“But, like Seremides,” I said, “he might happen upon you.”
“How helpless are slaves!” she wept.
“But Seremides,” I said, “can scarcely hobble about, and Cabot is much in the mountains, with the tarn cavalry.”
“Perhaps I can be sold away from the castle,” she said.
“Perhaps,” I said.
“I am afraid,” she said.
“Ar is faraway,” I said.
“Tarl Cabot is not,” she said.
“I do not think he would hurt you,” I said.
“You do not know him,” she said.
“Perhaps you do not know him,” I said.
“You do not know what I did to him,” she said.
“No,” I said, “I do not know that.”
“He would kill me,” she said.
“It is time for you to return to your kennel,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
The slave had scarcely risen to her feet, backed away, head down, turned, and hurried toward the shed which housed her kennel, when I became aware of another figure near me.
“How homely she is,” said Alcinoe. “I have seen tarsks more attractive than she. Surely you have no interest in so poor a slave.”
“Have you been listening?” I asked.
“Certainly not,” she said. “But I have been watching, from across the courtyard, over there.”
She indicated a place, across the grounds, near some shrubbery, not far from the large, central portal of the castle, perhaps fifty yards away.
“She certainly kissed your feet well,” said Alcinoe.
“She is a slave,” I said.
“And she kneels well, too.”
“Yes,” I said.
“I wager,” said Alcinoe, “that you enjoyed having her, slave, before you.”
“Yes,” I said. Indeed, what man would not? Indeed, every beautiful woman, indeed, every woman, should kneel before a man, his.
“I am far more beautiful than she,” said Alcinoe.
“You looked well earlier, coffled, neck-roped, struggling under your bag of rice,” I said.
“We had to make three trips!” she said.
“Excellent,” I said, “that the former lady Flavia of Ar should be worked, as a common slave.”
“So, too, was she!” said Alcinoe.
“I am well aware of that,” I said. It had given me great pleasure to see the former two highest women in Ar, tunicked, collared, and neck-roped, portering for the Pani.
“Why do you share speech with so lowly, so worthless, a slave?”
“Do you object?” I asked.
“Master may do as he pleases, of course,” she said.
“Are you barefoot?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“What is the garment you wear?” I asked.
“A tunic,” she said.
“That is all?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“You are then naked, save for your tunic,” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“What is that on your neck?” I asked.
“A collar,” she said.
“What sort of collar?”
“A slave collar,” she said.
“Then you are a slave,” I said.
“Master?”
“Why are you standing?”
Swiftly she knelt before me.
“You must understand, Master,” she said, looking up, “that she is cunning, deceitful, and clever.”
“And you would warn me of her wiles?” I said.
“Yes,” she said, “lest she cast the spell of her smiles over you, the magic of sparkling eyes, the sorcery of a trembling lip.”
“The potency of such charms,” I said, “however mighty in a free woman, are surely much reduced in a kneeling, tunicked slave.”
“I, think, Master,” she said, “they may rather be much increased.”
I thought it quite possible that Alcinoe was not mistaken in this matter. Certainly the helplessness of the slave, that she is owned, and such, make her a hundred times more attractive to a male. She belongs to one. One may do with her as one wishes. One’s possessions, of course, are always special to a fellow. Consider, for example, his sleen or kaiila.
“I take it,” I said, “that you do not much care for the former Ubara of Ar.”
“I hate her,” she said.
“She doubtless entertains a similar regard for you,” I said.
“Surely you do not like her,” said Alcinoe.
“What is it to you?” I asked.
Tears suddenly flooded the eyes of the slave.
“I see,” I said.
“No, no, no,” she said. “You cannot see!”
“The conversation,” I said, “which recently took place between a free man and a slave is no concern of yours.”
“I understand, Master,” she said.
“For what it is worth,” I said, “I find you a hundred times more beautiful, and a thousand times more desirable, than the former Ubara of Ar.”
“But she was Ubara!” she exclaimed.
“You are both now slaves,” I said, “women reduced to their primitive essentials, women as slaves.”
“Oh, Master!” she cried. “You care for me!”
“Care, for a slave?” I said. “Do not be foolish.”
“Master?”
“I said that you were beautiful, and desirable,” I said. “If you were stripped on a slave block, any fool could see that, and say as much. Beyond that, do not insult a free man! Do not insinuate that a free man might be so foolish as to care for a slave. Do not dare to utter such an absurdity! Slaves are beasts and properties. They are to be owned, and mastered, that is all. You are a slave. Only a fool would permit himself to care for a slave.”
“Yes, Master,” she said, happily.
If you were mine,” I said, angrily, “you would learn your collar as few women.”
“Teach it to me, Master!” she said.
“But I do not own you,” I said.
She clutched at the ship’s collar on her neck, and, two hands on it, jerked it against the back of her neck, again and again, and tears burst from her eyes.
“No,” she said, “you do not own me!”
I think then she began to understand, more clearly than ever, what it was to be a slave.
