Chapter 1

Royal Slave

By Aphra Behn

A Modernized Fiction Edition by Chance Swaim

It's my attempt, in re-ordering and in many cases re-writing this story, to simply explore the possibilities of a text as rich as Aphra Behn's Oroonoko; or, the Royal Slave. I don't want to create an authoritative text, I only want to play. 

-Chance Swaim 

Chapter I

Oroonoko had little reason to credit the words of the master. But he saw a kind of sincerity and awful truth in the face of Trefry. He saw an honesty in his eyes, and he found him wise and witty enough to understand honor, for it was one of his maxims: A Man of Wit could not be a knave or a villain. 

But he had begged Trefry to give him something more befitting a slave. His fame had gone before him to each house on the passage up the river, and the people would flock to gaze upon his beauty. Trefry obliged, and the Holland Suit he had been wearing was replaced with a robe, as any other slave would wear. Nevertheless, Oroonoko could not make himself appear a slave, and the people couldn't help treating him differently. They venerated and esteemed him—his eyes insensibly commanded respect, and his behavior insinuated it into every soul.

So there was nothing talked of but this young and gallant slave, even by those who yet knew not that he was a prince. 

The first act of the master is to change his slave's name. Trefry gave Oroonoko the Christian name Caesar, and when they arrived at Parham-House, he was heralded as he if were the king himself—at last, he would view his land, his house, and his business assigned him on the plantation. 

As he went down to the Houses of the Slaves, which are like a little town by itself, the Negroes all left work and came forth to behold him, and found he was that Prince who had, at several times, sold most of them to the New World. From the surprise and awe they had at the sight of him, they all cast themselves at his feet, crying out in their African tongues and kissing at his feet.

Trefry stood aside with several Englishmen who he had told of the slave's fame, infinitely glad to find Oroonoko's grandure confirmed by the adoration of all the slaves. 

Oroonoko, troubled by their over-joy and over-attention, besought them to rise and to receive him as their fellow slave.

The slaves set about mourning and condoling, which Oroonoko and the English had much ado to appease. Finally, it was decided their would be a great feast in honor of Oroonoko's arrival, and everyone killed and dressed something of his own stock and made it a most magnificent supper. Oroonoko sat with the English, and the slaves all waited on him, some playing music, others dancing before him all the time, endeavoring to please and delight him. 

“Fine creatures,” one of the Englishmen said after some time, loosened by meat and drink, and hypnotized by the slave-women dancing before him. “Fine creatures, indeed.”

“These women are nothing,” said Trefry, leaning in to speak quietly among the other men. He looked to Oroonoko. “For six months we've had a girl here who would make you all come undone.”

“Bullocks,” said the fat Englishman. His fingers were greased with fowl and his cup stood empty. 

“It's true,” said Trefry. He waved over a slave-girl to refill the Englishman's glass.

“Who would become so unhappy as to come undone for one fair slave?” said Oroonoko. 

“No man, Caesar, has ever beheld her who did not fall in love. She is the most charming black that ever was beheld, and young—about fifteen or sixteen years old, as I would guess. Even I can't keep my eyes away from her. All of the white beauties, never charmed me as absolutely as this fine creature,” Trefry said. He paused and watched the slave-girl fill all of the men's cups. He waited until she left to continue. 

“Her name is Clemene, and all men throw themselves at her feet, slaves and otherwise. She refuses us all,” he went on. 

“I do not wonder this Clemene should refuse slaves, if she's as beautiful as you say,” said Oroonoko. “But I wonder how she escapes those who can entertain her as you can do, or why, being your slave, you do not oblige her to yield.” 

“I confess,” said Trefry, “when I have, against her will, entertained her with love, ready to use those advantages of strength and force nature has given me, she disarms me—her modest weeping, so tender and moving—and I retire.” He winked at Oroonoko. 

“Bullocks,” said the Englishman again, sharing a deep bellied laugh with the rest of the men and slapping his hand down against the table as he choked on a bit of his fowl. 

“Such control of passion and nature,” said Oroonoko. “She must be filled with virtue.”

The fat man slapped Oroonoko on the back. “Oh, great. Oh, great,” he said, coughing and laughing with the same breath. He finally swallowed the piece of meat that had been rolling around in his throat and then asked Trefry where he found such a comedic slave. “Look how serious he is—I tell you, Caesar, is it?, I don't know how you keep such a straight face.” 

“He's quite serious, you'll see,” said Trefry. He nodded to Oroonoko, who was a bit confused by the entire exchange. 

“I've seen enough, I'll take him,” said the fat Englishman. “How much, I'll take him now.” 

“Alas, but you'll have to wait for Lord Willoughby's return,” said Trefry. “But until then, we enjoy ourselves.” 

 

There was a lull in the drumming, and the dancers looked to be growing tired. The fire on which the meat had been roasted had dimmed to a faint glow and all of the men's faces had grown dark. They leaned back in their chairs, and the lull in the music aligned with the lull in conversation. 

“Tomorrow,” said Trefry. “Tomorrow, you'll all meet the virtuous and tender Clemene.” 

Again, he winked at Oroonoko, who, for the first time in his life had started to feel, though he didn't know it at the time, and not at all until the feeling had been surpassed by his own nature, what could only be described as helpless.