I lay on my stomach, on my may, in the house of my new master. My eyes were filled with tears. Aynur had laid the switch to me well. This evening she had had Tima and Tana tie me to the whipping post in the garden. The other women, the flowers of the garden, had been summoned forth to watch. My crime, as it had been announced to the flowers, was that of having approached the wall. The roughness on the bottoms of my feet, no longer bleeding then, had been shown to the other girls.

“The barbarian is stupid,” had said one of the girls.

“They all are,” said another.

“Why would she go to the wall?” asked another. “She cannot climb it.”

That was true.

But I wanted to press my hands against its solidity, knowing there was a world on the other side of the garden, and that I was then a little closer to it. One could hear the noises, the cries, from outside. One knew there was a world there, teeming, busy, with its sights, and sounds, and smells, a turbulent, active world, one different from that of the garden. I wanted to be on the other side of the wall. I wanted to be there, where I might run through the streets in a tunic and collar, where I might drink water from the lower basins, where I might press through crowds, carrying package or vessel upon my head, unable to defend myself against the touches of men, who might touch me as easily as one might pet a dog. I did not object to such things, for I was less than a dog. I was a slave. Too, such things are flattering. They bespeak one’s appeal. They say, you are attractive, you excite them. You are not without interest to masters. They would not mind using you, perhaps even owning you. I wanted to be seen by men, and found desirable. I wanted to see the desire in their eyes, and sense their heat. I wanted them to turn their heads to look after me, as I made my way down the street. I wanted them to wonder what I would look like, naked, in their own collar, or their own furs, at their feet, their property, one who must serve them to the best of her abilities in whatever manner they might please. I wanted to be on the other side of the wall, even if it meant being forced to labor long hours for a harsh master. I did not fear rising before dawn, and taking up a basket, and hurrying though the gray streets to the market. I did not fear the public washing places, the shallow cement tanks where one might launder. I did not fear the needle, the broom, the kettles, the yards, the sheds, the kitchen. I would be grateful at night even for a rush mat. Better to be chained in a hovel, subject to the whip of the least in the city, than a flower in the garden!

Doubtless the girls had been puzzled as to why I was switched as hard and lengthily as I had been by Aynur, only for going near the wall. They did not know, as did Tima and Tana, and Aynur, about the tall, long-haired man who had come to the garden, who had commanded me, he to whom I had fearfully, but eagerly and gratefully, surrendered, serving him with all the desperate, pleading needs of my body. Had the flowers known that would they not have cried out that I should have been more grievously punished? How starved we were in the garden. I wondered if there were not many amongst us who would have welcomed being thrown to galley slaves.

I lay on the mat, chained in its vicinity by the left ankle, to a ring on the floor. If I had been so chained during the rest period this afternoon, I would not have been able to enter the garden, to approach the wall, to encounter the stranger. It would have been better, doubtless, if I had been chained where I was now. I was not clear on how he had gained admittance to the garden. It must be, of course, that he was known in the house, to the master, or the guards. Aynur, for example, had obviously recognized him. Indeed, she had seemed to be very familiar with him. That frightened me. I wondered if he were known to the master, my current rights holder. I had never seen the master, but I supposed that the had seen me. It might have been he behind the screen when I was first stripped and exhibited in the house. On the other hand it could have been an agent, or house master. I did not know. I knew very little about the master. I did know his name, and it was clear that he was very rich, which seemed unusual, I gathered, for the current state in the city, which was occupied, I gathered, by foreign troops. He had dealings in slaves it seemed, and had extensive agricultural holdings, he also had something to do with at least certain theaters and theatrical companies in the city. It was said he was welcome, even, in the central cylinder of the city. The name of this city, if I have not mentioned it before, is Ar. It is nominally governed, as I understand it, by a ubara, whose name is Talena. The actual governance is presumably in the hands of a military governor, one named Myron, who bears the title of Polemarkos of Cos, or, more strictly, Polemarkos of Temos, which is the third larges city on the island of Cos. He is said to be the cousin to Lurius of Jad, the Ubar of Cos. I had heard of Lurius of Jad in Treve. It was he who sent the back-tunicked men to that city. My master, interestingly, had shown no interest in me, nor, indeed, as far as I know, in any of the other slaves. We, or most us, did not understand this. Aynur may have understood, but she never spoke to us about it. His name is Appanius, Appanius of Ar.

“My dear Gail,” said Aynur.

Immediately I tensed with terror, on my belly, on the mat. I feared to be struck again.

She had approached, barefoot, as are most slaves, softly on the tiles. I had not heard her.

“I am sorry I displeased you, Mistress,” I said. “Please do not strike me again!”

“You are only a pretty little barbarian slave,” she said. “How could you know what you were doing? Here, I have brought some soothing lotion for your back. Lie still.”

“Mistress?” I said.

“Ah,” she said, “is that not better.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said, tensely. The lotion was cool on my striped back.

“Mistress?” I asked, frightened.

“You should not have gone on the stones,” she said. “You might have injured your feet.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

“Your feet are to be soft and pretty,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

“You are a pleasure-garden girl, you know,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

She continued to apply the lotion.

“After this,” she said, “if you want to go into the garden during the rest period, you should ask me, first.”

“Of course, Mistress,” I said. “Forgive me, Mistress.”

“And if, in the future, you should see someone in the garden, someone you suspect may have no right to be there, you should hurry in and inform me.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said. “I am sorry, Mistress, that I pleased him.”

“You are only a little barbarian,” she said, gently. “You could not please such a man.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said. I was not truly sorry, of course, that I had pleased the visitor. I had been hungry to do so. Too, I was sure that I could please him at least as well as she. Indeed, some men like barbarians. They put us though our paces quite well. And I had little doubt that I could tell when a man was pleased and when he was not. One does not wear a collar long before one becomes quite adept at such determinations. Indeed, if they are not pleased, we are likely to soon find out about it, at the receiving end of the leather, of a switch, or strap, or whip.

“That is better, isn’t it?” she asked, leaning back, putting the lotion to one side, wiping her hands on a towel.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said, gratefully.

“I will return in a moment,” she said, “with your supper.”

When she returned I sat up, and ate. She had brought some choice viands, perhaps begging from the meals of men. Too, she had a small, shallow bowl of wine.