When the party of three, the handsome fellow, and his two companions, were within a few yards of her, she rose lightly, gracefully, to her feet. They noted this movement, of course, and doubtless had observed her earlier. Certainly it is difficult for a kneeling slave, and one of such beauty, as they could now detect, even given the mixtures of light and shadow beneath the trellises, to be ignored. Their eyes met, and then she lowered her head, humbly. This contact, however, brief as it was, gave them to halt. In it she had conveyed to them that she had been waiting for them, and would approach. The two fellows with the handsome slave looked to one another. This girl who had been waiting was a state slave. Could she bear a message from someone in the Central Cylinder, say, from one of the many free women in the entourage of even the Ubara? Too, they may have remembered her from the theater, and from Aulus. Certainly the slave had bided her time discreetly. Could something sensitive be afoot? There were few about. The street was muchly deserted. The market was closed. The day was hot, even under the trellises. I lounged against a wall, several yards away, near a doorway. I did not think it would be easy to pick me out, even if one were interested in doing so, given the variegated patterns of light and shade, and the dangling vines. Too, between us, here and there, were some of the posts supporting the overhead trelliswork. The fellow said something to them. The two men immediately drew back. That interested me. It seemed that no official note was to be taken of this encounter, or, at least, that its content was to be accorded the delicacy of privity, at least in theory.
I watched the girl approach the slave.
She approached with rapid, small steps, her head down, her hands to the side, slightly extended, palms back. When near him she lifted her head slightly, hardly daring to meet his eyes, and then she knelt before him, as before a master, doing obeisance onto him, her head down to the stones before his golden sandals, the palms of her hands, too, on the stones. This was not appropriate, of course, even though both were slaves, as she was female and he male, and the obeisance thus, manifested in this instance in the persons of slaves, might be regarded simply as that of that of femaleness to maleness. The perfect obeisance, of course, the natural obeisance was that it seemed so perfectly to exemplify that of the female slave, literally that of the slave to her master, though it was performed before a male who was not only not her master, but himself a slave. That I found of interest. Did she think he owned her? Too, she did not have to perform such an obeisance in this context. It was not, for example, required by custom or prescribed by ordinance. Too, as he did not own her nor expect to encounter her he would not have had an opportunity to specify certain details of her relationship with him, for example, his preferences with respect to her manner of presenting herself before him, the nature of the rituals of deference or submission to be expected of her, and such. He was, after all, only a slave, too. Indeed, sometimes female slaves are quite cruel to male slaves, taunting or mocking them, and such. Let the female slave hope, in such a case, that she does not find herself braceleted and put to him in his cell, a whip tied about her neck. In such a case he is as master to her.
Lavinia looked up at him, tears in her eyes. He then, I think, from his reaction, clearly recognized her, well recollecting her once a free female, whom he, as a seduction slave, had entrapped for his master, Appanius. He seemed stunned. I did not know if this were merely his surprise at seeing her here, again, from so long ago, so unexpectedly, she now in her collar, or if the startled response to her might be more the result of recognizing the incredible transformation which had taken place in her, that the mere free woman he had entrapped had now become, in her bondage, so astoundingly fascinating and beautiful. Perhaps it was both. Lavinia then, seemingly overcome, trembling, put herself to her belly before him, her lips and hair over his sandals, and beggingly, timidly, as though she feared she might be struck or kicked, began to kiss and lick his feet. I myself, I am sure, was little less startled than the fellow to whom these attentions were addressed. I had expected Lavinia to kneel before him and give him the message, little more. Indeed, I was not certain that she would have been permitted to do even this. I had thought it possible that she might be kicked back or cuffed away from him, if not by him, then by (pg. 391) the fellows with him. She was, after all, a slave. If this sort of thing occurred, I would not be likely to interfere, of course, for that might reveal, or suggest, my connection with her, a relationship which I was eager, at this point, to conceal. I did not anticipate, of course, that she would be subjected to much more abuse than is natural to, or fitting for, a female slave. I was prepared, of course, to interfere if it seemed likely she might be in danger of disfigurement or serious injury. After all, she was not without value in a market, and one would not wish anything to happen to her which might lower her price.
She slowly moved to her knees again, her head down, licking and kissing, and then, her knees under her, she began to raise her ministrations to his shins and calves. She looked up at him, again. It seemed he could not move, so stunned, so startled, he was. Tears were in her eyes. Then she put her hands on his legs, and began to kiss him about the knees, and then above the knees. She now, kneeling before him, close to him, had her arms lovingly about his legs, her head down, shaking as though with sobs. She then looked up at him again. It seemed there was no other place that she would rather be. She then, again, lowered her head, and was kissing and licking delicately at the sides of his legs. To serve him and give him pleasure seemed as though it might be her desire, her happiness, her meaning and destiny in life. Did she think she was his slave? Again she looked up, this time pleadingly. I saw the two fellows in the background exchange alarmed glances. Was the handsome fellow in some sort of danger? Were there risks involved which might be clear to them, if not to others? She then put her head to the side, brushing up the purple tunic with the side of her head, kissing and licking at his thigh beneath the tunic. At this point one of the fellows rushed forward with an angry cry and seized her by the hair. "Lewd slave!" he cried. He hurled her, she crying out with pain, to her side on the stones of the street. He then rushed to her, and she curled up, making herself small, and kicked her, twice, to which blows she reacted. She was then on her right thigh, and the palms of her hands, half-sitting, half lying, on the street. She looked at them. The handsome fellow had not moved. He stayed where he was, as though rooted to the spot. "Away, lewd slave!" snarled one of the men with the fellow. "Begone!" said the other.