"Don't play games with me, Macurdy. I can ruin you. Any kind of ruin you can think of."

"Sergeant, I'm the best new man you've got, and by the time the leaves turn, I'll be the best new or old. There's no need to get on me."

Zassfel's face froze in a grimace, and his hand moved as if to the hilt of the sword he wasn't wearing at the moment. "You son of a bitch," he growled softly. "You better be careful. Real careful."

Macurdy nodded pleasantly. Later he'd be astonished that he'd felt no fear, no upset or anger. "Just remember who went up the tree yesterday," he said, "and how it worked out."

Then he walked outside and sat in the sun, to occupy himself with a dream of rescuing Varia.

The week went well enough. Mostly Zassfel ignored him, as if he'd forgotten about it, but whenever his glance passed over Macurdy, Macurdy could literally feel it, and see the anger in the sergeant's aura. Not until Six-Day before supper, though, was anything said. Then Zassfel walked over to him.

"Macurdy," he murmured, "tonight we'll see whether you're a man or a pansy. Don't leave the longhouse unless I say so, or I'll put you on punishment. Bad punishment."

Macurdy nodded without speaking, wishing the uncanny calm of the previous Seven-Day would come back to him. As it was he ate his supper, but his stomach churned.

Afterward the men sat around, waiting for the slave girls, some of them telling what they were going to do. To Macurdy, they sounded like a couple of eighth graders he'd known in the one-room Oak Creek school. Then Zassfel stepped into the middle of the floor and called for quiet.

"Men," he said, "we've got a pansy among us, someone who's been here four weeks now and hasn't humped a single girl, let alone half a dozen a night like a real Hero. So tonight we're going to test him. When the girls come, I'm going to set Maira on him. He turned her down once; she told me so. If he can satisfy her…" His pause was met by knowing laughs. "If he can satisfy Maira, we'll keep him around. Otherwise, the slave bastard goes back to the potato field.

"So when the girls come in, nobody grabs one. Nobody." He looked around. "That includes you, Margli. I'm going to take Maira to Macurdy, and he's going to hump her on this table in front of all of us." He grinned at his victim. "We'll see how he does. The rule is, he has to satisfy her. My bet is, he won't even be able to get it up."

When Zassfel identified his victim, the laughter stopped. Macurdy was liked-admired-especially since his climb up the tree. Now his pulse pounded like a triphammer, while his guts kept churning. A long few minutes later, the watchers outside the door began their cheer, answered at a little distance by female voices.

Macurdy became aware of Jeremid behind him. "Ride her rough, Macurdy," the corporal whispered. "Really bang her! It's your only chance; Maira likes it rough. And whisper to her that you'll sneak out and go to her during the week. Maybe she'll fake it for you. Usually she humps one guy after another. Long after everyone's had enough, she's pawing guys in their sleep, trying to get a rise out of one."

Macurdy heard, but his mind had frozen with determination. The girls trooped in subdued, aware now of something unusual pending. The sergeant ordered the men into a large oval around the central table, while he held Maira by an arm. "Macurdy," he said, "drop your pants."

It felt to Macurdy as if his throat was coated with cotton batting, but surprisingly his voice seemed normal. "No thanks, Sergeant. You've got no authority to do this."

Zassfel grinned. "Strip him, boys."

Most of the men stood unmoving. The four men Zassfel had prearranged things with were his closest friends, four of his own year in the company. They'd stationed themselves close behind Macurdy, and two of them grabbed him now.

"Zassfel!" Macurdy shouted, "if you're such a Hero, fight me!"

The room fell absolutely silent for a moment. Then Zassfel's grin grew wider. "Ho ho ho!" he said. "It seems like every now and then I have to beat someone up. Otherwise people forget." He waved the crowd back at his end of the oval, then stripped off his shirt and stepped forward. "All right, Macurdy, we fight. And when I'm done, we tie what's left of you to the tree out front, with a sign telling people what you are." He raised his hands; apparently this was to be with fists. "Let's do it."

The four let Macurdy go, ready to pounce if he tried to run. He didn't. He stripped off his own shirt, raised his fists, and stepped to meet Zassfel.

When Mr. Anderson had taught Oak Creek school, he'd brought boxing gloves, and had given the boys lessons with them. He had, he claimed, been the Golden Gloves champion of Indiana. Whether or not he actually had, he'd impressed them with his moves and style, and taught them how to jab, to throw a right cross, a proper hook, an uppercut.

And clearly, Zassfel had never heard of any of them, certainly not the jab. What he did know was the crushing roundhouse swing, grabbing the hair, the use of knee and elbow-all things that Macurdy expected and watched for. Meanwhile Macurdy introduced him to the jab and all the rest of it. Within a minute, Zassfel's mouth and nose were bleeding, one eye was swelling, a cheek was cut, and he was raising himself to a sitting position, purple with rage. "Kosek! Ardonor! Kill the son of a bitch."

They were on Macurdy in an instant, not only Kosek and Ardonor, but the other two, grabbing, slugging. When they were done, they threw him out the front door, to lie semiconscious and bleeding in the dirt street. After a bit he was aware of someone, two someones, helping him to his feet and supporting him an uncertain distance to-somewhere, then letting him down onto a bed.

He recognized a voice: Melody's, and opened the eye that would, enough to see lamplight. "Thanks, Jeremid," she was saying. "I'll take care of him now. Tomorrow I'll tell the captain what happened, and you'll back me on it. He might or might not do something, but what Zassfel did in there didn't fit any law I ever heard of."

"He's legally a slave," Jeremid murmured. "You can do anything to a slave, as long as you don't reduce their value."

Her words were crisp. "He's also a Hero. There are laws about what anyone can do to Heroes."

After a minute, Macurdy felt a wet cloth dabbing at his face, and winced.

"You're awake."

His mouth felt ragged, his lips swollen, and he knew he had teeth missing and broken. He began to answer, then thought better of it and nodded. That was a mistake too. She continued dabbing and wiping, hissing now and then, occasionally swearing. Briefly she plucked pieces of broken teeth from his lips. "We'll fix his ass, Macurdy," she said. "My father was captain in his time. He has influence, and he spoils me. When I tell him-"

She stopped there. It seemed to Macurdy she didn't feel much confidence. He was a slave; it would come down to that. He felt her fingers prod his ribs, his collarbones. The ribs on one side hurt, but not enough that he flinched.

"Open your mouth."

He did.

"The filthy bastards!" He could hear her breathe in and out through her nose, controlling herself. "You'll be all right here," she said. "I'm going to the shaman and get some things."

She left. For a while he drifted in and out of consciousness; then she was back. He could hear her doing things, he didn't know what. Preparing poultices from something the shaman had given her, because now she was placing damp cloths over each eye, on a cheek, on his mouth, crooning as she did so. Then she stroked his forehead with gentle fingers, and left him.

He slept. And sleeping, dreamed of the jaguar. And of Varia, who kept changing into the spear maiden. Sometime in the night he felt hands tug down his breeches, fondle him. Felt himself swell and harden. Felt someone straddle him, insert him, ride him gently… And when it was over, felt his good cheek very gently kissed. "I love you, Macurdy." The voice was Melody's, not Varia's. "Don't ask me why. I only talked to you once. Maybe I'm crazy."