Gerune was silent.
“Thence, and thusly, marching you, exhibited, through the corridors of the ship Alaria?”
“No,” said Gerune.
There was a stir of surprise in the assembly. Otto, too, regarded her with surprise.
“Surely you desire some terrible vengeance, dear sister,” said Ortog.
“It was not he,” murmured Gerune, her head down.
“I do not understand,” said Ortog.
“She is a woman,” said his shieldsman, who held the golden helmet. “She has felt the ropes.”
“Strange,” said Ortog.
Gerune lifted her head a little. Briefly she met the eyes of Otto, who was puzzled. She looked away from him. She then met the eyes of Julian, who, too, was puzzled. She then again lowered her head.
“I can prove the matter,” said Otto.
Gerune stiffened.
“I did as it is thought with the princess,” said Otto, “as it was congenial to my plan for escape from the ship and, as she was a woman, as it pleased me. Her royal garments, too, in accord with my plan, and as it pleased me, and that she might understand herself and her relationship to me better, I put on a slave, one whom I had won in contest.”
Gerune looked up, angrily.
Ortog’s face flushed with fury. There was a cry of rage from the assembly.
The chained slaves stole glances at one another. How pleased they were! How they hated Gerune!
“These garments were on the slave when we made good our escape from the Alaria,” said Otto. “I kept them.” He pointed to the soiled bundle in the hand of Gundlicht. “Those are the garments,” said Otto. “Let them be examined, and identified. I returned them to your envoy on Varna.”
Women of the princess were called forth and they, with others, confirmed that the garments were those of the princess, which she had had upon her on the fourth day of the codung before last. Some of these women had even sewn the garments themselves, and others had adorned the princess with them on the day in question. The jewelry, too, by certain merchants, and craftsmen, was identified, some even by their marks.
“The court accepts,” said Ortog, “that he before us now, he who claims the deeds involved in these matters, is fully and lawfully entitled to do so, that they are, as he claims, his.”
There was a response of satisfaction from the assembly.
“You are a fool,” said Gerune to Otto.
His eyes flashed for a moment, and Gerune, in spite of her position and power, and the men about her, shrank back. She could scarcely dare conjecture what it might be to be alone with such a man, and at his mercy.
“You are Otto, who claims to be the chieftain of the Wolfungs.” said Ortog.
“I am Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs,” said Otto.
“They have no chieftains,” said Ortog.
“I have been lifted on the shields,” said Otto.
“We have forbidden the Wolfungs chieftains,” said Ortog. “Surely you know this. The Wolfungs, of the Vandals, are a tribe tributary to their betters, first the Drisriaks, now the Ortungs, and are permitted to exist only upon their sufferance.”
“Do the Drisriaks know you come for the tribute of the Wolfungs?” asked Otto.
“As it is explained to me, you refused the tribute,” said Ortog.
“Yes, they did, milord,” said Hendrix.
“Yes, milord,” said Gundlicht.
“You returned, empty-handed, from Varna, bringing no grain, no pelts, no women.”
“Yes, milord,” said Hendrix.
“Yes, milord,” said Gundlicht.
“They had no grain, no pelts?” asked Ortog.
“They had such things,” said Hendrix.
“And no satisfactory women?” inquired Ortog.
“They had some beauties,” said Gundlicht.
“But they are not now in our collars?”
“No, milord,” said Gundlicht.
“The tribute was refused?” said Ortog.
“Yes, milord,” said Gundlicht.
“Is this true?” Ortog asked Otto.
“Yes,” said Otto.
“Why?” asked Ortog.
“The Wolfungs are no longer a tributary tribe to the Drisriaks, or the Ortungs,” said Otto.
“And why is that?” asked Ortog.
Otto shrugged. “I have been lifted upon the shields,” he said.
“You are well aware, I trust,” said Ortog, “that our ships could burn away your forests, and destroy the Wolfungs, once and for all.”
“Some might escape,” said Otto.
“We could destroy your world,” said Ortog.
“Who are the Ortungs?” asked Otto.
“We are Alemanni,” said Ortog.
“You are not a true tribe,” said Otto. “You have no recognition, no legitimacy. It is only that you have broken away from the Drisriaks.”
“We have ships, and cannon!” cried Ortog.
“So, too, have bands of brigands,” said Otto.
“You are bold,” said Ortog.
Otto was silent.
“We could destroy Varna,” said Ortog.
“But that would not expunge the insult,” said Otto.
“No,” mused Ortog, “that would not expunge the insult.” He looked at Gerune, who looked away.
“You would be, I conjecture,” said Otto, “more than a band of brigands.”
Men cried out, angrily. Some stepped forward, blades half drawn, from the side. Ortog motioned them back. Otto had not moved, but continued to stand, his arms folded across his chest, before Ortog, seated on the dais.
“Antiquity, and custom, do not, in themselves, bestow legitimacy,” said Ortog.
“But may be taken as the tokens thereof,” said Otto.
“The most ancient, and honorable, of tribes must have had beginnings,” said Ortog, “though these beginnings may not have been understood at the time.”
“Doubtless,” said Otto. “And I doubt not, as well, that at the foot of every dynasty, at the founding of every tribe, though we many not remember him, though his name may be lost, there was once a brigand, or soldier, or seeker of fortune, or pirate.”
“Lying dog!” cried a man.
“Do you object?” asked Ortog.
“No,” said Otto.
“I see you as such a man,” said Ortog.
Otto shrugged.
“We carry legitimacy in our holsters, in our scabbards,” said Ortog.
“It is true that in the end,” said Otto, “there is only the weight of the rock, the point of the stick, the blade of the knife.”
Ortog looked down at the soiled clothing, the garments, the jewelry, and such, which had been identified as that of the princess. These things lay across his knees.
“But I have been lifted on the shields,” said Otto.
“I, too, have been lifted on the shields,” said Ortog, looking up, angrily.
“But only by renegades,” said Otto.
“Slay him!” cried a man.
“Hold,” said Ortog.
“Legitimacy, in the normal course of things, is an accretion,” said Otto, “bestowed in a moment of forgetfulness, a gift of time, taken for granted thereafter.”
Ortog did not speak.
“But sometimes history may be hurried on a little,” said Otto.
“Speak clearly,” said Ortog.
“I come before you,” said Otto, “bearing a priceless gift, one I do not think you will care to refuse, the free and uncoerced recognition of the Ortungen as a tribe of the Alemanni nation.”
Ortog looked closely at Otto.
“I bring you legitimacy, or the supposition thereof, as though wrapped in a cloth of gold.”
“That could be weighty, milord,” said the clerk. “The Wolfungs are a traditional and unquestioned tribe of the Vandal peoples.”
“It is for such a purpose,” asked Ortog, skeptically, “to benefit the Ortungen, that you have entered into the ritual of the challenge?”
“Not at all,” said Otto. “The Wolfungs are muchly at the mercy of the Ortungen, as hitherto of the Drisriaks. I would change that. It is for that reason that I have issued the challenge. You, or your champion, must meet me in combat. If you, or your champion, are victorious, I shall be slain, the Wolfungs will have no chieftain, which is what you have wished, and things will be as before. If, on the other hand, I am victorious, you will abandon all claims upon the lives and goods of the Wolfungs.”