of the mercenary captain was Tarnburg. The city to which the former Lucilina, the former preferred slave of Myron, the Polemarkos, had been smuggled was Torcadino, then held by the same mercenary captain, Dietrich of Tarnburg, of course. This evening I had seen a line of mercenaries, perhaps a hundred in all, with some slaves, mostly pack slaves, some eight or ten of them, approaching Brundisium. The leader of the mercenaries, and several of them, astride their tharlarion, wore wind scarves, rather like those worn in the Tahari, protecting themselves from the dust of the journey. These served, as well, doubtless inadvertently, to conceal their features. I would have thought little of the passage of these mercenaries, what with so many hundreds about, here and there, coming and going, had I not recognized the slave at the leader's stirrup, and, indeed, later, one of the beauteous pack slaves. As I stood back, with others, off the road, as they passed, the leader, and the others, would not recognize me. I had made inquiries tonight in Brundisium, of course, to ascertain the whereabouts of these fellows. I learned first what quarter of the city they had entered, and, later, what inns, hotels and taverns they might be patronizing. This was not difficult for most mercenaries in the vicinity of Brundisium were not quartered in the city but in the Cosian camp. Accordingly, they would not be entering the city with their units, but rather, if they entered it at all, as individuals, or in small groups.
'We present to you, Master,' said one of two slaves, conducting a woman before my table, 'a female.'
The two slaves then removed their hands from the woman's arms, and deferentially knelt, on either side of the woman, who remained standing.
I indicated that the two slaves might leave and they did so. I then indicated that the woman might kneel, and she did so. There was a tiny, sensuous rustle of bells.
'You are belled,' I said.
'Yes!' she whispered.
'Have you seen yourself?' I asked. 'Did they show you to yourself?'
'Yes!' she said.
She might have been a paga slave. She had been made up, with slave cosmetics. On her forehead, suspended on a small tiny golden chain, there was a pearl droplet. About her neck, which wore no collar there were wound several necklaces, some dependent upon her even to her belly. On her upper left arm was coiled a serpentine armlet. Her body was ill concealed, clothed, if such be the word, in a bit of open-sided, diaphanous slave silk, suitable for a casual lifting aside. It was a slave garment, and would have well mocked the modesty of even a bond girl. As her thighs were bared, it could easily be seen that there was no brand there. How absurd, how incongruous this seemed! Her thigh seemed to cry out for the brand.
'Have you ever worn slave silk before?' I asked.
'No!' she said. 'Of course not!'
'Some free women,' I said, 'purchase it secretly, and wear it in the privacy of their own compartments, sometimes weeping with need and sleeping at the foot of their own bed.'
'How could you know such a thing?' she asked.
'From slavers,' I said, 'some of whom have caught the women there.'
'I wanted to do that,' she said, 'but I lacked the courage.'
'No matter,' I said.
' 'No matter'?' she asked.
'No,' I said, 'A slaver could always put you in it, if he chose.'
'Of course,' she said.
'How do you like the feel of it on your body?' I asked.
'It is like nothing,' she said, 'and yet, frighteningly, something.'
'Does it stimulate you?' I asked.
'Yes,' she said, 'terribly so, far more so than I had ever anticipated it could.'
'You are very beautiful in it,' I said.
'Thank you,' she said.
'You will note that it can be easily lifted aside.'
'Yes,' she said.
'Can you imagine what it would be if it were lifted aside?'
'Yes!' she said. 'Every bit of me is alive! Even now my skin is flaming!'
'Do you know the perfume you wear?' I asked.
'It is a slave perfume,' she said.
'Yes,' I said. It was a heady perfume. It made me wish to reach across the table, seize her, and throw her upon it, and then, there, on that small, smooth, hard surface, put her to my pleasure, ravishing her publicly. 'Do you know its name?' I asked.
'No,' she whispered. She was, after all, a free woman.
'It is a well-known Cosian perfume,' I said, ' 'The Chains of Telnus'.'
'I see,' she whispered.
'Cosian masters sometimes enjoy putting women of Ar, their slaves, in it.'
'You speak of it as though it were a collar,' she said.
'In a sense, it is,' I said.
'I cannot help it,' she said. 'It, too, like the silk, excites me!'
'That is its intention,' said I, 'woman of Ar.'
'Doubtless there are many slave perfumes,' she said.
'Yes,' I said, 'hundreds.'
'I never thought to be put in one,' she said.
'But you now are in one,' I said.
'Yes,' she whispered.
I surveyed her, as a master might have a slave.
'You regard me, boldly,' she said.
'Your current appearance calls for candid, detailed perusal,' I said.
'As might that of a slave,' she said.
'Yes,' I said.
On her left ankle was an anklet, locked, on which was affixed a row of tiny slave bells. Her wrists wore bracelets, and two of these, sturdy bracelets, one on each wrist, were locked in place and equipped with snap rings, permitting them to be joined together.
I smiled.
How widely she had spread her knees before me.
'Slave girls did this to me,' she said. 'They made me up in this fashion. They garbed and adorned me!'
'I ordered you prepared,' I said.
'I see,' she said.
'You are extremely attractive,' I said.
'Thank you,' she whispered.
'They did an excellent job with you,' I said.
'Take me to an alcove!' she begged. 'Please take me to an alcove!'
'The free woman,' I inquired, 'begs to be taken to an alcove, in a paga tavern?'
'Yes!' she said.
I looked about the main room, carefully. I did not see any of the fellows who had been in the vicinity of the small camp earlier, those who had presumably followed me from the area of the temporary camp to the tavern.
'Yes!' she said.
I pointed to the paga goblet on the table. I had hardly touched it.
Quickly, with a tiny sound of bells, and the small sounds of the necklaces and bracelets, the girl reached for the paga goblet. Then, kneeling there before me, her knees widely, piteously, opened, clad in a bit of slave silk, she kissed and licked deferentially, humbly, at the goblet. Then, head down, her arms extended, she proffered it to me.
I took it from her and barely touched it to my lips. I did not wish, this night, to have my reflexes slowed.
