“Certainly,” she said.
“Even to me,” he said.
“Possibly,” she said.
“Do you know the penalties for a slave girl who lies?” he asked.
“How could I know such things?” she whispered.
“I thought you might have heard,” he said.
“She would be severely punished,” she said.
“That is my understanding, as well,” he said.
“Such things are of no interest to me,” she said.
“I thought they might be.”
“No,” she said.
“You are Tribonius Auresius, of Terennia, where you are an officer of a court?”
“Yes!” she said.
“You are Tribonius Auresius, a free woman, one of the honestori, even of the patricians?”
“Yes, of course,” she said.
“Normally,” he said, “one might expect those of the patricians to wear some token of their blood, a purple ribbon, even a thread somewhere. Have you such a token?”
“I did not so garb myself,” she said.
“Even though traveling?”
“No,” she said. “Do you have such a token about you?”
“I normally do not wear the color,” he said. “I find it does not fit well with same garb, and that it sometimes tends to evoke resentment or envy.”
“The lower orders are subject to such faults,” she said.
“‘The lower orders’?”
“Yes.”
“I admire your ensemble,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said.
“They are clearly the garments of a free woman.”
“Of course,” she said.
“As I understand it, a slave girl who dares to don such garments without the authorization of the master may be severely punished, even slain.”
She turned white.
“To be sure, sometimes a master will order his slave to wear such garments, perhaps because, for some reason, he wishes to keep her true status a secret.”
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes, yes,” she said.
“You are trembling,” he said.
“I think that I will be leaving now,” she said.
“You will remain,” he said.
“Please, Person Ausonius!” she said.
“It is fortunate that you are not a slave girl,” he said, “for a slave girl’s addressing a free person by his name in that manner can be cause for severe discipline.”
“Do not forget that you are a same!” she said.
“You are a free woman, are you not, even of the patricians?”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes!”
“Your shoes are pretty,” he said, “Remove them.”
She looked at him, agonized, but she dared not disobey such a direct order, as she was a slave.
“Very well,” she said.
“No,” he said, “not there, there.”
She rose from the bed, on which she had sat, and sat on the floor, beside the bed.
“Now the hose,” he said.
He watched. Her legs were shapely.
“Now rise,” he said. “Come here.”
She stood small, trembling, before him.
He put his hands to the scarf, at her throat. He very gently unwrapped it, revealing the slave collar.
“Master!” she moaned, falling to her knees.
“Do you really think I cannot tell a slave, when I see one?” he asked. “How she moves, the nature of her body, little things, of which she is not even aware.”
“You are a same!” she wept, looking up at him.
“No,” he said. “In my arms I have held a slave. I can no longer be a same. I have tasted slave meat.”
“Forgive me, Master!” she wept.
“Do you think I do not know why a slave is sent to a man’s room?” he asked.
“Forgive me, Master,” she said.
“So,” said he, looking down upon her, “this is what has become of my former betrothed, my former fiancée, the proud, mercenary, materialistic little snip, Tribonius Auresius.”
“Yes, Master,” she said, fearfully.
“The collar looks well on you.”
“Thank you, Master.”
“What is your name?” he asked.
“I do not truly have a name,” she said. “In this house I am called ‘Flora’.”
“An excellent name for a slave,” he said.
“Thank you, Master,” she said.
“It will do,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Surely your master did not tell you to appear before me in the garments of a free woman.”
“No, Master,” she said.
“Remove them,” he said.
She hastened to rid herself of the garments of the free woman, and then there knelt before him the same slave who, earlier, had knelt before her master, she in the narrow bandeau, she of the black, twice-turned cloth cord, the bits of silk. She even, with acute self-consciousness, realizing how this must accentuate the beauty of her figure, in misery, replaced the scarlet hair ribbon.
“Aii,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“But what is that flower in your belt?” he asked.
“The slave flower,” she said, “which I have been ordered to offer to you.”
“Your master thinks so little of you?” he asked.
“Yes, Master!” she wept.
“Place the flower on the foot of the bed,” he said. “Remove your garments completely. Remain kneeling.”
“Yes, Master,” she wept.
“In the corner of the room, there,” he said, pointing, “there is a slave whip. Crawl to it, on all fours, and fetch it, bring it back to me in your teeth.”
The slave complied.
He took the whip from her and put it on the bed, by the flower.
“Lift your wrists, crossed,” he said.
In a moment her wrists were lashed together. He then tied them to the ring at the foot of the bed, a common feature in many bedrooms in the empire.
She then knelt at the foot of the bed, her wrists tied before her, to the ring.
“You thought to make a fool of me,” he said. “I do not care for that.”
He picked up the whip, and shook out the blades.
“I am of the Auresii!” she said.
“Are you?” he asked.
“No, no!” she said. “I am only a slave girl!”
“You came to this room under false pretenses,” he said. “You dared to garb yourself without authorization in the garments of a free woman. You pretended to be free, to be the free woman, Tribonius Auresius, once my fiancée. Your speech was insolent. Many were the lies that passed your deceitful lips. By recourse to insidious psychological devices you attempted to bend me to your will. Though an animal you dared to speak of marriage. You addressed me by my name, soiling it, by putting it on the lips of a slave.”
“Mercy!” she begged.
“There are many counts against you, Flora,” he said.
“Forgive me, Master!” she begged.
“What I do not understand,” he said, “is why you did these things.”
“From what I knew of you, Master,” she wept, “I loathed you. The thought of you disgusted me. My very skin crawled at the thought of your touch.”
“Because you thought me a same, a weakling?”
“Yes!” she said.
“Do you think such things are true?” he asked.
“No, Master,” she said. “I see they are not.”
“But even if they had been true,” he asked, “would they have excused your conduct?”
“No, Master!” she said.
“Is it up to the slave girl whom she will content and serve?” he asked.
“No, Master!” she said.
“It depends on whom?” he asked.
“On the master!” she said.
“Are the feelings of the slave girl of any account?” he asked.
“No, Master!” she said.
“You know these things?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” she wept.
“And yet you did what you did,” he said.
“Forgive me, Master,” she said.