"You will relate to him differently than you ever have before," I said. "Utterly differently. You will now be to him a true and perfect slave girl. You will be docile, dutiful and hardworking. You will serve, and be eager to serve, in all things. You will present yourself before him as a female slave, and crawl to him, the whip in your teeth. Surely he will understand this. You will petition to serve his pleasure, you will beg to squirm for him, and as the insignificant and meaningless slut, a mere slave, you now are."
She looked at me, clutching the remains of her tunic before her.
"I shall do as you say, Master," she said.
"And you may discover he is not the weakling you think," I said. "And you may find he will take the whip from your teeth and perhaps stand over you and howl with pleasure, sensing the joy of the mastery. You may even be struck with it, as he takes control of you, for the first time. Yes, you may even be put under the lash, that he punish you for what you have denied him before, and that he confirm upon you, and you be instructed in, and fully, the new relationship in which you stand to him."
"But what if he is weak?" she begged.
"Continue to serve him, in the fullness of your slavery, begging him for the least of his kisses, the most casual of his caresses."
"Yes, Master," she said, tears in her eyes.
"Even such small attentions, as you will discover, now that you have become sensitized to your slavery, will be precious to you."
"Yes, Master," she said.
I did not doubt but what she would soon be feeling the fullness of her needs, now that they were in the process of being liberated. In the pens it is not unusual for girls to bleed at the fingernails, from scratching at the walls of their kennels, or to bruise their lovely bodies against the bars of their cages, trying to reach out to a guard, it only to touch his sleeve. Sometimes a girl is deprived of attention for two or three days before her sale, that she will show well on the block, her body, and person, and aspect a helpless, piteous plea of need.
"If he continues to be inert," I said, "if he cannot be awakened or aroused, or fears to be, or does not wish to be perhaps because of hostility toward you, or toward women, generally, he will presumably grow uneasy with you in the house and give you away, or sell you. Perhaps he will even trade you for a less needful woman, or one more in accord with his needs, whatever they might be."
"But what if he is stupid?" she asked.
"Beg him then to sell you, or give you away," I said, "that you may, if only in being sold off the block, come into the collar of another, one capable of satisfying what you are, a slave."
"But what if he will not sell me, or give me away?" she said. "What if he insists on keeping me, as he is, and as I now am? What if he will keep me only according to his own rules, and lights, and keep me from myself, denying me to myself, frustrating my deepest and most profound need, as I am? "Then," said I, angrily, "that is how it will be, for it is you who wear the collar. He is the master. You are the slave."
"Yes, Master," she sobbed.
"But do not fear," I said. "I am certain, sooner or later, you will come into the possession of one who will not only accept your slavery, in its beauty, in its tenderness and needfulness, in its honesty and truth, but will celebrate it and relish it, and for whom you will be a treasure, an incredible and marvelous treasure, to be sure, one to be kept under the closest of disciplines."
"Yes, Master," she said, smiling through her tears.
"Rise up now, slave girl," I said, "and hurry to your master!"
"Yes, Master!" she said.
Clutching her tunic about her as best she could, she then rose up and hurried from the place of the public boards.
"I think she will make an excellent slave," said a man.
"Yes," said another.
I myself, too, thought that that was true. It is a beautiful moment when a woman come to learn, and love, what she is, when she comes to understand herself, and has the courage to accept this understanding, when in joy the ice breaks in the rivers, when the glaciers melt, the spring comes, when she loves and kneels. "It is a good thing you did here," said a man.
"For the girl?" I asked.
"She is only a slave," he said. "I mean for the men here."
"Oh," I said.
"You had an opportunity here to strike a blow for Cos, to humiliate the men of Ar, to further reduce and degrade them, to force them to submit even to the insolence and arrogance of slaves, to further subdue and crush them, to remind them of their sorry lot, their political and military weakness, of the loss of their goods, their city and pride, to injure them, to strike yet another blow at their staggering manhood, yet you did not do so. Rather you encouraged it, you permitted it to grow, if only a little. Word of this will be in all the taverns by nightfall!"
"Cos will not be pleased," warned a man.
"It is dangerous in these times to remind men of their past glories."
"What if we should be tempted to reclaim them?" asked another.
"Surely you understand how dangerous is the thing you do?" said another. "How is it that you are in the fee of Cos?" asked another, indicating the armbands of Marcus and myself.
"Men may be in the fee of Cos," I said.
"True," said a fellow.
"Surely you are of Ar," said a man.
"No," I said. "I am of Port Kar."
"It is a lair of pirates," said a fellow, "a den of cutthroats."
"There is now a Home Stone in Port Kar," I said.
"That is more than there is in Ar," said a man.
"If you are of Port Kar," said a man, "I say "Glory to Port Kar!»
"Glory to Port Kar!" whispered another.
"Your fellow is surely of Ar," said another.
"No, his fellow is not," said Marcus, angrily. "I am of Ar's Station! Glory to Ar's Station!"
"The city of traitors?" asked a man.
Marcus' hand flew to the hilt of his sword, but I placed my hand quickly over his.
"Ar's Station is no city of traitors!" said he. "Rather by those of Ar she was betrayed!"
"Enough of this," I said.
"If you are of Ar's Station," said the fellow who had spoken before, "I say, "Glory, too, to Ar's Station!»
Marcus relaxed. I removed my hand from his.
"Glory to Port Kar, and Ar's Station!" said a man.
"Yes!" said another.
"Glory, too, to Ar," I said.
"Yes!" whispered men, looking about themselves. "Glory to Ar!"
I heard the ripping down of a sheet from the public boards and saw a young fellow casting it aside. Then, with a knife, he scratched a delka, deeply, into the wood. He turned to face us and brandished the knife. "Glory to Ar!" he cried.
"Gently, lad," I said.
Who knew who might hear?
Spies could be anywhere.
"I would cry out!" he said.
"The knife is no less a knife," I said, "because it makes no sound."
"Glory to Ar!" grumbled the lad, and sheathed the knife, and stalked away. We regarded the delka.
"Glory to Ar!" whispered men. "Glory to Ar!"
I was pleased to see that not all the youth of Ar were in the keeping of Cos, that in the hearts of some at least there yet burned the fire called patriotism. Too, I recalled some would take the oath of citizenship only facing their Home Stone, now in far-off Cos. Others, in the streets and alleys, I speculated, could teach their elders courage.