The Captain

CHAPTER 12

Standing at the edge of the woods Julian and Otto watched the lights, approaching across the meadow.

Some men were approaching, on foot.

“They saw you,” said Otto.

“Yes,” said Julian.

An hour before, as a patrol craft had scouted the meadow, at an altitude of some thousand feet or so, Julian, waiting, having emerged from cover, caught in the beam of one of its searchlights, had lifted his arms, signaling the craft. He must have seemed small, and white, there below, signaling. The craft had blinked its lights twice, and then moved on.

“They have seen us,” had said Julian, elatedly, returning to the wood.

Now some men were approaching, carrying flashlights. They had dismounted from a hoverer, left on the other side of the meadow.

“Excellent!” said Julian.

“Be careful, do not be precipitate,” said Otto.

“Have no fear, my friend,” said Julian.

He withdrew a few feet into the darkness of the woods.

“Oh!” cried Gerune, awakened by a blow, from the side of Julian’s foot.

He bent down and untied the vine from the tree, that by means of which Gerune’s ankles had been secured to it. This left the other end of the vine, that which bound her ankles together, as it was.

He then carried her, bound hand and foot, to the edge of the trees. There he put her down, on her knees.

“See the approaching lights?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Men approach,” said Julian.

Gerune squirmed a little, helpless in her bonds.

“Those will surely be men from the empire, men from an imperial fleet.”

She looked at him, wildly.

“Do you wish to run away?” he asked.

“I am bound hand and foot!” she said.

“There is no escape for you,” said Julian. “And when you are branded there will be no doubt of it.”

“You are not going to put me under the iron!” she said.

“You are a slave,” said Julian. “Of course you will be branded.”

She shuddered.

The lights were closer now, rather in the vicinity of the shambles of the destroyed ship, coming across the meadow, now about one hundred yards away.

“Listen to me,” said Julian, “and listen carefully.”

She looked up at him, piteous, bound.

“It is my recommendation,” said Julian, “that, if you wish to live, and not be tortured, and then nailed to a gate in some provincial town, that you conceal your antecedents.”

“It is wise counsel, slave girl,” said Otto. “Attend your master.”

“Remember,” said Julian, looking down at his bound slave, “you are no longer a princess. You are no longer the daughter of Abrogastes. You are no longer even a free woman. You are a slave. As a slave you have a name only by my will, that of your master. Too, as a slave, you are no longer of the Alemanni, or the Drisriaks or the Ortungs. You are tribeless. You no longer have a people. You have only masters. You are an animal, as much as a pig or goat. You are owned. You are property. You are a slave, and only a slave.”

Her eyes were wide.

“Do you understand?” asked Julian.

“Yes!” she said.

“Kiss my feet,” snarled Julian.

Swiftly she put down her head to his feet, kissing them.

“Lick them!” said Julian, watching the lights approach.

“Yes, Master, yes, Master!” she sobbed.

“Lift your head!” said Julian. She looked up, tears in her eyes.

“We are now going to untie your ankles,” he said. “You will doubtless be ordered out first. You will go quickly, and be obedient.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

Julian freed her ankles, and then helped her to her feet. She stood, unsteadily, behind Julian and Otto. The lights, now, stopped.

Julian, his hands raised, emerged from the woods. He was instantly caught in the beams of several of the lights. “Who are you?” called a man.

“Julian, of the Aurelianii,” said Julian, proudly, “ensign in the imperial navy.”

“Of the Aurelianii!” said a man.

“Can it be truly he?” asked another.

“Hold!” said a voice behind the lights. “We do not know it is he.” A light flashed past Julian, toward Otto and Gerune. They half closed their eyes against the blaze. “Who is with you?”

“Two,” said Julian, “Otto, a barbarian auxiliary, and a female slave.”

“Send the slave forth,” said the voice.

“You will show them what you are, a slave,” said Julian.

Gerune moaned.

“You will hurry forth,” said Julian, “and kneel, head to the turf.”

“Send forth the slave,” said the voice.

“Go,” said Julian.

Gerune, her hands bound behind her, hurried forward, and, when she reached the men, knelt, her body bent forward, her head town, to the turf.

Flashlights played upon her body.

“A pretty one,” said a man.

The voice of command, from behind the lights, said, “Check her bonds.”

