“And afterwards,” said a man, “lift cups together, feasting in joy.”
“Who will win?” asked a man.
“I will win,” said Abrogastes.
“To whom in the hall will go the hero’s portion?” asked another man.
“It will be mine,” said Abrogastes.
Gerune knelt beside Ortog, weeping.
“Thus perishes a traitor,” said Abrogastes.
“Remove him,” said Abrogastes.
“Bring spears,” said a man. “Lash a cloak between them.”
“Release those two,” said Abrogastes, pointing to Hendrix and Gundlicht.
“Take your lord to the grove,” said Abrogastes.
“Yes, milord,” said Hendrix and Gundlicht.
“I would precede them, with a candle, if I may, milord,” said the clerk.
“He was not your lord,” said Abrogastes.
“You are devoted to him?” said Abrogastes.
“Then precede him, as you will,” said Abrogastes.
“I would follow them, if I may, milord,” said the shieldsman.
“Why?” asked Abrogastes.
“He was my lord,” said the shieldsman.
“Do so,” said Abrogastes.
“Thank you, milord,” said the shieldsman.
It was now late in the day, and it was half dark in the tent.
In a short time the simple bier, of two spears, with a cloak lashed between them, was prepared.
Ortog was placed upon the bier.
Otto threw his own cloak over the body.
The bier was lifted to the shoulders of Hendrix and Gundlicht. It was then carried from the tent. Preceding the bier was the clerk, who carried a lighted candle. Following it, some paces behind, his sword upon his shoulder, was the shieldsman. Gerune was left behind, kneeling where she had been, sobbing, before the dais.
Abrogastes, who had resumed his seat during the preparation of the bier, had now again risen.
“Stand up,” said Abrogastes to Huta.
“Yes, Master,” she said. “Oh!” she said, as her wrists were lashed together, tightly, behind her back.
“Prepare the ships,” said Abrogastes to a man.
“Yes, milord,” he said.
Then, from the dais, he looked down on Gerune.
“We are not yet done here,” said Abrogastes. “There is one more to deal with, the traitress, Gerune.”
Gerune looked up, frightened.
“Take her to the block,” said Abrogastes.
“She is your daughter!” cried a man.
“I have many daughters,” said Abrogastes.
“Please, no, Father!” cried Gerune.
But she was dragged by a warrior to the stump. There she was placed on her knees and a warrior, crouching beside her, tied her hands behind her back. The workman worked the ax and adz free from the stump. Gerune’s head, by the hair, was drawn forward, and down. She whimpered. The workman seized the adz and lifted it.
“No,” cried Julian. “No!”
“Silence,” said Otto.
Julian stepped back, uncertain, confused.
“It seems a simple end for her, milord,” said Otto. “Is it not quick, and honorable?”
“How speak you, Wolfung?” asked Abrogastes.
Abrogastes made a sign to the workman, and he lowered the adz, and stood back.
Gerune could lift her head only a little from the block, held there by the hair as she was.
She looked to Otto, and then to her father.
“She is only a female,” said Otto. “And it is said that she was marched naked, bound, through the corridors of an imperial ship, the Alaria, thus muchly shaming the Drisriaks.”
“Yes?” said Abrogastes.
“Surely then some other end might be more appropriate for her,” said Otto.
“Something more terrible and shameful?” asked Abrogastes.
“Yes,” said Otto.
“Something suitable for a traitress?”
“Yes,” said Otto.
“Remove her clothing and throw her to the mud,” said Abrogastes.
“Please, no, Father!” cried Gerune.
But it was done, as Abrogastes had commanded.
Gerune then lay in the mud, stripped, her hands still tied behind her back.
“Traitress!” said Abrogastes.
“Forgive me!” wept Gerune.
“For treachery there is no forgiveness!” said Abrogastes.
“Mercy!” she wept.
“There is none for a traitress,” said Abrogastes.
“You cannot treat me in this fashion!” cried Gerune. “I am a princess!”
“Lie in the mud, traitorous princess, as naked and bound as a slave!” said Abrogastes.
“No, no!” cried Gerune.
“And when I pronounce my next words,” said Abrogastes, “you will no longer be a princess!”
“Please, no, Father!” wept Gerune.
“You are no longer a princess,” he said.
She sobbed, no longer a princess.
“What think you, Huta?” asked Abrogastes.
“I am only a slave, Master!” said Huta.
“Do not forget it,” said Abrogastes.
“No, Master!” said Huta.
“I am your daughter!” cried Gerune.
“When I pronounce my next words,” said Abrogastes, “you will no longer be my daughter.”
“No,” she cried, “no!”
“You are no longer my daughter,” said Abrogastes.
She sobbed, disowned, forsworn.
Men cried out with approbation.
“Do not treat me thusly!” she wept. “If I am no longer a princess or your daughter, show me at least the respect that is my due as a free woman!”
“Prepare!” said Abrogastes.
“No, Father!” she cried.
“Traitress,” he said.
“Please, no, Father!” she cried.
“When I speak my next words,” said Abrogastes, “you will no longer be a free woman.”
“No, no!” she cried.
“You are a slave,” he said.
She sobbed wildly, lying bound in the mud, a slave.
Drisriaks cheered.
Surely it was suitable punishment for one who had once been a traitorous princess.
“She is subject to claimancy,” said Abrogastes.
Men drew back, looking upon the slave with contempt.
“Who wants her?” asked Abrogastes.
Men regarded her with disgust.
“None wants her?” asked Abrogastes.
No one spoke.
“Surely her body is not without some interest,” said Abrogastes. “And I speculate that she would bring a reasonable price in a market.”
Doubtless these things were true, for the slave was quite beautiful, but yet none spoke.
“Would she not look well under the whip?” asked Abrogastes. Then he looked at Huta. Huta quickly lowered her head.
Men laughed.
“I think, milord,” said a man, “that we do not find her of interest.”
“The adz!” cried a man.
“The adz!” cried another.
“Send her to the block!” cried another.
A warrior appeared in the entrance of the tent, the front entrance, behind the Drisriaks, the merchants, the warriors, Otto, Julian, and others. He made a sign to Abrogastes.
Abrogastes lifted his hand, for silence.
“There is little time,” he said. “We are going to the ships.”
Julian and Otto exchanged glances.
Those in the tent who were merchants and ambassadors, and artisans, craftsmen, and such, who had been at the court of Ortog began to tremble.
Abrogastes waved his hand toward them.
“Go your ways,” said he.
“Thank you, milord!” they cried and, freed, hurriedly, undetained, unobstructed, left the tent.
“Let the signal for the return to the ships be sounded,” said Abrogastes.
A warrior quickly left the tent.
“Take this slave,” said Abrogastes, indicating Huta, “and see that she is placed, well bound and helpless, in my hoverer.”
“Yes, milord,” said a warrior, and seized Huta by the upper left arm, and conducted her rudely, in her collar, with her hands tied behind her back, from the tent.