“No!” she cried.
“That is strange, Princess,” said Otto, “for I recall you well.”
“Fool,” she cried. “Do you not know the danger in which you stand!”
“Shall I describe her to you, intimately?” Otto asked Ortog.
“Beast!” wept Gerune.
“That will not be necessary,” said Ortog.
“Permit me to be excused, milord!” said Gerune.
“No,” said Ortog.
“I have a grievous headache!” she wept.
“Sit down,” said he, “woman.”
The blond slaves laughed.
“Lash them,” said Ortog.
The lash fell amongst the former citizenesses of the empire.
The slaves cried out with misery.
Men laughed.
“Enough,” said Ortog, not even glancing at the chastised slaves.
The leather blade desisted then in its admonitory rebuke.
The slaves then, in misery, weeping, gasping, shuddering, remained crouched down, keeping their heads to the earthen floor, making themselves small in their chains.
There was more laughter, that of mighty masters.
Julian was momentarily embarrassed for the women.
But perhaps they now understood better that they were only slaves.
Gerune had resumed her seat.
Her face was set, angrily.
She had been furious at the slaves, who had laughed at her discomfiture, laughing at her, clearly, as though she might be naught but another woman, a woman being put in her place by strong men, a woman no different, ultimately, than they. But, even more, she resented the fashion in which she had been treated by her brother, that she was to resume her seat, that she was to remain in the tent, that she was, despite her wishes, to await the outcome of the proceedings. Also, she was alarmed, for she had taken for granted that the court was so arranged that the charge against her, on her word, and on the expected denial of the chieftain of the Wolfungs, who surely was not mad, would be dismissed. But it seemed her word was not being taken as sufficient and, to her amazement, the Wolfung seemed determined to acknowledge his role in the alleged events of the fourth day of a recent codung. She might be a princess, but she was, when all was said and done, only a woman. She, like the slaves, and other women, were ultimately at the mercy of men. This thought, now brought home to her, more clearly than it had ever been before, save, of course, for a particular set of events on the Alaria, disturbed her, and, on some deep level, thrilled her. She was also apprehensive because she now realized that she did not understand, clearly, what was going on about her, or how she figured in these matters. There seemed to be political currents about her, deep, obscure currents which eluded her.
“The princess,” said the clerk, “denies the allegations involved in the charge.”
“Yes,” said Gerune, firmly.
There was some laughter from the assembly. The slaves, their backs striped, kept their heads down.
“Is he who putatively subjected the princess to this outrage present?” inquired the clerk.
“There was no outrage. They are all lies. It is only a story,” said the princess.
“I am he,” said Otto.
There was a response in the assembly to this claim, one of satisfaction.
The slaves dared to raise their heads, to look with awe upon Otto, one who had dared to treat a princess as though she might be no more than they, only a slave.
“Two matters, it seems, must be clarified,” said the clerk. “First we must have assurance that this outrage was committed, and secondly, that he who so boldly claims this deed for his own is he who has that right.”
“Who amongst you,” called Ortog to the assembly, “has witnessed the matter of the charge?”
“None has witnessed it, as you can see, milord,” said Gerune.
“It is my understanding, milord,” said a man, “that we may speak openly and freely.”
“Such was the custom in the courts of the Drisriaks,” said Ortog, “and so, too, it is in the court of the Ortungs. It is thus among all the Alemanni.”
“Hundreds witnessed the parade of one whom they took to be a captive or slave,” said the fellow, a tall fellow in a long cloak, with a ring of gold on his upper left arm.
“But it was not I!” cried the princess. “It must have been another, not I!”
“More than seventy yeomen have been marshaled outside,” said the man, “who are prepared to supply evidence in the matter, either positive or negative. Too, we have brought together the officer and his men who recovered the woman in question, in the corridors of the Alaria, the woman who, at that time, insisted vociferously and determinedly upon her identity as the princess Gerune.”
“Dismiss this matter, my brother,” begged Gerune.
“Bring in some of these men, and the officer and his men, those who recovered she who claimed to be the princess,” said Ortog.
“Please!” protested Gerune.
Several men were introduced into the tent, including those who had recovered the woman in question.
“Hold your head up,” said Ortog to his sister.
Tears in her eyes, clutching her robes about her, she did so.
“Examine her closely,” said Ortog to the men. “Make no mistake in this matter.”
Surely, thought Gerune, they will have been instructed to deny such a damaging identification.
“Forgive me, milord,” said a man, “but it is she.”
“Yes, milord,” said another, “it is she.”
“No!” cried Gerune.
“I am sorry, milady,” said a man.
To her misery the men, and the officer and his men, as well, several of whom regarded her with great closeness, clearly intent on responsibly discharging their duty to the court, were unanimous, however regrettably so, in their testimony.
Gerune paled, and then reddened, under this examination. She felt almost as though she might have been a slave. To be sure, there were many differences. For example, she was not naked, nor was she handled, nor her mouth forced open, that the quality and condition of her small, fine teeth be ascertained.
“It is she, undoubtedly, milord,” said the last of several witnesses.
Gerune even remembered some of these men from the trek through the corridors, the jeering tones, the bestial leers, the approving looks, the gestures indicating what she might expect, if she had fallen into their hands, rather than into those of another.
“Be it accepted then,” said Ortog, “that it was done onto the princess Gerune, on the Alaria, on the fourth day of the codung before last, substantially as was specified in the charge.”
“Have you no feelings for me, my brother?” asked Gerune.
“I must seek truth, and do justice,” said Ortog. “I am king.”
“How you have reduced my value,” said Gerune. “I joined with you for love, fleeing with you and others the hall of our father.”
“You joined with me, that you would be the highest woman in the Ortungs,” said Ortog.
“Of what value am I now,” she asked. “How will you arrange my marriage? How will you mate me now to the advantage of the Ortungs?”
“Such matters are no longer of importance,” said Ortog. “And you have already contributed to the advantage of the Ortungs.”
“How so, milord?” she asked. “I do not understand.”
“Proceed,” said Ortog to the clerk.
“Milord!” protested Gerune.
“Is he who stands now before you, milady,” asked the clerk, “he who on the fourth day of the codung before last removed, or caused to be removed, your regal habiliments and placed you in bonds more suitable to a slave than a princess?”