sleep in such cases.

    "Anyway, Mrs. Strong asked for a Big Sleep, but Old Marty  
wouldn't give it to her. He said he could look out for both of them,  
and gave her a Little Sleep instead. Then he had Doc Albers amputate  
her leg. Everybody thought Old Marty was crazy, and shut him out.  
They couldn't let him put them at risk, you see."

    "Mrs. Strong recovered, and Marty worked his mine, and as he  
said, he looked out for them both, and then for his family, two boys  
and a girl. This went on for years, and the family grew up, and  
Marty's mine kept producing. Everyone else had tailed out, and had  
to start new ones, sometimes more than once. The result was, Old  
Marty was producing at lower cost, and could buy better equipment,  
which meant he could produce even more. He got rich, then very rich,  
and then he started investing in other people's mines, using his  
equipment. Eventually, he had a piece of everyone, and his children,  
when they married, inherited all of it."

    "So Mrs. Marty had one leg." I said, "how did the rest of it  
arise?"

    "Hold on! I'm coming to that." she replied, "It was the eldest  
boy, Young Marty. He was up on the Orbiter when a Starship came by.  
One of the crew, a stewardess, had been hurt in an explosion, and he  
met her in the sickbay. The point was, she'd lost her leg, and there  
wasn't Viplastic in those days. She was in danger of being paid off  
dirtside, and Tympanum, though it had grown, still wasn't much of a  
place for a disabled ex-Spacer."

    "Young Marty knew that well enough, but he owned the place, or  
he and his brother and sister did. If his father had been able to  
support his wife, he reasoned, why couldn't he support this girl?"

    "It all sounds a bit chop-chop, but the upshot was that she  
paid off, went dirtside with him, and married him. One amputee in  
the family was pretty strange, two was downright different, because  
nobody else's family could have even considered it. That's how it  
became a kind of status-symbol."

    "Yes, but there's a big difference between accidents and asking  
to have one leg." I protested, "how did that arise?"

    "Through Old Marty's daughter, Jane, Young Marty's sister. She  
said one day, just jokingly, that she wouldn't marry anyone who  
couldn't support her like her Mother and sister-in-law were. She  
said later that she meant as securely and with as much confidence,  
but the story got out that she'd said unless she were like her  
mother or sister-in-law, and it seemed that there were quite a few  
fellahs who heard this version, and were unusually interested  
because of it."

    "A couple of them asked her out, and one of them apparently  
asked her which leg she was going to have amputated, and when. She  
ditched that guy, but when two more asked her much the same  
question, she began to wonder what was going on. Apparently she  
hadn't heard the garbled version, and so she asked the third one,  
who she liked a lot, what he meant. He told her what he'd heard, and  
she realized that that, in part, was why he was interested in her."

    "The idea of having one leg was, for her, associated with being  
the wife of a rich, powerful, catable and protective man; her family  
could afford to support such women. If she also had one leg, she'd  
be showing that she could be supported by her husband, that he was  
not her plaything. It's quite a problem being a very wealthy woman  
on a frontier planet, you know."

    I did know. When civilization and culture are what you and your  
parents made with their bare hands, people tend to revert to the  
traditional roles. Women bear children, men protect the women and  
children. Reverse the roles to quickly, and you wind up with  
dominant, shrewish women and gutless, feeble men. It takes time to  
learn to outgrow our animal heritage, and it's only too easy to slip  
back into it.

    "So that's what she did?" I asked.

    "More or less. She blew it off with a shot from a needle-gun.  
Everyone was horrified, but nobody really believed her story that it  
was an accident, because it just seemed too much of a co-incidence,  
and anyway, that rumor 'proved' that it couldn't have been  
accidental. So she was left with little alternative than to go along  
with it, and after a while, the rest of the family did, too."

