The men cried out, summoning him to their table.
It had been on one side, a land side, of that last remaining fortress of Henrius Sevarius, that Lysias, Henrak, and others had emerged from a postern, carrying the heavy sack which they had hurled inot the canal, that sack from which I had saved the boy.
Fish put down the whole roasted tarsk before the men. He was sweating. He wore a single, simple rep-cloth tunic. I had had a plate collar hammered about his neck. I had had him branded.
The men ordered him away again, that he might fetch yet another roasted tarsk from the spit which he had been turning slowly over the coal fires during the afternoon. He sped away.
He had not been an easy slave to break to his collar. The kitch master had had to beat him often.
One day, after he had been three weeks slave in my house, the door to my audience chamber had suddenly burst open, and he had stumbled in, breathless, the kitchen master but two steps behind him, with a heavy switch.
"Forgive me!" cried the kitchen master.
"Captain!" demanded the boy.
The kitchen master, in fury, grabbed him by the hair and raised his arm to thrash him.
I gestrued that he not do so.
The kitchen master stepped back, angry.
"What do you want?" I had asked the boy.
"To see you, Captain," said he.
"Master!" corrected the kitchen master.
"Captain!" cried the boy.
"Normally," I said to the boy, "a kitche slave petitions to enter his master's presence through the kitchen master."
"I know," said the boy.
"Why did you not do so?" I asked.
"I have," said the boy defiantly, "many times."
"And I," said the kitchen master, "have refused him."
"What is his request?" I asked the kitchen master.
"He would not tell me," said the kitchen master.
"How then," I asked the boy, "did you expect the kitchen master to consider whether or not you should be permitted to enter my presence?"
The boy looked down. "I would speak with you alone," he said.
I had no objection to this, but, of course, as master of the hosue, I intended to respect the prerogatives of the kitchen master, who, in the kitchen, must speak with my own authority.
"If you speak," I said, "you will do so before Tellius."
The boy looked angrily at the kitchen master.
Then the boy looked down, and clenched his fists. Then agonized, he looked up at me. "I would learn weapons," he whispered.
I was stunned. Even Tellus, the kitchen master, could say nothing.
"I would learn weapons," said the boy, again, this time boldly.
"Slaves are not taught weapons," I said.
"Your men," said he, "Thurncock, Clitus, and others, have said that they will teach me, should you give your permission." He looked down.
The kitchen master snorted with the absurdity of the idea. "You would do better,"said he, "to learn the work of the kitchen."
The boy looked up angrily. "I am not stupid," he said.
I looked at the boy, absently, as though I could not place him.
"What is your name?" I asked.
He looked at me. Then he said, "-Fish."
I permitted myself to betray that I now remembered the name. "Yes," I said, "-Fish."
"Do you like your name?" I asked.
"No," he said.
"What would you call yourself," I asked, "if you had your choice of names?" "Henrius," said he.
The kitchen master laughed.
"That is a proud name for a kitchen boy," I commented.
The boy looked at me proudly.
"It might," I said, "be the name of a Ubar."
The boy looked down angrily.
I knew that Thurnock and Clitus, and others, had taken a liking to the boy. He had often, I had heard, snuck away from the kitchen to observe the ships in the courtyard and the practices of men with weapons. The kitchen master had had his hands full with the boy, there was no doubting that. Tellius had, and deserved, my sympathies.
I looked at the boy, the blondish hair and the frank, earnest eyes, blue, pleading.
He was a spare, strong-limbed lad, and perhaps might, if trained, be able to handle a blade.
Only three in my holding, other than himself, knew his true identity. I knew him, and so, too did Thurnock and Clitus. The boy himself, of course, did not know that we knew who he was. Indeed, he, a price on his head from the Council, had excellent reasons fro concealing his true identity. And yet, in a sense, he had no true identity other than that of Fish, the slave boy, for he had been enslaved and a slave has no identity other than that which his master might care to give him. In Gorean law a slave is an animaclass="underline" before the law he has no rights; he is dependent on his master not only for his name for for his very life; he may be disposed of by the master at any time and in any way the master pleases.
"The slave boy, Fish," I said to the kitchen master, "has come unbidden into my presence and he has not, in my opinion, shown sufficient respect for the master of my kitchen."
The boy looked at me, fighting back tears.
"Accordingly," I said, "he is to be beaten severely."
The boy looked down, his fists clenched.
"And beginning tomorrow," I said, "if his work in the kitchen improves to your satisfaction, and only under that condition, he is to be permitted one Ahn a day to train with weapons."
"Captain!" cried the boy.
"And that Ahn," I said, "is to be made up in extra work in the evening." "Yes Captain," said the kitchen master.
"I will work for you, Tellius," said the boy. "I will work better than any for you!"
"All right, Lad," said Tellius. "We shall see."
The boy looked at me. "Thank you," he said, "Captain."
"Master," corrected Tellius.
"May I not," asked the boy of me, "address you as Captain?"
"If you wish," I said.
"Thank you," said he, "Captain."
"Now begone, Slave," said I.
"Yes, Captain!" he cried and turned, followed by the kitchen master. "Slave!" I called.
The boy turned.
"If you show skills with weapons," I said, "perhaps I shall change your name." "Thank you, Captain," he said.
"Perhaps we could call you Pulius," I suggested, "-or Tellius."
"Spare me!" cried Tellius.
"Or," I said, "Henrius."
"Thank you, Captain," said the boy.
"But," said I, "to have such a name, which is a proud name, one would have to handle weapons very well."
"I shall," he said. "I shall!"
Then the boy turned and ran joyfully from the room.
The kitche master looked at me and grinned. "Never," said he, "Captain, did I see a slave run more eagerly to a beating."
"Nor did I," I admitted.
Now, at my victory feast, I drank more paga. That, I told myself, letting a boy train with weapons, have been a moment of weakness. I did not expect I would allow myself more such moments.
I observed the boy bringing in yet another roasted tarsk.
No, I told myself, I should not have shown such a lenience to a slave. I would not again allow myself such moments of weakness.