The Captain

CHAPTER 7

“It is a fine tent,” said Otto.

“We may die within it,” said Julian.

In the tent were many of the high men of the Otungs. Among them, too, other than ranking tribesmen, the aristocracy of the Otungs, or Ortungen, were comitates, retainers, of various nations, peoples and species. Clerks, too, were present, for the recording of documents, the witnessing of proceedings, the signing of names, and such. There was a cleared place in the center of the tent. In this cleared space, on the dirt floor, strewn with rushes, stood Otto, his arms folded. Behind him, and to his left, closer than he would have cared, more prominently visible than he might have wished, stood Julian. He had intended to remain in the background, but he had been thrust forward, contemptuously, following a brief sign from Hendrix to the guards. Hendrix thought it useful, and pertinent, that the nature, and lowliness, of the companion of Otto, a young fellow barefoot and in rags, and a mere citizen of the empire, one with no people, with no tribal entitlements or rights, surely no more than a mere thrall, be evident. In this way Hendrix made clear to Ortog, and the others, that Otto, although he might be chieftain of the Wolfungs, was much alone. Was he not hapless, unaccompanied by high men? Where were his princely trappings, where his comitates, his retinue? How poor, or few, or weak, or cowardly, were the Wolfungs! There was the reputed chieftain of the Wolfungs, with no uniformed, gift-bearing servitors or stern, calm men-at-arms, with gleaming blades and shields of polished silver, only a ragged fellow with him, barefoot and dirty, the sort who might tend pigs for his masters by day and be penned with them, chained, by night. Even one who was of the despised empire! Otto, of course, had not wanted Astubux, or Axel, or others of the Wolfungs, their high men, to come to the Meeting World. What had to be done there was his to do alone, if it could be done at all. Rather their place was with the tribe. If he failed it must be they who must try to sustain and profit the people, the Wolfungs, either by submitting to the conditions of the Alemanni, accommodating them with tribute, or, if this was impossible, leading the people again into the forests, trying to conceal themselves therein, fleeing once more, as times before, from the Alemanni, whether Ortungs or Drisriaks. Julian, the young man, had requested permission to accompany Otto, and to this request Otto had acceded. Julian had had his reasons for desiring to accompany Otto, and Otto had had his reasons for acceding to his request.

“The slaves are lovely,” said Otto, looking to his right, to the side of the dais, which was a few feet before him. There, kneeling, were three blond slaves. They were women taken from the Alaria, and Otto, when on the ship, had seen them, here and there, in the lounge, and elsewhere, though, to be sure, not as they now were. Once, after the attack, and boarding, of the ship, though Otto had not seen them at this later time, they had been chained at the side of the stage in the ship’s auditorium, the auditorium then being used by the Ortungs as a command center.

“They are beautiful, and well curved,” said Otto.

“Yes,” said Julian.

There was no difficulty in making these determinations. The women did not now, you see, in spoiled, supercilious regal splendor, wear their exorbitantly expensive robes, and their fine silks and jewels, as they had when Otto had seen them earlier, in the lounge and elsewhere. Rather, they wore now, as had been exactly the case when they had been put at the side of the stage on the Alaria as he had not seen them earlier, only chains.

“They are display slaves,” said Julian.

“But doubtless they are often put to other uses, too,” said Otto.

“Doubtless,” said Julian.

Otto regarded the women.

Perhaps once, even in chains, they might have dared to meet his gaze, or even responded with stiffening, resentment or defiance, such naive resistances, but now, even though they had doubtless been only recently familiarized with their new condition, they looked away, not daring to meet his eyes, or surely not without permission. How different they were from what they had been before, and how little time had elapsed! They were obviously highly intelligent. They had learned a great deal in a very short time. Already their bodies had lost much of the stiffness, the tension, the defensiveness, of the free woman. Their expressions, their attitudes, were entirely different.

Otto continued to regard them.

Before they had been far above him, scarcely deigning to notice him, save, perhaps, as one might notice a magnificent animal, paying him a coin perhaps, that he might attend upon them in the privacy of their compartments, but they were not far above him now, as they were slaves, and he a chieftain.

There was now in them a needfulness, a beauty and vulnerability.

They were quite different from what they had been before.

Slavery produces a remarkable transformation in a woman.

He considered them, appraisingly, appreciatively, pondering on their value.

In most markets, he speculated, it would have been considerable.

They knelt, suitably, in appropriate positions.

Perhaps they were not unaware of his scrutiny. Perhaps, they had, too, secretly, a furtive glance here and there, considered him. It is hard for a slave not to do such things, not to wonder at what it might be, to be in the arms of a given master, his to do with as he pleases, to be subject to his whip, as they are fully, thrillingly, aware of their own vulnerability, that they can be purchased, and owned, that they must obey, and, with all their zeal, strive to please.

