“Those are not vulgar expressions,” she said. “A vulo is a kind of bird, a tasta is a kind of candy, often mounted on a stick.”
“They can be vulgar expressions when applied to slaves,” I said.
“I see,” she said.
“If you were a slave,” I said, “you could understand how a man might speak of you as slave meat, or as his vulo, or his tasta, or his pudding, and so on, for that is, frankly, what you would be.”
“Are you a juicy pudding, Janice?” she asked.
“I had best hope that I am,” I said.
“Am I a juicy pudding?’ she asked.
“Perhaps, if you were a slave,” I said, “you might prove to be such.”
“I see,” she said.
“And you would best concern yourself to do your best to be such,” I said.
“Of course,” she said.
“Do not look now,” I said, “but there is a fellow back a bit and to the right who ahs his eye on your. He may thing you qualify as a juicy pudding right now.”
“Like the men on the stairs!” she laughed.
“Yes,” I said. “Don’t look,” I cautioned her.
“Do you think he would like me to be his juicy pudding?” she asked.
“It seems to me quite possible,” I said.
“How wonderful!” she said.
“You might not think it so wonderful if you were roped and hooded and carried off,” I said.
“It would improve a girl’s price, wouldn’t it?” she asked.
“What?” I asked.
“Being a juicy pudding,” she said.
“How vulgar you are,” I said.
“Wouldn’t it?” she asked.
“Undoubtedly,” I said.
“How beautiful this place is!” she said.
“I have come here for a purpose,” I said. “I want to check on something. I will, accordingly, take you to the side for a time, to the wall over there, and secure you there.”
“Secure me?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “To one of the slave rings. But I will be back shortly.”
“May I inquire as to what you are going to do?” she asked.
“No,” said I, “Tuta.”
“Yes, Mistress,” she smiled.
We then turned away from the balustrade, to make our way across the large terrace. “Keep your eyes ahead!” I said. I had seen her glance about, doubtless trying to locate the fellow I had mentioned to her earlier. It had been a mistake, I supposed, to have called her attention to the matter. It was surely not necessary that she, as a free woman, know that she, looked upon as a slave, had been found of interest by a male. She now kept her eyes ahead. I think it cost her some effort to do so. But she was trying to be cooperative and, after all, it was I who had held her leash. There was a three-tiered decorative basin on the terrace, on the way to the wall. The first, or uppermost, tier was some four feet above the surface of the terrace, the second, or middle, tier was about three feet above the surface of the terrace; the lowest tier, the third tier, was almost level with the surface of the terrace itself. “May I drink, Janice?” she asked. “Yes,” I said. There had seemed something a little suspicious in her voice. I wondered if she truly wanted to drink, or if this were a stratagem to dally, perhaps to, as though inadvertently, steal a glance about, perhaps in the hope of seeing the fellow I had mentioned. But it was warm today. She stopped at the basin. She turned about. Yes, she was looking about, the vixen, over the surface of the water in the uppermost basin! “I cannot use one of the cups, or cup the water in my hands Janice,” she said. “Perhaps you will help me.” Then she whispered. “Which one is he?” “The one over there,” I said, “in the scarlet tunic, and cloak, looking this way.” Quickly, flushing, she looked down. “He is handsome!” she whispered. “Remember you are collared.” I whispered. She must be concerned about the propriety of her behavior! “Perhaps you will help me, Janice” she said, aloud. “No!” I said. What did she thing? She seemed surprised by this, but then bent forward, to drink from the upper basin. “Oh!” she cried, jerked to the side by the leash. “What are you doing?” I asked her. “I was going to drink,” she said. “I don’t do not understand,” “Kneel,” I said, “and drink from the lowest basin. The upper basin is for citizens and fold of honor, the second basin is for resident aliens and common visitors, the third basin, the lowest basin, is for animals.” She then knelt beside the third basin, the lowest basin, that which was almost level with the surface of the terrace itself, and, head down, her hands bracelted behind her, the leash running to her neck, drank.
When she had finished drinking, she looked up at me, from her knees. She seemed shaken. There seemed a soft of wonder in her eyes.
“It seems you have never drunk thusly before,” I said, “from the lowest basin, as a slave.”
“No,” she said.
“Up,” I said.
She stood.
“Is he still about?” she asked.
“I do not know,” I said.
“Did he see me, drinking, as I did?”
“I do not know,” I said.
“I would be terrified for a man to have seen me drinking in such a way,” she said.
“Think nothing of it,” I said. “It is a common way for slaves to drink at public fountains, basins, and such.”
She did not raise her eyes. Her eyes seemed focused on the flagstones of the terrace, warm beneath her small, bared, white feet.
“There is a ring over there,” I said. “We will use that one. It is in the shade.”
The pressure of the leash collar on the back of her neck brought her quickly enough out of her thoughts.
In spite of my earlier injunction about keeping her eyes ahead, she now looked about much, over her shoulder and such. She was doubtless trying to ascertain whether or not the fellow in the scarlet tunic was about. It would have been difficult to tell. In this part of the terrace, more toward the wall, and shade, it was crowded. Some booths were set up on the terrace, for the sale of fruit and flowers.
“Oh!” said a voice, suddenly, angrily.
It was a female voice!
I saw a flurry of ornate robes.
My heart sank.
My charge, doubtless in her concern to survey the terrace for the scarlet-clad figure, had, it seemed, struck into a free woman of the city.
“A slave!” cried the figure in the robes of concealment, in horror. “I have been touched by a slave.”
My charge stood there, unsteadily, out of breath, from the buffeting, not quite comprehending what had occurred.
I had knelt, almost immediately. There were, after all, free persons about.
“Filthy slave! Filthy slave! Filthy slave!” screamed the figure in the robes of concealment.
This epithet, of course, although uttered repeatedly with great vehemence, was not literally correct. I had no doubt but what my charge was far cleaner at this moment than the free woman. Indeed, she almost sparkled. She had well bathed. It was only then that the rags of a slave had been knotted on her. There are, of course, filthy slaves, for example, those forbidden by a master to clean themselves, usually as a punishment, and slaves can be kept in filth, in tarsk sties and tharlarion manure bins, and such, also usually as a punishment, but this is not common. Among the Wagon Peoples of the southern plains. I am told, a slave who has not been fully pleasing may be tied overnight in a dung sack. I am also told that excellent order obtains among the kajirae of the Wagon Peoples. But then, as I understand it, excellent order obtains among all kajirae on this world. It is seen to by the masters. The most common device for improving a girl, of course, is the switch or whip. As I have suggested earlier, cleanliness and such things, are normally required of a slave, as they are not of a free woman. The free woman’s cries, of course, one may suppose, were not intended to express an objective appraisal of my charge’s current hygienic condition, rather they served as a way of ventilating what was apparently a considerable sense of outrage.
“I am not filthy!” cried my charge, a mistake, surely.
“Clumsy, collared she-urt!” screamed the offended woman. “Look,” she cried to the bystanders. “She is standing! She is standing!”
“Kneel,” I urged my charge. “Kneel!”
“You struck into me as much as I into you!” said my charge. Woe, I thought. She has forgotten everything! Does she not know how she is clad, that she is in a collar, that she is leashed! Woe! She is acting like a free woman!