    "The rest is pretty much history. From then on, any woman who  
was rich enough wanted to have one leg, as proof, and people being  
what they are, they got what they could pay for. That's what being a  
legdy means, but nowadays wealth is less important - it's also  
thought to make a woman more beautiful. In fact, if a really  
gorgeous girl, even from a Stat-family, can manage to have herself  
legged, she's practically guaranteed a job as a top model or  
actress, and is quite likely to marry into the Upper Families."

    "Space is certainly deep." I commented, "But I begin to  
understand. And I'll certainly agree that you're very attractive. So  
would I be right in assuming that it would also be polite to tell  
you that your leg is beautiful?"

    "Certainly, sir!" she laughed, "but if you want to be really  
gallant, in our culture we would never say 'your leg', we'd always  
add something to make it clear that you're talking to a legdy, so  
we'd say, 'your single leg' or 'your one, remaining leg' or  
something like that.

    "Very well, I think, if the Legdy Direna Plash will permit me  
to say so, your one beautiful, deliciously single, slender solitary  
remaining leg is devastatingly attractive!"

    She laughed again, "No need to go over the top!"  
 

    The best games we repeated, but occasionally we found special  
situations, usually one-off, which produced really memorable  
results. One of these occurred a couple of months after we moved in  
together, when the crutches which she had ordered from Albert  
Thorogood arrived. I found a red envelope on the table when I came  
in, with a card inside saying 'My new crutches have arrived! I'm  
going to give you a fashion-show, and you have to describe each  
outfit, not forgetting to say what effects I'm trying to achieve.  
You'll get a kiss for each one you get right, and I get a kiss for  
each one you miss out. The one who gets the most kisses is the  
winner, and gets a back rub.' That sounded like fun, and I was  
tickled by her P.S., saying, 'Of course, I'll cheat, so you'll have  
to give me a back rub anyway!'
 

    I put the envelope in my pocket and went into the sitting-room.  
Felicia was waiting for me, and looked up as I came in.

    "How do I look?" she asked, standing, adjusting her crutches  
and looking to me for comment. She was wearing a pale yellow pleated  
skirt with a linen blouse, to which she had added a wide brown belt.  
Her leg was bare, since it was warm, and on her foot she had a  
little tan leather ankle-boot which made her leg look particularly  
slender and elegant too. A brown leather shoulder-bag completed the  
outfit, and left her hands free for her crutches.

    "Very nice." I said, kissing her. I guessed this was a cue to  
start the game, so I stood back and looked at her judiciously. "A  
good outfit for a bit of sightseeing on an autumn day." I said,  
adding "The belt emphasizes your waist, and makes your figure look  
more curvy, and your leg is bare, so it must be for a warmish day.  
Axilla crutches for practicality."

    "Very good!" she smiled, "Now you get a kiss, and I'll go and  
change into the next outfit." She came towards me, kissed me as  
promised, and headed off to the bedroom.

    She returned wearing a white silk blouse and a pair of white  
satin pants which fitted her skin-tight, with the un-needed left leg  
cut off and sewn into a sort of pocket. With these she wore a sheer  
gunmetal stocking and a black high-heeled sandal, and uses a pair of  
black-enameled elbow-crutches. I described the outfit but she said  
that forgot to point out that it emphasized her stump, and had to  
kiss her. One all.

    Felicia showed some more...next vividly drawing attention to  
her amputation even more by displaying her stump in a peacock-blue  
spandex leotard with a white thigh-boot and a wide matching belt,  
then emphasizing it in another way with a stunning Chinese-silk  
cheong-sam, very demure except for the hip-high slit in the skirt  
revealing the entire length of her leg as she moved on her crutches.

    One of the more outrageous was a low-cut white satin dress,  
which was also split to her hip, so that her lovely slim solitary  
thigh, clad in a sheer black stocking, was seen, and a white patent  
high-heeled ankle-strap shoe; her elbow-crutches were also white.

    Then she showed a scarlet spandex cat suit molding her figure,  
with a black high-heeled thigh-boot, using a single polished black  
axilla-crutch.

