I had had little, if anything, to do with free women. I had encountered two of them earlier, in the pens, and not pleasantly. I had briefly, as I recall, recounted the nature of that interlude elsewhere. I did know that an impassable gulf separated me from such lofty creatures, an unbridgeable chasm, one of the same immeasurability that separated the lowliest of domestic animals, which slaves were, from the heights and glories of the free person.
“What is your caste?” she asked.
I was silent.
“Mine is the Merchants,” she said.
“That is not a high caste, is it?” I asked. I heard conflicting things about the Merchants.
“It certainly is!” she cried.
I was silent.
“I would take you to be of the Leather Workers,” she speculated.
I did not respond.
“Or perhaps, less,” she said, “you are one of those boorish lasses from the fields, that you are of the Peasants.”
Again I did not respond.
“That is doubtless it,” she said, seemingly satisfied.
The Peasants were generally regarded as the lowest of the castes, though why that should be I have never been able to determine. The caste is sometimes referred to as “the ox on which the Home Stone rests.” I am not clear as to what a Home Stone is, but I have gathered that it, whatever it might be, is regarded as being of great importance on this world. So, if that is the case, and the Peasants is indeed the caste upon which the Home Stone rests, then it would seem, at least in my understanding, to be a very important caste. In any event, it would seem to me that the Peasants is surely one of, if not the, most significant of the castes of this world. So much depends upon them! Too, I am sure they do not regard themselves as being the lowest of the castes. In fact, I doubt that any caste regards itself as being the lowest of the castes. It would seem somewhat unlikely that any caste would be likely to accept that distinction. Perhaps many castes regard themselves as equivalent, or at least, as each being the best in diverse ways. For example, the Leather Workers would presumably be better at working leather than the Metal Workers, and the Metal Workers would presumably be better at working metal than the Leather Workers, and so on. One needs, or wants, it seems, all castes.
“Yes,” she said, “you are of the Peasants.”
I was silent.
I trusted she would not fall into the clutches of peasants. I understand that they are not always tolerant of the laziness and insolence of arrogant, urban free women. They enjoy using them, when they obtain them as slaves, in the fields. I wondered how the women in the darkness would feel, sweating, harnessed naked to a plow, subject to a whip, or crawling, perhaps hastened by the jabbing of a pointed stick, into a dark, low log kennel at night. But perhaps she would be permitted to sleep chained at her master’s feet, within reach, at his discretion. But I feared it might be dangerous to speak to this person. To be sure, we were both in the darkness. But she was free. I was not free.
“Do not be sensitive that you are only of the Peasants,” said the woman. “There is much to be said for the caste.”
“Yes,” I said. “Those who eat are often thought to owe it a debt of gratitude.”
“Surely,” she agreed.
That seemed to me quite generous on her part.
“You were doubtless picked up on a country road,” she said, “perhaps ravished in the nearest ditch.”
“Perhaps,” I said.
“I myself was the victim of an elaborate plot, and intricate stratagem to secure a highborn prize for ransom.”
“Oh?” said I.
“As you are merely of the Peasants,” said she, “you must fear, terribly.”
“Why is that?” I asked not that I was not afraid. I was a slave. “They may not hold you for ransom, you see,” she said.
I was silent.
“I hesitate to call this to your attention, but you must face the possibility, my dear,” she said. “These men are brutes, powerful brutes! They may have another fate in store for you, one we dare not even thing of!”
“What?” I asked.
“How obtuse you are, my dear,” she said.
I did not speak.
“You are of low caste,” she said. “Surely you can guess.”
I was silent.
“The collar!” she whispered.
I was silent. I was relieved, muchly. I had feared, from her tone of voice, and such, that she might have had something else, something dreadful, in mind, such as being thrown to a six-legged carnivore of the sort which I had encountered on the ledge, or on the surface of the tower. But I did not think I would have to fear such a thing unless I proved to be displeasing, and I had no intention of being displeasing, at least if I could help it. Not only was I determined to be pleasing, if only as a matter of simple prudential consideration, that I might not be whipped or slain, but I genuinely, authentically, sincerely wanted to be pleasing. Something in me, from the time of puberty onward, had wanted to serve men, and love them, helplessly, and fully. Yes, I admit it, and on this world the admission costs me naught! I want to please men! Denounce me if you will but I am such! But, too, perhaps you know not men such as are on this world! In their presence I find myself docile, submissive, and obedient. Let their free women rant at them, contradict them, and attempt to make them miserable, for whatever strange reasons might prompt them to do so, but before them, before such men, I am only, and can be only, a slave.
“Yes,” whispered the voice in the darkness, “the collar!”
But I already word a collar! I could feel it, even now, on my neck, it was a state collar, I had been informed. I was not eager to be owned by a state, of course. I would have preferred to be owned by a given man, a private individual. I wanted to be a treasure to a man, and to love and serve him, with all my heart. Perhaps if I were very pleasing, he would not beat me, or sell me.
“Because of my rumored beauty,” said she, “there was no dearth of ardent fellows who would compete to be my swain. Many gifts I had from them. And I gave nothing! One lesser known begged me to attend a rendezvous in a jeweler’s shop, one which had put recently opened its doors in the city, that I might there pick for myself the finest of a dozen ruby necklaces, which he would then purchase for me. And as he would be a secret swain, one who accosted me from time to time amasked, purportedly that the elevation of his birth not be betrayed, the rendezvous was to be clandestine. My curiosity was piqued, naturally. And when he showed me a sample of the sort of necklaces in question, I feared my head was turned.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“I would meet him at the new shot, that very afternoon, secretly,” she said. “I did not even have my palanquin borne there, but descended from it at a park, ordering my bearers to await me. I then made my way afoot, by circuitous, devious paths, though it was more than a quarter of a pasang, to the shop.”
I did not think that that was very far, though, to be sure, I was not really familiar with linear measurements on this world.
“In a rear room in the shop, shut away from the sunlight and bustle of the street, he met me amasked, I veiled. In this room, in the lovely light of golden lamps, were the dozen necklaces displayed. I knew the worth of such objects. I was muchly impressed. I selected the largest, and finest, of course.”