"Yes, Maser!" she wept.
I considered the unilaterally of the master/slave relationship. All power is with the master. This, of course, has its effect upon the slave. Let her strive to be such that her master will keep her.
"Look," I said, pointing to the foot of the wall, where the flute girl was together with others of her station. She seemed distraught, bound, turning about, to look at me. They all, excited, confused, looked in this direction. To be sure, several of them, and many on the wall, too, both flute girls and laborers, had paused in their various activities, to follow the sequence of events on the Wall Road. But Marcus and Phoebe paid me no attention. They were in one another's arms.
"I love you, Master," was saying Phoebe, looking up at him, "totally and helplessly."
"And I," he was saying, brushing back hair from her forehead, "fear that I might find myself growing fond of you."
"Use me, Master, use me!" she begged.
"Not here," said Marcus. "Perhaps in a darkened doorway, on the way back to our lodging."
Quickly she pulled from him, and hurried a few steps back, toward Harness Street, turning them to look back, pleadingly at him.
I was pleased to see that she was much in his power.
"I see," said Marcus. The flute girls at the foot of the wall, looking this way, knelt, putting their heads down to the stones, doing obeisance in our direction. The command of a free man had been conveyed to them. I then say the lovely brunet picking her way with difficulty up a path to the higher part of the breach. She was communicating my message, I gather, to the girls she encountered, on the different levels. I looked up toward the height of the breach. There, girl after girl, especially as she saw my eyes upon her, knelt, putting her head down. Those that were sitting cross-legged swiftly abandoned that position, also performing obeisance. Then, one by one, as the brunet hurried among them, they picked their way down the paths from the breach to the Wall Road and hurried away. In a few moments the breach was cleared of flute girls. Doubtless all of them, at one time or another, had been under an excellent discipline and now, fearful of an impending restoration of such rigors, would lose no time in recalling, and manifesting, suitable attitudes and behaviors. No woman who has ever felt the whip forgets it.
"Was that wise?" asked Marcus.
"No," I said.
"Tomorrow they will be back, and things will be the same," he said.
"Undoubtedly," I said.
"Nothing will be changed," he said.
"True," I said.
"Then why did you do it?" he asked.
"I felt like it," I said.
"I was afraid you might not have had a good reason," he said.
"Master," said Phoebe, pleadingly.
"It could be dangerous here," said Marcus.
"For whom?" I asked.
"I see," said Marcus.
"Master," begged Phoebe.
"The men of Ar, and the woman, and youth," he said, looking over to the wall, "remain on the breach."
"Yes," I said.
"Interesting," he said.
"Master!" said Phoebe, suddenly, again. But this time, from the note in her voice, we turned about, instantly.
"You there, hold!" cried an angry voice, that of a guardsman in the uniform of Ar, hurrying toward us. His hand was on the hilt of his sword.
We turned to face him, separating ourselves. This permits outflanking, the engagement by one, the death stroke by the other.
Instantly the guardsmen stopped. He was then some four or five yards from us. "You are armed," he said.
"It is lawful," I said. "We are not of Ar."
He drew his blade.
We, too, drew ours.
"You have drawn before a guardsman!" he said.
"Did you think we would not?" I asked.
"It is against the law," he said.
"Not our law," I said.
"What have you done here?" he asked. "The flute girls have worked enough today," I said. "We have sent them home."
"By whose authority?" he asked.
"By mine," I said.
"You are an officer?" he said.
"No," I said.
"I do not understand," he said.
"You are Cosian," said Marcus.
"I am a guardsman of Ar," said a fellow.
"You are Cosian," said Marcus.
"You have drawn a weapon against me," I said.
"You are of the warriors?" said the fellow. He wavered. He, too, knew the codes. "Yes," I said.
"And he?" asked the fellow.
"He, too," I said.
"You are not in scarlet," he said.
"True," I said. Did he think that the color of a fellow's garments was what made him a warrior? Surely he must realize that one not of the warriors might affect the scarlet, and that one who wore the grimed gray of a peasant, one barefoot, and armed only with the great staff, might be of the scarlet caste. It is not the uniform which makes the warrior, the soldier.
"There are two of you," he said, stepping back a pace.
"Yes," I said.
"Be off," said he, "before I place you under arrest."
"Perhaps you fellows should go about in squads of ten," I said.
"It is not necessary," he said.
"No," I said. "I suppose it is not necessary."
"Are you going to kill him?" Marcus asked me.
"I have not decided," I said.
"There are two of you," he said.
"You are a brave fellow," I said, "not to turn about, and flee." The odds, you see, were much against him, even were we mediocre swordsmen. One need only engage and defend, and the other strike.
"You dare not attack," he said. "It is day. Those of Ar watch."
"Is it true?" I asked Marcus, not taking my eyes off the fellow.
Marcus stepped back, shielding himself behind me. "Yes," he said.
"Interesting," I said.
"You see," he said. "There are many witnesses."
"They are not rushing for aid are they?" I asked Marcus.
"No," he said.
"I suspect they will have seen nothing," I said.
The fellow turned pale.
"You are cowards!" he said.
"Which of us will kill him?" asked Marcus.
"It does not matter," I said.
The fellow stepped back another pace.
"Why do you not run?" I asked.
"Those of Ar watch," he said.
"And not to show fear before them you would stand your ground against two?"
"I am Cosian," he said.
"Now," I said to Marcus, "perhaps the victory of Cos is clearer to you."
"Yes," said Marcus.
"Under the circumstances," I said to the guardsman, "I would nonetheless recommend a discretionary withdrawal."
"No," said the man.
"We are prepared to permit it," I said.
"No," he said.
"No dishonor is involved in such a thing," I said.
"No," he said.
"You need not even make haste," I said.
"I do not fear you singly," he said.
"On guard," I said.
He immediately entered readiness.
"Stay back," I said to Marcus.
I had scarcely uttered my injunction to Marcus when, Phoebe screaming, the fellow lunged. Our blades met perhaps three times and I was under his guard. He drew back, shaken, white faced. Again we engaged and, again, in a moment, I was behind his guards. Again he drew back, this time staggering, off balance. "Aii," he wept and lunged again, and then, tripped, scrambling about, pressed back with my foot, was on his back, my sword at his throat. He looked up, wildly.
"Strike!" he said.
"Get up," I said. "Sheath your sword."
He staggered to his feet, watching me, and sheathed his sword. I then sheathed mine.
"Why did you not kill me?" he asked.
"I told you earlier," I said, "I had decided not to kill you."
"I am an expert swordsman," he said, looking at me.
"I agree," I said.
"I have never seen such speed, such subtlety," he said. "It is like defending oneself against wind, or lightning."