The bath was done. Casca raised her from the water and called for fresh jars to rinse her off. When this was done, a robe was brought to wrap around her nakedness and Casca showed her to a small side room where a pallet was laid out. He motioned for her to lie down. Again she tensed. This was to be it! He was going to take her now!
Once again, though, the scarred foreign warrior surprised her when he suddenly left the room, leaving her to lie alone on the pallet. From where she lay, she could see that he'd returned to his room and had now closed the curtain behind him.
Anobia was confused. Why had he bought her if he did not desire her? Why would he pay such a great price, then ignore her? Still confused, she wasunaware of the moment when sleep came to her. Her eyes closed; she was tired, very tired. In spite of it all, the bath had taken some of the tension of her past ordeal from her body, and she slept.
Casca called for wine, then for lamps to be lit in the corners and on the table, before which he sat on cushions, trying to answer the same questions to himself that Anobia had previously pondered.
He sat alone all that night thinking and cursing himself. What was there about the woman? He knew she could be more trouble than she was worth. For the amount of money he'd spent on her he could have bought twenty beautiful good-tempered wenches that would have been delighted to serve him. But there was something! Was it the pride? She had continued to fight even though he'd known she was terrified. She'd fought in the only way she knew.
Dammit! I've no business getting emotionally involved with a woman. The only thing it ever brings me in the long run is pain. But still, there is something to her that cries out to me!
He peeked in on her a couple of times that night, fighting the temptation to enter and lie beside her. He knew he could take her if he wished, but he also knew that there would be scant pleasure in the taking, that she would give him nothing. He might enter her body, but that would be all. He could not touch her mind or her body in that fashion. He cursed himself again for wondering why that should make any difference to him. But it did.
Once, while she was sleeping, he'd seen her shivering from the night air and he had brought a coverlet, laying it gently over her, careful not towake her as he watched her face in sleep. She was beautiful and probably had no more than twenty years of life to her. By the gods, he felt old, and he knew he was old, in ways that normal men could never understand. Old in the way that only trees or stones could know, and he had no business with feelings.
He knew she would be dust and he would still be the same. Time is a heavy burden when the sands run slow.
The night wore on. Casca dozed, still sitting by the table while the oil lamp threw shadows against the walls. He was there when dawn came.
Anobia awoke with a jerk, her eyes at first panicked. She removed the coverlet from her, wondering where it had come from. Rising, she unconsciously touched her hair and moved the curtain aside, walking to the room she'd seen Casca enter. She watched him for a moment before the rustling of the curtain aroused him. His eyes jerked wide open at the sound and immediately locked on hers. He nodded his head then. A decision had been made.
He motioned for her to come to him. She obeyed, walking slowly, stiff-legged, as a frightened fawn might. For there was power in this man. He motioned for her to kneel and she obeyed, wondering why she was not resisting his orders.
His rough hands reached ever so slowly around her neck and, with a twisting motion, his fingers tore apart the slave collar. Lying on the table was the deed the auctioneer had given him. He unrolled the document, took a stylus, and after making some marks on the scroll, signed his name and rank. Anobia watched, wondering. Wearily, hehanded the document to her.
"Here, take it, woman. You're free. I will not have that which is not freely given and I feel that it is best if you leave this house and return to your own people. Surely you will give me nothing but pain if you stay."
In contrast to his rough handling of her the night before, these words were spoken gently. She knew that he'd wanted her and could have taken her. But he hadn't. Anobia put the document of her manumission inside her robe, saying nothing. She was confused in her mind.
Casca spoke again. "You're free to go woman."
She looked deeply into his eyes and she saw a difference. There was something inside them that she'd never seen in a man's eyes before. A terrible sadness, a loneliness that was a bottomless well of grief. These eyes, she knew, had seen more suffering than she would ever know. She saw something else in those eyes now, when he looked at her-the beginning of love was there. That was why he was setting her free. He was afraid of falling in love with her.
Casca waved his hand. "Go from me now!" He tossed her a sack of silver coins. "This will see you back to your people. Go! Leave me now!" He placed his head between his hands, elbows on the table, and would not look at her again.
Anobia rose silently, holding the bag of silver in her hands, and walked out of the door and into the streets of Nev-Shapur.
Casca sighed, letting the breath out slowly. His eyes were heavy. He laid his head on the table and slept again. She was gone.
A tinkling sound awoke him, his eyes heavy with unfinished sleep. The tinkling continued while his eyes struggled to focus on the table. He saw one small sparkle, then another and another as the coins fell in a pile before him.
Anobia was kneeling beside him. When the last coin fell from the pouch to join the others on the table, she dropped the bag atop them and touched his hand with her own, resting her small fingers on top of his. She spoke softly. "You are tired, my master. Come and lie down."
She had tried to leave, but something had drawn her back. Four times she had walked away only to find herself standing again and again in front of his doorway. So she'd returned, ignoring the questioning looks of those of his household. There was something she had to find out.
She took his hand; this time she did the leading as she guided him to her pallet. Heavily, he lay down and she put herself beside him, her heart beating wildly, her mind still confused at what she was doing. She waited for him to take her. She'd never had a man before. Though many had tried, she'd fought them all so savagely that they'd left her in search of easier pickings.
But now, she waited. She almost panicked and ran as his muscled arm went around her shoulder and drew her to him, but this arm was gentle and it was pulling her close into him and she wasn't running. Her head against his chest, her face against his skin, she waited for the hands to take her robe from her. But the hands never came. Casca slept, holding her to him as he would a child, and she finally relaxed, moving her face so that her hair was out of the way and her face and mouth werenext to his chest. Then, she, too, slept. Slept in the arms of the man who'd bought her, then had sent her away. And with that sleep, she, too, fell in love with him. In some strange manner, his not taking her then, the possessive embrace, the closeness, had drawn her to him more than any other act ever could have.
They slept long and deeply, each next to the other. It was nightfall before they awakened and looked at each other, both surprised at what they saw in the other's eyes and face.
Casca kissed her. A long, deep gentle kiss that pulled her breath from her and then gave it back to her, along with his own. They joined and she opened up to him. The first pain was as nothing and it passed quickly. They loved each other. There was no rushing, no heavy thrusting or tearing. It was gentle, almost reluctant in the taking, and the tenderness this rough warrior had shown she never knew existed in men.