How beautiful they had become.

What truly strong man does not desire to own a woman?

Knowing themselves under his scrutiny, and knowing themselves slaves, they trembled.

What truly feminine woman does not desire her master, wherever he may be?

One of the blond slaves stole a glance at Otto.

But Otto’s face, at that instant, had been dark with anger. He had, at that moment, recalled another woman, you see, a dark-haired woman, slim and exquisite, one who had once been an officer of a court, on Terennia, too, one whose mother, a judge, had sentenced him to the arena.

And he had later trusted her, that lovely, exquisite creature, but she had betrayed his trust.

How he despised her!

In what utter contempt did he hold her!

How he hated her!

The blond slave quickly, alarmed, lowered her head.

She did not wish to be thrown to dogs.

The exquisite young dark-haired woman, who had been the officer of the court, had come eventually into his power. Her thigh now bore a mark, one which would be recognized throughout the galaxies. He had had it put on her, with a hot iron. In the village of the chieftain on Varna she now served, his claiming disk on a cord, knotted about her neck. He had kept her, for his amusement, and for low tasks. He had not even seen fit to give her a name. He had never even deigned to put her to slave use.

Let her moan at night, naked in her cage, ignored, neglected, putting her hands through the bars, pleading for his touch, for the humble solace of a slave.

How he despised, and hated, and desired, her!

“The Ortungs are rich,” said Otto, looking about himself.

“Surely less so than the Drisriaks,” said Julian.

“Note the treasures, the chests open, they fearing not one coin will vanish,” said Otto.

“They are careless, or naive,” said Julian.

“It is called honor,” said Otto.

“Perhaps,” said Julian.

“Ortog is rich,” said Otto.

“He is ostentatious,” said Julian.

Otto had been raised in the tiny festung of Sim Giadini. That is near the heights of Barrionuevo, on the world of Tangara.

The contents of one of the smallest of the several coffers scattered about, with rolls of rich cloth and such, among which the high men, and others, stood, would have surely sufficed to pay the tithes of his village to the festung of Sim Giadini for a thousand years.

One of the kneeling women, glimpsing Julian, suddenly gasped, lifting her small hands, the wrists chained, to her face. But, a slave, she dared not speak. Too, his eyes warned her to silence. Then, tears in her eyes, she blushed scarlet, that he should see her so. And was he, too, now a thrall, a slave, subject to the huge, blue-eyed, blond-haired brute with him? Had he, one of his station, of the empire, come to this, no more than a ragged slave or servitor, at the shoulder of a barbarian?

Otto, too, had noted her response, and, seeing his eyes upon her, as well as those of Julian, she put her head down, with the tiniest sound of chain, that from the collar on her neck.

Hendrix, too, had noted her response, but made little of it, supposing it to register little more than her dismay at seeing Julian, one presumably such as she herself once was, one of the empire, but one here, in this place, as herself, in a position of unimportance and lowliness, and of service, if not of actual bondage.

Ortog, king of the Ortungs, prince of the Drisriaks, on the dais, standing, was in converse with others about him. He had not, as yet, acknowledged the presence of Otto and Julian.

Hendrix was amused at the response of the female slave. Did she think that men of the empire would rescue her? Let her then behold one, the barefoot fellow in rags behind the bold Wolfung. Let him hope that he might be spared to tend flocks for his masters. Let her compare, she on her knees, a man of the empire with his betters, setting him against, to his disadvantage, true men, the Ortungs, and their allies, mighty men, muscular and keen-eyed, clad in glossy furs, with golden rings and jeweled weapons.

And even if the men of the empire should come, in a thousand ships, with their bombs, and rays, and flaming cannons, lingering technologies from other ages, did she think, truly, given what she now was, and what had been done with her, that she would be rescued, and restored to wealth and dignity? No, her value was now quite other than it had been. Indeed, it was now, for the first time, real, in a quite practical sense, for a price could be set on it. On thousands of worlds within the empire, and beyond it, you see, slavery was wholly legal. On these worlds, it was not only accepted, but acclaimed and prized. Indeed, on many of them, it had been specifically instituted as a remedy, or partial remedy, for serious social problems, such as the conservation of resources, the protection of the environment, and the control and management of the population, with respect not only to such mechanics as size and distribution, but with respect to subtler considerations, such as the diversity and quality of the gene pool. Others found it, or one of its many equivalents, a natural ingredient in a stable, orderly society, one in which various parts were harmoniously interrelated, in such a way as to produce a healthy whole. Others saw in it a recognition of, and a civilized refinement of, and enhancement of, the order of nature. Other societies, of course, thought little of it, no more than of the air they breathed or the soft rains which grew their crops. It was part of the way things were, like the earth and the wind. They did not think to question these things, or how they might have come to be, no more than an erect posture, a prehensile appendage, binocular vision. Such things, their ways, if they stopped to reflect on such matters, seemed more rational to them than a myth of sameness, which no one believed, coupled paradoxically with an ideal of success, betraying the myth itself, challenging everyone, in a chaos of competitions, pitting individual against individual, group against group, to stake their future and self-esteem on obtaining a prize which, in the nature of things, almost no one could win.