    When she came in wearing a strapless knee-length scarlet dress  
which showed a lot of her cleavage, with a hip-high slit in the  
skirt, a black garter on her thigh, white fishnet stocking,  
suspenders and a stiletto-heeled white sandal, with jewels, I said I  
thought she'd be showing so much she'd probably be lynched!

    Finally she said she'd been sent one extra pair, constructed by  
James from duralumin tubing.

    These were the loveliest things I'd ever seen, I thought, as  
she took them from the long leather case. Tall, slender and classic  
axilla-crutches with the slenderest of side-bars, lacquered a deep  
shiny black, with red morocco leather cushioning on the saddles and  
handgrips and satin brass fittings, made all the more beautiful by  
the fact that they were useful only to a one-legged girl.

    Being tailor-made for her, they didn't need to be adjustable,  
which ensured that their classic lines weren't marred by ugly bolts  
and stuff.

    "These need something special, don't you think - what would you  
suggest?"

    "How about that Bohemian peasant-dress." I replied.

    "The shortie one with the leather bodice and laces, you mean?"  
she asked, adding, "That's a good idea...you'll want me to pull it  
tight, I suppose, so my tits stick out?" she looked at me  
inquiringly.

    "Of course...need you ask?"

    She laughed.

    The result, however, was all I had expected, and she reappeared  
dressed in a gaily-patterned peasant-dress with a short wide skirt  
which swirled about her leg, and a lacy blouse, very low-cut in  
front, which emphasized her beautiful breasts. On her foot she wore  
an ultra-high black patent court-shoe, and a shiny white stocking on  
her leg. To emphasize the fullness of her bosom, she'd pulled the  
laces so tight that when the pressure was amplified by the action of  
her axilla crutches, her breasts bulged and moved so much that I  
almost feared she'd pop right out!

    "Like the effect? Don't you think my leg looks rather good,  
too?" she asked, looking down at herself. "More solitary than usual,  
too, it seems to me, but I know you'll like that."

    "Amazing...I've never seen you show so much cleavage."

    "That's the idea of the dress...but it's partly because I'm  
using axilla-crutches. The saddles make me jiggle, which adds to the  
effect."

    "Mmmm...I can see!" I commented approvingly. "That shoe is  
gorgeous." I complimented her, looking at the shiny black  
high-heeled shape which flattered her slender foot.

    "If you've only got one to flaunt, make the most of it, as  
you're always saying, but still, I'm glad you like it." she  
responded happily, "I only bought it today. In that shop we saw with  
the outrageously sexy dresses and stuff. That's how come it has such  
a high heel."

    "I wondered about that...it does look pretty high, now that you  
point it out."

    "Six inches." she supplied, "Which is much higher than I  
normally wear."

    "How does it feel?"

    "Surprisingly comfortable...and much easier than I expected it  
to be. I thought I'd be tottering on it, but I'm totally stable. I  
thought it'd be hard work, too, having to stand on tiptoe, but I  
don't find it any strain at all. It feels lovely and sexy, being so  
much higher, and knowing that it  makes my one pretty little leg  
look so long and slim and luscious." she teased. "I don't think  
you'd find me nearly as exciting if I didn't have just this one leg,  
would you, darling?"  

    "Probably you find it easier than you expect because you have  
crutches. If you had two legs I imagine it would be much harder to  
balance." I responded, trying to ignore her deliberate provocation.

    She gave up, and replied instead with equanimity. "Probably  
so...another hitherto undiscovered advantage to having one leg - it  
makes it easy to wear an ultra-high heel!" she giggled, "I must get  
some more!"

    Eventually Felicia amassed a wide selection of crutches in  
various styles, colors and tastes, ranging from antique  
single-poles made by rural carpenters, through utilitarian modern  
ones which she'd found in sales to the exquisite, hand-made pairs  
we'd had made for her. That was in the long-term - in the short  
term, as she had promised, she cheated unmercifully and I wound up  
giving her a back rub.

