“Let it be by the ax, or the blade of some weapon,” said the man.
“Lord!” cried Hendrix, suddenly, angrily, from where he stood, bound, amid Drisriak warriors. “Reflect! Show mercy to your son! These things are not his fault, though he may have been weak. If you seek blame here look no further than the wicked Huta, priestess of the Timbri!”
“No!” cried Huta, alarmed.
“Your son fell beneath her baneful influence,” said Hendrix. “It was to her readings, her prophecies, and wiles and tricks, that Ortog succumbed. It was she who led him astray!”
“No,” said Ortog, “I would break, in any event, from the Drisriaks.”
“Were you unlike him in your youth, milord?” called Gundlicht, he, too, bound, near Hendrix.
“I am king of the Drisriaks,” said Abrogastes.
“And what if you had not been?” asked Gundlicht.
“But he has lost,” said Abrogastes.
“It is Huta who is to blame!” called Hendrix.
“It is true she enflamed his ambition, and led him on,” said Gundlicht.
“Is this true, Lady Huta?” inquired Abrogastes.
“Certainly not, milord!” said Huta. “I am priestess of the Timbri, the humble and obedient servant of the ten thousand gods of the Timbri. I, and my sisters, are holy women, sworn to chastity, sacred virgins all. We have no interest in the affairs of the world! We have no interests in material goods!”
“And what of power?” asked Abrogastes.
“We have, of course, no interest in such things,” said Huta.
“I am not fond of the rites of the Timbri,” said Abrogastes.
Otto recalled the sacrifices, those on the plateau above the grove.
“Forgive me, milord,” said Huta. “But it is not the place of their priestesses to question the observances and appointments of the ten thousand gods. It is ours only to humbly do their will.”
“I have heard there were signs,” said Abrogastes. “Is that true?” he asked Ortog.
Ortog shrugged in his bonds.
“Yes,” said Huta suddenly, elatedly, “we can prove our teachings, and our truth, by signs!”
“It seems the signs were false,” said Abrogastes.
“Perhaps the priestesses of the Timbri may prove to be of use to you, milord,” said Huta.
“But the signs were false,” said Abrogastes.
“They are never false,” said Huta.
“But did they not favor the Ortungs?” asked Abrogastes.
“Once, perhaps,” said Huta.
“Not long ago?” asked Abrogastes.
“Might they not have been misread?” called one of the older priestesses.
“Perhaps,” said Huta, apprehensively.
“It is sometimes difficult to read the signs, milord,” called one of the priestesses.
“The matter can be dark and difficult,” said another.
“But,” cried Huta, “might it not be that the will of the gods has changed?”
“Yes!” cried a priestess.
“Yes!” said another.
“Can it be that the will of the gods has changed?” asked Huta.
“It is possible,” cried a priestess.
“Yes!” averred another.
“Let us take again the auspices,” said one of the priestesses.
Hendrix laughed, bitterly.
Abrogastes lifted his hand, for silence.
“Bring a plain piece of cloth, a simple piece of cloth, one no different from any other,” said Huta.
“I will bring one,” said one of the priestesses. It was she who had, earlier, outside, fetched another cloth, that which, after having been soaked in blood, had borne upon its surface, as though emblazoned there, the sign of the Ortungs.
In moments the priestess, under guard, had returned to the tent, bearing with her a roll of cloth, tied closed with a string.
She gave this cloth into the hands of Huta, and retired to her place.
Huta undid the string and unrolled the cloth, which, like the other, was some two-foot square.
She turned about, solemnly, displaying the cloth to those in the tent.
Then she faced Abrogastes.
“Would you care to inspect the cloth, milord?” asked Huta of Abrogastes.
“Use another cloth,” suggested Hendrix.
“It would not do,” said Huta, patiently, “as it would not have been blessed on the world of the Timbri.”
“Milord?” she asked Abrogastes.
“I do not need to examine the cloth,” said Abrogastes.
“Let the auspices be taken!” called a priestess.
“Let the auspices be taken,” repeated the priestesses, and the acolytes.
“Milord!” protested Hendrix.
But Abrogastes lifted his hand, and there was silence. Huta knelt down in the tent, at the edge of a depression, one of those pools in the tent, smelling, and thick, half blood, half mud. “Let the blood be consecrated!” called the priestess who had brought the cloth.
“It is consecrated!” said the priestesses.
“It is consecrated,” said the acolytes.
“Let it be the blood of truth,” called the priestess who had brought the cloth.
“It is now the blood of truth,” said Huta.
“It is the blood of truth,” said the priestesses.
“It is the blood of truth,” called the acolytes.
“Behold, milord,” called Huta, looking up at Abrogastes. “I press down within the consecrated blood, the blood of truth, this plain cloth, innocent of all design and preparation, and call upon the ten thousand gods of the Timbri, if it be their will, to vouchsafe us a sign.”
The cloth was pressed down, into the liquid, into the thickness of the half-clotted blood, in the mud.
“Vouchsafe us a sign, O gods of the Timbri!” called Huta.
She then lifted up the cloth, and then stood, displaying it. The Drisriak warriors in the tent cried out in awe.
The cloth bore upon its surface, brightly, as though emblazoned there, the sign of the Drisriaks.
“You see, milord?” called Huta.
“There can be no mistaking so obvious a sign, milord,” called the priestess who had fetched the cloth.
“Its meaning is incontrovertible!” called another.
Ortog seemed shaken.
Men looked at one another, wildly.
“The gods look upon you with favor, milord,” said Huta to Abrogastes.
“Glory to the Drisriaks!” cried a man. This cry was taken up, too, by many others. Even the merchants and ambassadors present, uneasy, fearful, bound and under guard, joined in this cry.
“I am much impressed,” said Abrogastes.
“It is nothing, milord,” said Huta.
“I did not know you had such power,” said Abrogastes.
“The power comes not from us, milord, but from our gods,” said Huta.
“It seems,” said Abrogastes, “that your gods tend to favor those with the heaviest armaments.”
“Milord?” asked Huta.
“But I congratulate you on having planned well, on having prepared for various contingencies.”
“I do not understand you, milord,” said Huta, uneasily.
“What is it that you wish?” asked Abrogastes.
“We ask nothing for ourselves, milord,” said Huta.
“It is seldom that a king encounters such restraint,” said Abrogastes. “Surely you would have something?”
“Perhaps that we might prove to be of some use to you, milord,” said Huta.
“How so,” asked he.
“The Drisriaks would be invincible, were they allied with the gods of the Timbri,” said Huta.
“Ah,” said Abrogastes.
“Secure victory,” said Huta. “Ally yourself with our gods, milord.”
“And how could this alliance be brought about?” asked Abrogastes.
“Through the offices of the priestesses of the Timbri,” said Huta.
“That would be a most inestimable gift, indeed,” said Abrogastes.
Huta bowed her head, modestly.