The stranger rose to his feet.
“What have you two been doing all this time?” I asked.
“Waiting for master,” laughed Alcinoe.
I saw this as an excellent argument not to give a slave a standing permission to speak.
“What do you think?” said Callias.
“One thing, I see,” I said, lifting the lamp higher, to the better view Alcinoe, “she has spent at least some of the time becoming more beautiful.”
“Yes,” said Callias.
The slave looked down, bashfully.
Happiness makes a woman more beautiful. Even a plain woman who is happy is beautiful.
“I think we had better go,” I said. “Gather up the sirik, and I will discard the Pani tunic, wretched garment, in the garbage, as we leave.”
“I would not do so, if I were you,” said Alcinoe, who knelt, understandably enough, as she was addressing a free person.
“You do not like the garment, I hope,” I said.
“I think it is horrid,” she said.
“Good,” I said, and bent down to pick up the tunic.
“Please wait, Masters,” she said. “Perhaps you should examine the tunic.”
I suddenly recalled some puzzles I had had, pertaining to that distressing garment, its thickness, its opacity, its length, long and heavy, even for a Pani tunic, a smile on the face of Captain Nakamura, and a smile on the features of the slave, the sound it had made when it was brushed across the floor by Callias’ boot.
“It is my conjecture,” she said, “that Lord Nishida and Master Tarl Cabot, who commands the tarn cavalry of Lord Temmu, would not have been likely, as an expression of their esteem and gratitude to my master, to send him so negligible a gift as a mere slave, and one untrained, too.”
“No!” said Callias. “You are a thousand times more than enough. They must know that. You are the world to me!”
Beware, Callias, I thought, beware.
“A slave is grateful to be so esteemed by her Master,” she said, “but Alcinoe is well aware that she is only a slave, and that her monetary value is determined only by what masters will pay for her.”
“She is right,” I said.
“I would pay the world for her,” he said.
“You do not have the world,” I told him. “And, unless you have not been candid with me, you do not have even a tarsk-bit.”
“And poor Alcinoe,” she said, “as a gift, may be worth but, say, five silver tarsks.”
“Closer to two,” I conjectured.
“Oh?” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“And thus, if such things are so, five, or perhaps two,” she said, “the gift of Lord Nishida and Tarl Cabot, the tarnsman, would seem surprisingly modest, particularly for those who have much they might bestow.”
“No matter,” said Callias.
“Thus,” she said, “perhaps masters might examine the tunic, before disposing of it.”
We looked upon the tunic, lying crumpled on the floor, to the side.
“Close the door,” said Callias. “Bring the lamp closer.”
I closed the door, and brought the lamp to where Callias sat, putting it on the floor beside him.
Alcinoe fetched the Pani tunic, knelt before her master, spread the tunic before her, lifted it in two hands, and then, her head down, between her extended arms, proffered it to her master.
“Now a gift of true worth,” she said, “is presented by a slave to her master, with the affection and regard of Lord Nishida and Tarl Cabot, commander of the tarn cavalry of Lord Temmu.”
“You are the gift of true worth,” said Callias to the slave.
“Yes, yes,” I said, “I am sure of it, but let us examine the tunic.”
“It would be well,” said the slave, “to open the lining carefully, and examine every inch of the tunic.”
“Have no fear,” I said. “Friend Callias, loan me your dagger.”
“What is here?” Callias asked the slave.
“Some coin,” she said, “tiny golden tarsks, almost like beads, which are light and consume little space, but mostly pearls, and jewels.”
“How much is here?” I asked.
“Slaves are not told such things,” she said. “But I do not think masters will be disappointed.”
“Callias,” I said, freeing a pearl from the garment, “I think you are a rich man.”
“Even if it is nothing,” he said, placing a hand on the arm of the slave kneeling beside him, “I am already a rich man.”
The slave kissed his hand.
“Be serious,” I said. “Here is another!”
“How much did you know of this?” asked Callias of the slave.
“I knew, of course, that the garment contained such things,” she said, “but I did not know how many or of what worth.”
“Curiosity is not becoming to a kajira,” I said.
“But not unknown, I assure you,” she said.
“True,” I said.
“I was, of course, to guard it with my life,” she said.
“What if you were taken to Ar, as I suspect you deserve,” I said.
“One supposes,” she said, “that the garment, if handled, would betray its secrets.”
“It might have been cast aside,” I said.
“I prevented that this evening,” she said, “and, in any case, would prevent it.”
“Even were you on your way to Ar?”
“Of course,” she said.
“Why?” I asked.
“I love my master,” she said. “It was intended for him, and it was my charge to see that he received it. I wanted all that was good for him. He might thus add it to a fugitive’s bounty. Of what value is wealth to one on the impaling spear? And if my master does not want me, what matters the manner of our separation? Why not the impaling spear?”
“I want you,” said Callias, “more than all the wealth in the world. I would never let you go. I would die for you!”
“Do not forget I am only a slave,” she said. “That is what I am. And I would be kept as one.”
“And you will be,” he said, “even to the chain and whip!”
“I will try to be pleasing to my master,” she said.
“Fully pleasing,” he said.
“Yes,” she said, kissing him, “fully pleasing.”
“From the first moment I saw you,” he said, “I wanted to own you.”
“And from the first moment I saw you,” she said, “I wanted to belong to you.”
“You do,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Love slave,” he whispered.
“Love master,” she said.
“I could slip half of this into my purse,” I said, “while you two are carrying on, as it is said, dizzy on the heights of desire, wandering on the roads of delight, lost in the forests of rapture, drunk on the wines of love, swimming about in one another’s eyes, and such. Repulsive. Offensive!”
“Perhaps,” said Callias, “you, too, one day, will as gladly lose your way.”
“You are fortunate,” I said, “that my caste codes discourage robbing armed warriors.”
“How does it proceed?” asked Callias.
“I am not of the Street of Coins,” I said, “but I think it is clear that you are a wealthy man. I have a hundred golden tarsks here, a hundred pearls, a hundred jewels, of various sorts and sizes.”
“That is a great deal,” said Callias.
“This one pearl,” I said, “I would estimate at a dozen silver tarsks.”
“So much?” he said.
“It would buy six slaves such as Alcinoe,” I said, “on the open market.”
“She is much better than that,” he said. “Perhaps four,” he speculated.
“Master!” protested the slave.
I spread the tunic on the floor, between myself and Callias, the slave to the side.
“I think that is all,” I said, “as I have opened and removed the lining, shaken it, fingered every square hort of the garment, and bitten and chewed each square hort as well, to make doubly sure. On the other hand, the tunic is yours, as is she who was its occupant, and if I have missed anything, it should turn up eventually, when it is unraveled into its least threads.”