The porcine creature hung upside down, holes cut in its rear shanks, through which the rope had been run.
Its throat was cut open.
In places only the dangling end of a rope swung free from a branch.
“Let us return to the path,” said Hendrix.
It was at that time that they heard again the cymbals, and once more voices, those of women, raised in song.
“What is the meaning of the cymbals?” asked Julian.
“They mask other sounds,” said Otto.
They turned about, and began to make their way back to the path.
“Wait,” said Julian. “There, look.”
“Yes,” said Gundlicht.
“What is it?” asked Julian.
“Go closer,” said Gundlicht.
Julian regarded the object dangling from the branch.
“Do not those of the empire perform sacrifices?” asked Otto.
“Sometimes,” said Julian. “White bulls, fully grown beasts, with gilded horns and hoofs, such things.”
“But it is done cleanly,” said Julian.
The bronze blade, of course, bronze from immemorial tradition, moved swiftly in the sure hands of the priests, and the animal would sink to its knees or side, its head lolling, the lavers, held in the hands of neophytes, filling then with the hot blood.
“Sometimes it is not so cleanly done, in the arena,” said Otto.
“Those are not sacrifices,” said Julian.
“These things are done in the manner of the Timbri,” said Hendrix.
“We would not do things in this way,” said Gundlicht.
“I am pleased to hear it,” said Julian.
“We would have hung them more properly,” said Gundlicht.
“Of course,” said Julian.
“Their seeresses came to have influence over Ortog,” said Gundlicht.
“It had to do with the readings, the prophecies,” said Hendrix.
“I see,” said Julian.
“Step carefully,” said Hendrix.
Some bones, some knobs of vertebrae, and some ribs, like white branches, wet from the rain, lay among the dark, crumbled leaves. To one side there was a skull.
“The ropes break, in time,” said Gundlicht.
The eyes of a filch, beady and bright, observed them, peering up from beneath leaves, where it had taken refuge.
In the grove there was no sound of birds. They were not now active, because of the rain.
The filch drew back, quickly, under the leaves.
Such a creature, though an omnivore, and surely not averse to scavenging, would profit little from the grisly trove introduced into its environment. There are temporal limits imposed on viable scavenging for mammalian and mammalianlike creatures. By the time portions of such weights might fall naturally to the leaves, the laws of chemistry would have had their say, producing cadaverine alkaloids. The taste of these is aversive to such creatures, apparently experienced as repelling and abhorrent. Those of their ancestors, or of generative life forms, for whom the taste was acceptable, or even reinforcive, presumably died, poisoned. We leave it to others to ponder on the interplay of that which is found marvelous in the living of it and healthfulness, and that which is found inhibiting, diminishing and depressing in the living of it, and disease and death.
The party then returned to the path, where a number of Ortungen, from the ship, had been awaiting them.
Shortly thereafter the sun came out.
On the ascent, having resumed it, they noted more blood, dark in the gravel. It had washed down, with the water, from above. To be sure, there was not much of it.
They continued to ply their way toward the top of the path.
Birds sang.
These creatures were again, now, active in the grove below.
They, unlike the filchen, fluttering about, pecking, alighting, had no difficulty in reaching the weights prior to the formation of natural toxins.
To be sure, the weights were not always without some profit even to the tiny filchen, as bits of matter might fall to the leaves, dropped by birds, perhaps lost in their small disputes, or even worms, or maggots, gorged, bright and swollen, like pearls.
It was hot now.
Otto shaded his eyes.
Water steamed from the flat surfaces of rocks to the side.
In a few minutes they had reached the top of the path.
Several bodies lay there, some in the mud, near a cart, others on the cart. Much ropage was wrapped about these bodies. It seemed the bodies were otherwise naked. Their ankles had been crossed and bound. To the crossed, bound ankles of each was attached a length of rope, some ten feet in length. The throat of each was cut, a gash going back, deep into the neck. The eyes of some of these bodies was still open, quite widely.
“Come along,” said Hendrix.
The path had, at its height, debouched into a wide, circular area, and near the center of this area there was a small platform, something like a yard high, and, near the platform, was an altarlike structure, of flat stones. Above this structure there reared two vertical posts, one planted on each side of it, with a heavy crosspost lashed in place, high, between the two vertical posts.
Two Ortungs, from within the clearing, were making their way rather in the direction of the group with which we have been concerned, but actually toward the vicinity of the cart. They dragged a body behind them, which Julian, looking back, saw them turn about, and then leave near the cart, with others.
There were several individuals near the center of the clearing, some on the platform, some about it, others about the altar.
“That is our king, Ortog, on the platform,” said Hendrix, “the tallest, he helmed in gold.”
Otto said nothing.
He had met the magnificent Ortog before, on the Alaria, on a measure of sand. Ortog had not known the stadium blade. It had not been a good match. The gladiator had declined to administer a death blow. Shortly thereafter the Alaria had come under attack by pursuing Ortung ships.
From where they were, several yards away, they saw two of the Ortungs drag a roped man toward the altar.
About the altar were several women in long, white gowns. Some of these held sistrums and cymbals.
The man did not protest.
The sistrums began to jangle.
Cymbals were poised.
Ortungs threw a rope, attached to the man’s bound ankles, over the crossbar. The music became more agitated as he was drawn upward, by his ankles, until he hung, head down, over the altar. A curved object lay, flattish, to the right, on the altar. This object, as would be clearly observed shortly, was a large, bronze, sicklelike knife. One of the white-gowned women, she who seemed first among them, threw over her head the hood of her gown, covering her head, as is customary in such a rite. Four other women now crowded close about the suspended figure. They seized the roped body, to hold it in place. Two others brought forth a large bronze vessel, rather like a shallow caldron. It had three clawlike feet. It was carried by two circular rings, or handles, which, when released, hung down, beside the vessel. This low caldronlike vessel, on its clawlike feet, they placed on the altar. The head, as it hung downward, was almost within it, and much of the hair was actually within it, and could not be seen for its sides.
“Ortog was betrayed some months ago,” said Hendrix. “He was captured by bounty hunters, with the aid of traitors. He was taken to Tinos, an outpost of the empire, and delivered there to his enemies.”
“Such as this dog!” said Gundlicht, striking Julian, who drew back, angrily.
“Desist,” said Otto.
“He is only a half-naked thrall, in rags,” said Gundlicht, puzzled.
“He is a free man, and with me,” said Otto.
“You would defend a dog of the empire?” asked Gundlicht.