Ortog now, still standing on the dais, turned to regard Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs.

He recalled him well.

The last time he had seem him, or looked upon him closely, had been on the Alaria, in a small makeshift arena, an illuminated patch of sand in one of the holds, amidst tiered benches.

Another of the blond women, kneeling at the side of the dais, not she who had blushed and lowered her head, looked at Julian. Their eyes met. Her lip curled slightly. In her eyes there was contempt for him. She scorned him, for his lowliness, for his rags. Her masters were far above him, were far more than he. But Julian’s eyes strayed, as though inadvertently, to the steel collar on her neck, with its chain, running to the stout ring, to which other chains, too, were fixed. As though idly, he viewed the light, lovely, but inflexible, unslippable rings encircling her small wrists. Then his glance wandered, but obviously so, to the shackles clasping her slim, fair ankles. Then, at his leisure, he surveyed her enchained beauty. She tried to hold herself straight beneath such a gaze but then her lip trembled, and in her eyes, where insolence had reigned before, there now flickered understanding, and fear. For all his filth, and rags, he was a free man, or seemed so, and was at least a man, where she was naught but female and slave. She knew she could be put upon a slave block and sold. She knew she could be sent to him, even one such as he, even though he might be a mere thrall, on her hands and knees, carrying to him, in her teeth, delicately, so as not to mark it, a whip.

She looked down, and away.

“Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs,” announced Hendrix, addressing himself to Ortog, who stood on the dais.

“And Julian, of the empire,” said Otto.

“And Julian, a worthless dog, of the empire,” added Hendrix.

“Who is free,” said Otto.

The blond woman who had earlier looked with disdain upon Julian shuddered. He was free!

“Who is free, a free worthless dog of the empire,” added Hendrix.

She did not raise her head. Hendrix’s insult to Julian, or to Otto, or both, was immaterial to the realities involved, realities as obdurate, and incontrovertible, as the collar on her neck, and the chains on her limbs. She was a thousand times lower than Julian, a thousand times lower than he, even were he a worthless dog, for he was free and she was slave.

“I am Ortog, king of the Ortungs, prince of the Drisriaks,” said Ortog.

He made no reference to their former meeting, or to the business which had occurred on the Alaria.

Otto nodded, his arms folded upon his mighty chest.

“Send for Gerune, princess of the Drisriaks,” said Ortog, king of the Ortungs, prince of the Drisriaks, sitting himself on the royal stool, on the log dais, floored with planks, it at one end of the spacious, slopingly turreted tent, handing his golden helm to a shieldsman.

“She is shamed, she would not come, milord,” said a free woman. She was standing back, in her long dress, it was brown, to one side.

In the hand of Gundlicht was the small, closely rolled bundle of soiled, brocaded cloth, that which he had brought with him, from the ship. He had received it in the hut of Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs.

“Her presence is awaited,” said Ortog.

“She is indisposed,” said the woman.

“Bring her,” said Ortog.

There was a sound of delight from one of the three women chained to the side of the dais.

Ortog glanced in their direction.

The women looked down, and were silent, frightened.

Such excuses would not serve them, you see, for they were owned, and must be ready, at any moment, to render any service, or pleasure, no matter how exquisite or intimate, that the master might desire. He does not wait upon their convenience, or pleasure. It is they who must wait, zealously, upon his. Instant obedience is the least of what is expected of a slave. They knew, of course, the common sisterhood which they shared with free women, who they now recognized as being in nature, if not in law, as much slave as they. The resentment of the slave for the free woman, eluding her slavery, and pretending it did not exist, and their fear and hatred of them, are not so much unlike, really, the seemingly irrational hatred, and intense concealed envy, which free women feel for slaves. The thought that Gerune, princess of the Drisriaks, princess of the Ortungs, was to be summoned to the tent, before the assembly, pleased them considerably. Too, in the pens and kennels, and at their work, they had heard the delicious rumors, which one scarcely dared whisper, as to how the lofty Gerune had been paraded through the corridors of the Alaria, bound, and gagged, and on a rope, as naked as a slave. Some fellow, it seemed, had thus managed to make his way publicly, but unsuspected, seemingly merely conducting a prisoner to her place of incarceration or enslavement, to an obscure, neglected area where escape capsules had been stored. In the ship, in the march through the corridors, she had been seen by literally hundreds of jeering, lustful Ortungs, as exposed to their gaze, their crude banter and raillery, as any stripped captive or slave. Naturally this considerably please the slaves.

