“I hear it again,” said Julian, “the clash of cymbals!”
“The Timbri,” said Otto, “are fond of such instruments in their observances.”
“There is singing, too,” said Julian.
“Yes,” said Otto.
The singing was in female voices, for such were the officiants, priestesses.
The party continued to wend its way upward, on the graveled, wet path.
Preceding Otto were two men, Hendrix and Gundlicht, of the Ortungen, men of Ortog, who had come, earlier, to the Wolfungs for the tribute. They had been surprised to learn that the Wolfungs had taken a chieftain, which they had forbidden to them, and that the tribute was refused. It had not been deemed appropriate, however, to return to the ship, arm the weaponry, and destroy the Wolfungs, and their forests, for a thousand latimeasures. The explanation for this had to do with a set of unusual circumstances.
“I hear again the cymbals,” said Julian.
“Yes,” said Otto.
The singing, too, could be heard, once more.
It began to rain again.
Above, in a sort of level place, through which the path led, and then, beyond it, once more ascended, toward the top of a hill, there was a thick copse.
It is a small thing we do here, thought Otto. It does not matter much. What is the life, or death, or the fates and fortunes, of a few men, or rabbits or dogs, to the world.
Gundlicht, in one hand, clutched what appeared to be a tightly rolled bundle of soiled, brocaded fabric. It was damp with rain.
“That is the grove, above,” said Otto.
Again, tiny trickles of water, alkaline rivulets, flowed between the small stones, much as rivers might have flooded about boulders strewn in their path. The whitish waters stained the soles of their sandals, and, as they occasionally fought for footing, it splashed about their ankles, lashed from the grass in the meadows below. Sometimes a passing sandal dislodged a small rock, a pebble even, breaking some tiny dam, and the water rushed in its frenzied smallness down the slope. How the most fearsome of natural phenomena can be enacted on small stages, for the forces at work here, on the slope, were not so much different from those which, on grander platforms, might have awed and discomfited populations, for the smallest of winds, bending a blade of grass, is not so different, save in force and volume, from the mighty storms which uproot forests, nor the stirring of a hand in a bowl of water so different, save in its dimensions, from the vast, thunderous waves that can shake and drown continents. But even the trickles, the small drops, in their numbers, conjoined, confluent, become weighty with menace. Molecules of gas constitute both the breeze and the hurricane, as drops of water form both the gentle rain and the violent sea.
But it is hard to know, thought Otto, the turning out, of small things.
“Look,” said Julian, pointing downward. Dilute, in the rivulets, mixing in with the whitish wash descending the slope, were tenuous streaks of red, serpentine in the gravel.
“Do not stop,” said Hendrix.
“What is that?” asked Julian.
“It does not concern you,” said Hendrix.
“It is blood,” said Otto.
The gladiator had come to be raised on the shields of the Wolfungs, as their chieftain. It was he who had refused the tribute to the Ortungs, he who had issued the challenge to Ortog, king of the Ortungs.
“Aii!” said Julian, as they reached the level, as he caught sight of a dark shape, back among the shadows, suspended from a branch.
The path led through the grove.
“What is it?” asked Julian of Gundlicht, who was ahead, on the right.
“Silence, pig,” said Gundlicht.
“Do not speak so to him,” said Otto. “He is a free man.”
“He is a Telnarian pig,” said Gundlicht.
“He is a citizen of the empire,” said Otto.
“So, too, as I understand it,” laughed Gundlicht, “were three others in your village.”
“But they were women,” said Otto.
Gundlicht laughed again, knowingly.
The path was now on the level. The trees of the copse, or grove, were thick on either side. It had stopped raining now, but it was still half-dark, from the roiling clouds. There was little sound but that of the passage of the men, the tiny sounds of small stones being trod upon, the descent of drops of water from the branches of trees.
“There, another, back there, amongst the trees,” said Julian.
“Keep silent,” said Hendrix. “This is a holy place.”
There were the tracks of a two-wheeled cart to one side. These could be easily discerned, from some damp pressed-down grass, to the left of the path, and, here and there, where a wheel had left the path, by marks in the mud.
“There is another, there,” said Julian.
“You cannot see much from the path,” said Gundlicht.
“Wait,” said Julian.
“Do not stop,” said Hendrix.
“Let him go,” said Otto.
The group waited on the level, and Julian entered the grove. Otto, in a moment, followed him, and then Hendrix and Gundlicht. Otto and Julian were not prisoners. They had come because of the challenge.
“It is dark here,” said Julian.
“One can see well enough,” said Otto.
The creak of a rope was heard.
Julian brushed back leaves. His hand was wet. There was the smell of crushed leaves, of wet, dark branches.
There were many shadows. Rain dripped from the leaves and branches.
“What manner of place is this?” asked Julian.
There was at that moment, startling them, as they were now closer to the sound, again the clash of cymbals, and the sound of female voices, raised in song.
“It is going to clear,” said Gundlicht, looking up, through the branches.
Beneath the wet, dark matting of leaves, hidden in delicate tunnels, in fragile palaces, dwelt grubs.
Julian stepped back, quickly, as a filch, its fur slick with rain skittered away.
“Let us return to the path,” said Otto.
“Wait,” said Julian.
He proceeded more deeply into the grove.
“Ai!” he cried suddenly, for in the darkness, and shadows, inadvertently coming upon it, he had literally struck against it, heavy, feeling the ribs through the fur, the fur wet. He pushed it back. It swung away, heavily. He stepped to the side, avoiding it as it returned to its place, suspended.
“What is it?” asked Julian.
“Speak softly,” said Hendrix.
“Can you not see, Telnarian pig?” said Gundlicht.
“It is a dog,” said Otto.
There were several other bodies, too, nearby, and an indefinite number in the grove. The dog’s head was oddly pointed upward, the legs oddly dangling beside the body. The rope was about its throat.
“There is a sheep,” said Otto.
“Look there,” said Julian.
“That is a horse sacrifice,” said Hendrix.
“And here is a pig, Telnarian pig,” said Gundlicht to Julian.