"Today," she said, angrily, "we have won a great victory."
"Over Cosians?" I asked.
"In a way," she said, petulantly.
"No," I said, "over rencers."
Her eyes flashed over the veil.
"Men of the right flank stumbled on a village of rencers," I said. "That is all." I had surmised this, from the information coming from the right this afternoon.
"Rencers are allies of those of Cos!" she said.
The influence of Cos was strong in the delta, to be sure, there as it was in the western reaches of the Vosk, but I did not think the rencers would be explicit allies of Cos. They, in their small, scattered communities, tend to be secretive, fiercely independent folk.
"The village was destroyed," she laughed.
"I am sorry to hear it," I said.
"That is because you favor Cos," she said.
"Those of Port Kar," I said, "are at war with Cos." To be sure, this war was largely a matter of skirmishes, almost always at sea, and political formality. There had not been a major engagement since the battle of the 25th of Se'Kara, in the first year of the sovereignty of the Council of Captains in Port Kar, or, to use the chronology of Ar, 10,12 °C.A., Contasta Ar, from the Founding of Ar. In that battle the forces of Port Kar had defeated the combined fleets of Cos and Tyros.
"Those of Port Cos doubtless have their traitors, as well as those of other cities," she said.
"I suppose so," I said.
"But you may lament for your allies, the rencers," she laughed.
"It was not only they for whom I was sorry," said I.
"For whom, then?" she asked.
"For those of Ar, as well," said I.
"I do not understand," I said.
"Surely there were warning signals, cloth on wandlike rence stems, white, then later red, raised in the vicinity of the rencers' village."
"Such were mentioned in the reports," she said.
"Yet your scouts proceeded," I said.
"Ar goes where she pleases," said she. "Too, such markers could have been set up by Cosians."
"They serve to warn away strangers," I said. "In the vicinity of such markers Cosians would be no more welcome than those of Ar."
"We of Ar do not fear," she laughed. "Too, it does not matter now. Victory was ours. The village was destroyed."
"Was your barge seen in the vicinity of the village?" I asked.
"I suppose so," she said. "Were there survivors?" I asked. "I do not know," she said. I was silent.
"It was a great victory," she said.
I was silent. I had once known some rencers. To be sure, the groups with which I was familiar were far to the west, indeed, in the vicinity of the tidal marshes themselves.
"Concern yourself with the matter no longer, my helpless, handsome spy," she laughed. "It is over, it is done with. It is finished."
"Perhaps," I said.
"Listen," she said. "I hear Vosk gulls, out in the marsh."
"Perhaps," I said. "What do you mean?" she asked. I was again silent.
"I have men at my beck and command," she warned me.
"For what purpose have you come," I asked, "to torment me?"
"Spread your knees more widely," she snapped. I did so.
She laughed. "As I understand it," she said, "you were, though a prisoner, earlier displeasing in speech."
"Have you the ear of an officer?" I asked, suddenly.
"Present them to officers," I said. "Plead that they be considered!"
"I think not," she said.
"Why?" I asked.
"They are the quaint ravings of a spy," she said.
"You do not believe that," I said.
"No," she said. "Of course not."
"Convey them then to officers," I said, "swiftly, clearly!"
"No," she laughed.
I suddenly knelt back. "You!" I said. "You are the spy! You are with them!"
"Yes," she laughed. "I am with them!"
"It is for that reason you wished to interrogate me," I said, "to see what I might know, or have guessed."
"Of course," she said.
"I have been a fool," I said.
"Like all men," she said.
But I think," said I, "that I am not the only fool here."
"How is that?" she asked.
"You are in the delta, too," I said.
"My barge will protect me," she said. "It is known. Cosians have orders not to fire upon it, to let it pass."
"I do not think I would care to trust that information," I said.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"You know a great deal," I said. "Your life, in my opinion, is not as safe as you seem to think it is."
"I do not care to listen to such nonsense," she said. I shrugged.
"But there is another reason I wanted to interrogate you," she said.
"What is that?" I asked.
"I heard from slaves in Ven, serving slaves, collared sluts, who saw you caged, before we came west, that you were an attractive and powerful beast." She laughed. "It seems the sight of you made them juice."