Her hands were pulled up a little, behind her, and inspected.

“She is well tied,” said a man.

“Put her on a leash,” said the voice of command.

A leash was snapped about her throat.

She trembled, her head still down. It was the first time, doubtless, she had worn a slave leash. To be sure, on the Alaria, some time ago, she had been marched through corridors on a rope, and that is much the same thing.

“Come closer, sir,” said the voice behind the lights to Julian.

Julian advanced.

“Hold!” said the voice behind the lights.

Julian stopped.

“Is it you, can it be you?” asked the voice from behind the lights.

“Yes,” said Julian, “it is I.”

“It is he, he!” said a man.

“Yes!” said another.

“Sir!” suddenly cried the voice from behind the lights. He stepped forward.

Julian saluted him, for his rank was higher than his own.

The man returned the salute, sharply. “Forgive us, Excellency!” he said. “We could not be sure.”

“I am afraid I am not in uniform, and that I smell of pigs,” said Julian.

“Bring the hoverer,” said the officer, speaking into his radio. “And inform the fleet that we have found his excellency.”

The hoverer came slowly over the grass, and alit, some yards from the party.

“With your permission we will stow this for you, and secure it properly,” said the officer, indicating Gerune.

“Certainly,” said Julian.

“Stand up,” said one of the men to Gerune.

She stood up, on her leash.

“Aii,” said the officer, examining her with the flashlight.

“She is lovely,” said one of the men.

“Stand straighter,” said Julian to Gerune.

She stood more beautifully, lifting her chin.

“Oh, yes!” said a man.

Gerune cast a frightened glance at Julian.

“She is a beauty,” said the officer. “Where did you pick her up?”

“Here,” said Julian.

“She looks Drisriak,” said the officer.

“Perhaps,” said Julian. “But when I picked her up she was only a slave.”

“Who are you, girl?” asked the officer.

“I am only a slave, Master,” she said.

“And a low slave, it seems,” said the officer.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Perhaps a scullery slave,” said the officer.

“Oh?” said Julian.

“That can be told from the hair,” said the officer to Julian. “See how it is cropped short?”

“Yes,” said Julian.

“I envy these barbarians their women,” said the officer, “that they can use beauties like this even for mere scullery slaves.”

“They have an eye for women,” said Julian.

“And they get the most out of them,” said the officer.

“True,” said Julian.

“Some of their slaves are former ladies of the empire,” said the officer.

“Commonly,” said Julian.

“Doubtless they serve well,” said the officer.

“Yes,” said Julian.

“I have known ladies of the empire,” said the officer, “whom I would not have minded owning as slaves.”

“Perhaps you could buy them back, and keep them as slaves,” said Julian.

“An interesting thought,” said the officer.

“And how then would they serve you?” asked Julian.

“With perfection,” said the officer.

“Excellent,” said Julian.

The officer played his flashlight, again, upon Gerune. He illuminated her left flank.

She straightened, frightened.

“She is not yet branded,” said the officer.

“That will be attended to, shortly,” said Julian.

Gerune shuddered.

“See that this cargo is stowed, and well secured,” said the officer to a man.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

Gerune was led away on her leash.

“This is my friend, Otto, an auxiliary,” said Julian, indicating Otto.

“Such troops have their uses, I am sure,” said the officer, bowing.

“May I invite you aboard?” asked the officer.

“It is my pleasure,” said Julian.

“We are only a few moments from a shuttler,” he said.

“You received my message?” asked Julian.

“A message was received, with your call signal, purportedly from Varna,” said the officer.

“It was authentic,” said Julian.

“But it was broadcast on a band commonly utilized by barbarians,” said the officer.

“It was an Ortung radio, with a fixed frequency,” said Julian.

“We suspected a trap,” said the officer.

“But you took precautions?” said Julian.

“Surely,” said the officer.

“The Drisriaks,” said Otto, “doubtless also took the message for an Ortung communication. It brought both the Drisriaks and the imperial fleet to this sector.”

“Drisriaks have been hunting Ortungs,” said Julian.

“And it seems they found them, in the vicinity of 738.2,” said the officer. “The Ortungs were decimated. There was much debris.”

“How came you to this world?” asked Otto.

“It was en route to Varna,” said the officer, “and when we detected the traces of barbarian ships, we chose to investigate.”

