'I am an Alar,' said Hurtha. 'I know what to make of free women.'
'What?' she asked.
'Slaves,' he roared.
'I am pretty, aren't I?' asked Boabissia.
'Yes,' I said. 'You are. We are teasing.'
'And I would bring a high price, would I not?' asked Boabissia.
'I would think so,' I said, 'at least for a new, untrained slave, for slave meat a master has not yet seasoned and prepared to his taste.'
'You see?' she asked Hurtha.
Hurtha snorted with derision.
'Am I not attractive, Hurtha?' she asked.
'You?' he asked.
'I,' she said, angrily.
'You are of no more interest than a she-tharlarion,' he said, 'and if you were a she-tharlarion, I do not even think a male tharlarion would be interested in you.' He threw back his head, laughing.
'If you saw me all soft and naked, at your feet, and perfumed and painted, and in a collar and chains, you would want me,' she said, angrily.
Hurtha stopped laughing. Suddenly he seemed angry. His hand closed on the ax handle over his shoulder. His other hand clenched into a fist.
'Do, not fear, Hurtha,' she said, 'you big simple beast, that pleasure will never be yours.'
Hurtha did not respond, but glared angrily, fixedly ahead.
We continued on our way.
'He does think I am attractive, doesn't he?' she asked.
'Of course,' I said.
'And you would like to have me, too, wouldn't you?' she asked.
'Under certain circumstances, perhaps,' I said.
'If I were a slave?' she asked.
'Of course,' I said.
'Of course!' she laughed.
'Move along,' said a guard, one of several along our route.
Boabissia began to hum an Alar tune. She seemed in fine spirits. I glanced over at her. A great transformation had come over her since the night before last, since she had been put on her back, her wrists tied to the spokes, a copper bowl resting on the dirt beside her. I wondered if she might make a suitable slave. It seemed possible. I imagined what she might look like with a collar on her neck, instead of the familiar thong and disk. I supposed it might be nice to have her. It was not too late, really, I supposed, to enslave her. One could then have her when and as one pleased.
'What is wrong?' she asked.
'Nothing,' I said.
'Move, move along,' said another guard.
'Ah,' said another, regarding Boabissia. She was, of course, not veiled. 'Move,' said another.
'You, too, free wench,' said another, irritably. Boabissia would walk straightly by these fellows, regally, her head high, seemingly ignoring them, apparently not even deigning to glance at them. To be sure, I was confident she was only too keenly and pleasurably aware of their scrutiny, their appraisal and appreciation. She was now, after her experiences of the night before last, too much of an awakened female not to be aware of, and pleased at, the effects she could exercise upon men.
'Do you think it wise to behave in such fashion?' I asked her.
'In what fashion?' she asked, innocently, smiling.
'Never mind,' I said.
She laughed.
To be sure, what had she to fear from them? She was a free woman. She had nothing to fear from them, absolutely nothing to fear from them, unless perhaps, one day, she should become a slave. Then she might have much to fear from them. In the distance I could see the great gate of Torcadino.
'Slut,' said one of the soldiers.
Boabissia laughed, not looking at him.
'Collar meat,' he called out.
She laughed again, giving him no other notice.
How well, if haughtily, she now walked. I considered the walks of free women, and of slaves. How few free women really walk their beauty. Perhaps they are ashamed of it, or fear it. Few free women walk in such a way as to display their beauty, as, for example, a slave must. I considered the length of garments. The long garments, usually worn by free women, such as that now worn by Boabissia, might cover certain defects of gait perhaps, but when one's legs are bared, as a slave's commonly are, one must walk their beauty and grace. Too, given the scantiness of many slave garments, it is sometimes necessary to walk in them with exquisite care.
The slave, for example, and this is commonly included in her training, seldom bends over to retrieve a fallen object. Rather she flexes her knees, lowering the body beautifully, and retrieves the object from a graceful and humble crouch. Sometimes, to be sure, commonly in serving at the parties of young men, certain objects, sometimes as part of a game, objects with prearranged significances among the young men, are thrown to the floor, and she must pick them up in less than graceful fashion. Whatever object she first touches determines to whose lusty abuse she must then submit. This game is sometimes played several times in the evening. I considered Boabissia. Her walk now seemed something between that of a free woman and a slave. It was, if haughty, quite good, and it showed, I thought, definite signs of slave promise. There seemed little doubt that, with some tutelage, and perhaps a collar on her neck, the beauty could be kept in it, and considerably improved, and the sullying haughtiness removed. I glanced again at her. Yes, it seemed to me that Boabissia might even be ready to walk in a slave tunic. I had little doubt but what several of the fellows she had passed, her nose in the air, would, with whips, have been more than willing to give her instruction in the matter, with or without the tunic.
'Are you sure you want to go to Ar?' I asked her. 'it might be dangerous.' She touched the copper disk at her neck. 'Yes,' she said. 'I will learn who I am.'
'And who do you think you are?' I asked.
'I do not know,' she said. 'But I was found, as I understand it, in the remains of what had apparently been a large and wealthy caravan. Perhaps it was the caravan of my father.'
'Perhaps,' I said.
'At the least, passage in such a caravan would doubtless have to have been purchased, and that suggests affluence.'
'That is true,' I said.
'Presumably no drover, or low person, a mere employee, say, would have had a baby with him,' she said.
'Probably not,' I said.
'It seems likely to me, then,' she said, 'that I am of wealthy family.' 'I suppose that is possible,' I granted her. Indeed, it seemed to me to be quite possible. I was uneasy, however. The letter «Tau on the disk, for some reason I could not place, seemed vaguely familiar to me. I wondered if, somewhere, someplace, I might have seen that particular 'Tau,' that is, that particular design of a Tau. 'Why is there a number on the disk?' I asked. 'I do not know,' she said, 'but it must be some sort of an identificatory device, perhaps indexed to an address or a passenger list.'
'Or a wagon number,' I said, 'if it was a large caravan, or, more likely, that of a merchant or company with many wagons.'
'Yes,' she said. 'I never thought of that. That is perhaps it.'
'Perhaps,' I said.
'They would want to have some way of knowing where the baby belonged, I suppose,' she said.
'I would suppose so,' I said.
