The Captain

CHAPTER 27

“Where am I?” begged Flora, rising from her mattress, as the door of the cell was opened.

“On Vellmer,” said the slave girl, bearing the tray, with fruit, two slices of bread, some leaves of vegetables, and drink. She knelt down and, carefully, placed the objects on the small table, some two-foot square, on short legs, rising some foot or so from the floor. There was one mat on the tiles, near the table. The cell had only one occupant. There were no chairs in the cell. The mattress was in a small frame, only an inch from the floor. Slave girls are seldom permitted to sit in chairs. Too, their bedding is usually on, or near, the floor.

“Should you not have asked me to kneel?” inquired Flora.

The girl looked at her.

“Or instructed me to do so?” asked Flora.

“I, too, am only a slave,” said the girl.

Flora knelt down, on the mat, by the table. The girl was still kneeling on the other side, but ready to rise, and withdraw.

Neither was collared.

“Wait!” said Flora.

The girl looked up.

“I know I am on Vellmer,” said Flora. “I was delivered to an address on Vellmer, but then I was hooded and moved, and was brought here.”

“Yes,” said the slave girl.

“Where am I, here?” asked Flora.

“I may not say,” said the slave girl.

“Is my master here?”

“Yes.”

“Who is my master?” begged Flora.

“I may not say,” said the slave girl.

“I do not even know who owns me!” said Flora.

“Doubtless you will learn, when it pleases the masters,” said the slave.

“Is this the house of my master?”

“No.”

“But my master is here?”

“Yes.”

“Who is my master?”

“I may not say,” said the slave.

“Do not leave!” begged Flora.

The slave rose up, with the tray. “You are very beautiful,” she said.

Flora, too, rose up. Both women were very much the same height. Perhaps Flora was the tiniest bit taller.

“You, too, are very beautiful,” said Flora.

“You must be muchly favored, and a high slave,” said the slave girl, “for you are gowned.”

Flora wore a simple, loose, ankle-length garment of white wool. It was sleeveless. Its neckline was generous, generous from the point of view of masters, and would leave a slave in little doubt as to her bondage.

The garment of the slave girl was quite similar, being sleeveless and of white wool, and such, and differed really, only, in its length, for it came high on her thighs. It was a simple garment and displayed its wearer well. It was a common form of slave tunic.

The two garments were all the women wore.

“You are well fed, and have your own cell,” said the slave girl. “You are not kenneled.”

“Are you kenneled at night?” asked Flora.

“Save when I am chained at the foot of my master’s couch,” said the slave.

The slave girl went to the door of the cell, which consisted of heavy, vertical bars fixed in thick, lateral crosspieces. She paused there for a moment, the tray in her left hand, looking back at Flora. She then stepped outside, and closed the door.

“Wait!” called Flora.

The door shut with a heavy, unmistakable, efficient snap.

The slave girl turned, and paused, a few feet on the other side of the bars.

“Why am I being treated like this?” begged Flora, hurrying to the bars. “Why have I not been set to service, why have I not been summoned before my master?”

“I do not know,” said the slave girl. “Perhaps they are readying you to be a gift.”

“A gift!”

“I do not know,” said the slave girl.

“That must be it!” wept Flora.

“You have been trained, as I understand it,” said the slave girl.

“Only a little!” said Flora.

“I envy you,” said the slave girl.

“All masters train us,” said Flora.

“That is true, each trains us to his pleasure,” said the slave girl.

“Then your master trains you?”

“Yes,” said the slave girl. “He trains me, as it pleases him, precisely so.”

“Wait!” called Flora.

The girl paused at the end of the short corridor, before the iron door there. She would knock on this and be admitted to the outer area. A little later the guard would check the cell, to make certain it was securely locked.

Flora clutched the bars of the cell door. She shook them, wildly. But there was little movement of the door.

“I was sold!” she said.

“Perhaps your master tired of you?” said the slave girl. “Perhaps he no longer wanted you. Perhaps he did not like you.”

“I have been sold!” wept Flora. “Now I am on Vellmer, and am to be given away as a gift!”

“I do not know,” said the slave girl.

“Do not go!” begged Flora.

“I must, I have duties,” said the slave.

“Be kind to me!”

“May I call you ‘Flora’?”

“Yes, yes!” said Flora.

“Do you like the name?”

“Yes,” said she who wore the name.

“That was the name on your packing slip,” said the slave girl.

“It was what they called me in school,” said Flora.

“Your master had not given you a name?”

“No,” wept Flora.

“It must be terrible not to have a name,” said the slave girl.

“Yes,” said Flora.

“We will say your name is ‘Flora’,” because that is what the guards call you,” said the slave girl.

“Thank you,” said Flora.

“So it will do,” smiled the slave girl.

“Yes,” said Flora.

“Your name is ‘Flora’,” she said.

“Until men see fit to change it, or take it away,” said Flora.

“Yes,” said the slave girl. “Such things are up to the masters.”

“Yes,” said Flora.

“We are powerless. We are totally at their mercy.”

“Yes,” said Flora.

“I must leave,” said the slave girl.

“What is your name?” asked Flora.

“Renata,” said the slave girl.

She had then knocked on the iron door at the end of the corridor, and in a moment was in the outer area. The door closed, and locked, behind her.

Flora clutched the bars. “I have been sold,” she wept. “I am to be given away, as a gift!”

She then, sobbing, clinging to the thick bars, put her head down. She pressed the side of her face against the bars. Her tears ran against the metal.