“Both Drisriaks and Ortungs were here,” said Otto.

“Abrogastes himself was here, only hours ago,” said Julian.

The officer whistled.

“You will doubtless attempt to pick up his trail and deal with the Drisriak fleet.”

“There is little chance of overtaking lionships,” said the officer.

“You will do your best,” said Julian, angrily.

“Yes, sir,” said the captain.

It might be noted that, even at that time, the empire had many enemies, some of them technologically sophisticated, some of them even within her own borders.

“It will not now be necessary to proceed to Varna,” said the officer.

“I will need a ship,” said Julian.

“To return to Telnaria?” said the officer.

“Eventually,” said Julian, “but first we must return to Varna.”

“Excellency?”

“There are arrangements to be made there,” said Julian, looking at Otto, “and, too, we may wish to pick up some cargo.”

“Yes,” said Otto.

“I am sure the admiral will put as many ships at your disposal as you wish, your excellency,” said the officer.

“A single corvette will do,” said Julian.

“Doubtless accompanied by a convoy of destroyers,” said the officer.

“A corvette will do,” said Julian.

“As your excellency wishes.”

The officer turned about then and went toward the hoverer, some yards away. Gerune had already been placed on board.

Otto and Julian remained for a few moments in the meadow.

Julian looked up to the sky, to the east.

“Abrogastes presents a great danger to the empire,” said Julian.

“He is lord of the Drisriaks,” said Otto, “and they are the largest and most dangerous tribe of the Alemanni nation.”

There were eleven tribes in the Alemanni nation.

“I fear,” said Julian, “that he may bring together a league of barbarian peoples, the Alemanni, and others.”

“It would not be easy,” said Otto. “There is much rivalry, much envy, much suspicion and jealousy among such peoples.”

Long had the empire exploited such matters.

“Surely the empire can defeat mere barbarians,” said Otto.

“It is not the same empire that it once was,” said Julian.

“It has thousands of ships, it can destroy worlds,” said Otto.

“There are hundreds of such peoples,” said Julian.

“The empire has nothing to fear,” said Otto. “It is eternal.”

“Once there was no empire,” said Julian.

“I cannot conceive of a reality without the empire,” said Otto.

“Its loss would mean the downfall of civilization,” said Julian.

“There is nothing to fear,” said Otto.

“Abrogastes is your enemy, as well,” said Julian.

“Yes,” said Otto.

“I will urge that the Wolfungs be supplied with a weapon,” said Julian, “one capable of destroying a ship in orbit.”

“We would be muchly grateful,” said Otto.

“You desire to serve the empire?” asked Julian.

“It must be preserved,” said Otto.

“We have many enemies,” said Julian.

“True,” said Otto.

“Abrogastes is our greatest enemy,” said Julian. “I fear him most of all.”

“Why?” asked Otto.

“It is not that he now has so much power,” said Julian, “or so many ships, or even that the Alemanni is a populous nation, but other things, frightening, terrible things.”

“What?” asked Otto, puzzled.

“He is like a shark,” said Julian, “who can detect a drop of blood in the water, an erratic movement.”

“I do not understand,” said Otto.

“He can smell corruption where others can sense only soundness,” said Julian. “He can see weakness where others see only strength.”

“Ah,” said Otto.

“He is a statesman, a warlord,” said Julian.

“Of course,” said Otto.

“He has vision. He can think new realities. He can ponder new orders, new ways of life. He has ambition, he has patience. He is ruthless.”

“But he is weak now,” said Otto.

“Yes, he is weak now,” said Julian.

“So there is nothing to fear,” said Otto.

“At least Ortog is dead,” said Julian.

“No,” said Otto.

“‘No’?” said Julian, startled.

“Did you not see the point of entry of the knife?” asked Otto. “It was below and to the side of the heart.”

Julian regarded Otto, closely.

“We study such things in the school of Pulendius,” said Otto. “It behooves the gladiator to have some sense of anatomy.”

“That is why you threw your cloak over him!” said Julian.

“Yes,” said Otto, “that if he should give some sign of life it might be less likely to be detected.”

“And that is why the clerk averted his eyes, and the shieldsman, on the trail, cast you such a look?”

“Doubtless,” said Otto.

“Ortog lives?”

“The wound was grievous, he may by now be dead,” said Otto.

