“I love Ingeld,” she said. “I wanted to be near his couch. I wanted to kiss its slave ring. I wanted to touch its furs. I wanted to lie, humbly, like a dog, at its foot.”
“What if you are found here?” asked Otto.
“I must not be found here!” she said.
“How did you get here?” asked Otto.
“I was unnoticed,” she said. “When there are several slaves about, who notices slaves, or pigs?”
“A slave such as you would be noticed,” said Otto. “You would sell nicely off a block.”
“I am only a slave,” she said. “I slipped past the guard.”
“How do you propose leaving?” asked Otto.
“Similarly,” she said. “I have done it before, many times.”
“But perhaps,” said Otto, “you shall not manage it this time.”
“Master?” she said, looking up.
Otto looked about the small, plain room. On one wall was some harnessing, and some loops of thongs.
“Squirm about, as you are, on your belly,” said Otto. “Get your head facing away from me. Cross your wrists behind your back. Cross your ankles.”
Huta obeyed, promptly. “Master?” she said, frightened.
“There are thongs here, on the wall,” said Otto. “Doubtless Ingeld uses you as a Thong Girl.”
“He does with me what he wishes,” she said.
“Perhaps you enjoy his thongs,” said Otto.
There are many ways in which a girl may be thonged.
“In his thongs, I am helpless,” she said. “In his thongs I know rapture.”
“But you do not know rapture now, do you?” asked Otto.
Huta had now been thonged.
“No, Master!” she said. She squirmed about, on her side, to face him. Her small ankles fought the thongs. Her lovely wrists pulled futilely against them.
“You are well trussed,” said Otto, standing, admiring his handiwork.
“Please unbind me, Master!” she whispered. “I cannot free myself.”
“It was not my intention that you should be able to do so,” said Otto.
“In time, men will search for me, the armsmen of Abrogastes. I must not be found here!”
“Farewell,” said Otto, turning away.
“Do not go!” she pleaded. “I will scream.”
“Do so,” said Otto.
“But someone would hear,” she wept. “They would find me here!”
“That is why I did not bother gagging you,” said Otto.
“Surely you cannot leave me here, as I am!” she said.
“You are a slave who has been unfaithful to her Master,” said Otto. “Farewell.”
“No, no, wait, Master!” she wept. “It can be no accident that you are here. You must have a purpose. What do you want? Perhaps I might be of assistance. Is it information you want? I might know something of interest. A slave hears much, knows much! Might I not be of help? Is there nothing I can do?”
“I search for an object,” said Otto. “It is a medallion; it is on a chain.”
Huta’s face went white. “I dare not, Master,” she said.
“Very well,” said Otto, placing his hand on the latch.
“Do not go!” she wept. “You do not want it! It is worthless! Lord Ingeld told me. It is only one of more than a hundred, perhaps a thousand, similar things. Once it was thought of great value. Now it is meaningless.”
“Where is it?” said Otto.
“I do not know,” she said.
“I depart,” said Otto.
“It is a thing of Lord Ingeld,” she said. “I dare not reveal its hiding place.”
“If it is worthless, why should it have a hiding place?” asked Otto.
“I do not know,” she said.
“It is about,” said Otto. “I am sure of it.”
Huta struggled, futilely.
“There is no point in struggling,” said Otto. “Surely you are familiar with what it is, to be a well-thonged slave.”
“I beg mercy,” she said.
“Does Lord Ingeld know that you are aware of the location of the object?” asked Otto.
“No,” she said. “I discovered it when alone in the hall. Dirt had been turned. I was curious.”
“Does anyone know you frequent the hall in the absence of Lord Ingeld?” asked Otto.
“No,” she said. “I have never been discovered here.”
“Until perhaps an hour from now,” said Otto.
“Mercy!” she whispered.
“Where is it?” asked Otto.
“In the hall, buried,” she said. “I will show you the place.”
“The guard will remember me,” said Otto. “It will be understood I have taken the object. Your role in this will be unknown. After I have departed, I advise you to disturb the soil of the hall, in several locations, so it will seem that a search of some sort was conducted.”
“Yes, Master,” wept Huta.
Otto then bent to undo the thongs on the slave’s wrists and ankles.
“Where is the place of the ‘Horse Death’?” asked Otto.
“In the yard behind the hall of Abrogastes,” she said.
“You will have no difficulty leaving the hall this afternoon,” said Otto.
“How is that, Master?” asked Huta.
“The guard will be unconscious,” said Otto.
57
“What is going on here?” demanded Farrix. “Move back!”
“I and my colleagues,” said the merchant, “have come for the feast.”
“There is no feast,” said Farrix. “Beware that you are not trampled.”
One of the horses growled, and shied its massive form to the side.
“They are large, are they not?” said the merchant.
“Beware you do not lose an arm,” said Farrix.
“To be sure, I am early, but so, too, I see, are others,” said the merchant.
“There is no feast here,” said Farrix.
“Is this not the yard behind the hall of noble Abrogastes?” asked the merchant.
“It is,” said Farrix, angrily.
“Then this is the place,” said the merchant.
“What do you need these cumbersome beasts for?” asked another.
“They are half the size of a torodont,” said another.
“I have seen some as large,” said another.
“What are these beasts for?” asked another.
“They are to draw wagons with crates of steaming viands from the kitchens, kegs of bror and kana,” said another.
“Go away,” said Farrix.
“We are here for the feast,” said another merchant, one in yellow robes.
“There is no feast here,” said Farrix.
“You must be mistaken,” said a merchant. “The word is all over the compound. The noble Alemanni are entertaining all the delegations with a great feast. It is celebrating the end of the selling, and in anticipation of the joyous unitings of princes and princesses. See? Here come several others, in festive regalia. There is no gainsaying the generosity of the Alemanni.”
“There is no feast!” said Farrix.
“Do you mean to say you have not been told?” asked another merchant. He looked about. “Where are the tables, the benches, the tents?”
“There is no feast,” said Farrix. “Be careful there! The animals are not used to crowds.”
“Here come more guests, at least a hundred,” said a merchant.
“Many have brought their domicile slaves,” said another merchant.
“And retainers,” said another.
“You there,” said Farrix. “You, big fellow, you in the hood, you on the other side of the horse. It is dangerous. It could turn and seize you. Get away from it.”
As the large fellow did not much move, and seemed inclined, rather, to stroke the beast, perhaps to pacify it, Farrix, angrily, moved about the large form.
“Away!” he said, waving his arm. “There is no feast!”
“There are different sorts of feasts,” said the large man in the saffron merchant robes. “There are feasts of blood, of steel, of joy, of vengeance, of war, of peace, of hate, of justice.”
“You!” cried Farrix.
A massive hand thrust forth from the saffron sleeve and seized Farrix by the throat, and shook him, and Farrix fell dazed, gasping for breath, at Otto’s feet. It took Otto only a moment or two to fasten the ropes on Farrix’s half inert, shuddering form, a rope on each limb. He then led the animals in such a way as to tauten the ropes.