“Gerune, princess of the Drisriaks, princess of the Ortungs,” called a herald, from a side entrance to the tent.

There, in the threshold of that smaller entrance, her long, thick, braided blond hair, in two plaits, falling behind her, even to the back of her knees, slimly erect, splendid in rich, barbaric garments, angrily, obviously not pleased at all, two warriors behind her, stood Gerune.

Otto regarded her. She was as beautiful as he remembered her.

Julian, too, regarded her. He had seen her briefly before, in a corridor of the Alaria, in the vicinity of some locks, in one of which an escape capsule had been positioned.

She was quite as beautiful as he, too, remembered her.

“Greetings, my brother, milord,” said Gerune.

“Greetings, noble sister,” said Ortog.

Gerune’s eyes briefly met those of Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs, and then she looked away. In this brief exchange of looks each had seen, in the eyes of the other, the recollection of a relationship, an intimacy which had once obtained betwixt them, that of captor and captive, that it was at his hands that she, though a princess of the Drisriaks and Ortungs, had been, as might have been any woman, stripped and bound.

Her eyes and those of Julian, too, met. She could not be blamed, surely, if, in the first instant, she did not recognized the handsome young officer from the Alaria in the ragged servitor in attendance on the Wolfung chieftain, for he had been but briefly glimpsed in the corridor outside the locks. But then, after a moment, she recollected him quite well, even in his present appearance. She blushed. And the certainty of her recollection was doubtless abetted, at least, and made far more embarrassing, by the openness of the way he looked upon her, with a maleness, and relish, he did not feign to conceal. Reddened she then further. He, though of the empire, had seen her at the feet of the chieftain, then a mere gladiator clad in Ortung armor, near the lock.

There was a small stir in the tent.

The slaves, with a tiny sound of chains, looked too, toward Gerune. Once she, too, had been as helplessly in the hands of a man as they now were, irremediably and institutionally.

But Gerune was free.

She did not deign to so much as glance at the slaves.

She is indeed beautiful, thought Julian.

Gerune looked away from him.

“Approach, noble and beloved sister,” said Ortog.

Many barbarians, you see, and those of many civilized worlds, and of many groups, political or otherwise, wish to view their women, though not necessarily those of others, in certain fashions, fashions to which the real woman, the natural woman, in all her delicacy, complexity and depth, is largely irrelevant.

Ortog indicated a place at his side where she might stand.

To this place Gerune, holding her long skirts closely about her, began to make her way.

There was, from somewhere in the tent, to the right, as one would face the dais, back among the men, a tiny ripple of laughter, but, as Ortog looked up, angrily, it was quickly suppressed.

In her approach to her place Gerune, at the laughter, had stopped. Then she had resumed her journey.

She had now ascended the dais, and was at the side of Ortog.

“I am not well, milord,” she said to Ortog. “I would be excused.”

“Bring a stool for the princess,” said Ortog.

One was brought, and upon it the princess, reluctantly, took her seat.

It was quiet in the tent.

“Let the proceedings being,” said Ortog.

A clerk came forward, who held a set of three waxed tablets, tied together at the top by string. On such tablets matters may be scraped away, put in other form, rearranged, and such, later to be copied in a proper hand on parchment, to which Ortog might put his sign.

“The purpose of this court is to dispel scandalous rumors, uncomplimentary to the house of Ortog,” said the clerk.

There was some laughter from among those of the assembly. There were doubtless several there who had witnessed, though unknowingly at the time, the discomfiture of the princess, Gerune.

“Or to establish their veracity,” said Ortog.

There was a murmur of assent to this among the men present.

Gerune looked up, startled.

“It is charged,” said the clerk, “that the body of the princess Gerune was, on the fourth day of the codung before last, publicly bared on the ship Alaria, as brazenly as that of an ordinary market slave.”

“That is false!” cried Gerune, leaping to her feet.

One of the blond slaves looked at her, with amusement, but kept her hands down, on her spread thighs.

On most worlds in the galaxies pleasure slaves kneel with their knees spread, as this is a beautiful position and serves, too, to remind them that they are slaves. It also increases a sense of vulnerability in the woman, and is psychologically arousing. In some women this simple position, kneeling, and thusly, is all that is required for the conquest of frigidity.

“No,” said Otto, his arms remaining folded upon his mighty chest. “It is true.”

“Do you, Gerune, noble princess, recognize this man?” inquired the clerk, indicating Otto.

“No!” she cried.

“That is strange, Princess,” said Otto, “for I recall you well.”

“Fool,” she cried. “Do you not know the danger in which you stand!”

“Shall I describe her to you, intimately?” Otto asked Ortog.

“Beast!” wept Gerune.

“That will not be necessary,” said Ortog.

“Permit me to be excused, milord!” said Gerune.

