"On your feet, slave," said Mincon. Quickly Ina stood.
"You will be taken from the camp naked," I told Ina. "In this way you will be more anonymous than if you were wearing a garment of a given sort."
"Yes, Master," she said, her small, lovely, hands bound behind her back, Mincon's rope on her neck, its coils in his hand.
We had, after her discipline in the slave camp, incidentally, retrieved her garment, from where she had discarded it, thrusting it between slave cages. There was a particular reason I wished to retrieve the garment. It also gave me an opportunity to bring her back to our camp with the garment about her neck, a touch which I thought would be helpful in accommodating her to her new reality. Sometimes masters, as a discipline for their beauties, have them go naked in public, but with their tunic, or ta-teera, or whatever, about their neck or wrist. This helps the girl feel even more naked. Something similar occurs when a bound, stripped free woman is forced to hold a portion of her garments, perhaps a lovely, sliplike undergarment, between her teeth. This, as she is forbidden to drop it, acts as a de facto gag. It also, of course, helps her to understand that the nature of her new reality, the reality in which she how finds herself, may be other than that with which she was formerly familiar.
"I now," I said, "remove your name. Your name is removed."
She looked at me, frightened, a nameless slave.
"Your new masters," I said, "if they wish, will give you a name."
"Yes, Master," she whispered.
I then lifted up a sack I had retrieved from the concourse, on our return earlier from the slave camp.
She regarded it, terrified.
"I wish you well," I said.
"I wish you well, Master," she said.
I then kissed her and put the sack over her head, and, with its strings, tied it closed, about her neck. It was the same sack in which Octantius had apparently intended to bring her head to Saphronicus. On the other hand, it was also a nondescript sack, not different from hundreds of others. Perhaps that would have been part of Octantius' joke, bringing her head to Saphronicus in such a sack, not even in one of gold, set with jewels.
"Come, slave," said Mincon, and drew on the rope. I watched her being led from our camp, a stripped, bound, hooded, nameless slave, on her rope.
I then glanced to one side, a few yards from our small camp, to a set of stakes. There, attached to one of these stakes by an ankle chain, there was another slave. She was kneeling, and her head was tied down, to her crossed ankles, and her hands were tied behind her back, as were those of the slave who had just been conducted from the camp. The slave at the stake, moreover, was covered with a sheet. It had been put over her head, tied about her neck, that it might thus serve as a slave hood, and then draped over her. I had arranged yesterday, before Octantius had come to the camp, for her to be delivered this afternoon. I had found her here when I had returned with Ina from the camp.
Then I turned about, in time to see a distraught Marcus hove into view. I was quite pleased to note that he was a picture of dejection and misery.
I watched him approach the camp.
"She is not there," he said.
"Oh?" I said. I had become, incidentally, a master actor while with the troupe of Boots Tarsk-Bit. To be sure, he had never permitted me upon the stage, and, after observing my audition, so to speak, had utilized me primarily for other tasks, such as, as I have mentioned, assembling the stage and freeing the wheels of mired wagons. He was perhaps jealous of his own stardom with the troupe.
"She is gone," he said.
"That is often the case with folks who are not there," I said.
But I noted he was in no mood to relish this deft dash of wit.
"I cannot live without h amp;," he said.
"You managed quite well until yesterday morning," I said, "and doubtless, with effort, can do so again."
"No," he said, "not that I have now seen her."
"Just forget her," I said. "Put her out of your mind, like a good fellow."
"No," he said.
"Why are you unsheathing your sword?" I asked, somewhat apprehensively.
"Would you hold it for me, please?" he asked.
"What for?" I asked.
"I intend to throw myself upon it," he said.
"That is one way to avoid having to clean it after use," I said.
"Please," he said, bracing its hilt in the dirt.
"What if you fall sideways?" I asked. "I might get cut."
"Please, Tarl," he said.
"Ina is not here," I said. "Have you not noticed?"
"No," he said, glumly.
"I gave her to the mercenary," I said. "His man, with two others, came to pick her up."
"That is nice," said Marcus.
"It is my hope," I said, "that she will be safe."
"I share your hope," he said, attempting to get the sword adjusted to a suitable angle.
"Could you use some help there?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "Thank you."
"You will try to throw yourself straight on this, won't you?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "I will."
As he was poised to leap on the sword, I leaned it to the side.
"Are you sure you wish to go through with this?" I asked.
"Quite sure," he said.
"Would you not rather go to a paga enclosure?" I asked.
"Not at the moment," he said.
"Perhaps later?" I asked.
"Please, Tarl," he said.
I again leaned the blade to the side. "It is difficult to look well while leaping on a sword," I said.
"Perhaps," he said, irritably.
"I never realized that before," I said.
"Please hold the blade still," he said. I leaned it to the side again.
"Tarl!" he said, in exasperation.
"I gather that you find the girl of interest," I said.
"I am preparing to kill myself because of her," he said.
"I thought so," I said. "She has taken your fancy."
"Why do you not just drive the blade into my heart?" he asked.
"I suppose I could do that," I said:.
"I am ready," he said, straightening up.
"Yes, you certainly seem to be ready, all right," I said. He had an unusually grim expression on his face, grim even for Marcus, who was a very serious young man.
"Are you sure you can go through with this?" asked Marcus, skeptically.
"I think so," I said. "Certainly it would seem easier, at least on the whole, for me than for you."
"Please, Tarl," he said.
"After all, what are friends for?"
"Strike!" he said.
I lowered the blade.
"What are we going to do for female companionship," I asked, "with Ina gone?"
"That would seem to be your concern, rather than mine," he said. "Strike!"
I lowered the blade again.
"But I have considered that contingency," I said.
"Excellent," said Marcus.
I feared he might become surly.
"I have arranged for a replacement female," I said.
"Excellent," he said.
"I thought you would be pleased," I said.
"Perhaps I have some poison in my pack," he said.
"Would you care to see her?" I asked.
"No," he said.
"You are not in the mood?" I said.
"Not now," he said. "I am trying to end my life."
"I have a better idea," I said.
"A better idea?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "I really think so."
"What is it?" he asked.
"Surely you recall the smoking ruins of Ar's Station? Surely you recall the vengeances which you have howled against those of Cos?"
A transformation, though a rather unsettling one, a quite menacing one, suddenly came over Marcus.
I handed him back his sword.
He thrust it angrily into his sheath.
"My thanks," said he, "Warrior. I have been weak. I am ashamed. I am grateful that you have recalled me to my senses."