“Did Abrogastes know how he struck him?”

“I would surmise so,” said Otto.

“Why did he not kill him?” asked Julian.

“I do not know,” said Otto.

“He was prepared to have you fight him,” said Julian.

“He may have known that I had once spared Ortog on the Alaria,” said Otto.

“How could he know that?”

“I do not know,” said Otto. “Perhaps from witnesses, men or women from the Alaria who were embonded by the Ortungs, and then later acquired, with other loot, by Drisriaks.”

“But it was important for him to punish treachery, and see justice done,” said Julian.

“It seems it was well punished,” said Julian. “The Ortungs were decimated, and Ortog, at best, is left grievously wounded, stranded, on a remote world.”

“He was prepared to have his daughter beheaded,” said Julian.

“But she was not beheaded, was she?” said Otto.

“No,” said Julian.

“But instead she was reduced to slavery,” said Otto.

“A most horrifying and grievous punishment for her,” said Julian.

“But one surely eminently suitable, considering her crime,” said Otto.

“Certainly,” said Julian.

“But, besides,” said Otto, “she is a slave.”

Julian looked up at Otto.

“She may not understand it yet,” said Otto, “but she is a man’s slave. One can tell it from her body, her expressions, her movements. She will never be fully happy until she is a man’s slave.”

“Did Abrogastes know that?” asked Julian.

“I think it possible,” said Otto. “Besides, is it so different, being a mating pawn, or being bought and sold in markets. Is it not much the same thing?”

“Yes,” said Julian.

“At least in markets,” said Otto, “the bidding, and its meaning, and such, is clear.”

“Yes,” said Julian.

“And would you kill your own son?” asked Otto.

“No,” said Julian.

“I think that Abrogastes might,” said Otto.

“But this time he did not,” said Julian.

“No,” said Otto. “This time he did not.”

“Do you think that Huta is a slave?” asked Julian.

“She looks well in a collar,” said Otto.

“Do you think she is a slave?”

“She will need a strong hand, and a taste of the whip,” said Otto.

“But do you think she is a slave?”

“Certainly,” said Otto.

“It seems that many women are slaves,” said Julian.

“Yes,” said Otto.

“Do you think that all women should be slaves?” asked Julian.

“Yes,” said Otto.

“I think you are right,” said Julian.

“Gentlemen,” said the officer, from the deck of the hoverer, “I have informed the shuttler of our imminent departure.”

Otto and Julian shortly thereafter boarded the hoverer.

It was, like most such ships, circular, and open, rather like a metallic coracle.

This particular vessel was some twenty feet in diameter. Its hull was armored. The crew of such a vessel normally consists of two men, and these were the two who had remained with the vessel when it had been left across the meadow, but there were now seven men on board, not counting Otto and Julian. The officer, and his four companions, figured more in the category of soldiers, or, perhaps better, marines, than crew.

“We will soon be at the shuttle,” said the officer.

Julian went to the side of the vessel, just within the bulwarks.

He lifted aside a piece of canvas.

There, beneath it, on the metal plating of the deck of the hoverer, lay Gerune, who looked up at him, seeing him bending over her, and the black sky, and stars, above him. Her wrists were now before her body, held closely together there, locked in slave cuffs; a chain ran from the linkage of the cuffs through a metal ring, to her ankles; there, at the ankles, the chain joined another linkage, that linking her shackles.

“How did you like wearing a slave leash?” asked Julian.

“I must go where it bids me,” she said.

He continued to look upon her.

“It is fitting that it was on me, for I am a slave,” she said.

“This is the first time you have worn slave chains, is it not?” inquired Julian.

“Yes,” she said.

He continued to regard her.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“How do you like them?” he asked.

“I may not object,” she said, “for I am a slave.”

“How do you like them?” he asked.

She put her head to one side.

“It is fitting that they are upon me,” she said, “for I am a slave.”

“The cargo is stowed, and secured, to your satisfaction, I trust,” said the officer.

“Yes,” said Julian.

The arrangement would not only keep the cargo in place, and helpless, but would serve, as well, to keep it within the vessel, even in events such as steep climbs and perilous bankings, even inversions.

“I hope you do not mind that we put a canvas over her,” said the officer, “but my men have been a long time without women.”

Gerune trembled, looking toward the men.

She began to suspect what it might be to be a slave, and she knew herself a slave.