"They know perhaps what it is to obey a man," I said.
"Perhaps," she laughed.
"And you," I said, "do you juice?"
"Do not be vulgar!" she said.
"But perhaps there is less to fear for your life than I thought," I said. "Perhaps there is another disposition planned for you."
"What?" she asked.
"The collar," I said.
"Sleen!" she hissed.
"If when stripped you proved sufficiently beautiful," I added.
"Sleen, sleen!" she said.
"Let us see your legs," I said. She stiffened in anger.
"The robes of concealment must be bulky, hot, uncomfortable in the delta," I said. "The rence girls go barefoot, commonly, or wear rence sandals, and short tunics."
"It is you who are the prisoner!" she said.
"And their slaves are sometimes not permitted clothing at all."
"Sleen," she said.
"Except perhaps a rope collar," I said.
"It is you who are stripped," she said. "It is you who are shackled, who have a rope on your neck!"
"Perhaps stripped, and in chains, in the shadow of a whip," I said, "you, too, could learn to juice before men."
She trembled with rage. I thought she would hurry forward, to strike me, but then I did not think, even shackled as I was, that she cared to approach within the ambit of my neck rope. Then her body relaxed. "Ah," she laughed, "you are clever, for a man. You seek to make me angry."
I shrugged. "They are simple conjectures," I said.
Again she stiffened in anger, but then, again, relaxed. She looked down at me. "What an impudent fellow you are," she laughed. "I think I shall have you beaten."
I was silent.
"Has it been long since you have had a woman?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. "Perhaps you have one or two serving slaves with you, one of whom, perhaps, as a discipline, you might order to my pleasure?"
"Alas," she laughed. "I have not brought such slaves with me into the delta. They might learn too much. Also, their presence, such scantily clad, collared creatures, might too severely test the discipline of the men."
"It must be difficult for you," I said, "to be in the delta without serving slaves."
"It is terrible," she admitted. "I must even comb my own hair."
"A significant hardship," I acknowledged.
"And an embarrassing one," she said.
"Without doubt," I said.
"You speak ironically," she said.
"Not at all," I said. "For a woman such as you, such inconveniences must be all but intolerable."
"They are," she said.
"Is Saphronicus your lover?" I asked.
"No," she said.
I nodded. A man such as Saphronicus could have his pick of slaves, of course. With such an abundance of riches at his disposal he would not be likely to concern himself with a free female. To be sure, they are sometimes of economic, political or social interest to ambitious men, men interested in using them to improve their fortunes, further their careers, and so on. To satisfy their deeper needs, those of pleasure and the mastery, for example, slaves may be kept on the side. The slave, of course, like the sleen or verr, a mere domestic animal, like them, is seldom in a position to improve, say, a fellow's social connections. An occasional exception is the secret slave whom most believe to be still free, her true relationship being concealed, at least for a time, by her master's will, from the public. This deception is difficult to maintain, of course, for as the woman grows in her slavery, it becomes more and more evident in her, in her behavior, her movements, her voice, and such. Also she soon longs for the openness of bondage, that her inward truth may now be publicly proclaimed, that she may now appear before the world, and be shown before the world, as what she is, a slave. Sometimes this is done in a plaza, or other public place, with a public stripping by her master. It is dangerous, sometimes, to be a secret slave, then revealed, for Goreans do not like to be duped. Sometimes they vent their anger on the slave, with blows and lashings, though it seems to me the blame, if any, in such cases, is perhaps less with the slave than the master. To be sure, she probably suggested her secret enslavement to begin with, perhaps even begging it. In any event, she is normally joyful to at last, publicly, be permitted to kneel before her master. By the time it is done, of course, many, from behavioral cues, will have already detected, or suspected, the truth. Such inferences, of course, can be mistaken, for many free women, in effect, exhibit similar behaviors, and such. That is because they, though legally free, within the strict technicalities of the law, are yet slaves. It is only that they have not yet been put in the collar. And the sooner it is done to them the better for them, and the community as a whole. But then I thought that the Lady Ina, perhaps, would not have high enough standing to be of interest in, say, political modalities to a man such as Saphronicus. To be sure, she might be of interest in some other fashion.