    The arrival of a large number of new pairs of crutches gave  
Felicia a new angle on displaying her particular charms to me, and  
she would take considerable pains to ensure that her crutches were  
chosen to complement her costume. She, like other girls, had, until  
her amputation, enjoyed experimenting with different shoes, she told  
me, and now she felt that her crutches should be chosen with equal  
care.  

    Of course, the shoe she wore on her remaining foot retained  
its' importance, or even gained some, perhaps, if the evidence she  
produced of her frequent visits to the shoe-shops were any guide.  
Hardly a month passed without her packing off a boxful of the unused  
left ones to Nicola, or reciprocal parcels arriving, each of which  
was the signal for Felicia to vanish into a frenzy of tissue-paper  
and happy exclamations as each new piece of footwear was unwrapped,  
followed by several days of kaleidoscopic changes of pairs of  
crutches and single shoes while she experimented with the various  
effects and combinations. Sometimes she'd incorporate the new shoes  
into a fantasy.

    Another enjoyable fantasy was historical. The card in the red  
envelope read 'The Amazon Lady Perdipedis invites the Roman  
Ambassador Erectus to dine privately with her this evening, at the  
Hour of the Snake, after sunset."

    In the bedroom I found a large white bed sheet with a label  
pinned to it, saying 'TOGA', so I put it on, arranging it as best I  
could, and went into the sitting-room.  

    The Lady Perdipedis was reclining beside the fire, on a pile of  
cushions. On the other side was another pile, and between them a  
table, covered with a feast. She was dressed in a short tunic-like  
dress, pinned at the shoulders with gold brooches. Beside her lay a  
pair of crutches such as cripples use, for indeed she was a cripple,  
with but one leg, the other being no more than a stump.  

    I had heard of the famous Amazon warrior-women, who, when  
injured in battle and can thus no longer fight, would display their  
wounded bodies with great pride. I had not thought that I would be  
the guest of such and for a heartbeat I was discomfited, but  
covering my dismay as best I could, advanced toward her, bowing to  
her extended hand. "Honored Ambassador, welcome. Please forgive me  
if I do not rise, but instead, join me in comfortable leisure."

    "Thank you, Lady. I give you greeting. And thank you, I would  
find that fire and those cushions a boon." I disposed myself in some  
comfort, and turned to speak with her. "I am honored indeed, I see.  
I did not expect to be welcomed by such an famous warrior."

    "I see you know something of our customs!" she smiled, "And I  
thank you for your gracious words, but must confess to you that  
though it is polite to pay honor to such as I, in public, I am but  
lately touched by the goddess. Perhaps you would care to hear me  
recite?"

    I knew that the custom of recounting the military exploits of  
an Amazon was highly regarded by them, and agreed that I would be  
interested.

    Her tale went thus:
 

    'Well do I remember the battle.  The dust and noise,  
rushing, sweaty bodies and confusion.  Then the sudden lulls, almost  
silent but for the muted roars from another quarter.

    Galloping horses, crashing into clumsy-tired bodies, suddenly  
jerk at the fabric of reality, then the slashing, shuddering blow...
blackness.
 

    Time, passing as a slow river, not hurrying.  I am aware of it,  
but feel no need to attend.  Soft touches, water to my fever-dried  
lips; strong hands holding me still at times, or supporting me.

    Gradually I come closer, the world takes on edges, and events  
begin to have sequence and duration.

    I open my eyes, taking in the familiar shapes of my room.   
Turning my head, my revered Mother is seated beside me.

    "Hush, my child.  You have been host to many demons and dreams  
these past days.  Your spirit near fled your body.  You must rest."
 

    Later again, I awaken to find my younger sister, Tala.  She  
bathes my brow, and seeing that I am stronger, allows me to ask a  
few questions.

    "How did the battle go?"

    "Well enough, the Scythian has a bloody paw, and he'll not come  
this way again.  Or not for some years, at any rate."

    "Many lost?"

    "The ones that we lost, we'll always regret, but there's no  
real damage to our strength...but for you."

