"I do not understand why I have been brought here," said Marcus. "Too, I gather your friend, this Ephialtes, or whatever his name may be, is a Cosian. I am not inclined to hold converse with Cosians."
"If I were you," I said, "I would not open my mouth so much in this area, at the perimeter of the Cosian camp."
"Why have you brought me here?" whispered Marcus.
"I told you before, early this morning," I said. "I want to show you something."
"What?" he asked.
"Be patient," I said. "You will see."
"It had better be good," he said.
"You are just in a bad mood," I said, "because I have brought you to the edge of the Cosian camp, thus needlessly placing your life in extreme jeopardy."
"Not at all," he said. "Who could be so small-minded as to object to that?"
"What, then?" I asked.
"I had a very difficult night," he said, "and the morning, thus far, save for too few Ahn sleep, has not been much better."
"Perhaps things will improve," I said.
"Perhaps," he grumbled.
Marcus normally tended, of course, to be a somewhat moody fellow, taking things somewhat more seriously, such as life and death, than seemed necessary. This morning, however, he seemed actually ungracious, and that was quite unusual for him. To be sure, he had had a difficult night, keeping his lonely, tense vigil in the alley behind the tavern, while I rested and sported about inside. I reminded myself, however, that such sacrifices are only to be expected in the course of true friendship.
"What is it that you wish me to see?" he asked.
"You will see," I said.
"I hope that it is worth waiting for," he said.
"I think you will find it so," I said.
"Perhaps," he said.
"At any rate," I said, "you can make your own judgment on the matter."
"Welcome, gentlemen, to the camp of Ephialtes," said my friend, Ephialtes, coming about the wagon. One could not see under the wagon as some canvas had been stretched from the upper, far side of the wagon bed to the ground. There was nothing unusual in this, as it is occasionally done in wagon camps for various reasons, for example, to form wind breaks, shield fires, and such. Also, of course, it may be done to increase privacy, for example, for pan bathing behind it, and so on. This time, of course, I assumed its purpose was in effect a rather dramatic one, to create a wall, or screen, from behind which something hitherto unseen might be brought.
"My friend, Ephialtes," I said, "I believe you have something to show us."
"Yes," he said. He then clapped his hands, twice.
From about the wagon, and about the concealing canvas, timidly, and yet beautifully, leashed, in a belly cord, a mere lace, and a narrow, yellow slave strip, her hands behind her, probably braceleted, came a beautiful young woman. She was utterly exquisite. Liadne was behind her, holding her leash. The young woman was slender, and extremely lightly complexioned, and with extremely dark hair and eyes.
"Aiii!" cried Marcus, stunned.
She looked at Marcus, startled, wildly, almost as though he might be the first male she had ever seen.
She looked then at me, wildly, too.
"Do not speak!" I warned her.
She came and knelt before us. She looked up at Marcus, as though in awe, as though seemingly unable to take her eyes from him.
"Aiiii," he cried softly to himself.
She trembled before him.
"Do you like her?" I asked.
"I have never seen such a woman!" he cried. "She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life!"
"I thought you might find her not without interest," I said.
"She is the sort of woman for whom a man might kill!" he cried.
"And suppose she were a slave," I said.
"Aii!" he wept, bending over, pounding with his fists on his knees at the very thought of it.
"What is her status?" I asked Ephialtes.
"A free woman," he said, "though a captive, and a full servant."
"She could then be purchased, and embonded!" cried Marcus.
"Of course," said Ephialtes.
"I must have her!" cried Marcus.
She looked up at him, from her knees, her lip trembling.
"She is doubtless very expensive," I said.
"I must have her!" he cried.
"How much do you have?" I asked.
"A few tarsk bits," said Marcus, "only that."
"Surely not enough," I said. "Let us be on our way."
He reached to his sword, but I put my hand on his hand, that he not, in rage and frustration, draw, and perhaps finish off poor Ephialtes.
"Let us go," I said.
"Why have you brought me here!" he cried. "Is it only to torture me?"
"Not at all," I said. "I know you are fond of this sort of female."
"'This sort of female'!" he cried. "She is unique, unparalleled! I have seen her in a thousand dreams!"
"She is very nice," I said. "Thank you, Ephialtes," I said. "I just wanted him to see her. He seems to find her not unpleasant to look upon, as I had expected."
"Certainly," said Ephialtes.
"I wish you well," I said.
"I wish you well," said he.
"Come along, Marcus," I said.
"I want her! I must have her!" he cried.
"You cannot afford her," I said. "Come along." I then took him by the arm, and drew him from the side of the wagon.
We had scarcely gone ten steps before he stopped, and tore himself free.
"What is wrong?" I asked.
"You do not understand," he cried. "I have never seen such a female! She is my dream!"
"I am sure she is very nice," I said.
"I want her!" he said. "I must have her!"
"Yes, yes," I said. "Now let us be on our way."
"No!" he said.
"Forget her," I said.
