seems, I had not. I had then again addressed myself to my labors. After I had served five men I had been conducted to the tent of Pietro Vacchi. He, among the others, had watched me dance. Indeed, I had danced my beauty particularly to him, more than once, as he was the captain of these men, and his ruggedness and strength, his entire demeanor, that of a master, stirred my belly. I could not flee from him. But in a moment I would not have wanted to. He was a true master, and, in moments, licking and kissing, squirming, moaning, crying out with gratitude, I was helpless in his grasp. When he had left me I had lain on the rug, looking after him in disbelief. What a slave such men made us! I had lain on my back, the chain on my neck, my fingernails scratching at the rug. When I had seen him standing near me again I had gone to my belly and pressed my lips fervently to his feet. 'Master!' I had wept. He then took me by the upper arms and, with a sound of chain, lifted me, and flung me back, again to the rug. 'Oh yes, Master!' I had cried out, again, in gratitude.
One of the girls near me stirred in her sleep. 'Let me serve you, let me serve you,' she was moaning, in her dreams.
I, however, for one, was now pleased to be behind the bars of the pen. Something of my original terror had returned when Pietro Vacchi had led me to the exit of his tent and pointed the way, through the darkness, to the pen. I had bellied, and begged, for a guard. 'Do you wish another whipping?' he had inquired. 'No, Master!' I said. He had, it seems, taken note of my beating on the Vitkel Aria. Too, I was sure the marks on me attested to it. I rose to my feet, to creep, frightened, in the direction he had indicated. 'Wait,' he said, as an afterthought. 'Wait.' I was only too willing to dally. 'You have heard of the other girl?' he asked. 'Master?' I asked. 'Guard,' he called, 'escort this young lady to her quarters.' 'Yes, Captain,' he said. Pietro Vacchi then returned to his tent. The guard was behind me. 'Lesha!' he said. Immediately, responsive to this command, I flung my wrists behind me, separated by some two inches, and lifted my chin, my head turned to the left. I felt slave bracelets flung, snapping shut, on my wrists. I was braceleted. In another moment I was leashed. 'Precede me,' said the guard. I went before him. In a moment we were among the trees, on a path. 'Oh!' I said, softly. The guard had begun to caress me. In another moment or two he stopped me with the leash, in the darkness. 'May I speak, Master?' I asked. 'No,' he said. He was through with me quickly. Then I was dragged to my feet and conducted, again, toward the pens. I though I saw a movement in the darkness, but I was not certain. 'What is it?' asked the guard, uneasily. 'Nothing, Master,' I said. If I had truly detected something, as perhaps I had between the tents, the tiny sound, or now, perhaps, a movement in the darkness, subtle, almost unnoticeable, I had little doubt as to what might be its source. But he had not, in either case, struck in the darkness. He had had no interest, it seemed, in killing the soldier, or the guard. It was not him he wanted. He would continue, it seemed, to bide his time. in a few moments, however, happily, I was released into the pen. 'Blankets are at the side,' he said. 'You may take only one.' Yes, Master,' I said. 'May I speak?' 'No,' he said.
I sat up in the blanket. I thought something had been standing on the other side of the bars, toward the back of the pen, away from the guards. I strained my eyes, peering into the darkness. I could see nothing. If something had been there it was now apparently gone. I was frightened. I looked about myself. I pulled the blanket up, tightly, around my chin. I was being stalked. I was sure of it! The I realized with misgivings, a sinking feeling, that it was unlikely I would have heard the tiny sound, seen the movement, been aware of a presence beyond the bars, so subtle a presence, in the darkness, unless it had been intended that I, if only subliminally, take note of them. It was perhaps his intention to remind me, from time to time, particularly if I should grow hopeful, that I had not been forgotten. But perhaps in was all my imagination! Perhaps he had changed his mind. Perhaps he had taken his way, by now, to Brundisium! Then I was again frightened. Could an arrow, or the quarrel of a crossbow, not be sped between the bars, into my heart, even here in the pen? I lay back, frightened, holding the blanket about me. Such a missile, of course, might be as easily launched from the brush at the side of a road, as I might be walking beside a tharlarion, my neck in a chain, running to a master' s stirrup. But I wondered if such things would suffice for his vengeance. Perhaps they would be too distant, too abstract, for him. I dug down a little more into the sand, until I could feel the bars of the cage floor.
