“Where did you learn the business with the canvas?” asked Julian.
“In the school of Pulendius,” said Otto. “It is a common way of quieting female prisoners. But a blanket, not canvas, is commonly used.”
“I see,” said Julian.
“It may be buckled about their waist, tightly, their hands inside.”
“Of course,” said Julian.
The blindfold, too, of course, has such virtues. It may not silence the captive, but it tends to reduce her activity, as she does not know where she is, or where she might step, or what dangers lie about her, or, say, what she might strike against, or how she might injure herself if she were to move, and so on. She would not care, for example, to run against spikes or plunge, bound, into a pond of carnivorous eels. If one wishes to silence the captive, of course, a variety of arrangements can manage that easily.
“Prisoners?” asked Julian. “At the school of Pulendius?”
“They are rounded up, occasionally. Girls of the humiliori, of course, unless a mistake is made.”
“I had not heard of this,” said Julian.
“The practice is not widely publicized.”
“That is understandable,” said Julian.
“They are freed later, of course. And given a coin.”
“Splendid,” said Julian.
“Do not concern yourself with them,” said Otto. “They are only of the humiliori-and, too, only of the empire.”
“I see,” said Julian.
“We are nearly provisioned, sir,” said a mariner, with a manifest.
“Good,” said Julian.
“I thought,” said Julian, “that in schools such as those of Pulendius slaves were kept for satisfying the hungers of the fighters.”
“They are,” said Otto, “and they grow furious when they are kenneled, and the others are brought in, as a change of pace. But it, too, is excellent for the slaves, as it makes them more diligent, and more helplessly needful, and the men, too, of course, after the timid, confused, untutored girls of the countryside, are eager to relish once again the marvelous feel of a true woman in their arms, a gasping, yielding, begging, helplessly aroused slave.”
“The fuel is aboard, sir,” said another mariner.
“Good,” said Julian.
“The captain will be ready for departure shortly,” said a junior officer.
“Good,” said Julian.
Two men passed them, with sticks, herding cows.
Four men followed, carrying poles. At the ends of each pole, balanced, swinging, were cages, filled with cackling poultry. These were destined for the small farms of Venitzia, tiny allotments within its fenced perimeter. In Venitzia an egg was a luxury. Outside the fence, occasionally seen on their mounts, in their furs, with their long lances held upright, against the sky, were Heruls.
There was a point to the cows, too, of course, as fresh milk, like eggs, was a luxury in Venitzia.
Outside the fence, as I have mentioned, were Heruls.
Behind these men came others, other pairs, each pair here carrying, supported between themselves, a single pole, from which dangled, upside down, lines of the plucked, gutted bodies of similar fowl, these tied together in pairs, the narrow, scaled, clawed feet of each pair fastened together by string, the pair then thrown over the pole, held in place, swinging, by the string joining their feet.
Quantities of dark-brown leaves of salted meat, baled with cord, went past, on carts.
Great slabs of meat, too, were brought to the ship, on the shoulders of brawny porters.
Much had already been loaded, such as casks of water; boxes of eggs, layered, cushioned in straw; tins of biscuits and bread; blocks of cheese, bearing the imprints of the manufacturers; butts of oil; crates of dried fish; potted ducks; spices; almonds; dates; sugar; confections; condiments; hampers of vegetables; barrels of fruits; skins of cheap wine, amphorae of fine wines; and quantities of butter, salt, and flour.
“Tenting, charcoal, weaponry, ammunition, parts?” asked Julian. “Fodder and food for the beasts? Fuel for the hoverers?”
“Yes, sir,” said a mariner.
There was a squeal from within, ringing out from the metal, of one of the mounts, or horses.
“Be careful in there!” called Julian.
Otto had learned to ride such beasts near one of the holdings of Julian, a small fortresslike holding in the northern hemisphere of Vellmer.
He had learned to master them with the bit and bridle, and quirt.
It was at that holding that Otto had received his commission as a captain in the imperial auxilia, or auxiliary forces.
Such beasts were not uncommon on Tangara, being ridden by peoples such as the Heruls, and, some said, the Otungs, one of the five tribes of the Vandals.
We pause to remind the reader that the Ortungs, under Ortog, their king, were a secessionist tribe from the Drisriaks, and were decimated and scattered by Abrogastes. They are not to be confused with the Otungs, which was the leading tribe of the Vandal peoples. Five tribes, with their associated clans, constituted the Vandal nation. These tribes are the Darisi, the Haakons, the Basungs, the Wolfungs, and the Otungs. We apologize, incidentally, for what may seem the unnecessary reiteration of such particulars. We trust that the reader does not find this offensive. Surely it is not our intention to impose upon his patience. But we have noted that such matters are occasionally confused even in the imperial records.
A single, shrill note sounded in the vicinity of the ship, from a device on the port master’s tower.
Men lifted their heads, and looked to the tower. Many, below, visible through the grille on which they stood, backed away, though they were yards from the flat bottom of the blackened cement well, dozens of yards thick, below the ship.
“It is the first warning,” said Julian.
Below, visible through the grille on which they stood, at the level below, the lower hatch slid shut.
“You must soon be aboard,” said Julian.
“What is wrong?” asked Otto.
“Ensign,” said Julian.
“Yes, sir?” said the officer.
“The lading is not complete,” said Julian.
The ensign regarded him, startled.
“It is not complete,” said Julian.
The officer, puzzled, consulted his records, and his markings on them, added throughout the afternoon.
The officer looked up.
“There are some sheep, some goats, some pigs,” he said, “but they will be brought on momentarily.”
“Your manifest is not complete,” said Julian. “Summon the chief supply officer.”
“Yes, sir,” said the ensign, and hurried away, for the first warning had already sounded.
There had already, with the first warning, been a change in the activity on the quay. It was much more subdued now. Fewer came and went now through the second hatch. Many now, their work finished, stood or sat about, some on their carts and vehicles. This was not unusual, that they would linger for a time, to see the departure of the ship. Too, in the distance, one could see colors, and flutterings, at the railings. Individuals from the city, nearby Lisle, sometimes came down to the quays to watch. The departure of such a ship, an imperial starship, even of the freighter class, is an awesome sight.
“I fear the intent of our mission to Tangara may be more widely suspected than I feared,” said Julian to Otto.
“Why do you say that?” asked Otto.
“There were two manifests, of course,” said Julian, “the public manifest, filed with the port officer, listing supplies, vehicles, mounts, ammunition, and such, typical supplies for an expedition supplying and reinforcing Venitzia, outfitting scouting expeditions, conducting small-scale reprisals and such, and the second manifest, which was classified.”