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made a tasty pie - as you will too, I am sure.' Anya's eyes widened in fear as she recalled the doves, sent to warn of her return.
     
    Travix held her hand out to the man beside her. He placed in it a whip with eight or ten strands. She snapped it quickly, making Anya jerk in fright and automatically turn on to her side and draw her knees up sharply. Travix ignored her and raised her voice. 'A tasty pie indeed ... For what is it we say, lads?' Again she snapped the whip.
     
    'First meat to the captain!' was the quick rejoinder from every man gathered round. Again the pointed toe of the boot rolled Anya over. She kept her knees bent, pressing tightly together. The way the woman looked at her made her shudder.
     
    'Aye. And any man that wants to keep the skin upon his back will do well to remember it in future. Now be off with you. Boatswain - release the slaves; deliver them below decks for the port watch, then set a trim for warmer climes.'
     
    As the crew dispersed, Anya felt more exposed than ever. Travix bent over her. She moved the tightly pressed-together knees down and away from Anya's belly. The rough dry strands of the whip hung down, brushing her bare and tender skin, tickling in the hollow of her navel. Anya's belly shivered. The strands were laid across it; they moulded to the gentle swell. The woman whispered: 'The cat - she is tempted, she would love to kiss you - but she is not for tender skin. For you, Princess, and for that place you love to hide from me, we may choose a more playful little kitten.' She slid the whip strands slowly, so they snaked as they lifted from Anya's skin, then she folded them and turned to her attendants. 'Lift her up.'
     
    Strong arms slipped beneath Anya's shoulders and knees. She was raised between the two men in leather shirts. Her tunic bottoms were pulled from her slender ankles and cast aside, as if they would never again be needed. Travix kicked them away. Anya's bare thighs rested on the dense hair of the men's forearms. She could smell their body scent; they did not smell stale, like the others. 'Open her thighs.' Those words, so calmly delivered, sent a shiver again to Anya's belly.
     
    'No ...' she whispered. But how could she prevent them doing it, how could she resist, with Travix standing so close by with the whip? She tried to look away, in shame, as Travix approached her, though with the men to either side, holding her firmly with her back upright and their arms locked round her thighs, there was nowhere she could look to for respite. She closed her eyes. But even then, there was no reprieve. 'Turn her head.' A strong hand gathered her hair and slowly twisted it until her scalp felt tight. When the tightness turned to pain, her head turned. As the twisted hank of hair was drawn down, her chin lifted. 'Open your eyes.' The face was very close - too close; the blue eyes, looking down, were piercing. The skin upon Anya's neck felt hot. 'Princess - you are blushing.'
     
    All Anya could see now was the scar and the deep furrow across the upper lip, as if an invisible thread were drawn tight across it, leaving the right side of the lip contused, swollen like a pale pink berry. A finger touched her cheek and Anya shuddered, for it traced the line, in mirror and on Anya's cheek, of the woman's scar, down to the upper lip. Then the lip was lifted. The finger ran along the line of Anya's perfect teeth. The face moved closer, the lips descending as if to kiss. Anya gasped and pulled away. Then there was a stifled murmur from the mast. From the corner of her eye Anya could see a movement. Suddenly, she remembered - the naked women tied to the masts; one, it seemed, had been left in place and she was gagged.
     
    'Ah, Niri,' Travix said. 'Turn the Princess, let her look.' Travix stepped back. 'Niri does not fear the gag; for her, it is no obstacle to explanation, for she does not speak our tongue.' Anya stared up at the young girl bound to the mast. She had never before seen