“No,” said Ortog.

“I have a grievous headache!” she wept.

“Sit down,” said he, “woman.”

The blond slaves laughed.

“Lash them,” said Ortog.

The lash fell amongst the former citizenesses of the empire.

The slaves cried out with misery.

Men laughed.

“Enough,” said Ortog, not even glancing at the chastised slaves.

The leather blade desisted then in its admonitory rebuke.

The slaves then, in misery, weeping, gasping, shuddering, remained crouched down, keeping their heads to the earthen floor, making themselves small in their chains.

There was more laughter, that of mighty masters.

Julian was momentarily embarrassed for the women.

But perhaps they now understood better that they were only slaves.

Gerune had resumed her seat.

Her face was set, angrily.

She had been furious at the slaves, who had laughed at her discomfiture, laughing at her, clearly, as though she might be naught but another woman, a woman being put in her place by strong men, a woman no different, ultimately, than they. But, even more, she resented the fashion in which she had been treated by her brother, that she was to resume her seat, that she was to remain in the tent, that she was, despite her wishes, to await the outcome of the proceedings. Also, she was alarmed, for she had taken for granted that the court was so arranged that the charge against her, on her word, and on the expected denial of the chieftain of the Wolfungs, who surely was not mad, would be dismissed. But it seemed her word was not being taken as sufficient and, to her amazement, the Wolfung seemed determined to acknowledge his role in the alleged events of the fourth day of a recent codung. She might be a princess, but she was, when all was said and done, only a woman. She, like the slaves, and other women, were ultimately at the mercy of men. This thought, now brought home to her, more clearly than it had ever been before, save, of course, for a particular set of events on the Alaria, disturbed her, and, on some deep level, thrilled her. She was also apprehensive because she now realized that she did not understand, clearly, what was going on about her, or how she figured in these matters. There seemed to be political currents about her, deep, obscure currents which eluded her.

“The princess,” said the clerk, “denies the allegations involved in the charge.”

“Yes,” said Gerune, firmly.

There was some laughter from the assembly. The slaves, their backs striped, kept their heads down.

“Is he who putatively subjected the princess to this outrage present?” inquired the clerk.

“There was no outrage. They are all lies. It is only a story,” said the princess.

“I am he,” said Otto.

There was a response in the assembly to this claim, one of satisfaction.

The slaves dared to raise their heads, to look with awe upon Otto, one who had dared to treat a princess as though she might be no more than they, only a slave.

“Two matters, it seems, must be clarified,” said the clerk. “First we must have assurance that this outrage was committed, and secondly, that he who so boldly claims this deed for his own is he who has that right.”

“Who amongst you,” called Ortog to the assembly, “has witnessed the matter of the charge?”

“None has witnessed it, as you can see, milord,” said Gerune.

“It is my understanding, milord,” said a man, “that we may speak openly and freely.”

“Such was the custom in the courts of the Drisriaks,” said Ortog, “and so, too, it is in the court of the Ortungs. It is thus among all the Alemanni.”

“Hundreds witnessed the parade of one whom they took to be a captive or slave,” said the fellow, a tall fellow in a long cloak, with a ring of gold on his upper left arm.

“But it was not I!” cried the princess. “It must have been another, not I!”

“More than seventy yeomen have been marshaled outside,” said the man, “who are prepared to supply evidence in the matter, either positive or negative. Too, we have brought together the officer and his men who recovered the woman in question, in the corridors of the Alaria, the woman who, at that time, insisted vociferously and determinedly upon her identity as the princess Gerune.”

“Dismiss this matter, my brother,” begged Gerune.

“Bring in some of these men, and the officer and his men, those who recovered she who claimed to be the princess,” said Ortog.

“Please!” protested Gerune.

Several men were introduced into the tent, including those who had recovered the woman in question.

“Hold your head up,” said Ortog to his sister.

Tears in her eyes, clutching her robes about her, she did so.

“Examine her closely,” said Ortog to the men. “Make no mistake in this matter.”

Surely, thought Gerune, they will have been instructed to deny such a damaging identification.

“Forgive me, milord,” said a man, “but it is she.”

“Yes, milord,” said another, “it is she.”

“No!” cried Gerune.

“I am sorry, milady,” said a man.

To her misery the men, and the officer and his men, as well, several of whom regarded her with great closeness, clearly intent on responsibly discharging their duty to the court, were unanimous, however regrettably so, in their testimony.

Gerune paled, and then reddened, under this examination. She felt almost as though she might have been a slave. To be sure, there were many differences. For example, she was not naked, nor was she handled, nor her mouth forced open, that the quality and condition of her small, fine teeth be ascertained.

“It is she, undoubtedly, milord,” said the last of several witnesses.