There was a tiny sound of chain on the metal plating, and against the ring, as she, frightened, drew her wrists in, more closely to her body.

“I understand,” said Julian.

He lifted the corner of the canvas, to throw it again over the slave.

“Please, wait, Master,” she whispered.

He crouched down, beside her, the corner of the canvas in his right hand.

“You are not really going to have me branded, are you, Master?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“But I was a princess,” she said.

“Barbarian princesses, and women who were once barbarian princesses, are not unknown in imperial markets,” he said.

“I was the daughter of Abrogastes,” she said.

“You are now no more than a slave, and you will be branded,” said Julian.

“But how can you have such a thing done?” she asked. “It is not civilized.”

“On the contrary,” said Julian, “it is preeminently civilized. Indeed, it is a feature of a civilized society. Its efficiency is unquestioned. Surely you can understand that it is useful and appropriate, for legal and other purposes, to identify properties.”

She looked away.

“The highest civilizations,” said Julian, “have always held slaves.”

“And doubtless there has always been some means of appropriately identifying them?”

“Yes.”

“I will be branded then,” she said.

“Yes,” he said.

“I beg you to relent,” she said.

“No,” he said.

“You are going to do with me exactly as you please, aren’t you?” she said.

“Yes,” he said.

“Even to the iron?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Your excellency,” pressed the officer.

“Look forward to your branding,” said Julian.

Gerune looked up at him, wildly.

He prepared to throw the cover over her.

“You are my master, aren’t you?” she said.

“Yes,” he said.

Then his visage was blotted out, and the dimly lit bulwarks, lit by the instrument lights, and the black sky, and the bright stars.

She then lay there, on the metal plating, beneath the canvas.

“I, Gerune, am going to be branded,” she said softly to herself. That seemed to her for a moment incomprehensible, that Gerune should wear a brand. But then she realized that there was nothing untoward or surprising in that. ‘Gerune’ was, after all, only a slave name. In one sense, then, she was no longer Gerune, certainly not the Gerune she had once been. In another, of course, she was Gerune, because that was the name that her master had decided to give her. In this second sense, then, there was surely nothing surprising about an iron being heated for her, as for countless others.

She shuddered.

There was a tiny sound of chain. She heard men laugh, but she could not see them.

She lay there very quietly then, fearing to move.

She supposed it would not do to tell her master, or others, that she had been thrilled to be on a leash, that it excited her to wear slave chains.

What ancient, strange message, what profound message, did these things speak to her?

She lay there then, not moving, knowing herself naked, and a slave, under a canvas, at the mercy of men.

“Belt in,” she heard the officer say. Shortly thereafter the hoverer rose into the air.

She lay there, beneath the canvas, astounded, not at the motion of the vessel, but at herself.

“Yes,” she whispered to herself, softly, “yes!”

She feared to be branded, of course. It would not do to deny that. But, too, now that she was a slave, now that that was what she was, she wanted it done.

Indeed, she had often wondered, from the time of puberty on, what it would be, to be branded.

Her emotions were complex, for, mixed with her fear, you see, there were many other emotions, as well, those of curiosity, of anticipation, of tremulous excitement, of literal elation, even, I suppose it should be admitted, of eagerness.

Oh, she would protest, or cry, or such, particularly if such things were expected of her.

But, between ourselves, she could not wait for the mark.

“How terrible I am!” she thought, delightedly, squirming just a little, but hopefully not so much that her movement could be detected beneath the canvas.

But there was no laughter.

The men, it seemed, were not then concerned with her.

Their minds were on other things.

She had been forgotten.

But she was then suddenly terrified. She could be bought and sold. What if her master simply decided to rid himself of her in some way?

She knew she was passionate.

Her skin was like flame.

Now she must try to be sufficiently beautiful, sufficiently obedient, sufficiently zealous.

“I will try to please you, my master,” she said. “I will try desperately to please you, with all that I am and have! Please keep me, Master. Please keep me!”

In a few moments the hoverer had alit near the shuttler. She was aware, then, even through the canvas, through the tiny interstices of thick weaving, of the lights.

She could hear men moving about, within the hoverer, and outside, shouting, calling out.

“I ask nothing of you, my master,” she said softly, to herself, “but it is my hope that you will sometimes show me a little kindness.”