I thought of Petro Vacchi. How well he handled a woman! How well he had mastered me! I remembered that on the road a 'gentlewoman,' one from Ar, had been mentioned. She, as I understood it, was to have been given to Aulus for the evening, that he might help her learn what it was to be a female. Aulus, as I well knew, from when I had worn the rectangle of silk in his tent, was a strong master. I had little doubt but what the 'gentlewoman,' lying at his feet in the morning, wide-eyed and sleepless, would recollect in chagrin and horror her responses of the preceding night. Could she believe what she had done, and said? How she had begged and squirmed, and acted not at all like a free woman, but like a slave? How she had behaved in his arms? How could she, a free woman, have acted like that? But perhaps she had not truly, ultimately, a free woman, as she had hitherto supposed but really, truly, like so many women, those she had pretended not to really understand, and had held in such contempt, until now, only a slave? Could that be? And could they teach her things, if she begged hard enough, that she might be more pleasing to such men, that they might find her of interest and deign again to notice her? Regardless of such considerations how could she now, after what had been done to her, and how she had acted, go back to being a free woman? Could she pretend nothing had happened? How could she hold her head up, again, now, among free women? Would she not now cringe before them, and be unable to meet their eyes, like a runaway slave, thence to be seized by them and remanded to a praetor? Now that she had known the touch of a man, such a man, how could she return, as though nothing had happened, to her former self, with its haughty, barren pretenses of freedom? What authority or right had she any longer, given what she had learned about herself last night, to claim that she was 'free,' except perhaps in virtue of the accident of an undeserved legal technicality? How could she ever again, given what she now knew about herself, consider herself free? No longer had she a right to such a claim. She now knew, in her heart, that she was not truly free, but, truly free, but, truly, a slave. That was what she was, and right that she be. No longer could she find it in her heart to pretend to be free, to play again the role of a free woman, to enact once again what, in her case, could now be only a hollow mockery, an empty farce of freedom. Too, could she any longer even dare to do so? Suppose others came to suspect, or even to know! What if they could read it somehow in her eyes, or body? It is a great crime for a slave to pretend to be a free woman. Would they not simply take off her clothes and punish her, and then hand her over to a praetor, for her proper disposition? Too, what could such a pretense gain her but the closing of doors on the truth of her being? But even if these things were not true, she feared they were, she did not wish to perish of shame. No longer now, knowing what she now knew about herself, could she live as a free woman. She must beg Aulus, when he awakened, for she did not dare awaken him for fear she might be whipped, for the brand and collar. No longer could she be a free woman. It was now right that she be kept as a slave, and made a slave.
As the night was cloudy, and dark, I could not see the stars, or moons. I felt the collar on my throat. Ti was the collar of Ionicus, I was a work slave. Yet, tonight, I had not served as a work slave, but a pleasure slave. Too, Aulus had chained me at his stirrup. He had used me as a display slave, to enhance his appearance, to add to the effect he might make when he came into the presence of Pietro Vacchi. It is a use for slaves. I was proud that I had been put at his stirrup. In such small ways a slave may gather that she is exciting and beautiful. To be sure, he may not have wanted to leave me behind with the guards. Also, he may have had in mind that I might dance for the mercenaries and serve some of them, and their captain. Thus I might, in my humble way, like a gift, or a token of good will, make my small contribution to the success of his visit. Perhaps a tribute, or, more carefully put, a friendship fee, might even be arranged, such that the chains of Ionicus might, at least for a given time, enjoy immunity from the depredations of the mercenaries. If I had been used for such a purpose I hoped that I had done well, and that Aulus would be satisfied. I recalled Vacchi. I hoped that I had pleased him. I smiled to myself. That I had pleased him? Rather it seemed he had used me, imperiously, as a master, for his pleasure! In his arms, I, helpless, moaning, crying out, sometimes even begging for mercy, had been forced to endure lengthy slave ecstasies. I squirmed in the sand, digging into it until I again felt the bars of iron, of the pen floor, beneath me, remembering what it had been to be in his arms. Tomorrow I would presumably return to the black chain of Ionicus, though perhaps to be kept in Aulus' s tent in a rectangle of silk. Surely that was preferable to wearing chains and carrying water, struggling against its bulging, shifting weight, bend over, going back and forth, back and forth, wading in sand to the ankles.
I recalled, oddly, when I had knelt before Tyrrhenius, weeks before, when I had learned that he was going to sell me, he had spoken of 'inquiries.' I had not much thought of it at the time, but now, in the darkness, lying in the sand of the pen, I wondered what he had meant. What sort of inquiries had he in mind, and to whom did they pertain? Did they pertain to him? Did they pertain to me? Or perhaps he feared that they might pertain to me? Was that why he had sold me, rather abruptly, as it seemed, now that I thought about it? And who was making such