    "I know I was wounded, but I've not been able to ask how."

    "Can't you tell?"

    "No.  I feel stiff and sore all over, but I guess that will go  
when I get back to the army."  I caught a look of anguish crossing  
Tala's face.  "Or can I not go back to the army?"

    "You've joined the Honored Ones."  she replied.

    I mulled this news over. So that had been my last fight, and in  
it I'd been hurt and would not be able to fight again. Well, how had  
I been hurt? Obviously no wound to my arms...they were both  
unscarred. I remembered a blow on my leg? Was that it?

    "Is it my legs?"

    "Aye.  One of them, at least.  You've been in a fever these  
past ten days since the surgeon-general took your left leg to the  
Goddess."

    So the battle had cost me a leg!

    She bade me sleep again, and I drifted off, to dream of the  
Temple of the Honored, and of myself being welcomed inside, but  
then being found an impostor, the penalty for which is dire.
 

    Next morning, I woke as the sun spilled over the roof, and into  
the doorway. I felt much stronger, and had no further desire for  
sleep, though I expected I would not have my way for long.

    I called, and soon Tala came in, followed by a small slave-girl  
I had seen around. She was the Cook's bastard, I seemed to remember,  
but was a pretty enough child for all of that. Her father was  
absolutely hideous, but a passable cook, and very trustworthy.

    "The child is Ria."  announced my sister as she propelled the  
girl in front of me.  "As an Honored One, you'll need a body  
servant.  I found her doing chores for Otia in the wash-house, and I  
thought she'd do better for you."

    "Thank you, Tata."  I looked at the child.  Certainly she looked  
at me, then Tala shook her.

    "The Lady Perdipedis is an Honored One.  Do you know what that  
means?"

    "Yes, Mistress.  The Lady Perdipedis has been touched by the  
Teeth of the Goddess, and has given a part of herself." the child  
recited, dutifully.

    "That's right, but so have many others.  Why is she Honored?"

    "I don't know!"  wailed the girl, and cowered.

    "Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you!"  I said from my bed.

    "I'm sorry, Mistress."  replied the girl, looking fearfully at  
Tala, standing over her, resplendent in stiff leather cuirass, with  
her sword at her side.

    "It means that she was touched cleanly, in one cut.  The most  
glorious and honorable of wounds, provided the warrior survives the  
shock, and the Goddess doesn't take her life as well."

    The girl looked wonderingly at me, then knelt down and put her  
head on the floor.  "Please don't take my soul, Lady!"

    "Don't be so stupid, girl!"  thundered Tala, "That's a  
superstition.  The Lady Perdipedis has no magic powers.  The  
Honored Ones are famous warriors, not demons!"

    I started to laugh, and the other two looked at me, surprised.

    "What's so funny, Sister?"

    "This argument.  I don't feel at all magical!"

    Tala gestured at the girl, who timidly approached, reached  
over, and slowly drew back the blankets which covered me. A small  
gasp escaped her as the bloody stub which was all that remained of  
my leg was revealed.

    I looked in wonder, surprised, and not fully accepting that  
this was my own body, and that it had one leg, not two.

    Ria proved a willing servant, and over the next days tended me  
constantly. Her touch was delicate, and she changed my bandages more  
painlessly than others.

    The surgeon-general sent his assistants to me every day, and he  
often came himself. He expressed content at my progress, and said  
that I would have no problems with my wound, unlike many brave  
warriors, who are plagued by untraceable pain ever afterwards.

    He prescribed poultices of herbs and fine clay, and these  
seemed to help, so by degrees I healed.

    Physically, I did, anyway. The mental shock took longer.

    As a little girl I had a slightly fearful admiration of the  
Honored Ladies who came to visit my Mother. I had often hidden and  
peeked at them, fascinated at the stumps they displayed so boldly,  
sometimes decorated with ornamental circlets.

    They were so grand and proud, these crippled warriors, who had  
come so close to death, and yet survived, and knowing that I would  
one day fight in a battle, I wondered what it would be like, and  
hoped in a juvenile fashion that I could someday be like them.

