"Look!" laughed Phoebe, looking toward the prone slave.

The slave, sobbing, had lifted her body.

"Scandalous slave!" laughed Phoebe.

The slave groaned.

"Apparently you do not wish to be further beaten," I said.

"No, Master," said the slave.

"You wish to placate masters?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Slave, slave!" laughed Phoebe.

"Yes, Mistress," whispered the slave.

"She is such a slave," said Phoebe.

"She is a female," I said.

"Yes, Master," said Phoebe.

I was amused by Phoebe's attitude. Indeed, I found it delightfully ironic. Many was the time I had seen her so lift herself to Marcus, hoping to avert his wrath.

I looked down at the slave.

She was tense, and hardly moved.

I handed Marcus his things, piece by piece, the sheath, with its knife, and the pouch, both for his belt, and the sword belt, with its scabbard and blade, to be slung over the left shoulder. I then crouched down beside the slave.

"Master?" she asked.

I pushed her down to the stones, so that her belly was flat on them.

"Master?" she asked.

"Do you beg use?" I asked.

"Yes, Master!" she whispered, tensely.

"Perhaps some other time," I said.

"Do not kill me," she said.

I took my knife and, from the back of her head, gathered together a large handful of her long dark hair, and then cut it off, close to the scalp. I then, using her hair, bound her hands together behind her back.

"You have not earned a use," I said.

I then cut another gout of her hair from the back of her head and used it to tie the flute about her neck. I did not crop the hair about her head with the knife, rather in the manner of shaving it off, as is sometimes done as a punishment for female slaves. I did no more than take the two gouts. To be sure, these two gouts, thick as they were, cleared an irregular space of several square inches of the back of her head. This cleared area, thought not evident from the front, was only too obvious from the back. it would doubtless occasion much merriment upon its discovery by her chain sisters, as she was a beauty, and might be envied by them. Too, given her personality, I suspected that they would be likely to find her plight even more amusing. Perhaps she could wear a scarf for a time, or have her hair shortened or tied in such a way as to conceal or minimize the rather liberal extent of this local cropping. One advantage of shaving a girl's head, incidentally, is the duration of the punishment. It is recalled to her, for example, every time she touches her head or sees her reflection. By the time it had grown out, and even by the time that it begins to grow out a little, she had usually determined to do all in her power to be such that her master will permit her to keep her hair. if he wishes, or thinks it judicious, of course, he may keep her with a shaved head. It might also be noted that certain slaves, rather as an occupational mark or precaution, for example, girls working in foundries and mills, often have their heads shaved. Too, it is common to have a girl completely if she it to be transported in a slave ship. This is to protect her against vermin of various sort, in particular, lice. I dragged the slave up to her knees and knelt her before us. She trembled, daring not to meet our eyes.

"Go to the other flute girls," I said, "to all those about whether on the street or on the wall. Inform them that their work for the day is finished."

"Master?" she said.

"Tell them to hurry home to their chains."

"Master!" she said.

"Do you understand?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Do you dally in the carrying out of a command?" I asked.

"No, Master!" she said, and leaped to her feet, running across the Wall Road, her hands tied behind her, wisps of silk fluttering about her waist, the flute dangling from her neck.

"She is very pretty," said Marcus.

"More so then I?" asked Phoebe.

"Is the slave jealous?" inquired Marcus, teasingly.

"Please, Master," begged Phoebe.

"Are you jealous?" he said.

"Yes, Master," said Phoebe, defiantly.

"You do not sound humble," he said.

"Forgive me, Master," she said, quickly, frightened.

"Who is jealous?" he inquired.

"Phoebe is jealous," she whispered.

"You are a thousand times more beautiful than she," said Marcus.

"Master sports with his helpless slave," pouted Phoebe.

"To me," said Marcus, teasingly.

"How shall I ever hold you, Master?" she wept. "I am yours, and only a slave. You may put me aside or keep me with others, s you might please. There are thousands of intelligent, pretty women who would be eager to serve you. You may have your pick. You may buy and sell as you please. How shall I ever keep you?"

"It is mine to keep you if I wish," said Marcus.

"Yes, Maser!" she wept.

I considered the unilaterally of the master/slave relationship. All power is with the master. This, of course, has its effect upon the slave. Let her strive to be such that her master will keep her.

"Look," I said, pointing to the foot of the wall, where the flute girl was together with others of her station. She seemed distraught, bound, turning about, to look at me. They all, excited, confused, looked in this direction. To be sure, several of them, and many on the wall, too, both flute girls and laborers, had paused in their various activities, to follow the sequence of events on the Wall Road. But Marcus and Phoebe paid me no attention. They were in one another's arms.

"I love you, Master," was saying Phoebe, looking up at him, "totally and helplessly."

"And I," he was saying, brushing back hair from her forehead, "fear that I might find myself growing fond of you."

"Use me, Master, use me!" she begged.

"Not here," said Marcus. "Perhaps in a darkened doorway, on the way back to our lodging."

Quickly she pulled from him, and hurried a few steps back, toward Harness Street, turning them to look back, pleadingly at him.

I was pleased to see that she was much in his power.

"I see," said Marcus. The flute girls at the foot of the wall, looking this way, knelt, putting their heads down to the stones, doing obeisance in our direction. The command of a free man had been conveyed to them. I then say the lovely brunet picking her way with difficulty up a path to the higher part of the breach. She was communicating my message, I gather, to the girls she encountered, on the different levels. I looked up toward the height of the breach. There, girl after girl, especially as she saw my eyes upon her, knelt, putting her head down. Those that were sitting cross-legged swiftly abandoned that position, also performing obeisance. Then, one by one, as the brunet hurried among them, they picked their way down the paths from the breach to the Wall Road and hurried away. In a few moments the breach was cleared of flute girls. Doubtless all of them, at one time or another, had been under an excellent discipline and now, fearful of an impending restoration of such rigors, would lose no time in recalling, and manifesting, suitable attitudes and behaviors. No woman who has ever felt the whip forgets it.

"Was that wise?" asked Marcus.

"No," I said.

"Tomorrow they will be back, and things will be the same," he said.

"Undoubtedly," I said.

"Nothing will be changed," he said.

"True," I said.

"Then why did you do it?" he asked.

"I felt like it," I said.

"I was afraid you might not have had a good reason," he said.

"Master," said Phoebe, pleadingly.

"It could be dangerous here," said Marcus.

"For whom?" I asked.

"I see," said Marcus.

"Master," begged Phoebe.

"The men of Ar, and the woman, and youth," he said, looking over to the wall, "remain on the breach."