Men exchanged glances, uneasily.
“What do they, with their vaunted civilization, their refinements and luxuries, know of hardship, of pain and war, of adventure, of victory?”
“Little, milord,” said the clerk.
“Which of them has swum in cold, restless, black waters, who among them has hunted the long-maned lion, who trekked the ice of the month of Igon, pursuing the white bear, who marched, in the heat of solar fire, a pack on his back, a thousand miles to distant outposts, who braved the flood, who forded, afoot, turbulent rivers, who drawn the oars, or held the tiller, of river vessels, who driven the stakes of the high tents, who lived alone in the forest, who met enemies at borders, and on lonely skerries, who hunted beasts and by them was hunted?”
“Not those, surely, of the empire, milord,” said the clerk.
“They wear silks and linens, and we coarse cloths, and the skins of beasts,” said Abrogastes.
There was silence.
“To whom does the lamb belong?” asked Abrogastes.
“To the lion, milord,” said the clerk.
“To whom the pig?”
“The leopard, milord.”
“To whom the gazelle?”
“The vi-cat, milord.”
“To whom the slaves?”
“To the masters, milord.”
The former women of the empire trembled, lying in the dirt, about the foot of the great spear.
“The empire is vast, and rich,” said Abrogastes, “vast and rich beyond measure.”
“The empire is invincible, and eternal,” said a man.
“Once,” said Abrogastes, “there was no empire.”
Men looked at one another, for the empire was taken much for granted, as might be a mountain or star.
“It is true, milord,” said the clerk.
“The empire is invincible,” said one of the men, uncertainly.
“Let us raid now and then, and return to our worlds, with some loot, for feasting, the telling of stories, the songs of skalds,’’ said a man.
“While the empire strengthens her defenses, and even prepares to send her ships of reprisal forth to follow you?” asked Abrogastes.
“They must find us first,” said a man.
There was some uneasy laughter.
“Are you content to be weasels and scavengers, nocturnal filchen to rush forth, at night, to seize a crumb from the garbage of a palace?”
“To what end do you speak, mighty Abrogastes?” inquired a Dangar.
“Walls may be scaled, ditches may be bridged, portals may be smote down,” said Abrogastes.
Men looked at one another, uneasily. Much as they might hate the empire, they feared it, either as a dim, vast, remote presence just beyond the horizon, one awesome, one fearsome and menacing, or even as a reality, sharp and bright, fierce, which they may, upon occasion, almost as though in the dark, suddenly, their dismay and grief, have touched.
Huta lay forgotten in the dirt, before the dais.
Only gradually did she begin to understand how she had been used by Abrogastes, she responding totally naturally, in every particle of her being, as she must, in her own needs and interest, yet, at the same time, just as naturally, serving simultaneously, as was the intent of Abrogastes, to unite the feasters, giving them a common object to hate and hold in contempt, and to ignite their anger and resentment against any form of treason, any form of divisiveness; in these ways, thusly, she found herself used to serve the purposes of Abrogastes. Too, of course, her reduction to slavery, this reduction in status, from that of a consecrated, sacred virgin, even a priestess, to that of a mere desire object, a slave, who could be bought and sold in any market, must convey its message as well. And, of course, doubtless Abrogastes had enjoyed showing her off, displaying her as one of his properties. And, obviously, she had figured in the feast’s entertainment, as might have any slave. It seemed clear that several of the feasters had not failed to derive some pleasure from her performance. And, too, of course, she had, in her ministrations at the spear, and in her dance, served her purposes, as well. She had set an example for the former ladies of the empire, instructing them, in her way, in what was required of them at the spear. Too, there was no doubt that her dance had taught them, incontrovertibly, not only what she was, but what they were, as well. Many had moaned with helpless arousal and desire. Some had cried out. Many had squirmed in need, some scarcely understanding what was going on in their bodies. Her dance, if such were needed, had readied them, primed them, for slave service. They wanted now their masters’ touch. They, though former ladies of the empire, were now eager for it, now zealous for it. Some were ready even now, though not so long in their collars, to beg for it.
“The empire is not invincible,” said Abrogastes. “We have met her on a hundred worlds, at a thousand ports and cities, and defeated her.”
“Those are border forces, not the mobile forces, auxiliaries, not regulars, conscripts, not professionals,” said a man.
“Even the Vandalii, our hated and hereditary foes, at one time resisted the empire!” said Abrogastes.
“And they are now vanished, or scattered, and meaningless, exiled, banished to distant worlds, some even in rural service to the empire.’’
“Are we, of the Alemanni,” asked Abrogastes, “less than the Vandals?”
“No!” cried men, angrily.
Huta lay in the dirt, small, forgotten, her knees drawn up, her arms about herself. She, overwhelmed with what had occurred, with her dance, with her feelings, her sensations, scarcely dared to move. Never had she been so alive, so frightened, so ready to feel, so real. It was as though she had somehow discovered herself, finding herself to be, in perfection, what she had always suspected herself to be, a woman, more in the state of nature than she would have dreamed possible. She felt an overwhelming desire to please, and serve. She wanted to live to do so, and be held, and mastered.
Yet she lay there on the dirt floor of the hall, huddled up, naked.
Whether the slave is clothed or not is up to the master, but they are often clad, if only in a ribbon, or rag, that it be clear that they are slave, to themselves and others, that their beauty might be the subject of provocative, betraying hints, and that there be something to remove from them, whenever the master wishes it.
But on Huta’s body there was not even a collar.
She wanted the collar, or the anklet, or bracelet, or ring, or chains, anything, something to give her at least a little security, something to confirm upon her her status, something to make it clear that she might be wanted, that she might hope to be kept.
Her hunger now began to return to her. She had not been fed. It had not been seen fit to waste food on her. It had not been clear that she was to survive the evening.
She longed for the reassurance of chains.
Would not such suggest that she might be kept, if only for the night?
But there was not so much as a rag on her body.
To be sure, on her left leg, high, just under the hip, she had been branded, a common brand, the tiny slave rose, one of several standard marks recognized in merchant law, but it had been done shortly after landfall from Tenguthaxichai, she one in a line of several others, no different, being put in the rack, which held the limb immobile, in her turn, as the others. She had cried out, struggling in the cuffs, pinioning her wrists behind her, which would not be removed for several hours, and had seen her thigh marked, saw it hissing, smoking, for a moment, and had understood that she was now something that could be recognized and identified for what it was throughout galaxies. She had hoped to be marked by Abrogastes himself but he did her no such honor. It was a common fellow, a smith, in his dark, stained leather apron, who did the work, he taking one iron after another from the brazier, these being cleaned and reheated by attendants. She had been on a common neck chain, with others. The work was done in a routine, unhurried, methodical, efficient manner. Did the smith, and the others, she had wondered, not understand what they were doing, what an absolute, incredible transformation they wreaked with each placing, and pressing in, of the iron? One might have thought, she had conjectured, that they might have been marking cattle. Then it had occurred to her that, in a sense, that was precisely what they were doing. They were marking livestock. She had, when free, despised slaves, and thought nothing of them. But then she had found herself one.