"I have been cramped in for so long," she said.

"This cell is large," I said.

"I feel dirty," she said.

I shrugged.

"Look at me!" she said.

I regarded her.

"I'm filthy," she said.

"Yes," I admitted.

Her clothing, perhaps the very garments in which she had been originally captured, had, in her continual wearing of it, in her sleeping in it, in its contact with the floors of cages and cells, and such, become much soiled. It was thickly begrimed with weeks of wear and filth. Too, it was wrinkled, and faded, and torn.

She was, in these things, a sorry sight.

How different was her appearance now, I thought, from what it must have been when she had long ago entered the fateful shop in Besnit.

"I must smell," she said.

"I am a slave," I said. "It would not be wise for me to notice."

"I must smell," she said.

"Yes, you do," I admitted.

She looked down, miserable.

"Do not be afraid," I said. "It is not as though you were a slave. You are a free woman. It is not as though you must, under discipline, groom yourself, attend to your appearance, keep your body clean, such things. Have no fear. Your neglect o~ such things, as you are a free woman, will not be punished."

"Perhaps," she said, softly, to herself, "I would that I were such that I might be punished for the neglect of such things."

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing!" she said. She shrank back, putting her finger tips to her lips, as though she might have chided them for what they, sweet, unwary guards, had permitted to pa.s.s their portal.

I stood there for a moment. I thought she might have wished to speak further. But she said nothing.

I then turned about, and went to the door of the cell.

"Janice!" she called.

I turned about again, and once more faced her.

"May I call you 'Janice'?"

"It is my name," I said.

"This morning," she said, falteringly, "you licked-and kissed-the feet of a man."

"Yes," I said.

"I have never licked and kissed the feet of a man," she said.

"You are a free woman," I said.

She regarded me.

"It is a not uncommon act for a slave," I said.

"It is surely very symbolic," she said.

"There are many symbolisms involved," I said. "It is not merely that it is a way in which a given woman makes clear her relation to a given man, that she is his slave, that he is her master. It is far more than this.

It is, for example, a way in which our femininity avails itself of an opportunity to express, in the particular act with a particular master, something far broader and more profound, its deference toward, and its submission to, the very principle of masculinity.

In this way its significance extends far beyond a particular couple. It has to do with men and women, and masculinity and femininity, and the order of nature itself."

I saw her tremble. I did not understand her agitation.

"Janice!" she cried.

But she did not speak.

"Janice," she then whispered.

"Yes," I said.

I saw that this would not be what she might first have thought to say.

To be sure, it would perhaps be related.

"I fear a guard is coming!" I suddenly exclaimed. "Quickly, hide your face!"

She looked at me.

"Quickly, quickly!" I said.

Hurriedly she m.u.f.fled her features in the veil, holding it in place with both small hands.

"No!" I said, suddenly. "He has gone another way! But I fear I must get back, quickly. I must return the key to the pit master."

She lowered her hands, and the veil.

"You were slow to veil yourself," I said. "He might have seen."

"Perhaps I should have let him see," she said.

"Do not be shameless!" I said.

"You are not veiled," she said.

"Nor should I be," I said. "I am naught but a slave."

"Do not go yet!" she begged.

"Stay on your knees," I said.

She remained on her knees.

"Janice!" she called.

"Yes?" I said.

"I would be exercised!" she said.

"It is difficult to exercise in the robes of concealment," I said.

"Perhaps something else might be devised," she said.

"Perhaps," I said.

"You must wash somewhere," she said.

"There is a cistern," I said.

"Might I not, too, be permitted to wash there."

"Slaves wash there," I said. "Animals."

"I do not mind!" she said.

"Perhaps I could take you there when it is not being used," I said. "I would have to speak to the pit master."

"Please, please do!" she begged.

"Very well," I said.

"Janice!"

"Yes?"

"I want to be your friend!"

"There can be no friendship between us," I said. "You are free. I am a slave."

"I am not so different from you!" she said.

"I am far from free!" I laughed.

"That is not what I meant," she whispered.

I pondered this, but did not understand it.

She was a free woman.

I closed the door, and locked it, and put the key back about my neck.

"You may rise," I told her. The door was now securely locked. The lock was heavy, the bars were thick. She was well held within the cell.

I looked at her. She had remained on her knees.

Somewhat to my surprise the pit master had been agreeable to the free woman's desire to bathe, and he permitted me, the next day, when the cistern was free, to take her there. How joyously she bathed!

"Do you think now that I am beautiful enough to be a slave?" she had asked me later, happily, kneeling beside the cistern, throwing her washed hair behind her.

"Yes," I had told her. "I think you would look well in a collar."

She had laughed delightedly.

I eyed her pile of garments. How filthy they were!

"I shall launder these for you," I said.

"No!" she said. "I shall clean them!"

"You are a free woman," I said. "Free women, or at least such as you, do not attend to such matters."

"Please," she said. "I want to!"

"You want to work?" I said.

"Yes," she said. "Work me! Work me-as a slave!"

I regarded her, startled.

"You have been taught how to work, have you not?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. In my training I had been taught the performance of numerous servile tasks. I had, for example, by female slaves, been instructed in sewing, laundering, cleaning, cooking, the polishing of metal, and the grooming of leather. When one buys a woman, even a pleasure slave, one expects, as a foregone conclusion, that she will know how to do such things. Yes, even a pleasure slave, who might, in her more familiar modalities, drive a master mad with pa.s.sion, may be expected, either out of his sight, or under his supervision, if he pleases, to make bread and repair a rent garment, such things.

"Show me how to launder," she begged, "-as a slave!"

"It is doubtless the same way in which free women of low caste launder," I said.

"Show me," she begged.