conditions, less likely to snap. Too, the wood is lighter and this is useful in the raising and lowering of masts. The yards, too, as would be supposed, are commonly of needle wood. Needle trees, too, come to maturity more rapidly than Tur trees, and may thus be the sooner and the more frequently harvested.
“Rehood your slave,” I said to Pertinax.
I was attending to this chore with Cecily.
Constantina jerked angrily, futilely, at her bound wrists and cast Pertinax a look of fury, which seemed to dare him to comply with my instruction.
“Now,” I said to Pertinax.
“Do you think it is necessary?” he asked.
“Do it,” I said.
“Very well,” he said.
Constantina’s angry features disappeared within the folds of the hood.
“Oh!” she said.
Pertinax had jerked the strings on the hood against the back of her neck, and had then knotted them snugly under her chin. She then knew herself nicely hooded. I think Pertinax enjoyed that. I thought there might be a man in him, somewhere. Indeed, I suspected he might now be ready to learn how to handle a slave leash, and I supposed that he would not be displeased to have Constantina on such a leash, a slave leash. Too, to get the girls across the ditch, it would help not to have them on a common leash.
So I cut the leash at the center, so that we had, in effect, two leashes. I then put Cecily over my shoulder, her head to the rear, as a slave is carried.
I was pleased to see Pertinax draw Constantina to him, on the leash.
I think she was surprised.
Perhaps she thought it was I.
When a girl is hooded it is hard for her to know who has her leash.
For example, a girl might be taken out, hooded, leashed, by one fellow, and, later, certain arrangements having previously taken place, arrangements unknown to her, she may, when she is knelt and unhooded, find herself, on her leash, looking up into the eyes of a stranger.
She has been sold.
To be sure, I supposed that Pertinax might at present be still somewhat diffident about leash-mastering a female.
Doubtless there was still much of Earth in him.
He could learn, of course.
I supposed a woman could usually tell, even in a hood, from the way the leash was used, whether or not she was in the custody of one accustomed to the leashing and handling of a woman.
When a woman is put through slave paces she is not unoften on a leash. Sometimes masters have contests with their girls in such a fashion. The winning girl often receives a sweet, the loser, often, two or three strokes of the switch, to encourage her to do better next time.
It is not unusual to leash a slave, for tethering her, for taking her on a walk, and such.
Slaves, on the leashes of their masters, are a common sight in the high cities, in the streets, on the bridges, and so on.
On a leash, a slave is nicely displayed.
“The signs continue,” I said. “We will enter the reserve.”
Pertinax made ready to lift Constantina in his arms.
“Do you think she is a free woman?” I inquired.
He looked at me, puzzled.
“See how I carry Cecily,” I said.
She was over my left shoulder, her head to the rear.
A slave is not likely to be accorded the dignities appropriate to a free woman. The free woman is to be carried, if carried at all, gently, respectfully, nestled in one’s arms. For example, one may not wish her to risk soiling the hem of her rich robes, or the brocade of her slippers. Sometimes a free woman will wait, before, say, a rivulet or puddle, even a small one, to be carried to safety by some lucky fellow. The manner of carrying the slave is usually quite different. She is carried as property, as though she might be no more than produce, and her head is to the rear so that, even were she not hooded, she cannot see where she is being carried. That is for the master to know, for the slave to learn. And so, in this way, even in such a small way, even in such a trivial way, we discover yet another way in which a distinction may be drawn between the slave and the free woman. In the manner of small fordings and such the slave will usually wade after the master, the water perhaps to her knees. Free women, of course, may own female slaves, whom they often treat with great cruelty. For example, if a female slave, owned by a free woman, dares to look at a male, she may be whipped. And it is not unusual, in these small fordings, and such, of which we spoke, for the free woman to put her slave into the mire, and use her body as a bridge, in this way protecting her garments and the daintiness of her feet and ankles.
In a moment then Pertinax had scooped up the Lady Constantina and had her over his shoulder, her head to the rear.
In this position even an unbound free woman is helpless.
I had seen more than one so carried, captured in war. She can do little but scream and pound her small fists futilely on a fellow’s back, squirm, kick her legs, and such.
I then, with some difficulty, descended into the ditch, and, then, on the other side, slowly, step by carefully placed step, made my way to the level. I was followed, momentarily, by Pertinax. Some dirt slipped, but he was then at my side. The declivity, though deep, was not steep. The ditch was not intended for defense. It was primarily a boundary, but it did, too, discourage the entry of animals into the reserve.
We put the girls on their feet, safely away from the edge of the ditch, into which they might have had a nasty tumble.
“There is the next sign,” said Pertinax, pointing.
“Yes,” I said.
I went to the nearest wand, and held up the green ribbon, which was dangling from it. I held it in two hands. As I had supposed, there was printing on the ribbon.
“Can you read this?” I asked Pertinax.
“Not well,” he said. “What does it say?”
“It is a simple legend,” I said. “It says ‘These are the trees of Port Kar.’”
“This is the reserve of Port Kar then,” he said.
“One of them,” I said. “These seem to be Tur trees, all Tur trees.”
I went to one of the trees a few yards back and to the left. It was tagged. It wore the badge of Port Kar.
“This beauty,” I said, looking upward, “has been marked. It is selected, marked for the arsenal, for the yard of Cleomenes.” I supposed it would be harvested in the fall, when it would have finished its season’s growth. The time of year, now, as nearly as I could tell, from the vegetation, was late summer. I hoped our business in the area could be finished before the onset of winter. Winters can be quite bitter in the northern forests. The yard of Cleomenes was one of the yards under the aegis of the arsenal of Port Kar, of which yards there were several.
I looked ahead, and some yards to the right, deeper into the reserve, where another sign, in its yellow, indicated our route.
“Let us continue our journey,” I said.
Pertinax offered me Constantina’s leash.
“Lead your own slave,” I said.
I moved ahead, with Cecily.
I heard Constantina gasp, as she was jerked forward.
We had been entered into the reserve now for perhaps the better part of an Ahn when the signs we had been following assiduously could no longer be detected.
I examined the last sign, the one beyond which we noted no other sign. It was clear, and, as yet, showed no sign of fading. It seemed unlikely then that the next sign, if there had been one, would have become undetectable.
