"And you strove to take your own life, which is not acceptable in a slave. She may not do that. She does not own herself. It is, rather, she who is owned."

"Yes, Master," I said.

"To be certain," he said, "I am not unmindful of extenuating circ.u.mstances in both these cases, that in each case it was the welfare of your master which motivated you."

"It was, Master!" I said. "I beg forgiveness, if I have been displeasing!"

"And what is to be done when the slave has not been fully pleasing?" he asked.

"It is up to the master," I said. "He may take action or not, as he sees fit."

I heard the coils of the whip shaken out.

I tensed.

"You will receive three blows, only," he said.

That I thought was light, indeed. The beating was then, I realized, more symbolic than anything. It was little more than a way in which he chose to inform me that he did not expect me to be disobedient, or even displeasing, in any way, a way in which I would be apprised of the consequences which might attend such failures on my part.

The whip cracked and I cried out in alarm. But it had not touched me.

"The first blow," he said, "will be for disobedience, the second will be for your attempt to take your own life."

The sound of the whip's report still terrified me. I realized that, next, it would fall upon me. The blow fell upon me, and I thought it light, not that it did not hurt, you understand. My back stung. Tears came to my eyes.

But I was not displeased that I had refused to strike him, I would have refused again. The blow was little more than a formality. Still I had been whipped. I cried out in misery, feeling the second blow.

It was not light. He apparently was quite clear about informing me of his displeasure that I had tried to turn the dagger against myself, even if it had been only my intent to relieve him of his dilemma, to resolve, at a stroke, so to speak, the fearful predicament in which he found himself, to protect him, to save his life, by recourse to the obvious, simple expedient of sacrificing mine.

"Master!" I whimpered, in protest.

"Be silent!" he said.

Tears fell to the stones. I did not wish to feel another blow like that. Now I was truly whipped.

"Prepare for the third blow," he said.

"Master," I cried, "may I speak?"

"Yes," he said.

"For what is the third blow?" I asked.

"What?" he asked.

"Why am I to be given a third blow?" I asked. "What is its purpose?"

"You are to be given a third blow," he said, "because I choose to give you one, and because you are a slave, and that it may serve to remind you of what you are, my little charmer, that you are a slave." "Yes, Master," I whispered.I lay then on my stomach, my head to the side, tears bursting from my eyes, my fingers scratching at the stones.

I tried to understand what I felt. I almost lost consciousness. My back seemed unbelievably afire. The leather had struck like lightning on my back, how it had fallen upon me! How it had lashed down!

I lay there then, a slave who had felt the lash. I sensed that the blow, in its way, had been sparing. But it had been sharp, and it was not one I was likely to soon forget.

I heard the whip replaced on the table. "We must leave soon," he said.

I scarcely heard him. How frightened I was, and how miserable, whipped.

I realized now that no matter how much he might love me that I was still his slave, and that he would not be lenient with me. How quickly I would kneel, how quickly I would leap to serve, how desperately, how fervently, I would try to please! I loved him, but, too, I knew him now as my genuine master, one who would not hesitate an instant to correct my behavior, to subject me to discipline, if I should fail to be pleasing.

"Up, my little charmer," he said. "We must be on our way." I rose to my knees swiftly, and turned about, looking up at him. He smiled, seeing that I would obey with alacrity.He had donned his tunic. I had not so much as a slave strip. "They will be searching for you," he said. "What was your name in the gardens?""'Gail'," I said. "They will then be searching, I wager, either for a slave named 'Janice', once serving in Treve, or a slave named 'Gail', from the gardens of Appanius. What is your name?""Whatever master pleases," I said,"A most judicious response," he said.

My back hurt. I wondered what he would name me, or if he would concern himself to name me. I supposed he would name me. It is convenient for a girl to have a name, by which she can be commanded, and summoned, and such. If henamed me, that was then who I would be.

I looked to the two cloaks, the one he had worn, the other which had been put about me after I had been removed from the slave box, and set before him, on my knees. It was his own cloak which he had earlier put about me, almost tenderly, perhaps to shelter me from the dampness of the bas.e.m.e.nt. The other cloak, that which had been put about my shoulders by he who was the first of the two captors, lay to the side.

"Should I don this cloak, Master?" I asked. I did not think he would march me in the streets naked.

Without wishing to sound vain, I thought, genuinely, I might attract attention.

Constanzia and I had attracted attention in Treve, even in common tunics. I did not doubt but what the Lady Ilene, who was now quite likely to be a slave, would have as well.

I had referred to the cloak which lay to the side, the smaller of the two cloaks, that which was not his, that which had earlier been put about me by the first of the two captors. It was a woman's cloak. He shook his head.It would remain here then. Perhaps it might be recognized, if only by the captors.

I touched his own cloak. I felt it lovingly. How warm it would be. I looked up at him. I would love to have it wrapped about me, I naked within it. It would be almost as though I were within his bonds.

I lifted the cloak a little, I did not dare, of course, to put it about me. When a slave is naked before her master, she does not simply cover her body. She must receive permission to cover herself from the master, even if it is by so little as a word or a glance.

I looked up at him.

"You are well trained," he said.

"I had excellent trainers," I said.

"Stand," he said. I stood instantly.

He indicated that I should turn about, and I did so. Slave bracelets were snapped about my wrists. He then turned me about, again, so, that I faced him, my wrists pinioned behind me.

He surveyed me, his slave.

"You are incredibly beautiful," he said.

"I am pleased if master is pleased," I said.

"We shall ascend the stairs," he said. "We shall go forth to the world, together."

He then kissed me, and then put his cloak over me, over my head, blanketlike. The cloak, as he had thrown it over me, would come high on my thighs. It would be as though I might be a new purchase, naked from a sales barn, being fetched back to a domicile, the master's cloak, for want of something better, cast over me.

I stood there. I then felt the cloak being gathered about my throat, and, in a moment, I felt a collar being put about my neck, over the cloak. The collar was snapped shut. This fixed the cloak in position.

It served then as. in effect, a slave hood. I then felt a leash clip snapped about what must be a collar ring.

"You are now hooded, and braceleted and leashed, my beauty," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said, happily.

"As is suitable for you, a slave," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said, happily.

"There is no escape for you."

"Nor do I wish one," I said.

"It is night outside now," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"We shall go forth together," he said.

He then lifted me in his arms and carried me up the stairs. He stopped at the top of the landing and set me down, steadying me with one arm while he raised the trap. He then carried me upward again, through it, and closed it behind him. In a few moments, after ascending another flight of stairs, and moving through a large room, we were outdoors, on the street.

"It begins," he said. "Are you ready, my love?"

"Yes, my love, my master," I said.

I then, hooded within the cloak, braceleted, leashed, followed him through the streets.

About this t.i.tle

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