Perhaps he should dance the slave for them. Might that not please them?
She did not know the subtleties of slave dance, but she was beautiful, and, being female, could doubtless move well, and provocatively, before them. Even in her ignorance she might impress upon them, these lost, confused, defeated, isolated, forlorn, spiritless warriors, what might, on far worlds, as a consequence of successful adventuring, could they but recall the songs of their blood, and the lure of the stars, fall to their lot in the way of diverse booties, in the way of various riches, including such as she, such tender, delicious, exquisite loot. Too, of course, she would obey instantaneously and unquestioningly. He had seen to that but recently.
But somehow he did not think the men in the hall were now in the mood to consider such matters, pleasant as they might be in prospect.
“Which is the hero’s portion?” asked the giant.
“The right, back thigh,” said Ulrich.
“He whom you call Urta names the king?” asked the giant.
“Yes,” said Ulrich.
“How is it done?”
“He judges the dispute, the contest, the slaughter, if there is one,” said Ulrich. “He adjudicates it. Usually there is little to be judged, for commonly only one of the nobles, or the noble’s champions, remains on his feet.”
“But someone must name the winner?”
“Yes,” said Ulrich. “If it is a noble, then he is the year king. If it is a noble’s champion, then it is his lord who is the year king.”
“Who named Urta the King Namer?” asked the giant.
“Heruls,” said Ulrich.
“Is Urta loyal to the Otungs?”
“He is Otung,” said Ulrich. “He does what he must.”
“Who is the current year king?” asked the giant.
“Fuldan, the Old,” said Ulrich.
“He who was sent for?” asked Otto.
“Yes,” said Ulrich.
“I do not understand,” said Otto.
“The bloodshed and slaughter at the last king naming was so plenteous, the champions wounded, or slain, so numerous,’’ said Ulrich, “that, in the end, few were willing, or fit, to claim the kingship. Fuldan, the Old, seeing at last the madness of it, hobbled to the boar and thrust his knife into the right, rear thigh. ‘Who will kill me, who will kill one who rode with Genserix, who will kill one who has shed his blood a hundred times in the cause of Otungs, who will kill an old man?’ he asked. By that time the stomach for killing one another had been muchly abated. ‘Let him be king,’ said men. ‘You are king,’ said Urta, the King Namer, and thus came Fuldan, the Old, to the kingship of the Otungs.”
“But Fuldan is not here,” said Otto.
“‘I am king, but there is no king,’ had said Fuldan,” said Ulrich. “He avoids the hall. He avoids the folk.”
“Then there is no king, truly,” said Otto.
“There is one who was named king,” said Ulrich.
“If you would have no king, then name Fuldan king again,” said Otto.
“No,” said Ulrich. “A year king can be a king but for one year only, and now, after the year, the nobles are ready, once more, none willing to yield place to another, to fly at one another’s throats.”
“This must please the Heruls,” said Otto.
“They will have it no other way,” said Ulrich.
“I would have it otherwise,” said Otto.
“It is a long time since the pelt of a white vi-cat has been in the hall of the Otungs,” said Ulrich.
“It is here now,” said Otto.
“The meat will soon be done,” said Ulrich.
“I am hungry,” said Otto.
“One does not eat the meat, of course,” said Ulrich.
“Why not?”
“Its cost tends to dampen hunger,” said Ulrich. “Its price is high, and paid in blood. One tends to lose one’s appetite.”
“One should have a stronger appetite,” said Otto.
“Perhaps,” said Ulrich.
“There is no drink, no bread,” said Otto.
“We do not eat nor drink at the feast of the king naming,” said Ulrich.
“It is a poor feast,” said Otto.
“It is not a feast,” said Ulrich. “It is the Killing Time.”
CHAPTER 30
Julian, codes exchanged, brought the hoverer down in the muddy yard outside the administration building.
There was, with the change in inertia, as the craft decelerated, a small, soft, startled cry from the object lying on its side in its net behind Julian and to his right.
‘’Inform the governor of the arrival of Julian, of the Aurelianii, kin to the emperor!” called Julian.
“Yes, your excellency!” said a guard.
Guards, shielding their faces from the spattering mud and water, whirled by the lifters, had hurried to the gunwales of the small craft, even as it had landed.
Julian cut the motors, and the craft eased into the mud.
The object in its net, lying behind Julian and to his right, whimpered. It could move but little, its legs drawn up, in the net.
The trip from the festung of Sim Giadini had been a bitterly cold one, and the small hoverer had been often buffeted with winds. Sometimes it had been impossible to see more than a few feet before the windscreen. They had been forced to land several times. More than once the tiny craft had been dug out of the snow by mittened hands, or, lifters roaring, had torn itself free, in its urgency, even at the cost of precious fuel.
“The yard is muchly empty,” said Tuvo Ausonius. There were only two vehicles in the yard, both covered with canvas.
There were few lights in the barracks, at one side of the yard. The slave shed was dark, and no smoke emerged from its two chimneys.
Too, there were few supplies in view, though these might be housed in the dark warehouses to the north.
“The stables seem empty,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“Hold!” called Julian to the guard, who turned about.
“Summon, too,” said Julian, “Phidias, captain of the Narcona, and Lysis, officer of supply, with the Narcona!”
“The shuttle has departed,” called the guard. “Phidias is gone. Lysis, and other officers, and several men, with equipment and trade goods, have gone.”
“The trade expedition has departed?”
“Yes, your excellency,” said the guard.
“It is being led by the blond-haired captain, Ottonius?”
“The barbarian?”
“He.”
“No, it seeks him.”
“He is not with the expedition?”
“No, your excellency.”
“It is imperative,” said Julian, “that I follow them and make contact with the expedition immediately. I will need their route, seven hoverers, fuel for a month, a hundred men, draft animals, two dozen sleds, perimeter defenses, weapons and supplies!”
“The garrison is muchly gone,” said the guard. “There is little left, even fuel, until the next supply ship.”
“Go!” said Julian.
The guard turned about, again, and hurried toward the administration building.
“Surely all is not lost?” said Tuvo Ausonius to Julian.
“We shall leave Venitzia within the hour,” said Julian.
The two men looked down at the object at their feet. It was lying on its side, in its heavy furs, on the metal decking of the hoverer, its legs drawn up. The net was of closely linked chain, a slave security net, though it may be used also for the securing of cargo, that usually done, however, with a rope net. The chain net cannot be chewed through, nor cut with a knife. The slave is inserted into the net, usually sideways, and then the opening is closed and padlocked, with a single lock, a massive one, about one of the deck rings. This makes it impossible for the slave to rise to her feet, to interfere in any way with the operation of the craft, even to extrude a hand from the net. Too, perhaps most importantly, it assures her safety, or, perhaps more realistically, the safety of the master’s cargo, that she, or it, will be kept within the craft should it, say, engage in unusual maneuvers, as in evading predators, giant insects, or insectoidals, on some worlds, winged lizards on others, magnetic air mines, other ships, or such, or encounter turbulence. A strong wind can occasionally invert such light, disklike craft. But even in fine weather such confinements, or others, are often resorted to, as their imposition pleases the masters, and is experienced as informative by the slaves. This is not unusual as that which pleases the masters is often found instructive by the slaves, even extremely so.