The former Lady Flavia of Ar addressed herself to the belt of her master.
“She seems tentative,” I said.
“I think you are right,” he said.
The slave looked at me, angrily, but then her master’s hand was in her hair, twisting it, and she cried out in misery, and his other hand was up, the looped belt in it. “No!” she cried, her head held in place. He then gave her two sharp strokes with the looped belt.
Tears sprang to her eyes.
He then put the belt again to her lips, and she began to kiss and lick the belt more seriously.
“I hate you!” she said to me.
“I think she does not understand what is required,” I said to the stranger.
She then received two more strokes of the looped belt.
Then, fervently, desperately, the frightened slave, Alcinoe, the slave of Callias, of Jad, a Cosian, addressed herself to the belt of her master.
“That is much better,” I said. “I suspect you are beginning to comprehend.”
“Thank you, Master,” she said.
“Now,” I said, “with your lips and tongue, as the most helplessly needful of all women, as a slave, make love to the belt of your master. In kissing it, tenderly, you express your gratitude that you, only a slave, have been permitted to touch a belonging of your master. Too, in this way, you express your devotion for the master, your reverence for him, perhaps unnoticed by the master, by tenderly and gratefully kissing even a belt, even a tunic or sandal, of the master. In licking it, slowly, you express yourself, and your bondage, that you submit yourself to him wholly, without reservation. In licking it slowly, and sensuously, you express your passion, and need, your desire, that you would serve him intimately, as the least of slaves, as the readiest of aroused, owned beasts.”
She suddenly looked at me, with recognition, with understanding in her eyes. “Thank you, Master,” she whispered. “I think I understand! Perhaps I was ready for such things. Perhaps I wanted them, and longed for them! Is that possible? I change! I have changed! Such acts change me! No wonder they are forbidden to free women! How they make us slaves! How right they seem! So right, so right! Inwardly I am different! How can one do such things, and live so, without becoming a slave? How close I am now to myself! In such acts I am changed! They show me to myself! They open doors to my secret heart! How can I understand these emotions, their depth? How happy I am, and how helpless! How helpless I am in their grasp! I feel so slave! I am so slave!”
She turned her head, wildly, to Callias, her master. “I heat, Master,” she said. “I am heated! I flame! Please, please, Master!”
With a great cry, he seized her in his arms, turned her, and flung her beneath him, across the scrap of tunic which had been brought to the room earlier by Captain Nakamura. I thought it well, then, to exit the room. I left the door open, behind me, however, as she was not a free woman, but a slave.
Eventually the eighteenth bar sounded.
I secured one of the public lamps, and reentered the room.
“I do not think,” I said, “that the
“I would see him sail,” said the stranger.
“Perhaps the day after tomorrow,” I said.
“What do you think of my slave?” he asked.
I lifted the lamp.
She was now tunicked, but not in the lengthy tunic of the Pani, but now, rather, in the tunic which had been brought in earlier by Captain Nakamura, that within the folds of which had been the coils of the sirik.
Alcinoe twirled before me.
What a vain thing she was, but are not they all? Surely, given their beauty, their desirability, they are entitled to a little vanity, or, indeed, I suppose, to a large measure of that sometimes annoying, but generally endearing, charming quality. Free women have their vanity, sometimes extravagantly so, so why not a slave, as well? And, indeed, is not a slave even more entitled to vanity than a free woman? She, after all, has been looked upon by men, and found fit for collaring. To be sure, the slave is well advised to conceal her vanity in the presence of a free woman.
“She is quite pretty,” I said. “The tunic is a bit long, is it not.”
“I think so,” said Callias.
This would not be unusual, of course, as few tunics are tailored to an individual slave. Given the common looseness, and drapery, of a tunic, a number of different slaves might wear the same tunic, which would be indifferently fetching on most of them. Many slaves, of course, once they have a tunic, will do their small, mysterious things to the garment in such a way that it seems designed for themselves alone. Some masters, too, of course, will take their slave to one of the Cloth Workers, and have one or more tunics altered to, or even made for, the particular slave.
Alcinoe looked at me, startled. I gathered it had not occurred to her that the tunic might be too long.
“Many Merchants,” I said, “have frequented the warehouse since morning. If I were the harbor master I would put them out. Why should they hold a position that long at a table? Others clamor for their turn. One would think they were doing kaissa, or stones, not buying and selling. In any event, venders of comestibles, biscuits, candy, fruit, and such, with their carts and trays, have been about, and doing their business, too. I suggest we leave this room, if you two can manage that, buy something to eat, I will pay, as you have no money, and then go to my domicile, get some sleep, and return, if you wish, in the morning.”
The stranger rose to his feet.
“What have you two been doing all this time?” I asked.
“Waiting for master,” laughed Alcinoe.
I saw this as an excellent argument not to give a slave a standing permission to speak.
“What do you think?” said Callias.
“One thing, I see,” I said, lifting the lamp higher, to the better view Alcinoe, “she has spent at least some of the time becoming more beautiful.”
“Yes,” said Callias.
The slave looked down, bashfully.
Happiness makes a woman more beautiful. Even a plain woman who is happy is beautiful.
“I think we had better go,” I said. “Gather up the sirik, and I will discard the Pani tunic, wretched garment, in the garbage, as we leave.”
“I would not do so, if I were you,” said Alcinoe, who knelt, understandably enough, as she was addressing a free person.
“You do not like the garment, I hope,” I said.
“I think it is horrid,” she said.
“Good,” I said, and bent down to pick up the tunic.
“Please wait, Masters,” she said. “Perhaps you should examine the tunic.”
I suddenly recalled some puzzles I had had, pertaining to that distressing garment, its thickness, its opacity, its length, long and heavy, even for a Pani tunic, a smile on the face of Captain Nakamura, and a smile on the features of the slave, the sound it had made when it was brushed across the floor by Callias’ boot.
“It is my conjecture,” she said, “that Lord Nishida and Master Tarl Cabot, who commands the tarn cavalry of Lord Temmu, would not have been likely, as an expression of their esteem and gratitude to my master, to send him so negligible a gift as a mere slave, and one untrained, too.”
“No!” said Callias. “You are a thousand times more than enough. They must know that. You are the world to me!”
Beware, Callias, I thought, beware.
“A slave is grateful to be so esteemed by her Master,” she said, “but Alcinoe is well aware that she is only a slave, and that her monetary value is determined only by what masters will pay for her.”
“She is right,” I said.
