"The papers are papers of manumission," I said. "I am no longer your master. You no longer have a master."
"Manumission?" he asked.
"You are free," I told him.
Lavinia, kneeling nearby, gasped, and looked up, wildly, at Milo.
"I have never been free," he said.
"No," I said.
"Does master not want me?" he asked.
"I do not even have a theater," I said. "What do I need with an actor?"
"You could sell me," he said.
"You are not a female," I said.
He looked down, wildly, at Lavinia.
"Now that," I said, "is a female. That is something fit for slave."
"But your loss is considerable," he said.
"One tarsk bit, to be exact," I said.
He smiled.
"For so little," I said, "one could purchase little more than the services of a new slave for an evening in a paga tavern, one still striving desperately to learn how to be pleasing."
"Women are marvelous!" he exclaimed.
"They are not without interest," I granted him.
Lavinia put down her head, as it had been she upon whom his eyes had been fixed when he had uttered his recent expression of enthusiasm. To be sure, when one sees one woman as beautiful, it is easy to see the beauty in thousands of others.
"I have always been a slave," he said, "even when I was a boy."
"I understand," I said.
"I was a pretty youth," he said.
"I understand," I said.
"And I have always been denied women, warned about them, scolded when I expressed interest in them, sometimes beaten when I looked upon them."
"I know a world where such things, in a sense, are often done," I said, "a world in which, for political purposes, and to further the interests and ambitions of certain factions, there are wholesale attempts to suppress, thwart, stunt and deny manhood. This results, of course, also in the cessation or diminishment of womanhood, but that does not concern the factions as it is only their own interests which are of importance to them."
"How could such things come about?"
"Simply," I said. "On an artificial world, conditioned to approve of negativistic ideologies, with determination and organization, and techniques of psychological manipulation, taking advantage of antibiological antecedents, they may be easily accomplished."
"Even deviancy, and madness, threatening the future of the world itself?" he asked.
"Certainly," I said.
He shuddered.
"Some people are afraid to open their eyes," I said.
"Why?" he asked.
"They have been told it is wrong to do so."
"That is insanity," he said.
"No," I said. "It is cleverness on the part of those who fear only that others will see."
He shuddered again.
"But perhaps one day they will open their eyes," I said.
He was silent.
"But put such places from your mind," I said. "Now you are free. No longer now need you deny your feelings. No longer now need you conceal, or deny, your manhood."
"I am truly free?" he said.
"Yes," I said. I handed him the papers, and he looked at them, and then put them in his tunic.
"I do not know how to act, how to be," he said.
"Your instincts will tell you, your blood," I said. "Their reality transcends your indoctrination, presented under the colors of reason, as though reason, itself, had content."
"I am a man," he said.
"It is true," I said.
"You would touch my hand?" he asked.
"I grasp it," I said, "in friendship, and, too, in friendship, I place my other hand on your shoulder. Do so as well with me, if you wish."
We held one another's hand, our hands then clasped. My left hand was on his right shoulder, and his on mine. "You are a man," I said. "Do not fear to be one."
"I am grateful," he said, "a€”sir."
"It is nothing," I said, "sir."
"I think it would be well for him to leave soon," said Marcus. "For all we know Appanius may have repented of his indiscretion and be returning with men." Lavinia looked up, agonized, at Milo.
"I liked your "Lurius of Jad'," I told him."
"Thank you," said Milo.
"I didn't," said Marcus.
"Marcus is prejudiced," I said.
"But he is also right," he said.
"Oh?" I said.
"You see?" said Marcus.
"I liked it," I said.
"I am not really an actor," said Milo.
"Oh?" I said.
"No," he said. "An actor should be able to act. What I do is to play myself, under different names. That is all."
"That is acting, of a sort," I said.
"I suppose you are right," he said.
"Of course, I am right," I said.
"You are a wonderful actor, Master!" exclaimed Lavinia to Milo. Then she put down her head, quickly, fearing that she might be struck.
"You called me "Master'," he said to her.
She lifted her head, timidly.
"It is appropriate," I said. "She is a slave. You are a free man." She had, of course, spoken without permission, but it seemed almost as though she had been unable to help herself. Considering the circumstances I decided to overlook the matter. To be sure, it would not do for her to make a habit of such errancies. "Forgive me, Master!" she whispered to me.
"You may speak," I said.
"It is only," she said, "that I think the great and beautiful Milo is a wondrous actor. It is not that he acts a thousand roles and we cannot identify him from one role to the next. It is rather that he is himself, in a thousand roles, and it is himself, his wondrous self, that we love!"
"There," I said to Marcus. "See?"
"Love?" said Milo, looking at the kneeling slave.
"Of course, my opinion is only that of a slave," she said, looking down. "That is true," I admitted.
"Love?" asked Milo, again, looking at the slave.
"Yes, Master," she said, not raising her head.
"Get your head up, slave," I said to her.
Lavinia raised her head.
"Put your head back, as far as you can," I said.
She did so. This raised the line of her breasts, and prominently displayed the collar.
"She is pretty, isn't she? I asked.
"She is a beautiful slave," said Milo.
Tears of vulnerability, and emotion, filled Lavinia's eyes.
"Milo had best be on his way," said Marcus.
"Yes," I said.
Lavinia sobbed, but she could not, of course, break position.
"But moments ago," said Milo to me, "you owned us both!"
"True," I said.
"You should leave," said Marcus to Milo.
Again Lavinia sobbed, a sob which shook her entire body, but again she could not break position.
"I think," said Milo to me, "that I would fain remain your slave."
"Why?" I asked.
"That I might upon occasion, when permitted," said Milo, "have the opportunity to look upon this woman."
"Do you find her of interest?" I asked.
"Of course!" he said, startled.
"Then she is yours," I said.
"Mine!" he cried.
"Of course," I said. "She is only a slave, a property, a trifle, a bauble. I give her to you. Here is the key to her collar." I pressed the key into his hand. "You may break position," I said to the slave.
She flung herself to her belly before me, covering my feet with kisses. "Thank you! Thank you, Master!" she wept.
"Your new master is there," I said, indicating Milo.
Quickly then she lay before him, kissing his feet. "I love you, Master!" she wept. "I love you!"
He reached down, awkwardly, to lift her up, but it seemed she fought him, struggling, and could not be raised higher than to her knees, and then, he desisting in amazement, she had her head down again, to his feet, in obeisance, and was kissing them. She was laughing, and crying. "I love you, Master!" she wept. "I love you! I will be hot, devoted and dutiful! I am yours! I will live to please you! I will live to love and serve you! I love you, my master!" She kissed him again, and again, about the feet, the ankles, the sides of the calves. Then she looked up at him, timidly, love bright in her eyes. "I will try to be a good slave to you, Master!" she said.