"You cannot read the numbers on my body, truly, can you?" she asked.

"No," I said. "I am sorry."

"What kind of slave do you think I will be?" she asked.

"That is easy to see," I said.

"What?" she asked.

"You have beautiful hair," I said. "And your body and face, too, are very beautiful."

"Do you think they will see me as a pleasure slave?" she asked.

"Certainly," I said.

"That is the sort of slave I wish to be," she said.

"Have no fear," I said. "It is in that category that you will ascend the block."

"But I want to belong to he who captured me," she said.

"It is not yours to say to whom you will belong," I said.

She regarded me, in misery.

"Anything could be done to you," I said. "You could be taken anywhere.

You could be sold to anyone."

"No!" she said.

"Yes," I said.

"I thought he liked me!" she said.

"That is quite likely," I said, "as he had you serve him in the camp."

"What did I do wrong?" she said.

"It seems," I said, "from what you have said, that you were unpleasant, or insolent. Perhaps you showed him a side of your personality which he did not care for."

She looked at me.

"To be sure," I said, "such things can be whipped out of a slave."

She moaned.

"He may not have wanted to spend the time and effort on you, to reform you," I speculated.

"There are, after all, many slaves."

"I can change," she said. "I want to change!"

I regarded her.

"It was not truly I who spoke," she said. "It was not the slave."

"I understand," I said.

"But why would he not want me?" she asked. "Do I not have lovely hair, am I not beautiful?"

"Such things are mere externals," I said. "They are easily come by, in any market."

"I do not understand," she said.

"You have a very superficial notion of what it is that men are buying in a slave."

"I do not understand," she said.

"And what of your personality, your character, your disposition?" I asked.

"I do not understand," she said.

"Do you think men are idiots?" I asked. "Do you think they are satisfied with mere externals?"

"I do not know," she said.

"No," I said. "They own whole slaves."

"Do they not regard us as mere things, as mere objects?" she asked.

"Do you think they would be satisfied for a moment with something that looked like a woman, and moved and talked like a woman, but had no insides, had no feelings, no consciousness?"

"No," she said.

"If they did regard women as mere objects," I said, "it would make no difference to them whether they were dealing with such a simulacrum or a woman. But that is absurd."

"Yes," she said.

"I must go," I said.

"Will I ever see him again?" she begged.

"I do not know," I said.

"What can I do?" she asked.

"There is little you can do," I said. "The shackles and chain are upon you."

I rose. I could see the dock workers preparing to move out the lines of captives.

"What is it like to be a slave?" she cried.

"Much depends on the master," I said.

"I know who I want to belong to!" she wept.

"But who will buy you?" I asked.

She put back her head in misery, the chains moving on the collar.

"Present yourself well on the block," I said. "In that way you should bring a higher price, and thus obtain a more affluent master."

She moaned.

I looked about on the stones, for the two apricots. I seized them up. I split one and pitted it. I slipped the pit into the hem of my tunic. I would dispose of it later in an appropriate receptacle.

One does not just cast such things about in such a place, particularly if one is a slave. The men of this world tend to be particular about their cities. In them, it seems, there are Home Stones.

"Here!" I said. I placed the pitted fruit on the stones before her. She looked down at it. "Take it,"

I said. "It has been pitted. You need not fear the disposal of the seed. In time, you will learn to beg your own."

She looked up at me.

"It is nothing," I said.

"Thank you." she said.

"I wish you well, slave girl," I said.

"I wish you well, Mistress," she said.

"Hurry," I said.

I backed away. I saw her put down her head and bite at the fruit.

"Hurry," I whispered.

I heard a whip crack, several yards away. I jerked back, wincing, frightened. It is a very frightening sound. It is particularly frightening when one understands something of what the whip can do to one.

The first line of captives was now on its feet.

I saw the free woman with whom I had entertained converse lift her head.

Again the whip cracked.

The second line of captives was now on its feet.

"Your first step will be taken with the left foot," they were informed by a worker. "You will keep your eyes fixed forward. You will not look to the right or to the left."

At the whip's suggestion the third, and then the fourth, and then the fifth, and then the sixth, rose to its feet.

I hurried away.

The whip cracked again, and the seventh line rose. The free woman was in that line.

"Your first step is taken with the left foot," I heard. "You will keep your eyes fixed forward.

You will not look to the right or to the left."

I thought it would be more merciful if they hooded the women.

Again and again the whip cracked, as line after line of the captives, with a rattle of chains and shackles, rose to its feet.

I moved back by the doors of the warehouses.

Now all the lines were on their feet.

Workers with whips coursed the lines, snarling, adjusting posture, lifting chins with whips.

Whips cracked, and more than one lash was laid upon a startled beauty who then strove zealously, instantaneously, to be found acceptable. In more than one case the very lash which had struck a captive was pressed to her lips that she must fervently kiss it in grat.i.tude.

"Straighten your bodies!" "Suck in your guts!" "Put your shoulders back!" "More!" "Lift your chins!"

"Higher!"

The lines were inspected.

They now stood well.

The captives must be beautiful. They must not dishonor the city in which they had the honor to be chained.

There was the barking of orders.

Again the whip cracked.

The lines then began to leave the docking area, in order, beginning with the line farthest to my right.

I picked out the free woman from the lines. She did not look back. She, like the others, kept her eyes fixed forward-absolutely. Woe betide the captive who might glance as little as an iota to the left or right.

How much more merciful, I thought, if they would just hood the women.

It is hard to be blindfolded by, gagged by, or bound by, the "Master's will." In being "blindfolded by the Master's will" one must keep one's eyes closed. I had, just shortly before, been so "blindfolded."

In being "gagged by the Master's will," one may not speak, even to request permission to speak.

In being "bound by the Master's will," one must keep one's limbs in the prescribed position, as though they were actually so bound, or so metal-clasped, or chained.