From where I stood, looking behind Marcus, who faced me, I could see the wagon of Ephialtes. "No, do not look back," I said, soothingly. "It is better that way." Indeed, I put my hands on his arms, to prevent him from turning. Liadne had now drawn on the girl's leash, and she was on her feet. Although Liadne was obviously intending to lead her to the far side of the wagon, she stood there, back-braceleted, looking wildly, unbelievably, after Marcus. Then, helpless, drawn by the leash, she was turned by force, and drawn, stumbling, after Liadne, behind the wagon, behind the canvas screen which had been fixed there. Marcus angrily put aside my grasp and turned, looking back toward the wagon. The girl now, of course, was no longer in sight.
"She is gone," I said.
I restrained him from rushing toward the wagon.
"Do you not understand?" he exclaimed. "I must have her!"
"Put her from your mind," I said. "She is not yours."
"Why did you even show her to me!" he wept.
"I thought you might find it pleasant to regard her, in passing, for a moment or so," I said.
"I must own her!" he said.
"You cannot afford her," I reminded him, perhaps unnecessarily.
He cried out with rage, and frustration.
"Some fellows," I said, "I suppose, might return at night and steal her, perhaps cutting a throat or two in the process, but that is not practical for one of the Marcelliani, one who is an honorable fellow, an officer and such."
"No!" cursed Marcus.
"Well," I said. "That is just the way some things are."
Marcus regarded me, wildly. I thought for a moment he might attack me.
"Come along," I said.
"He is a Cosian," said Marcus, looking back, murderously, at the innocent Ephialtes, who was puttering about the wagon, tightening one of the back latches of the wagon bed, I believe.
"But he is also my friend," I said, "and surely that should complicate matters."
"Yes," growled Marcus.
I suddenly felt a certain poignant regard for Ephialtes. I hated to think of him at the mercy of,
say, a temporarily berserk Marcus. I recalled how he had once been bullied and bounced about by Borton, courier of Artemidorus, at the Crooked Tarn. That sort of thing, of course, tends to be an occupational hazard, so to speak, of fellows like Ephialtes. One of his regrets in life was that he was seldom abused by small men.
"And, independently," I said, "it would seem that the wanton slaughtering of Ephialtes, an innocent, unoffending sutler, and doubtless his slave, Liadne, as well, in the perpetration of what would seem to be for most practical purposes a mere act of theft, might raise delicate questions of honor."
Marcus glowered at me.
"Surely the matter would be at least controversial," I said.
"I should never have laid eyes on her," he moaned.
"Nonsense," I said. "Surely you are pleased that you did."
"My life is ruined," he said.
"Your prospects were not all that promising anyway," I said.
"I did not know that such a female could exist in reality," he said.
"She is very nice," I granted him.
"She is utterly, exquisitely beautiful!" he said.
"She is pretty," I admitted.
"Beautiful!" he said.
"You would like to own her," I said.
"Yes!" he wept.
"I wonder what she would look like, branded, and in your collar," I said.
"Do not torture me," he said.
"I suppose, sooner or later, she will make someone a lovely property," I said.
"Please, Tarl," said he.
"Sorry," I said.
"It is not just that she is a beauty," he said. "It is something else about her. I do not know what it is. She is unique. She is special."
"I must go to the slave camp," I said, "to get Ina. Why do you not go back to our new camp, and I shall meet you there."
"Very well," he said, despondently.
I watched him withdraw.
I was rather pleased with the proceedings of the morning, though it must now be noon, or after. I had expected that Marcus would be strongly attracted to Phoebe, for she was an extraordinarily lovely example of a type that he found almost maddeningly irresistible. I recalled, for example, his intense attraction toward the slave, Yakube, in Port Cos, on the wharf there. To be sure, suspecting her to be of Cos, I had feared he might attempt to kill her. Fortunately, as I have mentioned, she had only been from somewhere about White Water, on the Vosk. But even though I had expected Marcus would find Phoebe of extreme interest, I had not anticipated that his interest would have been as arresting and profound as it apparently was. Also, I had not anticipated that Phoebe, on her part, would have had the profound reaction to him that she had apparently had. Kneeling before us, she had hardly taken her eyes off him. She had trembled in his presence. It had seemed that she, in a way, had recognized him, as it had seemed that he, too, in his way, had recognized her. Perhaps it was before one such as he that she, in her most secret, exciting and beautiful dreams, knelt in her chains, as in his dreams, too, perhaps it was one such as she who, in appropriate chains, knelt before him, looking up at him, to read her fate in his eyes. Yet their recognition of one another, I sensed, had been one which had far exceeded dreams. It had been a recognition in reality, the sudden sensing of a rightness, an appropriateness, an exact fittingness. This unspoken recognition of one another, startling to both, had been exact and real, unquestionable. There had been a recognition of a fitting together, of an indubitable congruence, of a perfection of coordinate realities. This was as real and perfect as the relationship of a lock and its key.
I then, whistling a soft tune to myself, left for the slave camp, to fetch Ina.
