“Perhaps, then, I shall see you again,” he said.
“Perhaps, Master,” I said.
“You may leave,” he said, suddenly, rather angrily.
“Thank you, Master,” I said. I leaped up and the Lady Constanzia not daring to look at the scarlet-clad stranger, rose, too, to her feet.
We turned about.
“Stop!” said he.
We stopped.
“Do not turn,” said he. “Do not kneel.”
We remained as we were, facing away from him, I with the leash, she with her hands braceleted behind her.
“When is she to be put up for sale?’ he asked. His voice, in all its power, seemed almost to break. It seemed that within him, unaccountably, this question had cost him something. It was as though it had suddenly erupted within him. It seemed to have emerged out of a struggle, some internal conflict.
“I do not know, Master,” I said.
“It does not matter, of course,” he said, suddenly, angrily.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Go!” he ordered.
“Yes, Master,” I said. I swiftly then made my way toward my previous destination, a point on the wall of the terrace, which wall was, across an expanse of terrace, to the right of a bride leading from the terrace, which bridge was, across an expanse of terrace, to the right of the balustrade.
I drew more heavily on the leash. The Lady Constanzia, clearly, was hanging back. I stopped and turned about. She then, too, turned about. We could see the scarlet-clad figure striding fiercely across the terrace, not looking back. He seemed angry. I conjectured that the Lady Constanzia had been trying, earlier, to glimpse his retreating figure over her shoulder.
“Do you think we will see him again?” she asked.
“I do not know,” I said. “The cut of his clothes seems foreign to this city. He is probably here on some business.”
“He will then be gone soon?”
“I would suppose so,” I said.
“He kissed me,” she said.
“Do not be upset,” I said. “He things you are only a slave. He does not know you are a free woman.”
“Do you think he likes me?” she asked.
“It is possible,” I said, “that he might have found you of interest.”
“Of interest?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Of what sort of interest?” she asked.
“Of slave interest,” I said.
“Ohh,” she breathed.
“But half the men who look upon you, clad as you are,” I said, “might not mind having a chain on you.”
“Do you think so?” she asked, eagerly.
“Yes,” I said. “But, too, they would probably all be of the opinion that you are short on whip-training.”
“Do you think I am short on whip-training?” she asked.
“If you were a slave, certainly,” I said. “But do not concern yourself with such matters, as you are a free woman.”
Whip-training, incidentally, does not require that the pupil is struck, only that she is subject to that contingency. To be sure, it is difficult to get though whip-training without having felt the lash. On the whole, of course, the more intelligent the girl is, and the more quickly she trains, the less she is likely to feel the lash, and the stupider she is, or the more slowly or clumsily she trains, the more likely she is to feel it.
“I have never been kissed before like that,” she said.
“You have never been kissed in a collar before,” I said.
“It is not at all as one kisses a free woman,” she said.
“I dare say,” I admitted.
“I did not know a kiss could be like that,” she said.
“They are brutes,” I said. “What they are denied in the world of free women they arrogate to themselves in the world of slaves. It is there, in that world, that their natural dominance, liberated from the bondage of artificial constraints, flourish unchecked. Beware, for in that world, we belong to them. In that world we are totally theirs. In that world we must obey and serve them, utterly. In that world they use us as it pleases them, and have from us whatever they wish, in total perfection.”
She shuddered.
“Rejoice,” said I, “that you are a free woman.”
“It is only in such a world, is it not,” she asked. “that they can be true men?”
“Yes,” I said.
“But then,” she said, frightened, “it must be only in such a world that we could be true women.”
“You are a free woman,” I said. “Do not concern yourself with such matters. Do not think such thoughts.”
The scarlet-clad figure had now left the terrace.
I then drew her to the wall.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Kneel here,” I said, “your back to the wall.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Exactly what I told you before,” I said.
“Surely you were joking,” she said.
“No,” I said. “Must a command be repeated?” I inquired.
“No,” she said.
She knelt down, with her back to the wall.
But means of the leash I chained her to a slave ring. Slave rings are common in public places on this world.
“I do not want to stay here,” she said.
“I think you will find that you have little choice,” I said.
“Janice!” she protested.
“I will be back shortly,” I said.
I then hurried from her, toward the bridge. I did look back once, to see her there, looking after me, back-bracelted, kneeling at the ring, chained to it by the neck. It was doubtless the first time in the Lady Constanzia’s life that she had been so situated. It is not unusual, of course, on this world, to find slaves so tethered, kneeling or sitting, awaiting the return of their masters. Indeed on this world, there are many places in which slaves, as other animals, may not be taken.
In only a few moments I had come to the large, flat expanse over the bridge from the terrace. That was the object of my journey. On the left there was no balustrade. On the right there were numerous warehouses. This expanse was now empty. There were, near the warehouses, some boxes and bales, some covered with tarpaulins. There were some planks here and there, also near the warehouses, and some coils of rope. The sky was clear. The day was warm. I looked about. The expanse was now empty. It was not always empty. It was here I had hoped to find the answer to one of the questions which afflicted me. One day I hoped I might do so. But this, it seemed, was not the day.
I then returned, in haste, to the slave ring, to free the Lady Constanzia, for it was near the fifteenth bar. It would not do for me to return her late to the pits.
That night, when I brought her her food, she wanted, as she often did, to speak to me.
“You will take me again, to the surface, won’t you?’ she begged.
“I can ask the pit master,” I said.
“Soon!” she begged.
“Perhaps,” I said.
“Do you remember the fellow in the scarlet tunic and cloak, whom we met this afternoon?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Do you recall that he kissed me?”
“Yes,” I said.
“He kissed me,” she said. “And I was in a collar.” She was now, of course, in her cell, in the robes of concealment. She was, however, not veiled. It was too early for the guard’s rounds.
“Surely you do not find it surprising that a female would be kissed when she is collared.”
“No,” she said, uncertainly.
“Nor surprising that you, personally, might be kissed, and, in particular, when you were wearing a collar?”
“I do not know,” she said.
“I assure you,” I said, “if we are concerned with probabilities or frequencies in such matters, a woman is far more likely to be kissed, and most often, when she is wearing a collar.”