"I see," I said.
"It is a new experience for me, and one not to my liking, not to be desired."
"Oh?" I said.
"I had thought, when free," she said, "that if ever I fell slave, men would put me frequiently to their pleasure."
"That is common with slaves," I said. "It was a fair assumption."
"And that I must needs fear only that I might not sufficiently please them."
"To be sure," I said, "a natural fear with slaves."
"But not once," she said, "have I been put to the service of my masters."
"Surely you have frightened fleer from the maize, gardened and picked produce," I said.
"But not once," she said, angrily, "have they put me to their intimate service, forcing me to perform with the skills and talents of the female slave."
"It is perhaps just as well," I said. "You were a free woman, and you have not had much training. If you did not do well, you might be whipped severly, or perhaps slain."
"Oh," she said.
"Being a slave girl is very different from being a free woman," I said. "From a free woman a man expects little, or nothing. From a slave girl, on the other hand, he expects, as it is said, everything, and more."
"I understand," she said.
"A free woman may be valueless and, if she wishes, account this a virtue. A slave, on the other hand, must be superbly pleasing. She must see to it, with all her intelligence and beauty, that she is her master's attentive, sensitive, skillful treasure."
"I would like to be such a treasure to a man," she said.
I did not speak.
"May I call you 'Master'?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"Master," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"When I was free, I was regarded as being very beautiful. Indeed, it was said by some that I was as beautiful, even, as a slave."
"A high compliment," I acknowledged. I recalled the first time I had ever seen her, on her curule chair, on her high cart, in the column of the Kurii and mercenaries. She had worn the robes of concealment, but only a wisp of diaphanous silk, presumably by intent, had feigned to hide her features. I recalled, even then, wondering what she might look like in the shimmering dancing silks of an enslaved female or, say, stripped and collared, crawling at men's feet.
"Master," she said.
"Yes," I said.
How different, then, was that absurd pretense of a veil, that sweet diaphanous sheen of material, compared to the rude coarse sack which had now been tied over her head. How disgusting were the Waniyanpi.
"Surely I am no less beautiful now than I was then," she said.
"Perhaps," I granted her.
"And now I am a slave," she said.
"That is true," I said.
"Have me," she begged, suddenly. "Touch me. Caress me. Hold me. Take me!"
"But you are a Waniyanpi female," I said, "above sex. That has been decided by your masters."
"I am a slave," she said. "I need the touch of a man."
"But you have been rescued from sex," I said. "You have been accorded honor and dignity. You have been make identical to a certain form of male. That is supposed to be what you want. You are now, your nature betrayed and nullified, supposed to be happy and fulfilled."
"I am miserable," she wept.
"Interesting," I said.
"I am a woman," she said. "I need attention as a woman. Comfort me. Hold me. Be kind to me."
I did not speak.
"Whip me, beat me, if you wish," she said, "but pay attention to me as a woman. I am a woman. Let me, I beg you, be a woman."
"That is not permitted, as I understand it," I said, "to the Waniyanpi female."
"I have been put with the Waniyanpi," she said. "It was my punishment. But I am not one of them. Take pity on me. Have mercy on me. I am not truly a Waniyanpi female. I am a woman. I have the feelings of a woman. I want the sensations of a woman. I need the sensations of a woman. Have mercy on me, Master!"
"You do not now seem to be a proud agent of Kurii," I said.
"I am no longer an agent of Kurii," she said. "I am now only a female slave."
"And a pleading slave, it seems." I said.
"Yes," she said, "I am now only a pleading female slave."
I did not speak.
"I know, now," she said, "that I am not garbed attractively and that a sack has been put over my head but underneath these things I am a woman, with a woman's needs and desires. That cannot be concealed by all the lies and the corse, cruel cloth in the world. No shameful or pernicious raiment, no imposed masking of the features, no falsity of the tongue or mind can change what I am, a woman."
I did not speak.
"I strive to interest you," she said.
"It would not be good for me to accede to your request," I said. She must, after all, return to the compound of the Waniyanpi.
"You saw me stripped and in a yoke," she said, "tied to the axle of a wagon."
"Yes," I said.
"Am I not attractive?" she asked.
"You are," I said.
"And do you not find me attractive?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"Have me," she said.
"It would not be wise," I said. I did not think it would be good for her.
"I beg to be put to your service, Master," she said.
"And if you were," I asked, "what would you fear?"
"Only that I might not please you sufficiently," she said.
"The answer is suitable," I said.
"Touch me, have me," she begged.
I did not respond to her.
"You are still here, are you not?" she asked, frightened, kneeling, reaching out. "You have not left me?"
"No," I said. "I am here."
"I have chewed sip root," she said, plaintively. "We women from the compound, dragging the travois, were all made to do that, to protect us should we be taken and raped by our masters."
"I understand," I said.
"You have nothing to fear," she said.
"I understand," I said. It would be difficult to explain to her, I conjectured, that my concern in this matter was not for myself, but for her. The memory of a man's touch, of any man's touch, I thought, would be a cruel souvenir for her to carry back to the compound. I did not think that memory would make the bleakness and loneliness of the compound easier to bear. It is better, perhaps, for one who must live on porridge never to know the taste of meat and wine. If one must live with the Waniyanpi, perhaps it is best to be of the Waniyanpi. It is, at any rate, safer. Sanity can be perilous in a country of lunatics.
"Please," she begged. "Touch me, hold me, let me know that men still truly exist."
"You surely, as a former free woman," I said, "have known the touch of men, their arms."
"But only on my own terms," she said, "never as what I am now, a slave."
"I see," I said. To be sure, perhaps it is only the female slave, the woman at the total mercy of a master, who can know, truly, what it is to be in the arms of a man, what it is, truly, helplessly, to feel their touch.
"Please," she said.
"You must be returned to the Waniyanpi," I said.
"Have me," she begged. "I will serve you even as a slave."
"What did you say?" I demanded.
"I will serve you even as a slave," she whispered timidly.
I seized her, cruelly, by the upper arms. I shook her once, viciously. "Oh!" she cried, in misery.
"You are a slave," I told her. I then shook her again, and flung her, viciously, to the dirt.
"Yes, Master!" she said, in the hood. "Yes, Master!"
"You are no longer a proud free woman," I told her. "You are now a slave, and only a slave! If you are used, of course, you will be used as the mere beast, and slave, you are!"
"Yes, Master!" she whimpered.
I looked down at her, angrily. Arrogance, even inadvertent arrogance, in a slave is not accepted. She lay on her side, in the dirt, her head in the hood. The gray dress had come up now, high on her right thigh. Her leg was beautiful. I clenched my fists, that I might not subject the frightened, lovely imbounded beast to the treatment suitable to her condition.