She could not now, held as she was by the leashes, slip from her knees.
“You can see the pans, father,” said Ingeld. “Give her up.”
“What is she to me?” said Abrogastes.
“Give her up,” said Ingeld.
“No!” said Hrothgar. He rose from his place and cast a pellet into the pan for life.
“See how Hrothgar casts his pellet,” said Abrogastes to Ingeld.
“He sees only the shapely limbs of a slave,” said Ingeld.
“How shall I cast my pellet?” Abrogastes asked the clerk.
“You will cast it as you wish, milord,” said the clerk.
“How should I cast my pellet?” Abrogastes asked his shieldsman, his own great sword in its sheath, over the fellow’s left shoulder.
“I shall defend my lord to the death,” said the shieldsman, “whatever he does, whatever be his decision.”
Hrothgar returned to his place, casting a dark glance at Ingeld.
“Hrothgar is a fool,” said Ingeld. “He cares only for his horses and falcons.”
“And, it seems,” said a man, “for slave girls.”
“Yes,” said Ingeld, scowling, “and for slave girls.”
The pellets continued to be placed into the pans.
Huta trembled. Tears ran from her eyes, beneath the blindfold, to stain her cheeks.
The warriors, the merchants, the envoys, all, filed past the scales.
“The matter is evening itself,” said a man, wonderingly.
Huta lifted her head, startled. She strained, as if to see through the dark layers of the blindfold. Her small wrists moved helplessly in the tight, confining thongs.
“Now it inclines again toward death,” said a man.
The hall was now muchly silent, the eyes of the men upon the scales.
The guests filed past, each putting his pellet into the pan of his choice.
“Remove her blindfold,” said Abrogastes.
The blindfold was removed, and Huta saw that the pointer on the scale was poised, as though indecisive, restless, wavering, at the midpoint of the scale.
“It seems your beauty is not without interest, slut,” said a man.
“She danced well,” said another.
“I think she might make an excellent slave,” said another.
“Not everyone who may has cast a pellet,” said Farrix, quietly.
He looked at Ingeld.
Ingeld looked at Abrogastes.
Ingeld then went to the pan and cast his pellet.
“He casts it for life!” said a man.
Abrogastes then descended to the floor and went to the table.
The scale, still, was delicately difficult to read, so many pellets there were, so evenly were they distributed, so small the weight of each.
“It points, does it not, to the collar,” said a man.
At one termination of the dial on the scale there was the representation of a skull, at the other the representation of a slave collar.
Abrogastes picked up a pellet.
“Remember Ortog, remember the Ortungs, remember the division of the nation, remember treason,” said Farrix.
“I remember those things,” said Abrogastes.
“How then will you cast your pellet, mighty Abrogastes?” asked Farrix.
“As I please,” said Abrogastes.
The hall was silent.
Abrogastes then tossed his pellet into the pan of life.
“Aii!” cried men, and others.
“Shieldsman,” said Abrogastes.
The shieldsman came to him.
“My sword,” said Abrogastes.
The weapon was unsheathed, and placed in his hand.
Abrogastes then threw the mighty weapon into the pan of life, and it bore the balance of the scale almost to the vertical. Pellets spilled from the pans. The pan of life, that of the collar, was borne as low as it might be, without breaking the small chains which held it to the balance.
“And how will you, noble Farrix, cast your pellet?” asked Abrogastes.
“For life, of course,” he said. He cast his pellet into the pan of life, it now so much descended. “Hail to the Alemanni,” he said.
“Hail to the Alemanni,” said Abrogastes.
The keepers who held the leashes of Huta played out leather, lowering her to the ground.
“Continue your gambling, my friends, my brothers,” said Abrogastes, raising his hand.
“Up, on your knees, slave!” said a fellow at the smaller circle, to the woman waiting to be won.
Again there was shouting.
“Forty!”
“Forty-six!”
Abrogastes looked down at the slave who, overcome, had lost consciousness.
“Take the leashes off her neck,” he said. “Leave her bound. Revive her.”
Then he said to another fellow, “Bring a common slave collar for her.”
Dice rattled upon the boards.
Another slave was won.
And another was put to the circle, and another summoned, bells jangling, from the ditched island to the place of readiness.
Cold water was splashed upon the unconscious, fainted, overcome, bound Huta, who, coughing, gasping, frightened, comprehending that her hands were still bound, regained consciousness.
She looked wildly at Abrogastes, the earth muddied about her.
Abrogastes retrieved his sword from the pan in which it lay, withdrawing it from amongst the three tiny chains, and gave it to his shieldsman, who returned it to its sheath.
He then returned his attention to Huta, while the gambling went on, in the background.
Huta scrambled to her knees, and put her head to the ground before Abrogastes.
“Collar her,” said Abrogastes.
One of his men crouched by the slave, her head still to the muddied dirt, and fastened a slave collar on her neck. It was a common slave collar. It fit closely. It locked in the back.
“Now that she has been collared, throw her a piece of meat,” said Abrogastes.
“On your belly, slave,” said a man.
Huta went to her belly and the meat was thrown into the mud, before her.
Eagerly, starving, her hands bound behind her, she seized the bit of meat in her small, fine teeth and, pulling it about, gnawing, trying to get it in her mouth, fed on it.
The leader of the three display slaves, as well as her two companions, all chained to the ring on the dais, frightened, watched her. She, and her companions, commonly fed from pans, put on the floor, their heads down, on all fours. In such small ways, and others, a woman can be reminded she is a slave.
Another woman was won, and another brought to the small circle.
Much attention was on the gambling.
Granicus had won a second slave.
She was now tethered, like the first, beneath his table.
Huta, ravenous, finished the bit of meat, but there was no more.
She looked to the keeper, beggingly.
“We must be concerned for your figure,” he said. “Let us keep it trim.”
“May I have water, Master?” she begged.
“You have water,” he said.
She put down her head and lapped at muddied water.
It had not been thus when she was a consecrated virgin, and priestess.
Ingeld regarded her. Her flanks, it was true, were not without interest.
Another woman was won, and another put to the circle, and another readied.
“My lord will retire now?” asked the clerk.
“Yes,” said Abrogastes.
Two men, secondary shieldsmen, rose from their places, to accompany Abrogastes, and his shieldsman, from the hall.
Abrogastes indicated Huta to one of the keepers. “See that she is washed, and combed, and perfumed, and given a slave rag, and bring her to my hut tonight.”
Huta looked up, wildly, frightened, gratefully, to her master.
“You may kneel,” said a keeper, kindly.
Huta scrambled up, and then, on her knees, unbidden, crawled to Abrogastes.
She put her head down to his feet.
He seemed not to notice.