Gerune even remembered some of these men from the trek through the corridors, the jeering tones, the bestial leers, the approving looks, the gestures indicating what she might expect, if she had fallen into their hands, rather than into those of another.

“Be it accepted then,” said Ortog, “that it was done onto the princess Gerune, on the Alaria, on the fourth day of the codung before last, substantially as was specified in the charge.”

“Have you no feelings for me, my brother?” asked Gerune.

“I must seek truth, and do justice,” said Ortog. “I am king.”

“How you have reduced my value,” said Gerune. “I joined with you for love, fleeing with you and others the hall of our father.”

“You joined with me, that you would be the highest woman in the Ortungs,” said Ortog.

“Of what value am I now,” she asked. “How will you arrange my marriage? How will you mate me now to the advantage of the Ortungs?”

“Such matters are no longer of importance,” said Ortog. “And you have already contributed to the advantage of the Ortungs.”

“How so, milord?” she asked. “I do not understand.”

“Proceed,” said Ortog to the clerk.

“Milord!” protested Gerune.

“Is he who stands now before you, milady,” asked the clerk, “he who on the fourth day of the codung before last removed, or caused to be removed, your regal habiliments and placed you in bonds more suitable to a slave than a princess?”

Gerune was silent.

“Thence, and thusly, marching you, exhibited, through the corridors of the ship Alaria?”

“No,” said Gerune.

There was a stir of surprise in the assembly. Otto, too, regarded her with surprise.

“Surely you desire some terrible vengeance, dear sister,” said Ortog.

“It was not he,” murmured Gerune, her head down.

“I do not understand,” said Ortog.

“She is a woman,” said his shieldsman, who held the golden helmet. “She has felt the ropes.”

“Strange,” said Ortog.

Gerune lifted her head a little. Briefly she met the eyes of Otto, who was puzzled. She looked away from him. She then met the eyes of Julian, who, too, was puzzled. She then again lowered her head.

“I can prove the matter,” said Otto.

Gerune stiffened.

“I did as it is thought with the princess,” said Otto, “as it was congenial to my plan for escape from the ship and, as she was a woman, as it pleased me. Her royal garments, too, in accord with my plan, and as it pleased me, and that she might understand herself and her relationship to me better, I put on a slave, one whom I had won in contest.”

Gerune looked up, angrily.

Ortog’s face flushed with fury. There was a cry of rage from the assembly.

The chained slaves stole glances at one another. How pleased they were! How they hated Gerune!

“These garments were on the slave when we made good our escape from the Alaria,” said Otto. “I kept them.” He pointed to the soiled bundle in the hand of Gundlicht. “Those are the garments,” said Otto. “Let them be examined, and identified. I returned them to your envoy on Varna.”

Women of the princess were called forth and they, with others, confirmed that the garments were those of the princess, which she had had upon her on the fourth day of the codung before last. Some of these women had even sewn the garments themselves, and others had adorned the princess with them on the day in question. The jewelry, too, by certain merchants, and craftsmen, was identified, some even by their marks.

“The court accepts,” said Ortog, “that he before us now, he who claims the deeds involved in these matters, is fully and lawfully entitled to do so, that they are, as he claims, his.”

There was a response of satisfaction from the assembly.

“You are a fool,” said Gerune to Otto.

His eyes flashed for a moment, and Gerune, in spite of her position and power, and the men about her, shrank back. She could scarcely dare conjecture what it might be to be alone with such a man, and at his mercy.

“You are Otto, who claims to be the chieftain of the Wolfungs.” said Ortog.

“I am Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs,” said Otto.

“They have no chieftains,” said Ortog.

“I have been lifted on the shields,” said Otto.

“We have forbidden the Wolfungs chieftains,” said Ortog. “Surely you know this. The Wolfungs, of the Vandals, are a tribe tributary to their betters, first the Drisriaks, now the Ortungs, and are permitted to exist only upon their sufferance.”

“Do the Drisriaks know you come for the tribute of the Wolfungs?” asked Otto.

“As it is explained to me, you refused the tribute,” said Ortog.

“Yes, they did, milord,” said Hendrix.

“Yes, milord,” said Gundlicht.

“You returned, empty-handed, from Varna, bringing no grain, no pelts, no women.”

“Yes, milord,” said Hendrix.

“Yes, milord,” said Gundlicht.

“They had no grain, no pelts?” asked Ortog.

“They had such things,” said Hendrix.

“And no satisfactory women?” inquired Ortog.

“They had some beauties,” said Gundlicht.

“But they are not now in our collars?”

“No, milord,” said Gundlicht.

“The tribute was refused?” said Ortog.

“Yes, milord,” said Gundlicht.

“Is this true?” Ortog asked Otto.

“Yes,” said Otto.

“Why?” asked Ortog.

“The Wolfungs are no longer a tributary tribe to the Drisriaks, or the Ortungs,” said Otto.

