Julian nodded.
It was unlikely, however, that anyone who had been on the Alaria would have recognized in the barefoot, ragged fellow at the heel of Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs, the impeccably groomed young officer, in full dress uniform, with purple cords at the left shoulder, of the Alaria. Surely he could be no more than the meanest of servants and was perhaps even a field slave, fit for a collar and kennel at night, and shackles during the day.
“Come along,” said Hendrix. “Ortog will see you now.”
CHAPTER 6
How strange it seemed to her that he should appear there, there, in the threshold of the library, of her office, he so massive, so watchful, so unexpectedly there, there in the court complex on Terennia, and that she had not inquired as to what he might wish for she knew without asking what he wanted and would have and that she was that for which he had come and could he know that beneath the judicial gown, so voluminous and grand, so somber and stately, there were only wisps of silk which she had purchased in a shop of the Alaria and had scarcely dared to wear and now how could it be that that was all she wore beneath the somber vesture of the court, that must be wrong, and she had leapt to her feet and fled toward the wall which had disappeared before her, and she found herself on wild, stony slopes, in the moonlight, that could not be right, for there was no such terrain in the vicinity of the courts, but there she was, and she saw him behind her, standing where the wall should be, and then she fled in terror, running from him, over those wild, stony slopes, a stunted tree here or there, with long, dark branches reaching out to snatch at her gown, billowing behind her, a patch of brush here and there, which could tear at her flesh, scratching it in a thousand places, making it bloody, which could be smelled by wolves, and she running lost her footwear, first the half boot on her left foot, and then that from her right, why was she not wearing stockings, and was running, stumbling, gasping, looking behind her, was he behind her still, surely he was gone now, she was frantic, her feet were bare, bruised and cut now on the stones, and she ran, the long dark garmenture of the court flying behind her, and then she stopped.
No, he was behind her still, not feet away!
Again she ran and the gown melted from her and she was clad in naught but the bits of silk from the Alaria and fleeing thusly before him.
Were they the only two living things in this wild, frantic, windswept moonlit world?
No, for she could hear somewhere, somewhere behind her, and behind him, the thunder of the movements of large numbers of horses, and the songs of thousands of men.
She could see behind her now, far back, the lights of a thousand fires, some great encampment.
Where were the ships of the empire, the legions come to protect her?
She turned again wildly to flee but had hardly hurried thence a step when about her body, like a whisper of much portent, there descended and tightened, then so terribly tight, she could not hope to slip it, a rope of dark, braided leather, pinning her arms to her sides, cutting back into her flesh, and at the slightest release of its tension she fell forward, heavily onto her left shoulder, and then he was crouching near her, she dared not look at him, and he moved her, turning her, not gently, to her belly and she lay there then, prone on the stones. While the rope, that snake of braided leather, was still on her she felt her ankles seized in massive hands and crossed, and then, quickly, with a narrow thong and three tight loops, bound, tightly, making it impossible for her to rise to her feet.
The braided rope was then removed from her body, and she sensed him standing beside her, looking down at her, thinking whatever thoughts he chose, coiling the rope.
He then again crouched beside her and her hands were taken up, behind the back of her head, and then, the palms of her hands, facing the back of her head, tied together there, with her long, dark hair. This was done in such a way that even had she torn the hair from her head, her wrists would have still been securely fastened to one another. Another loop of her hair, about her throat, secured her hands in place, where they were, behind the back of her head, this, too, done in such a way that even if the hair were torn from her head, the loop would remain in place, like a neck cord. She then lay quietly thusly secured. She felt the flat of a knife, cold thrust betwixt her flesh and the silk she wore, and then turned and moved, the back of the blade against her flesh, like a fine line. Then, in a moment, she heard the knife snapped back into its sheath. He stood. She trembled. His booted foot turned her, to her back. She lay at his feet, the bits of silk beneath her. He then reached down and with a cry of delight, of triumph, of exultation, lifted her over his head, her head and feet down, her body bent like a bow, lifted her upward, high, exultant, toward the moon. Then he placed her on her knees on the stones, and looked at her, and then turned away. She struggled frantically, on her knees. She almost fell. She saw gleaming eyes to the side, those of beasts. Her flanks and thighs and calves had in her flight been cut by the brush and thorns. He turned about. Could he have known that she would in another instant have screamed piteously, begging for him to return to her side, to come back for her? In the moonlight surely he could not sense the trembling of her lip. She thought to kneel straightly, proudly, defiantly, before him, but then she knelt down a little, as she did not wish to be beaten. But she did not lower her head to where she could not see his eyes, should he approach, for in them she hoped to read her fate. He considered her. She tried to kneel a little straighter, not more proudly, nor more insolently, but more attractively, a little more beautifully, a bit more interestingly. Surely she might at least make an interesting gift, if only for some loyal subordinate. But he must not give her away! He must keep her! She would do anything to be kept. Did he not know she had seen him in a thousand dreams, thusly stalwart, thusly armed, thusly imperious, thusly commanding, thusly uncompromising? He came again toward her, over the stones, and took from her ankles the thong, that she might stand. She lifted her chin, timidly, beggingly, that he might tie his rope about her neck, that forming then a tether to lead her, and then, you see, she would have no choice but to follow him, tethered in that fashion, helpless, vulnerable, at his mercy, no more then than a lovely, curved beast, who might somehow prove of interest to someone, hopefully to someone, hopefully, indeed, desperately she wished, to him, but about his lips there was only the tiniest of smiles. Did he know the bonds that already held her, stronger than stout chains, those of what she needed and craved, those of her condition, and nature, those of what she was, in the most secret recesses of her heart?
Please, tether me, she thought.
You must give me no choice!
Tether me!
Will you not grant me even that, a simple tether? Will you not throw even such a tiny sop to my pride?
He turned and began to walk rapidly away, toward the campfires in the distance.
She staggered to her feet.
She heard a growl to her left.
It frightened her, terribly.
She felt the hot breath of a beast on her calf. She could see its shaggy form, silverish, in the moonlight.
Had she been able to free and lower her hands she might have touched it.
With a cry of shame, and delight, and fear, she hurried after the retreating figure, leaving behind her her old life.
In a moment it seemed she found herself in a brightly lit tent, one resplendent with golden hangings. A fitter was measuring her for chains, and then, as she sat, her ankles were shackled. Her captor observed this. She was then knelt. The bonds of her hair were slashed away, freeing her wrists, She sobbed that her hair was thusly cut, so callously, so casually. Her captor had observed this, unmoved. He had not objected. She could not then be a high girl, to be so treated. She knelt, holding her hands out, as the fitter indicated, before her. She watched him, as he watched her small wrists being fitted with manacles. He then carried her to the side of the tent, where other women lay, or knelt, or reclined. He threw her among the women, the other women, she now only one more among them, and perhaps not even so much as they. He fastened a chain, run from a heavy stake driven in the ground, a stake from which other chains, too, ran, to the chain which linked her ankle shackles.