“What are chemicals?” asked Otto.
“Substances,” said Julian, “iron, salt, a thousand things.”
Otto was silent.
He had been raised in a festung village. There were many things he did not understand.
“We are so helpless!” Julian said suddenly, angrily. He pulled a little at the golden manacles confining his wrists.
Some men regarded him, and then looked away.
Gerune turned, too, and looked at him, but then lifted her head, loftily, in misery, and looked away.
“I wonder if Ortog has tried to contact an imperial fleet with respect to your ransom,” said Otto.
“Do not concern yourself with me,” said Julian.
“He will doubtless wait a time,” said Otto. “It will be done through intermediaries. He will not wish to reveal his own position.”
“Consider your own peril, my friend,” said Julian.
“I wonder if your message, from Varna, was heard,” said Otto.
“It would seem not,” said Julian.
“Surely an imperial fleet would be in the quadrant,” said Otto.
“One does not know,” said Julian.
“The Alaria surely had time to transmit distress signals, calls for help,” said Otto.
“We are far from the scene of the Alaria’s misfortune,” said Julian.
“You transmitted a message from Varna,” said Otto.
“It seems it was not heard,” said Julian.
“Bring a plain piece of cloth,” said Huta to a priestess, “a simple piece of cloth, one no different from any other.”
A cloth was fetched.
Surely there seemed nothing unusual about it.
“Would you care to inspect this cloth, milord?” inquired Huta of Ortog.
“No, milady,” said Ortog.
Huta held the cloth by its corners, and turned about, displaying it to the crowd. It was some two-foot square.
“I should like to inspect it,” said Otto.
“You would detect nothing unusual in it,” said Julian.
“There are many slaves present,” said Otto.
This was true, and there was a purpose for it. Earlier, in the great tent, there had been, near the dais, rather at its foot, to the right, as one would face it, chained in place, only three slaves, three only, blond display slaves, women who had been taken from the Alaria, women who had been, in a former reality, one now quite abrogated and superseded, citizenesses of the empire. But there were now several slaves present, perhaps between forty and fifty, many kneeling, their wrists chained behind, or before, their bodies, in the first row of the viewers, the men standing behind them.
“Yes,” said Julian. “And one of the most beautiful is on the dais.”
“She is free,” Otto reminded Julian.
“She is a beautiful slut,” said Julian, admiring Gerune.
She looked down at him, and then glanced away, quickly.
“Yes,” said Otto.
“Do you not think she would make an excellent slave?” asked Julian.
“Yes,” said Otto. “I think she would make an excellent slave.”
“You note,” said Julian, “that her former garments, and jewelry, are about.”
“Yes,” said Otto.
And, indeed, it was to display such things that so many slaves were present.
On each of the slaves present there was some shred, or particle, of what had been the regal garments of Gerune on the Alaria.
Those garments had been cut, and torn, to pieces, until they were now little more than scarves and ribbons.
At the foot of the dais, rather to its left, chained there much as they had been in the great tent, one might again notice the three blond display slaves, spoken of upon occasion earlier, the former citizenesses of the empire, taken from the Alaria. Their adornments, such as they were, may be taken as typical of those of the slaves present. One wore, knotted about her left ankle, much as though it might be a slave anklet, such things, metal and locked, used in some locales to identify slaves, a shred of cloth, cut from the garments which Gerune had worn on the Alaria. Another had such a strip of cloth thrust loosely, and then looped there, about her collar. The third had such a piece of cloth knotted about her upper left arm. These three, too, among them, shared the jewelry which had been worn by Gerune, bracelets, after the placement of which their manacles had been replaced, and several necklaces, thrown over their heads, the hair then taken back and lifted up, thence to be replaced attractively, arranged and smoothed, over the strings and chains. The hair of the women had not been cut since their capture. Long hair tends to be favored in slave girls, as it is attractive and there is much that can be done with it, both cosmetically and in the performance of their more intimate tasks. It may also serve, upon occasion, as a bond. Cutting the hair short, or shaving the head, is normally a punishment. To be sure, much depends on the tasks to which the girl is set. Long hair is less practical, for example, if she is to be put to the cleaning of stables. The length, style, arrangement and such of a slave’s hair, is, as one would expect, a function of the will of the master. She must wear it as it pleases him, and may make no changes without his permission. It is so, of course, in effect, with the grooming of any animal.
“How shamed must be Gerune, to see her garments, her jewelries, thus displayed on the bodies of mere slaves,” said Otto.
“Yes,” said Julian, approvingly.
“Do you not feel sorry for her?” asked Otto.
“As she is a free woman, and I am a free man, in a sense, of course,” said Julian. “But if she were a slave, then I would not feel sorry for her.”
“No,” said Otto. “One would not feel sorry for her then.”
“Then she herself would be only a slave,” said Julian.
“Yes,” said Otto.
“Behold, milord,” called Huta. “I dip within the consecrated blood, the blood of truth, the plain cloth, innocent of all design and preparation, and call upon the ten thousand gods of Timbri, if it be their will, to vouchsafe us a sign.”
She thrust her white-clad arms, to the elbows, into the container of blood, plunging the cloth into the liquid, then she straightened up, her sleeves scarlet with blood, but holding the cloth beneath the surface of the blood, it now stirred about her submerged wrists. “Vouchsafe us a sign, O gods of the Timbri!” she cried. Then she drew the cloth from the liquid and held it up, first to the dais, then turning, showing it to the crowd on all sides. Men cried out with awe. Women screamed.
“Aiii!” cried Otto.
The cloth bore upon its surface, outlined in blood, the sign of the Ortungs.
“The auspices have been taken,” announced Huta.
“Come forward,” Ortog called to Otto, who stepped before the dais, followed by Julian.
The priestess Huta handed the cloth, it bearing the sign of the Ortungs, to another priestess, who folded it carefully, and carried it away.
“You are Otto, claiming to be chieftain of the Wolfungs,” said Ortog.
“I am Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs,” said Otto.
“Let him be chieftain,” whispered the clerk to Ortog. “He must be chieftain, for the matter to be proper.”
“I salute you,” said Ortog, lifting his hand, “chieftain of the Wolfungs.”
“I am chieftain of the Wolfungs,” Otto said. “Salute me,” said Ortog.
“I salute you,” said Otto, lifting his hand, “Ortog, prince of the Drisriaks.”
“And king of the Ortungs,” said Ortog.
“And king of the Ortungs,” said Otto.
There was then much cheering in the enclosure, the raising of weapons, the clashing of them. Pistols, too, and rifles, were fired into the air. It seemed even, far off, that there was, too, the sound of gunfire.