“And why is that?” asked Ortog.

Otto shrugged. “I have been lifted upon the shields,” he said.

“You are well aware, I trust,” said Ortog, “that our ships could burn away your forests, and destroy the Wolfungs, once and for all.”

“Some might escape,” said Otto.

“We could destroy your world,” said Ortog.

“Who are the Ortungs?” asked Otto.

“We are Alemanni,” said Ortog.

“You are not a true tribe,” said Otto. “You have no recognition, no legitimacy. It is only that you have broken away from the Drisriaks.”

“We have ships, and cannon!” cried Ortog.

“So, too, have bands of brigands,” said Otto.

“You are bold,” said Ortog.

Otto was silent.

“We could destroy Varna,” said Ortog.

“But that would not expunge the insult,” said Otto.

“No,” mused Ortog, “that would not expunge the insult.” He looked at Gerune, who looked away.

“You would be, I conjecture,” said Otto, “more than a band of brigands.”

Men cried out, angrily. Some stepped forward, blades half drawn, from the side. Ortog motioned them back. Otto had not moved, but continued to stand, his arms folded across his chest, before Ortog, seated on the dais.

“Antiquity, and custom, do not, in themselves, bestow legitimacy,” said Ortog.

“But may be taken as the tokens thereof,” said Otto.

“The most ancient, and honorable, of tribes must have had beginnings,” said Ortog, “though these beginnings may not have been understood at the time.”

“Doubtless,” said Otto. “And I doubt not, as well, that at the foot of every dynasty, at the founding of every tribe, though we many not remember him, though his name may be lost, there was once a brigand, or soldier, or seeker of fortune, or pirate.”

“Lying dog!” cried a man.

“Do you object?” asked Ortog.

“No,” said Otto.

“I see you as such a man,” said Ortog.

Otto shrugged.

“We carry legitimacy in our holsters, in our scabbards,” said Ortog.

“It is true that in the end,” said Otto, “there is only the weight of the rock, the point of the stick, the blade of the knife.”

Ortog looked down at the soiled clothing, the garments, the jewelry, and such, which had been identified as that of the princess. These things lay across his knees.

“But I have been lifted on the shields,” said Otto.

“I, too, have been lifted on the shields,” said Ortog, looking up, angrily.

“But only by renegades,” said Otto.

“Slay him!” cried a man.

“Hold,” said Ortog.

“Legitimacy, in the normal course of things, is an accretion,” said Otto, “bestowed in a moment of forgetfulness, a gift of time, taken for granted thereafter.”

Ortog did not speak.

“But sometimes history may be hurried on a little,” said Otto.

“Speak clearly,” said Ortog.

“I come before you,” said Otto, “bearing a priceless gift, one I do not think you will care to refuse, the free and uncoerced recognition of the Ortungen as a tribe of the Alemanni nation.”

Ortog looked closely at Otto.

“I bring you legitimacy, or the supposition thereof, as though wrapped in a cloth of gold.”

“That could be weighty, milord,” said the clerk. “The Wolfungs are a traditional and unquestioned tribe of the Vandal peoples.”

“It is for such a purpose,” asked Ortog, skeptically, “to benefit the Ortungen, that you have entered into the ritual of the challenge?”

“Not at all,” said Otto. “The Wolfungs are muchly at the mercy of the Ortungen, as hitherto of the Drisriaks. I would change that. It is for that reason that I have issued the challenge. You, or your champion, must meet me in combat. If you, or your champion, are victorious, I shall be slain, the Wolfungs will have no chieftain, which is what you have wished, and things will be as before. If, on the other hand, I am victorious, you will abandon all claims upon the lives and goods of the Wolfungs.”

“You have done grievous insult onto my sister, the princess Gerune,” said Ortog.

“Accept then the challenge,” said Otto.

“I could have you slain now,” said Ortog.

“But only as a brigand might order a killing,” said Otto.

“It is the challenge of one chieftain to another, milord,” said the clerk.

“Such things have not been done for a thousand years,” said Ortog.

“I have issued the challenge,” said Otto.

“Such challenges can only be between chieftains of tribes,” said the clerk to Ortog. “He is chieftain of the Wolfungs, of the Vandals. He has seen fit to accord you this challenge. Seize this opportunity, milord. It is a rare one. In accepting it, you are acknowledged chieftain of the Ortungs, and the Ortungs a tribe, that in the eyes not only of the Wolfungen, an acknowledged tribe of the Vandals, but in those of all the Vandal peoples, and of a hundred other peoples, as well.”

“Does milord hesitate?” asked Ortog’s shieldsman.

“What is your origin, your true people?” asked Ortog of Otto.

“I do not know,” said Otto. “I was raised in the festung village of Sim Giadini. It is on Tangara.”

