It was the second day of the Eleventh Passage Hand.
“Hold, slave!” I snapped.
There was no confusing of men with women.
Even within the bundling of the furs heaped upon them their bodies could not be concealed, the figure, the slightness, and movements, no more than those of free women could be entirely concealed within the layers of their fanciful, absurd robes. What male does not sense the vulnerable, inviting nakedness of a slave within a woman’s assorted garmentures, no matter how contrived and pretentious?
And do not even free women sense that men see them thusly, see them exposed beneath their robes, see them as they would be without them, as they might be, say, were they commanded to put them aside, or as they might be, say, were they torn away? When they sense themselves under the scrutiny of men, do they not turn nicely, and stand well, and pose, and display themselves as the goods they know themselves to be? Surely they are aware, in some way, that they are slaves, and belong to men. What do they need then, but the chain, the block, the auctioneer’s cry?
She turned about, frightened, the vessel of steaming black wine, wrapped in its thick cloths, from the wool of the bounding hurt, held in two hands.
Yes, it was she, at last!
What could be special about her, only a slave?
Doubtless only the gold she might bring, were I to cast her to her knees, shackled and naked, before Marlenus of Ar.
“You,” she might have said, but it was only her lips that formed the word.
I was annoyed. I pointed to the deck, sternly.
Did she not know she was in the presence of a free man?
Swiftly she fell to her knees, and put her head down.
“First obeisance position,” I said.
She put the black wine to the side on the deck, and put her head to the boards, before me, her hands beside the sides of her head.
I let her remain in that attitude for a time, for better than an Ehn, that she might well understand herself in first obeisance position before a man, and then I knelt before her and pulled her head up, and brushed back the hood of her furs.
“Yes, it is you,” I observed.
“Yes!”
She was even more beautiful than I had remembered.
I thrust her head back, so that she was looking up, and felt about her throat, under the fur.
She was nicely collared.
“A ship’s collar?” I asked.
“Yes!” she whispered.
“Yes?” I said.
“Yes, Master!” she said.
I was pleased she had not yet been claimed or assigned.
Might she not have been uneasy, could she have sensed my pleasure, my satisfaction, in having made this determination?
To be sure, almost all the slaves on board wore the ship’s collar, were ship slaves.
“You are still Alcinoe?” I asked.
“That is what they call me,” she said.
“Then that is your name,” I said.
“Yes, Master.”
“What is your name?” I asked.
“Alcinoe,” she said, “-Master.”
“Do not forget it,” I said.
“No, Master,” she said.
I moved about her a bit, and, with my two hands, felt beneath the furring wrapped about her left ankle.
A metal band had been hammered shut there, and, now flat against the band, in its welded staple, was a smaller ring, to which a chain might be attached, or through which a chain might be run, one by means of which several girls might be secured.
In the keeping areas the girls were commonly kept chained.
“I have not seen you about,” I said.
“It is hard to exceed the length of our chain,” she said.
I twisted my hand in her hair, held her, and cuffed her twice, sharply.
She looked at me, my hand tight in her hair, startled, disbelievingly. Tears sprang to her eyes. Her lip trembled. Did she truly think she might play with a free man? Did she truly think she might speak as a free woman? Did she not know she was a slave? Did she truly think that I, or any free man, would not put her to discipline?
Let her learn differently.
Sometimes a master will allow his girl a bit of slack on her leash, so to speak, which is sometimes pleasant, but that only makes it all the more sweeter to bring her again to her knees before him, his slave.
“It is appropriate that you be chained, is it not?” I asked.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I am a slave, Master,” she said.
I stood up, before her, and regarded her.
“Keep your back straight,” I said.
She straightened her back, and looked straight ahead.
“I have not seen you since the cell,” I said.
“Nor I you,” she said.
“It is my understanding that you claimed I had put you to use,” I said.