It was as clean as possible and well furnished for a
slave's quarters. The girl and I liked each other at first sight. I am not
going to tell her name, but a jest we had between us led me to call her by
the pet name of Septima. If she had been a free-woman, she would have been
described as a young widow. Her former mate, one of the horse-wranglers,
had been killed by Selinus the previous autumn. Their child, not a year
old, had died before his father. Septima had recovered from her grief
during the winter and had become normally cheerful before she was assigned
to me. I found her constitutionally merry, very good company, always
diligent, a surpassing cook, magical with the garden, especially with her
beloved flowers, a capable needle-woman, always neat, and very good-
looking. We got on famously together.
With her beehives only, Septima had trouble. She understood bees
perfectly, but was afraid of them, and with reason, for she was manifestly
obnoxious to bees and was far too often stung. Of course, bees, like all
other living creatures, were mild to me. I tended her hives, under her
supervision, for I knew nothing of bees; according to her directions I
captured several swarms for her. Also I, when the time came, removed combs
from such hives as she designated.
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