44
Hunters
"Hold," said a fellow, surlily, stepping forth from between low tents, in the camp outside the slave camp.
I stopped, the leash to the hooded woman in my grasp. She wore a brown, calflength garment. Her hands were braceleted behind her back.
"You are Tarl, of Port Kar?" asked the fellow.
"Yes," I said.
"We are not fond of those of Port Kar here," he said.
"We are not on Cos," I said.
"You have a wench there," he said.
"Yes," I said.
"A comely wench?" he asked.
"I think so," I said.
I looked about. There were some five other fellows with this one. The others held crossbows, leveled at me.
"Doubtless a slave?" he said.
"No," I said. "A free woman."
"It would seem so," he said. "She does not even know enough to kneel at the sound of a man's voice."
Swiftly the woman behind me knelt.
I dropped the leash.
"Do not draw," warned the fellow.
I did not draw. "What do you want?" I asked.
"Check her thigh," said the leader of the men.
"It is not marked," said a fellow, elatedly.
"Examine her," said the leader.
The woman's dress was pulled up about her breasts and she was thrown forward, on her belly.
"No," said the fellow, in a moment.
"Check the sides of her neck," said the leader.
The fellow then thrust the slave hood up about her chin, as high as it would move, without being unbuckled. He then looked under the leather leash collar at the sides of her neck. That is a rare brand site, like the inside of the left arm, or the lower left abdomen, but it is not unknown.
"No!" said the fellow.
"Do you smell gold, lads?" asked the leader of the others.
"Yes," said one, grinning.
"Yes," said another.
"What do you want?" I asked.
"This would not be the free woman, the Lady Ina, of Ar, would it?" asked the leader.
"No," I said. "It would not be. This is the free woman, Philomela, of Tabor."
"You make a serious mistake in attempting to deceive us, my friend," said the leader.
"How is that?" I asked.
"I was a member of the crew of the Lady Ina in the delta. I have seen her face. I can recognize it."
"I see," I said.
"Unhood her," he said.
The fellow who had examined the woman for brands then rudely unbuckled the slave hood, pulled it away, put his hand in the woman's hair and turned her face up, as she lay, facing the leader.
He seemed stunned.
"Well?" said one of his men.
"That is not the Lady Ina," said the leader, hesitantly.
"Who are you?" demanded the fellow who had unhooded her.
"Philomela," she whispered, "Lady of Tabor."
She cried out in pain, jerking in the bracelets. She had been kicked, as might have been a mere slave.
"He does not have her," said one of the men.
"Come away," said the leader.
In a moment they had faded away, among the tents.
When I had gone to the slave camp earlier I had opened the lid of Ina's slave box, Number 73, and, having her kneel upright in it, had removed the hood, bracelets, leash and collar, and dress from her. I had then thrust her back down in the box and locked it. After a little time I had located some women waiting to be attached to the processing chain. I had picked out one of these, one similar to Ina in height and figure, and rented her for an Ahn, for a tarsk bit. I had then, of course, hooded her, and dressed her as Ina, even to the leash and collar, and bracelets. Since I was taking her off the premises, and I was not personally known to the keeper, I would leave the key to Ina's slave box with him, as security. A careful fellow, he had the box opened, of course, to inspect its contents. He found them quite satisfactory. I had hoped to reach our new camp and then return to the slave camp, to return Philomela to her keeper and retrieve Ina, all without incident. An incident, unfortunately, had occurred. I was now pleased, of course, that I had undertaken this small experiment. Ina was not as safe as I had hoped. Clearly there were still fellows about who wished to apprehend her. Worse, some of them, or at least one of them,
were capable of recognizing her. Wisely or not I had identified myself as Tarl, of Port Kar, wisely I thought, as this might convince them not only that I did not have Ina in hand but perhaps never had had her in hand.
"I was kicked!" said Lady Philomela.
I looked down at her. There was a colorful bruise on her side.
"You will grow used to such things," I said.
She looked at me, with horror.
She was soon to become a slave. She had been awaiting her attachment to the processing chain.
"Who were those men?" she asked.
"Concern yourself not with them," I said.
"I am pleased that I am not that Ina," she said.
"Lady Ina," I said.
"Lady Ina," she said.
"You have rented me?" she asked, lying on her side.
"Yes," I said.
"For how long?" she asked.
"For an Ahn," I said.
"How much gold did you pay?" she asked.
"A tarsk bit," I said.
"A tarsk bit!" she cried.
"Apparently you are not as valuable as you think," I said. "Do not rise above your knees."
She now knelt, looking at me, wildly.
I must think.
"They spoke of gold where this lady Ina was concerned," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"She must be very valuable," she whispered.
"Yes," I said. Ah, I thought to myself, recalling their concern for brands, and such. That might have been, I supposed, merely to aid in their identification, as the Lady Ina was, supposedly, a free woman. But then, I thought, if that was all there was to it, merely identification, why not simply unhood her, first?
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