At the fire pit, behind one of the iron supports, more toward the stairs leading down into the hall, a man, with heavy gloves, lifted an iron from the coals. It was a slaving iron, and its termination, with its small, delicate design, perpendicular to the shaft, and the shaft itself, for some six inches upward from the design, glowed fiercely, whitely. He thrust it back into the coals.
“She will awaken momentarily,” said a man.
“Bring a whip,” said Urta.
A man brought the implement, and he stood near the girl.
“Oh, oh,” moaned the slave, twisting in the dirt.
She was then on her right side, her head rather toward the dais. She opened her eyes.
“Where am I?” she said.
“In the hall of the Otungs,” said a man.
“They tend to be disoriented, at first,” said a man. “It is the lingering effects of the drink.”
“It passes almost immediately,” said another.
The girl, from her side, looked about, as she could, but could see little but the floor, the boots of men, the shoes, the hems of some of the skirts, of free women.
It seemed she was trying to interpret what she saw, to make sense of what was about her.
She then gently touched her thigh, and her left breast, with her bound hands.
She tried, a little, to separate her hands.
She then went to her stomach, and extended her arms, her head between them, her eyes again closed, and put the right side of her head, turned, on her upper right arm.
The man with the whip lifted it, but, at a small gesture from Otto, he lowered it.
“What has happened?” she said. “What has come about? It is all so strange. I do not understand. I do not understand.”
A man laughed.
“I am dreaming,” she said. “That is it,” she said. “I am dreaming. I am dreaming that I am a slave girl, and am naked and bound.”
Several of the men laughed.
She rolled to her right side, again, her hands lowered.
She seemed unwilling to awaken.
“That is it,” she said. “I am dreaming that I am a slave girl, and am naked and bound.”
There was more laughter, from several of the men about.
She opened her eyes, suddenly, startled.
“Where am I?” she asked, again.
“You are in the hall of the Otungs,” said the man, again.
Her eyes were now opened widely, disbelievingly.
She squirmed, suddenly, wildly, in the dirt.
“Why am I naked and bound!” she cried.
She tried to scramble to her feet but a man’s hand would permit her to rise no farther than to her knees.
She lifted her bound wrists to Urta. “Why am I naked and bound!” she demanded.
Urta regarded her, but did not reply, his face revealing no emotion.
“I am Hortense, daughter of Thuron, noble of the Otungs!” she cried. “I am of noble birth. Release me, instantly! I am a noblewoman, a noblewoman!”
“Did you not dream you were a slave girl, naked and bound?” asked a man.
“Perhaps,” she said, frightened.
“Perhaps the dream has come true,” said the man.
“No!” she cried.
“Surely you have had such dreams before,” said another man.
“Perhaps,” she said.
“Perhaps, now,” said a man, “they have all come true.”
“No,” she cried. “No! No!” She looked about, wildly. “Surely it is now that I am dreaming!”
“No,” said a man. “It is now that you are fully awake. It is now that you find yourself to be precisely what you are, and all you are, a slave.”
“I do not understand,” she said. “How can it be?”
“In any event it is your reality,” said a man.
“And its appropriateness has been revealed by the drink of truth,” said another.
She looked about, wildly, and then, unable to control herself, sank down, to the floor of the hall.
The giant softly kicked her, with the side of his boot. “Kneel,” said he gently, “Yata, slave girl.”
She struggled to her knees and knelt, trembling, amongst the men and women.
“Put your head down,” said the giant.
The slave lowered her head.
“She is a lying slave, and a runaway slave,” said Urta.
“True,” said the giant.
Urta took the whip from the fellow with the whip, and handed it to the giant.
“She is to be lashed well,” said Citherix.
“Look up,” said the giant.
The slave looked up, quickly.
The giant held the whip, coiled, before the slave, and she hastily pressed her lips to it, kissing it.
“Slave!” snarled one woman. Soft cries of pleasure escaped several of the others.
“I will give you ten sheep for her,” said Citherix.
“Do not sell me to him, Master!” cried the slave. “His birth is below mine!”
There was laughter amongst the free persons.
“Or was once below mine!” she said.
“That is better,” said the giant.
“He has wanted me for years!” she said. “But I am, or was, Master, too good for him. I stood off his suits for years. I treated him with much condescension. I treated him with haughtiness. I demeaned him. I ridiculed him publicly. I loathe him! I cannot stand him! He makes my flesh crawl! I beg you, Master, do not let him aspire to me!”
“Aspire, to a slave girl?” said the giant.
“Forgive me, Master!” she said. “But do not sell me to him, beg you!”
“I will give you eleven sheep for her,” said Citherix.
“Surely you would not want a lying, runaway slave,” said the giant.
“Lash her well,” said Citherix, “and she will soon be brought into line.”
“Do not sell me to him, Master!” wept the girl.
“Twelve sheep,” said Citherix.
“You must admit,” said the giant to the slave, “that that is a fine price for a slave girl.”
“But she is well curved,” said a man.
“Please do not sell me to him, Master!” begged the girl.
“Fifteen sheep,” said Citherix.
“I think she is not now for sale,” said the giant.
The girl gasped with relief.
“You hold the whip,” said Citherix to the giant, angrily. “She is at your feet. She is your slave. She is a lying slave, and a runaway slave. Punish her!”
The giant looked at Citherix.
“Or are you weak?” asked Citherix.
Men drew back a little, from about them.
The giant then held out the whip to Citherix. “Perhaps,” he said, “you would care to whip her yourself?”
Citherix drew back, angrily. “I am not a whip thrall,” he said.
“Bend down, Yata,” said the giant.
Trembling, she bent forward, putting her head to the dirt.
“Do not think, in virtue of what I now do,” said the giant to the slave, “that I am either a gentle or an indulgent master. You will find, if I keep you, that my standards are high and that I am not a patient man.”
“Yes, Master,” she whispered, frightened.
“Behold,” said the giant to Citherix, “one blow is for her thousand lies, and her thousand faults, as yet uncorrected, and the second is for having run away.”
Men gasped.
For he had barely touched, twice, not even tapping it, the back of the frightened, kneeling, bent slave, having merely, in effect, rested the whip, gently, twice, upon her back.
Citherix seemed too puzzled to comment, too puzzled to express even contempt, or derision.
In such a way did the giant prove to the hall that the slave was his, his to do with as he might wish, according to his own will, as his own will would have it, not as others might wish, or will, the matter. Also the slave understood, and at the moment to her relief and gratification, and only later to her chagrin and terror, that her master was not subject to the pressures of society or convention with respect to her treatment, but would decide such matters in his own way and according to his own views, and inclinations. In this sense she would soon come to understand that her fate was fully in his hands, and that she belonged to him completely, and in every way. This was a lesson, of course, which each of his slaves, each in her own time, and in her own way, learned.