LITMIR.BIZ

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with gestures she asked to see my back.

      “That salve you rubbed on me helped,” I said. “Thank you.”

      She didn’t answer, just went on tending the wounds.

      “I guess you must have been told not to speak to me.”

      Her hands halted their ministrations, and she clenched them.

      “What is it?” I turned towards her.

      She looked at me directly. Then she pointed to her mouth and shook her head.

      “You can’t speak?” I asked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

      She shrugged; then she tried to turn my back to her again.

      “Wait,” I twisted around. “May I ask you some questions? Can you answer yes or no?”

      She looked wary but nodded.

      “Am I still in…” What was the bitch’s name? “The house of Paulina Claudii?”

      She nodded.

      “Do you know what she intends to do with me?”

      Just then we both heard the door open. The woman gestured for me to be quiet and almost roughly turned me around and began to rub in the salve.

      “Boca!” At what was apparently her name (Mouth!) the mute woman’s hands began to tremble. “I told you to fetch me as soon as she recovered consciousness.”

      Boca rose, and I turned around. There was Paulina dressed only in a shift and shawl (in other words in her undergarments). I was still naked, but I made no attempt to shield myself, nor did I stand. I just gazed at her with the insolent nonchalance I had learned from the cats at the Vine and Fig Tree.

      “Has she been trying to get information out of you, Boca?”

      Boca gestured incomprehensibly. Paulina slapped her.

      “You’re perfectly capable of answering yes or no.”

      Boca shook her head, keeping her eyes lowered.

      “It’s amazing how someone with her tongue cut out can still lie.”

      Boca flinched, anticipating another blow, but Paulina abruptly lost interest in her.

      “Your duties here are done. Go back to the kitchens.”

      Boca practically ran for the door, and Paulina and I were alone together for the first time since our encounter in the vomitorium.

      “Well, aren’t you going to ask me anything?” she demanded.

      I shrugged.

      “You better find your tongue before you lose it.”

      “Is that why you cut Boca’s out, because she wouldn’t answer your questions?”

      She looked confused for a moment; she had already forgotten who Boca was, since she had no need of her at the moment.

      “Never mind about her. I can have your tongue cut out if I want. I can do anything I want with any part of your body. So you better show me proper respect.”

      It took all my self-control not to laugh. Instead I bit my lip and continued to stare at her. Suddenly she heaved a sigh and flopped down on a sack of grain, as if it were a reclining couch.

      “I can see it’s going to take more than one beating to teach you your place. Too bad it wasn’t as much fun as I thought it would be.”

      She pouted and idly began to trace patterns in the dust on the floor. I found this shift of mood curious.

      “What will I do with you now?” she wondered—a bit like a child who has begged for a puppy and now discovers it has to be fed, groomed, and housebroken.

      “Oh,” she said, looking up from her dust doodles, “you have one of those whore anklets.”

      I had forgotten I still had it, a gift from Succula. Paulina reached out, accustomed to taking what she wanted. I was about to slap her hand, when she withdrew it.

      “There’s no point. No one ever even sees a respectable matron’s ankles. And besides you look rather luscious sitting there with nothing on but your slutty little bauble.” She paused for a moment considering. “I think I’ll let you keep it as a sign that you’re still a whore, my own personal whore.”

      “Is that to be my official position in your household, domina?” I asked, my tone cool and professional.

      “No, stulta! Your unofficial position. Let’s see.” She put one finger on her pouting lips and pondered the possibilities. “Officially you will be—”

      “I can read and write.” Well, I was learning. “I can speak five languages.”

      I had spoken too eagerly. I saw my mistake. To offer or ask anything gave her power.

      “Cara stulta,” (dear stupid one) “we have Greeks for that sort of thing. Scores of them. You, I think, will assist the a cubiculo. Empty slops, hold the mirror for the ornatrix, the things none of the other slaves want to do—they’re so particular about their positions. But we must have a title for your position. Ah, I know just the thing. You will be my pedisequa.”

      “Pedisequa?” I repeated. I didn’t know the term but figured it meant something like a female slave who sits at the mistress’s feet, a human pet.

      “Yes, you will attend me at all times; you will do whatever I ask. Is that clear?”

      It was clear. Clear as a barren desert under a harsh noon sun.

      “Yes.”

      “Yes, what?” she demanded.

      “Yes, domina.”

      I finally lowered my eyes. Insolence took too much energy.

      “Show me your back.”

      Lightly she traced the wounds, as if they were inscriptions she was trying to decipher.

      “I don’t think you will scar. Not much anyway,” she said, whether with regret or as reassurance I couldn’t tell. “Listen, Red.” Abruptly her tone changed; she almost whispered. “I need someone. I need someone who belongs to me. Someone I can tell things to. Someone I can trust, who won’t…who isn’t a spy for someone else. Do you understand?”

      I looked at her again. Her face was very close to mine, unguarded. I had known before that she was a young woman, but now it hit me—she was as young as I was, maybe younger, and far more frightened. She was also crazy. The woman had just had me publicly beaten and humiliated. And she wanted me to be her trusted confidante?

      I didn’t answer her. And just as suddenly her face closed again.

      “I will have a tunic sent to you,” she said as she rose to go. “You will report to my bed chamber at the second hour.”

      “How will I find it?”

      “You’ll have to figure that out for yourself.” She smiled nastily. “It will be the first test of your obedience. I’ll give you a tip, though. Don’t even think about trying to escape. All the porters have your description, and they are all rather attached to their body parts—the ones that still have any. Bribing them with whorish tricks won’t work.”

      With that she flounced away, trailing a ragged bit of her shift in the dust.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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