“They can kill us now, if they want,” said Otto. He picked a piece of meat from the trencher and, holding it in both hands, began to tear at it with his teeth. They had not been permitted utensils.
“You see, dog of the empire,” said Gerune, later, “the food is acceptable.”
“But poorly prepared,” said Julian. “If you were mine, you would be taught to prepare food properly.”
“I, cook?” asked Gerune.
“It would figure among several of your other duties,” said Julian.
“Such as?” she asked.
“Surely you can guess,” he said.
“Dog, dog!” she cried.
“It seems,” said Otto, “that the food has not been tampered with.”
“It would not be necessary to do so,” she said.
“Why?” he asked.
“You will see in the morning,” she said, “milord.”
“You do not care to speak further of this matter?” asked Otto.
“Beware the priestess Huta,” said Gerune.
“She of the Timbri?” said Otto.
“Yes, milord,” she said.
“What has she to do with the Ortungs?” asked Otto.
“She has come to have much influence over my brother,” said Gerune.
“Do you approve of this?” asked Otto.
“No, milord,” said Gerune.
“In what way does she figure in the affairs of the morrow?” asked Julian.
“You wear chains,” she said, scornfully.
“Would that you were truly a female slave,” said Julian. “You might then be tortured. You would then speak.”
She drew back form him, shuddering, clutching the cloak more closely about her.
“Speak further,” said Otto.
“What is to be done,” she said, “is worthy only of the empire, not of my people.”
“You do not care for it?” asked Otto.
“No, milord,” she said.
“Will you not speak further?” asked Otto.
“I may not, milord,” she said.
“Speak!” cried Julian.
“No, naked thrall,” she hissed.
“You require a taste of the whip, Princess,” said Julian.
“Dog!” she hissed.
“I will lock your wrists behind you, in slave cuffs,” said Julian, “and make you writhe, and cry out, like a slave girl!”
“You would not dare!” she cried.
He took a menacing step toward her, extending his chained hands toward her.
“No,” said Otto, sternly.
Julian arrested his advance, angrily.
“Would that you were my slave,” he said. “You would learn quickly enough your fate!”
She shrank back before him, even to the wall of the tent.
“No,” said Otto. “She is free.”
Julian turned away, angrily.
“Let us retire,” said Otto. He lifted the globe on the lamp. He blew out the tiny flame.
“Milord,” she said, late that night.
“Yes,” said Otto.
“Do you want a woman, milord?” she asked.
“You are free,” he said.
“You are not to survive the morrow,” she said.
“You are free,” he said.
“Yes, milord,” she said.
CHAPTER 10
“Let the auspices be taken,” called Ortog, from a dais.
This dais was outside, open to the sun and air, but it, and the area for viewers, and the field of the challenge itself, were within a large, oval, temporary enclosure, some seven to eight feet high, wall-like, formed of braced poles and yellow silk. This silk billowed in the wind. If one listened carefully one could hear it. Occasionally a bird’s cry, too, could be heard, from somewhere beyond the enclosure. It was traditional that challenges be met in the open air, and on a natural surface, such as earth or grass. To be sure, they sometimes took place on a small island, in a river, or on a bleak skerry, offshore, or even, interestingly enough, in a stream itself, commonly one dividing warring territories.
“As the king wishes,” said Huta, of the Timbri, in her white gown.
Her cheekbones were high, her eyes bright, her hair as dark as the night of sunless Sheol.
“Let the truthful, consecrated blood, sacred to the ten thousand gods of Timbri, be brought,” she called.
Two women, perhaps acolytes, or novices, escorted two men who brought forth, and placed a few feet before the dais, on a surface of linked boards, supported by two trestles, a large, sealed container.
“That will be blood from the sacrifices,” said Julian, whispering to Otto.
They stood rather alone, a bit before, and to one side, of the dais.
On the dais, but clearly isolated there, stood Gerune. None regarded her. None would stand near her. She had, last night, been taken to the tent of the Wolfung. She had spent the night there. She had been put there, as much at his mercy, as much to be used as he might wish, as any slave girl. Not even her women would now look upon her. She wore, however, having been carefully dressed therein, within the women’s tents, that she might appear resplendent upon the dais, adding glory to the day, intricately worked, regal, barbaric garments, these garments, too, with gold and jewels, muchly bedecked.
The two men who had set the container on the surface of linked boards now withdrew.
The two acolytes removed its lid.
Otto looked about himself.
There were many within the enclosure, much as there had been within the great tent, and many were the same individuals, warriors, soldiers, ambassadors, traders, guests, free men, free women.
On the dais, with Ortog, were his shieldsman, and the clerk, and other high men.
Hendrix and Gundlicht were to one side, to the right of the dais as one might face it.
A priestess brought forth a large wooden pole, and plunged it into the container, and began to stir the liquid within it.
She lifted it and blood, fresh and bright, dripped back into the container.
Men cried out with awe.
“How can it be fresh?” asked Otto. “Surely now it must be caked and hard.”
“It is done with chemicals,” said Julian, irritably.