She bent toward me, joyfully. I took her in my arms and kissed her. “I am happy for you!” I said. “I love you, too!”
She then lowered her head to kiss the feet of the depth warden, near me. “Thank you, Master,” she wept. “Thank you for everything!”
He kept the folds of his hood drawn carefully about his face.
Then in a moment she was drawn to her feet by the leash, and pulled away. She looked over her shoulder, drawn toward the portal. “I love you!” she said. “I love you!” I called. Then the slave girl, naked and bound, on her leash, was taken from the chamber. I heard the noises of a small crowd outside, and much jeering. Some had gathered, it seemed, to witness the procession of the Lady Constanzia to the docks. I supposed that several of these people would accompany her to the docks, and that, indeed, she might have to run something of a gantlet until her arrival there, perhaps being abused, switched, and spit upon. So much, at least, it seemed, would be owed to the house of William, in Harfax.
to be sure, her master would doubtless to some extent protect her, seeing to it that the crowd did not exceed the proprieties customary to such occasions, for example, that they not be permitted to mutilate her or break her limbs. And soon, of course, or sooner or later, she should be relatively safe, being chained and hooded, and inserted into a cage basket, perhaps with other slaves, having arrived at the docks.
Shortly after Henry, of the house of William, in Harfax, had exited with a slave, the door to the side opened and the clerk came though. The pit master went forward then, and, near the clerk’s table, conferred with the clerk. Some papers were signed, a copy being retained by the clerk, and one my the pit master.
The clerk then turned toward the portal. “Bring forth the free woman,” he called. The two court guards then entered, conducting, between them, a woman in robes of concealment, fully veiled. She was, however, barefoot. Her ankles were trim. I wondered if she were pretty. The pit master turned to the two pit guards, by the portal leading to the outer hall, that leading thence to the outside, and, with a gesture, summoned them forward. He also beckoned that I should approach. I quickly rose to my feet and hurried forward, then kneeling near him. I noted impatience in the manner, and contempt in the eyes, of the woman in the robes of concealment as I approached. I knew myself despised by her. I did not meet her eyes.
“This is the Lady Ilene of Venna,” said the clerk.
The pit master lowered his head, his features shielded within the dark hood.
“Where am I?” she asked, angrily. “What am I doing here?”
The pit master went behind her and, one my one, pulled her hands behind her. There were two clicks.
“I am braceleted!” she exclaimed, angrily. “How dare you put me in such things! Remove them, immediately!”
The pit master was then again before her. He looked down at her feet.
“One slipper,” said he, not turning from the free woman, but addressing himself to the clerk, “was used to convince her house that she was in our keeping. The other is in a distant city, where negotiations may be conducted, the authenticity of our negotiators attested to by the possession of the second slipper. It was not thought that, under the circumstances, she required hose.”
Bonds are seldom placed over clothing. The free woman, the Lady Ilene of Venna, was under detention, rather obviously as a ransom prisoner, as had been the Lady Constanzia of Besnit, now the slave Constanzia, owned by Henry, of the house of William, in Harfax. Accordingly, her hose had been removed, that her ankles might now from the Gorean point of view be the more appropriately crossed and tied, or shackled. Such things are in part cultural, and in part practical.
I considered her, what I could see of her.
She certainly did have trim ankles. They would look well, crossed and corded together, tightly, or shackled.
I wondered, again, if she were pretty.
Doubtless the guards, too, were curious about that.
The woman tried to pull her feet back, a little, more beneath her robes.
“Who is this misshapen lout?” she asked. “What is he doing here? Why does he conceal his features?”
“You are in the presence of a warden of our city, Lady,” said the clerk. “It is in his keeping that you will find yourself until your disposition is clear.”
“My disposition?” she asked.
“Yes, Lady,” said the clerk.
“What are you doing!” she cried.
“He is leashing you,” said the clerk.
“Never!” she cried.
There was a click. She was leashed. “Take it off!” she cried.
“What?” asked one of the pit guards, one who had had his eye on her.
“ ‘What’?” she asked.
“Yes, ‘what’,” he said. “Your veil? Your hood? Your clothing?”
She shrank back. “Monster,” she said.
The pit master gestured to me and I rose, and came forward, and then again knelt, this time before the free woman, putting my head to the tiles before her. “Forgive me, Lady,” I said. I then rose up and grasped the leash.
“I will not be led by a slut of a slave!” she said.
The pit master then gestured to the guard who had spoken before, and I willingly surrendered the leash to him.
He stood rather close to the free woman and, the leash wrapped about one hand, put his two hands on her hips. He looked down into her eyes, and she turned her head away. With one hand, the chain of the leash dangling from it, he reached up and, within her hood, the chain trailing, touched the left side of her face. Then he turned it, again, to face him. He then put one finger to the height of the veil, where, near her left eye, rather at the bridge of her nose, he pulled it down, ever so little. It seemed he might think of peering down, within it. She tried to back away, but was prevented from doing so by one of the court’s guards. The fellow then crouched down a little behind her, on her right. He transferred the leash to his left hand, and, with that hand, brushed up the hem of the robes a bit and, with his right hand, grasped her right ankle. “Steady her,” he said to the court guard behind her, and that guard then grasped her by the upper arms. The pit guard then, holding to her ankle, lifted her foot, lifting it up so that the lower portion of the robe of concealment came forward, to the lodgment behind the knee, this revealing something of her calf, and also, of course, her foot, the ankle in his grasp. “A pretty calf,” said the pit guard. “Yes,” said the court guard holding the woman from behind. “I think she would take a two-ring,” said the pit guard, lifting the ankle a little more. “Yes,” said the other pit guard. “I would think so,” said the other court guard. This was a reference to the sizes of ankle rings. “She is about the size of Janice,” said the other pit guard, he not holding the woman’s ankle. “What size ankle ring do you take, Janice?” “A two-ring, Master,” I said. “See?” said the pit guard holding the woman’s ankle. “Yes,” agreed his fellow. The woman put her head in the air. I supposed she was not pleased at all to learn that she had this in common with me, that we might take the same size ankle ring. But what would be so surprising about this? Were we so different? And are not free women, as the men of this world sometimes suggest, only slaves without collars? The pit guard then released her ankle, and the fellow behind her released her upper arms. She now stood as she had before. Only I think that now she was acutely conscious of the men about her, and, in particular, of he who held her leash. His fist, the right fist, the leash now again transferred to his right hand, the leash wrapped about it, was only about six inches from her collar ring. He looked down at her. She quickly averted her eyes. “I wonder if she is pretty,” said one of the court guards. “ ‘Ilene’ would be a pretty name for a slave,” said the fellow with the leash. “Yes,” said his fellow.
“Please,” protested the woman.
“Do you think you might make good company for a lonely man on a long, cold night?” asked the guard, he holding her leash.