"Kneel straight," I said.
She knelt then with her back straight, and looked up at us.
I stared down at her, at her knees, not speaking.
She put her head down, quickly, and spread her knees more widely. They made two small furrows in the dust, and there was now a ridge of dust on the outside of each knee. Did she not know how to kneel before men?
She looked up again, and then lowered her head again, spreading her knees even more widely.
She looked up again, frightened, anxiously, seeking my eyes. Then she shuddered, in relief. Her position now acceptable.
Her skin was burned from the sun. It was red and rough, peeling. In places it was cracked from the heat and mud.
I glanced to the two vessels, to the side, now filled with water, and the associated yoke, thrice drilled, with slender leather straps wrapped about it, at the center and near the ends. The wooden vessels would be heavy in themselves for such a small, lovely creature, let alone when weighted with a filling of liquid. She, too, following my eyes, regarded these things. "Your labors seem arduous," I said.
"It is as my master pleases," she said, looking up at me once more.
"And your day is long?" I said.
"As my master pleases," she said.
"You are a field slave," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"And that, too," I said, "is as your master pleases."
"Yes, Master," she said, "that, too, is as my master pleases."
"Your hair has been cropped, as is not unusual for a field slave," I said. "That it might be sold, Master," she said.
"But doubtless it will grow again," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"And it may then be again shorn," I said.
Tears sprang to her eyes.
"Verr are shorn," I said, "and so, too, is the bounding hurt."
"Of course, Master," she said.
"Do you object?" I asked.
She sobbed.
"Your head could have been shaved," I said.
She looked up at me. I gathered she had not thought about that.
"Are you not grateful your head was not shaved?" I asked.
"a€”Yes, Master," she said.
"Say it," I said.
"I am grateful that my head was not shaved," she said.
Whereas a girl's hair might be cropped, just as her head might be shaved, as a punishment, such a punishment would be quite unusual. After all, the master commonly delights in the long lovely hair of a slave. Indeed, in most cities, long hair is almost universal with slaves. There are many things that can be done with such hair. not only can it please the master by its beauty and feel, but it can serve to secure the slave, to gag her, and so on. The major reason for cropping the hair of field slaves, both male and female, and certain other forms of work slaves, it to protect them from parasites. For a similar reason the bodies of the women transported on slave ships are almost always shaved, completely. Even then it is common, shortly after debarkation, and this is required by the rules of many port authorities, to subject them to an immersion in slave dip.
"Whose fields are there?" I asked, looking about.
"The fields of my master, Appanius," she said.
"He is a rich man?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"And he has many girls," I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"He must have a great many girls," I said.
She looked up at me.
She had a common black, strap collar on her neck, no more, really, than a strip or plate of black iron. It was riveted shut, behind the back of her neck. I had noted this earlier, given the shortness of her hair, and her earlier position, facing away from us as she drew water. The legend would probably be a single one, not even containing the girl's name, probably something like "I am the property of Appanius."
"That a woman such as you is in the field," I said.
Tears coursed down her cheeks.
"Keep your knees spread," I warned her.
Swiftly she once more increased the angle between her knees.
She certainly did not seem to me a field slave. Rather she seemed to me the sort of woman one would have expected to find in a house, hurrying about barefoot on the tiles, one ankle perhaps belled, in a bit of silk, serving, a small, luscious woman, well curved, smooth-skinned, and soft, her body perfumed for the pleasure of men, the sort of woman one keeps in mind, the sort of woman who is difficult to forget, the sort whom one might wish to keep close by, perhaps keeping her at night at the foot of one's couch, on her chain."
"What is your name?" I asked.
"Lavinia," she said.
"That seems rather a fine name for a slave," I said, "particularly for a field slave."
"It was my name as a free woman," she said.
"Then it is a different name now," I said, "put on you as a slave name."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Stand, Lavinia, slave," I said, "and turn slowly about, and then resume your present position."
She obeyed.
"You have good legs," I said.
She did not speak. Her legs were a bit short, but excellent, rather like those of the girl we had seen earlier. Such legs are excellent for slave dance. "I suspect you were once a rich free woman," I said. That seemed to me likely. Surely only such would have been likely to have managed a tryst with the famous, handsome Milo. She did not know, of course, that I had witnessed her netting, and taking.
She looked up at me, puzzled. "Yes, Master," she said.
"But you are not rich now," I said.
"No, Master," she said, putting her head down. Now she would not own even the rag she wore, or her collar. Such things, as simple as they were, were, like herself, the property of her master.
"How came you to be a slave?" I asked.
She looked up, her eyes clouded. She bit her lip.
"Consider your reply carefully," I said.
"I was taken to the levies," she said.
"You have earned yourself discipline," I said.
"Please, no!" she cried. "Have pity on me! I am only a poor slave!"
"Do you think it is permissible for you to lie to a free man?" I asked.
"No, Master!" she said. She put down her head, her head in her hands, and sobbed.
"Your reticence is interesting," I said. "The matter is doubtless entered in your papers."
"Yes, Master," she sobbed.
"Speak, girl," I said.
"I was taken pursuant to the couching laws," she said.
"I see," I said. Any free woman who voluntarily couches with another's salve, or readies herself to do so, becomes the slave of the slave's master. By such an act, the couching with, or readying herself to couch with, a slave, as though she might be a girl of the slave's master, thrown to the slave, she shows herself as no more than a slave, and in this act, in law, becomes a slave. Who then should own her, this new slave? Why, of course, he to whom the law consigns her, the master of the slave with whom she has couched, or was preparing to couch.
"With what slave," asked I, "did you couch?"
"I was only preparing to couch!" she said.
"But that is sufficient." I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
It seemed then that the rich beauty had received very little of Milo, scarcely the least of his favors. Perhaps, however, for what it might have been worth, she might have managed to receive a woeful glance or two, or a kissing of her gloved fingers. It is hard to say. How proud she might have been that she, of all women, as far as she knew, had managed to attract the marvelous Milo! Then, when she had kept the tryst, entering into the assignation, and had stripped herself and knelt on the couch, eager, waiting, amorous, careless and adventurous, the net had fallen upon her. Shortly thereafter he neck was in the collar. She was, it seems, to have been denied the caresses of Milo. The slave's master, and then hers, as well, Appanius, had decided it. It would be the coils of the slave net which would tighten upon her body, not the arms of the handsome bondsman. Perhaps this seemed fitting to Appanius, that the new slave, prior to her public imbonding, should be so served. Perhaps he found it amusing. Or perhaps he was jealous of his slave, and wished to reserve his caresses for himself. Or it could have been all three. One did not know.