"Why are you smiling?" she asked.

"It is nothing," I said.

"I determined that I would present myself before him!" she said.

"Under the circumstances, as it turned out, you had no choice," I said.

She looked startled. "I suppose that is true," she said.

"It is," I assured her.

"I determined that I would show him a female, a female, indeed!"

"And you did," I said.

"Did you see?" she asked. "He did not even recognize me!"

"True," I said.

"Did you see his eyes, his expressions!" she laughed, softly.

"Certainly," I said, "and heard as well his moans of desire, his cries of anguish."

"Did I not move him, did I not excite him as a woman?"

"You certainly did," I said.

"I paraded," she laughed. "I moved. I parted my silk. I writhed. I danced!"

"And men came even to the railings to watch," I said.

"And did I not have my vengeance?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"He desired me mightily," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"And did he not exclaim that I was the most beautiful slave he had ever seen!" she said.

"That he did," I said.

"So enthralled I had him in the toils of desire that he was in pain!" she said.

"Indeed," I said.

"He did not ask for me to be taken from his sight this night!" she said.

"No, indeed," I said.

"And thus I proved my womanhood to him, and that he had been wrong in scorning me, in holding me in contempt, in casting me from him!"

"It was Temione, the free woman," I reminded her, "whom he had rejected, not Temione, the slave."

"But we are the same!" she said. "Do you really think so?" I asked. "Surely, in some way," she said.

"Perhaps, in some way," I granted her.

"He wanted me!" she said, "but he could not have me! I am too expensive, too desirable, for a mere courier!"

"Beware of playing a dangerous game," I said.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"You could come easily enough into the possession, completely, of the courier," I said.

"I do not understand," she said.

"Whether he could afford you or not," I said, "does not depend on you. It depends on other things, for example, on the market, and how much he has, and is willing to spend. Too, it depends on Philebus, and what he will let you go for. He could sell you for a copper tarsk, you know."

"I suppose that is true," she said.

"To anyone," I added.

She looked at me, frightened.

"And then you would be theirs, completely."

"Yes," she whispered.

"Too," I said, "you are a paga slave, and thus, for a tarsk bit, or a copper tarsk, or whatever Philebus is charging, you could be put into his power for Ahn at a time."

"But he would not own me," she said.

"He would have use rights over you," I said. "Perhaps you remember how he snapped the whip?"

"Yes!" she said. That is a sound, of course, that a beautiful, half-naked slave is not likely to forget.

"I expect," I said, "that you would serve him, in those Ahn, dutifully enough."

She shuddered.

"It is well for you to remember," I said, "that the last word in these matters, in the nature of things, belongs not to the slave but to the whips, and the masters."

"Yes, Master," she said.

I heard men outside. It was toward morning.

"I hate him!" she said, suddenly. "I hate him!"

"No, you do not," I said.

"What?" she said.

"You love him," I said.

"That is absurd!" she said.

"You have loved him since the first moment you saw him, at the Crooked Tarn."

"Absurd!" she said.

"It was then, even when he spurned you, and scorned you, that you first wanted to be his slave."

"Absurd!" she whispered.

"You wanted to be subject to his animality, his power, his authority, totally."

"Do not joke," she said.

"I watched you as he handled the slave. I could see your jealousy. I could smell your desire."

"Please," she said.

"You wished it was you," I said.

"No, please, no," she said, frightened.

"You wanted even then to wear his chains and be subject to his whip, to belong to him, and to belong to him in the most complete and perfect way a woman can belong in a man, helplessly, hopelessly, selflessly, as his total slave."

She regarded me, frightened. Her breast heaved. Her small hand was before her mouth.

"And that is why you displayed yourself as you did in the parade of slaves, and after, far beyond what was required by the occasion, or your legal master, Philebus. You were attempting to seduce the courier, to lure him to your conquest. You were begging to be bought, as the slave you are. You were begging to be taken to his tent, bound and on his leash. You were begging to be his, and his alone."

She put her head down, weeping softly.

"Even in your freedom you had addressed to him the word "Master," " I reminded her.

Her small shoulders shook.

"Do not weep," I said. "It is a natural and good thing that you long for a master. You will not be complete until you have one."

"Why are you saying these things?" she asked, lifting her head, red-eyed. "You risked your life to protect me from him, when he was going to whip me."

"I do not think he was going to whip you," I said, "though I expect he is quite capable of it, and would unhesitantly do so if it seemed appropriate, or upon various occasions, if it pleased him."

"Why then did you interfere?" she asked, puzzled. "Why did you call attention to yourself when obviously there was something between you two, and you would be in danger, if recognized."

"Do you truly not know?" I asked.

"It was to protect me, surely."

"No," I said.

"Why then?" she asked, wonderingly.

"Because," I said, soberly, "you were serving me."

"That is what you said," she said.

"And that was the reason," I said.

"It was so tiny a thing," she asked, "a point of propriety, of precedence?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"You risked so much for a mere point of honor?" she asked.

"There are no mere points of honor," I told her. "Turn about. Put your head down to the carpet. Clasp your hands behind the back of your neck."

I amused myself with her.

Afterwards I put her gently to her side. She looked up at me, turning her head, as, with a bit of binding fiber, I tied her hands behind her back. "I am binding you," I said, "that your master, and others, may think you were used in all helplessness." I then jerked her ankles up, crossed them, and bound them to her wrists. She winced.

"I am helpless," she said.

"You are more helpless than you know, slave," I said. "But your true helplessness is not a matter of such things as a bit of binding fiber, serving to hold you, however perfectly, in a desired position at a given time, but your condition, which is bond."

Tears sprang to her eyes.

"You are owned," I said. "You are a property. You are subject to the will of others."

She sobbed.

I think she understood then, perhaps better than before, something of the true helplessness of the slave. She could be taken anywhere. She could be bought and sold. She could come into the ownership of anyone.

"What does your master charge for paga, and girl use?" I asked.

"A copper tarsk," she said.

I dropped it to the carpet, beside her.

I withdrew from my wallet two scarves.

"I am to be gagged," she said.

"It will be better," I said.

I folded one scarf over several times, forming a narrow rectangle, several folds thick. This I placed beside her. I then rolled the other scarf into a tight, expandable ball. This I thrust into her mouth. It, in its expansion, filled the oral orifice. I then secured it in place with the first scarf, which I knotted tightly behind the back of her neck. She looked up at me, over the gag. She squirmed. She was pretty.