    Later, when I actually went into training and proved myself, I  
found a fierce delight in my physical prowess. I rose rapidly,  
eventually being elected to the Guard, in which I commanded a full  
Phalanx.

    That is what being an Honored Warrior means, to lose forever  
the physique that makes one a good fighter, but not the spirit. In a  
way it's the worst thing that can happen, so being treated a little  
specially is not much to ask.

    Well, now I was to find out for myself what that would mean.

    The first event which really set me apart was a visit by  
Ytainda, the High Priestess of the Goddess. She had been my first  
commander, and had lost both her legs in a major skirmish with the  
Persians. Their chariots had knives on the wheels, and She had  
struck.

    She was borne into my room on a litter, which was put down by  
my bed.'
 

    Her tale ended, she relaxed her pose, and turned to look at me.  
"I have not been true to the ideal, Ambassador, for I fear that to  
tell you the tale as it is customary, with much recital of the cut  
and thrust of battle, would place you in an uncomfortable position,  
since you are but recently in the Scythian lands, I'm told. I  
thought it better, and maybe helpful too, that you should know more  
of our customs. Thus I told you."

    "I thank you. I had indeed heard that your people set great  
store by honorable wounds."

    "'tis more than great store, we set." she replied, "We count it  
a thing of beauty, too." she paused, "I'm told you Romans have a  
goddess you call Venus, guardian of Love, and a great beauty?"

    "'tis so." I replied.

    "Then think on this. We acknowledge Beauty and Love, and were  
we to acknowledge your goddess Venus, she would be wounded such as I.
" she stated.

    "Rome is distant, and news from there comes slowly," I said,  
"so you will not have heard of the new cult of Venus, at Milo?" I  
inquired.

    "What cult is that?"

    "That of just such a Goddess as you describe. It's said the  
statue, which has no arms, was found in a cave by a shepherd. Her  
devotees claim that she has told them that women are equal to, or  
better than men. They aren't popular."

    The lady Perdipedis laughed, (and Felicia's eye's sparkled with  
delight at my sudden rush of inventiveness in hooking something as  
famous and real as the Venus de Milo into our game) "I imagine not,  
in Rome. But here, they'd be speaking no more than the truth. And in  
more than several ways!"

    "What ways could those be?" I wondered.

    "Does not your Venus also represent the Arts of Love?" she  
countered, and continued, "For we have found, and I confirm, that in  
those Arts, women are superior to men, and for such as I, the lack  
of a limb can raise those Arts to yet higher planes. It would please  
me to show you some of this, and if you would but move this table,  
we could discover more."

    I sat up and pushed the table away, and then drew up my  
cushions, the better to dispose ourselves. I lay down beside her.

    "The first of many secrets is the pleasure of embrace, for see,  
when I draw close to you, and you sense that my body is incomplete,  
and not as other women's, we are raised to greater consciousness of  
each other. I, that thou hast two legs, and thou that I have but  
one, my gift to the Goddess."

    "The second secret is in the pleasure of caress, for with my  
shortened limb I can touch thee in a new way. I, too, gain, for if  
thy hand were to stroke me in that place, I would experience new  
sensations, my gift from the Goddess."

    "Then there is the pleasure of Love, itself, for this is raised  
to a unique plane. To us, and because I have but a single leg to  
offer thee, I can also bring to thee the secret beauty of my stump,  
with which all manner of new and different games are possible. Now  
that you know all this, you will never be satisfied with an ordinary  
woman again, and I can never be satisfied with a man who does not  
appreciate these secrets. That is our homage to the Goddess, and she  
takes it whether we gainsay her or not."

    And let me tell you, Honorable Romans, she spoke sooth, for  
since that day, I have not thought of any woman but her, nor find  
myself drawn to any other. I pray the gods don't let our women start  
soldiering, but if they do, let some of them come back like the Lady  
Perdipedis!