The wind changed.
The rain became heavier.
The glass of the Builders was on its strap, across my chest. As most of the lookouts, I had fastened a safety rope about my waist. One can lose one’s footing, particularly in heavy weather, or when the platform is iced, and slip between the platform and the ring, which is waist high.
I felt the first rattle of hail.
We had had two hail storms of great severity when farther north, storms such as those which, in the Barrens, north and east of the Voltai, sometimes decimate flocks of migrating birds, striking them from the sky, flocks which, obedient to their hereditary imperatives, refuse to land and seek shelter. Sails had been quickly reefed, lest, by a rare, larger stone, they might be cut. Hundreds of tiny impressions marked the deck. In places a larger stone had splintered a plank, or gouged a railing. Some stones were the size of a man’s fist. All hands had soon been ordered below deck. The tarns had been much agitated by the pounding on the deck above them. There was little to fear now, however, as storms of that severity seldom, if ever, occur at this latitude. Still I backed against the mast, and drew the hood of my cloak over my head.
The hail picked up a little.
It was not a serious hail, but it would keep the deck largely untenanted.
I now suspect that had much to do with what occurred.
I looked back, below, to see the slave, punishment-bound, at the second mast. Her feet were bare, as is common with a slave in good weather. Free women feel that a slave, as she is an animal, should not be shod, no more than a verr or kaiila, but such things are, of course, up to the master. Some slaves, high slaves, may have sandals, even slippers, set with precious stones, but a free woman is likely to order them to remove such presumptuous footwear in their presence, and sometimes to bring them to them, dangling from their mouths, humbly, head down, on all fours, rather as a pet sleen or slave might bring footwear to her master. Little love is lost between the free woman and the slave. Interestingly, the female slave is honored to bring footwear in her teeth, head down, humbly, on all fours, to her master, as the animal she knows herself to be. “I am yours, your beast, Master. May I be found pleasing.” She is then likely to kiss his feet, place them carefully within the sandals, and tie them for him, following which she is likely to again kiss his feet, back a bit away, and then kneel before him, head down. She is his slave. He is her master. It is quite different, of course, before another woman. What right has one woman, only herself a woman, to so shame, crush, and mortify another woman? This is not the natural relationship of a woman to a man, but a cruelly humiliating, unjustified, unnatural travesty of a biologically ordained rightness. Are they not both females, both fittingly the possessions of men, merely that one is collared and one not? Why does the free woman so hate the slave? Does she envy the trembling slave that lovely band fastened about her throat, proclaiming her beauty and desirability? Does she envy her her happiness, her contentment, her fulfillment, her master? “Would you be so different from me, proud mistress,” might wonder the slave, “were you tunicked, as I, and your neck encircled, as mine, in a similar claiming device?”
The deck was wet, and cold.
Below, her hair was dark, and long, and, now wet, was much about her face. Sometimes she had lifted her head, her face white and rain-streaked, to look up at me, but I had paid her little attention, and she would soon put her head down, again. Her figure, always of interest, had been improved, I thought, since the beginning of the voyage. This had to do with the regimes of diet and exercise imposed upon her. One may do much what one wants with animals, to improve them. As her vitality and health improved she, well-collared, now a mere pleasure animal, like her sisters, would twist ever more helplessly in her bonds. Slavery much increases the sexual appetites and needs of a female, until they can become almost unbearable.
I looked about, though with the clouds, the darkness, the rain, the spattering of hail, there was not much to see.
The deck was now muchly deserted, given the darkness and weather, save for the helmsman, the stem-castle watch, the slave, and two men maintaining the deck watch. The first deck watch had been relieved; the second was now on duty. I would later learn its nature.
I had come to enjoy, and look forward, to the high watches. Solitude on a ship is rare, and the high watch afforded one of the few opportunities on a ship, say, a round ship, and certainly on the ship of Tersites, to be alone. And, when one is alone, one thinks. It was clear to me that Seremides, serving in the retinue of Lord Okimoto, as a bodyguard, viewed me as a threat, as I could recognize him from Ar. Some of those closest to him, and, I feared, in desperate league with him, such as Tyrtaios, in the service of Lord Nishida, might know him only as a master swordsman, Rutilius of Ar. I did not know. I would later learn of five originally suspect men, not of the Pani, armsmen, originally with Lord Nishida, of which number Tyrtaios was but one, the others being Quintus, Telarion, Fabius, and Lykourgos. Two, however, Quintus and Lykourgos, had somehow perished in the great forest, during the march from Tarncamp to the Alexandra. I had no reason to believe, however, that this had anything to do with Seremides. Certainly I had heard of no altercations with him. I knew little or nothing of Telarion and Fabius. I felt I knew much of Tyrtaios.
Every once in a while I glanced back, and down, at the bound slave. Her name was Alcinoe. Originally, she had been from Ar. She still had something to learn about her collar. That was why she was bound as she was. Sometimes it takes a little time for a woman to realize that she is now only a slave. But in time they understand this quite well, at a man’s feet.
I was careful not to be alone with Seremides, and refrained from entering into converse with him, even when he seemed the most congenial. I had seen in Ar, more than once, how the most seemingly innocent discourse could be suddenly, cleverly, twisted into a provocative quarrel, and an exchange of insults, leading to swords, commonly in a park or in the Plaza of Tarns, at dawn, when few were about. One advantage of the high watches, as opposed to deck watches, corridor duty, stores guarding, work in the sail room, and such, is that it is difficult to be approached. Indeed, I had been suggested to Aetius for the high watches by the tarnsman, Tarl Cabot. Interestingly, beyond this, he had often kept me near him, as though I might be a guardsman. In such times, of course, I was armed. In any event, I suspected that the fact that I was still alive might be due in no small part to the tarnsman, Tarl Cabot. His sword, it seemed, stood between Seremides and Callias. But, too, I thought, and shivered, perhaps more was involved, more than I had suspected? Might it not be I, Callias, who would serve to lure Seremides in? Clearly there was bad blood between the tarnsman and Seremides. Might there not be then some trap I did not understand, in which I might be the bait?
How astonished I had been when it had become clear to me that the tarnsman, Tarl Cabot, did not fear Seremides, but, on the contrary, appeared ready to welcome an opportunity to match steel with him, and how more astonished I had been to note that Seremides was clearly reluctant to accept such a match. What sort of man might be the tarnsman, Tarl Cabot? But even the finest steel is of little avail against poison, against an Anango dart at the base of the skull, against a knife in the back.
I looked down, and back, again.
It is pleasant to look upon a slave, particularly a beautiful, well-formed slave. I wondered how she might perform on the block. They are encouraged to do well. It is not pleasant to be returned to the cage, unsold.