us of your good will, reliability, and fidelity,” said Tyrtaios. “My principal has suggested a simple test to clarify matters.”
“Oh?” I said.
“By means of which you will prove your worthiness, your dependability, your resolve, and loyalty.”
“Speak,” I said.
“Is your dagger sharp?” asked Tyrtaios.
“Yes,” I said.
“And its edge?” he asked.
“It can wound the morning mist,” I said. “It can draw blood from the fog.”
“Good,” said Tyrtaios.
“What is the test?” I asked.
“Before the great ship leaves in the morning,” he said, “before the stockade slaves are boarded, you are to cross the river, enter the stockade, and cut the throat of a certain slave. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I said.
Chapter Fifty-Two
It was damp, and chilly, on the plankings. I had slept but little. In the kennel in Shipcamp, we had had blankets. If these slaves were so special, I thought, why are they not better cared for? Is it to impress upon them that they are, however special, only slaves? Even had I a blanket, I could not have well covered myself, chained as I was. I wondered how early it was. The door to the kennel was shut. I thought I could see a sliver of light, lamplight, through the crack, at the bottom of the door. Last night I had heard the two beams dropped into place which sealed it, from the outside. I thought it must be very early.
I heard a girl to my left, somewhere, moan in her sleep.
I had run away. I had been punished, lashed, near the shore of the Alexandra by my captor. I did not know if I were to be further punished, or not, and, if so, how. They tell us little.
I had heard yesterday afternoon that the ready banner had been lowered. The ship, then, must be on the verge of beginning the descent of the Alexandra. The stockade slaves, I supposed, would have to be transported across the river. I supposed a boat, or boats, would be waiting. I had seen various boats on both the north and south side of the river.
“They are coming for us!” I heard, a slave’s voice, frightened, from somewhere in the darkness.
I had heard nothing.
I did see part of the sliver of light blocked, from the outside.
Then, clearly, I heard men outside, and men’s voices. A moment later, one after the other, I heard the two beams outside removed from their brackets.
The door was then swung outward, and I could see four or five men outside, with the guard, who held a lamp, upraised. I heard, too, a rattle of chain.
“Slaves outside!” I heard. “Stand, single file, facing the gate, tallest girl first, in order of height.”
It was not yet dawn.
The order of marshaling was a common one, in which a slave line is organized in terms of height, in descending order. Goreans tend to have a sense of proportion and harmony, of propriety, and beauty. This tendency may be expressed in innumerable ways, from the design of cities to the bright colors of buildings and walls, and porches and pillars, from long garden paths, a pasang in length, characterized by a planned music of scent as well as a scenic melody of blossoms, to the shaping of vases and lamps, from the boss on a shield or a clamp on a kaiila harness to the intricate, subtle carving which might be lavished on the handle of a common tool or a humble wooden spoon.
I was then alone in the kennel. The door had been left open. Outside I could see the lamp, and, in the light and shadows, the men and slaves. The slave who had been gowned was toward the rear of the line.
I watched as the slaves were coffled. Then I learned what had been in one of the two small boxes brought yesterday afternoon to the stockade. The wrists of each slave were drawn behind her, and braceleted. It then, a bit later, became clear what had been the contents of the second small box. It contained slave hoods. One by one the slaves were hooded. How helpless one is in a slave hood, how confused and disoriented, how much at the mercy of the masters!
I saw the gate to the stockade opened. Two men were outside, with torches.
“Prepare to move,” called the guard, the lamp held over his head.
“No, no!” I heard. “Please, Masters! Do not take me away, Masters!”
It was the voice of she who had been gowned. How frightened she sounded. What did she so much fear? Where did