torch. They had doubtless been firing the buildings and stockade.
“The ship will soon depart,” said one of the men. “Where did you get her?”
“The stockade,” said my captor.
I felt a thumb push my head up.
“She is pretty,” said the second fellow with a torch.
I put my head down again. It is usual for a slave girl, if she is permitted to stand, to stand so before free persons, humbly, head down, self-effacingly, respectfully.
“The stockade girls are being boarded,” said the first fellow with a torch. It was still burning. I could hear it crackle.
“She should have been put in the coffle, stripped, braceleted, and hooded,” said the second fellow.
“She was housed in the stockade, but she is not a stockade girl,” said my captor.
“A runaway?” asked the first fellow.
“Once,” said my captor.
“Stupid slut,” said the second fellow.
“She is a barbarian,” said my captor, I thought unnecessarily.
“Why is she clothed?” asked one of the men.
“I prefer to get her to the ship without incident,” said my captor. “It will delay things if she is jeered, accosted, or beaten.”
“She should have been fed to sleen,” said the first fellow.
“Come now,” said my captor. “Look at her. Surely you can think of something better to do with this than feed it to sleen.”
“Yes,” said the first fellow, “but there is no time. There are boats waiting. You had best come with us.”
“We will follow, shortly,” said my captor. “I wish you well.”
“And we you,” said one of the men, and then they began to descend the long stairway leading down to the beach. We watched them. They extinguished their torches in the water. Behind us the stockade was raging with flame.
“We had best descend the stairway,” said my captor. “There will doubtless be others.”
“May I speak?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“A slave is grateful that Master has seen fit to save her life,” I said.
“It is not saved yet,” he said, “or mine.”
“I do not understand,” I said.
“It is political,” he said. “Do not concern yourself with it.”
“Please, Master,” I said.
“It is not pleasant to carry a live ost in one’s hand,” he said.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“Surely you do not think it would be pleasant, do you?”
“No, Master,” I said.
“Step carefully here,” he said. “The steps are broad, but, as you are braceleted, it would be well to exercise caution.”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Do you not know how to follow a man?” he asked.
“Forgive me, Master,” I said.
“No!” he said, suddenly. “Precede me. I wish to keep my eye on you.”
“I welcome the scrutiny of Master,” I said. “I hope he finds a slave pleasing.”
“I do not wish you to escape,” he said.
“I fear Master is not candid,” I said, “as I am braceleted.”
“Keep moving,” he said, “or I will use my belt across the backs of your thighs.”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Do not think,” he said, “that I find you of interest.”
“Yet Master risked his life for me,” I said. “And he pursued me in the forest. And I think he followed me from far Brundisium.”
“I came for sport, and gold,” he said.
“And perhaps for a slave,” I said.
“It is an unwise slave who tempts the lash,” he said.
“Forgive me, Master,” I said, contentedly.
He growled with anger.
“Here,” he said at the foot of the stairway, “move to the left, toward the small boats.”
But near the foot of the stairway there were several men, mostly mercenaries. Some were entering boats, long boats, six-or eight-oared, and small boats, two-oared, thrusting oars outboard, and some were partly in the water, preparing to launch the boats, and several were about, with weapons, supervising the beach.
It was chilly on the beach, and there was fog, flat about the surface of the stirring water, and in the sky there was smoke, drifting westward, toward Thassa. Here, close to the river, no sparks fell. Across the river one could see Shipcamp afire.
“Hold!” said a mercenary, a large fellow, bearded, with a helmet crested with sleen hair.
“Yes, Captain?” said my captor.
“We have received the signal from the dock,” he said. “The first whistle has been blown.”
“I see,” said my captor. “Then we must hurry to our boat.”
“Take your place there,” said the mercenary, indicating an eight-oared craft.
“My accouterments,” said my captor, “are in the far boat, there, along the shore.”
He pointed west along the shore, where, to be sure, there were some small boats.
“What are you doing here, on this side of the river?” asked the captain.
“Fetching a slave,” said my captor, indicating me.