A short while after the exit of the attendant, perhaps the enclave constable or bailiff, a tunicked slave came through the small door in the gate.
Cornhair noted, to her apprehension, that the slave carried a switch.
“You are the new girl,” said the slave.
“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.
“As I understand it,” she said, “you are a bitch of the Calasalii.”
“I was once of the Calasalii,” said Cornhair. “I am now a slave, only a slave.”
“Like the other bitches in your family,” she said.
“I do not know,” said Cornhair.
“What are you here for,” she asked, “for the kitchen, for the fields?”
“I do not know,” said Cornhair.
“Kneel,” said the slave. “Get your head up.”
Cornhair knelt. She wanted to touch her collar, but did not dare do so.
“Back on your heels, straighten your back, keep your head up, your hands, palms down, on your thighs!”
Cornhair complied.
“You are pretty,” said the slave, “in a cheap way.”
“I was of the Calasalii,” said Cornhair, “of the honestori, the patricians, even of the senatorial class!”
“Yes,” said the slave, “you are pretty, in a cheap way. Remain as you are.”
“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.
Even had she been a free woman, she would have felt herself a slave, kneeling so.
“What would it be like,” she wondered, “to be a man and see a woman kneeling before him so, and knowing she was a slave?”
She suspected then, something of the heat of the male.
“And what would it be like, to kneel so before a man, one who is your Master?” she wondered.
“And can the man,” she wondered, “suspect something of the heat of the slave?”
How it excited a slave to be a slave!
Dare men know that?
“Split your knees,” said the slave.
“Surely not!” exclaimed Cornhair.
The switch was lifted.
“Good,” said the slave.
The switch was lowered, to Cornhair’s relief.
“I do not see you for the kitchen, or the fields,” said the slave. “I see you, Calasalii bitch, as a Thong Girl, a Couch-Ring Girl, a Split-Knees Girl. Rejoice, or despair, as the notion strikes you.”
“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.
“Do you think you can please a man?” she asked.
“I do not know, Mistress,” said Cornhair. “I am a slave. I will try to be found pleasing. I do not wish to be beaten, or tortured.”
“I know your type,” she said. “You need not fear being beaten or tortured. You will fear only that he may not touch you.”
Cornhair tasted a drop of blood on her lip. She had bitten herself.
“Follow me,” said the slave, turning about.
Cornhair leapt up, and followed the slave. As she sped forward, she felt, touching it, the collar on her neck, the lock at the back of the neck. It was a light, close-fitting collar, and was comfortable, as most slave collars. The point of the collar is to identify its occupant as a slave and, commonly, her owner. It also, to be sure, enhances the beauty of its occupant. It is designed, in part, with that in mind. The common slave collar is so light and comfortable that one would often forget that it was there. But it would be there.
The slave, at the small door fixed in the large second gate, turned, and faced Cornhair.
“Adjust your collar,” she said.
Cornhair did so, carefully. She knew that she was so slave, and so vain, that she would wear her collar well. Slave girls are entitled to their vanity as well as free women.
“It is a Farnichi collar,” said the slave. “You are now a Farnichi girl. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.
“I do not envy you, Calasalii bitch,” she said.
“Mistress?” said Cornhair.
“Follow me,” she said, turning. “We must clean you up and feed you, and make you presentable.”
“Your tunic is lovely,” said Cornhair. “May I hope to be so clothed?”
“You will probably be kept naked,” said the slave.
“Why, Mistress?” asked Cornhair.
“Because you were Calasalii,” she said. “The Farnichi enjoy owning the women of their enemies.”
The slave then exited through the small door in the large, second gate, and Cornhair followed her.
Cornhair stood behind the large, double doors leading to the audience chamber, waiting to be formally presented to her Master, and selected retainers. She had been washed, and brushed and combed, and well fed, on fresh, hot bread and warm slave gruel. There are many forms of, and recipes for, slave gruel, as one would expect, and the mixtures and consistencies vary considerably, ranging from little more than thickened water to rich, weighty porridges. Whereas some slave gruels, usually weak, with inferior ingredients, may be fed to prisoners and slaves under discipline, most, as one would expect, are substantial and nourishing. Certainly a husbandman will normally take care to see that his stock is well cared for. Most slave gruels, the primary ingredients for which, grains, are commonly sold in bulk, in large sacks, are intended to constitute a portion of a carefully supervised, controlled diet with the end in view of the stock’s vigor, health, and general wellbeing. Accordingly, the quantity and quality of provender supplied to the slave is regulated, as is the case with other domestic animals. An enslaved free woman commonly finds her figure, whether she wishes it or not, is becoming slave lovely, of greater interest to Masters, and the slave finds she is in little danger of losing a figure which would sell well off the block. Masters see to such things. There is little to be surprised at, that the average slave is trim, healthy, energetic, and appetitious. The average slave’s diet, of course, as that of her Master, is likely to be varied and delicious. Indeed, most private slaves eat substantially the same meals as their Master, if only because they are likely to have prepared those meals. Mealtime differences are usually independent of the food. For example, the first bite is to be taken by the Master, the slave may feed on her knees, the seat of a chair serving as her table, and so on. Slave gruels do tend to have one thing in common. They are bland. They may be seasoned of course, if the Master permits it. Too, meat, fruit, and vegetables may be mixed with the gruel. Indeed, a slave’s diet often contains generous amounts of fruits, nuts, and vegetables. A slave’s zeal to obtain occasional treats and rewards, such as a candy from her Master’s hand, may be attributed, one supposes, at least in part to the frequent plainness of her diet, and, in part, one supposes, to the fact that she is a slave.