“You are only a peasant,” said Ortog. “How could I, a chieftain, in honor and propriety, accept a challenge from one such as you?”

“I have been lifted upon the shields,” said Otto.

“He has the look of an Otung,” said one of the men from the side.

Ortog was silent. He had, himself, long ago, on the Alaria, vouchsafed a similar speculation.

Julian looked closely at the first fellow who had spoken, and then at Ortog.

The Otungs, or Otungen, were the largest, and fiercest, tribe of the Vandal peoples.

“No matter, milord,” said the clerk. “He has been lifted upon the shields. Accept the challenge.”

“Do not hesitate, milord!” called a man from the fellows to the left of the dais.

“Such a thing would consolidate the people, milord,” said the clerk.

“Your sister,” said Otto, “is well curved, and would bring a high price upon a slave block.”

Men cried out with rage.

“Beware,” said Ortog.

Otto shrugged. “She is only a woman,” he said.

“You permitted yourself to be captured,” said Ortog, angrily, to Gerune.

“I could not help it, milord,” said Gerune. “I was overpowered.”

“I see,” snarled Ortog.

“I am a woman,” said Gerune.

“Only a woman,” snarled Ortog.

“I am a princess!” she said.

“And you were taken as easily as any woman. You could have been made a slave.”

“I am a princess!” she cried.

“Only a woman,” snarled Ortog.

“And that becomes clearer,” said Otto, “if her regal robes were to be again removed.”

“Beware, Wolfung!” said Ortog.

“Accept the challenge!” urged the clerk.

“Accept the challenge!” said the shieldsman.

“As I have issued the challenge,” said Otto, “you may, as is the custom of our two peoples, choose the weapons.”

Ortog looked down at the garments, the jewelry, and such, of the princess Gerune, which had been removed from her on the Alaria, and returned to Hendrix and Gundlicht on Varna, some days ago. These various items still lay across his knees.

“You have shamed me, and the Ortungs,” said Ortog to Gerune.

“I am sorry, milord,” said Gerune, tears in her eyes.

“You may, of course,” said Otto, “choose a champion.”

“I have a mind,” said Ortog to Gerune, “to keep you in the tents from now on, to conceal you from the eyes of those you shamed.”

Gerune looked at him, stricken.

“You would have less freedom than a slave girl,” said Ortog.

“Please, no, milord,” wept Gerune.

“And it would be fitting to force you to wear these soiled rags, which have been put upon the body of a slave girl, until they stink and rot, and fall off your body,” he said, “as a badge of your shame.”

“It would be better,” said Otto, “to have her keep her body washed and perfumed, and clad as that of a slave, as such a garmenture is enhancing to the beauty of a woman.”

Gerune looked at him, startled. Perhaps she had never realized that men might speculate as to what she, or, indeed, other women, might look like, clad as slaves.

She wrung her hands, then, wildly, in misery, and looked down, at just that time, at the three slaves to her left, kneeling there, chained in their place. There were all regarding her. Then they looked away, frightened, crying out, for Gerune, in hysterical helplessness, in rage, in fury, that they should dare look upon her, and as though they might share some smug, common sisterhood with her, they only slaves, leapt to her feet and, sobbing, seized a whip, from a keeper, and threw herself down, amongst them, sobbing wildly, striking wildly, hysterically, about. At a sign from Ortog the keeper wrenched the whip away from Gerune. Ortog then, as she stood there to the left, on the rush-strewn earthen floor, below the dais, amongst the cowering, beaten slaves, she half bent over, weeping helplessly, indicated that she should resume her seat.

She turned suddenly, defiantly, and fled toward the side entrance of the tent but her way, there, was blocked by two warriors, those who had conducted her to the tent.

She turned about, and then ascended, again, to the surface of the dais, resuming her seat.

There was laughter from among the men.

The free women in the tent, some of them her own women, looked down.

Even their lofty mistress, to such men, Ortungs, and others, was only a woman.

“I have issued the challenge,” said Otto.

Ortog angrily seized up the jewelry and robes from where they lay, across his knees, and then held them before himself for a moment, and then, wadding them together, hurled them angrily to his left, to the floor, to the foot of the dais.

“Take those things,” said Ortog to a frightened free woman.

She hurried to gather up the items.

“Put them among the stores from which we clothe slaves for our pleasure,” said Ortog.

“The robes, too, milord?” asked the woman, from her knees. She was not more than a yard or two from Otto.

“But first, of course,” said Ortog, “they must be cut into revealing rags.”

“Yes, milord!” said the women.

In a moment she had gathered together the jewelry, the bracelets, the necklaces, the chains and such, and the robes, and hurried from the tent.

“That was not necessary, milord,” said Gerune.

“You have shamed me, and the Ortungs,” said Ortog.

“The challenge has been issued,” Otto said.

“Accept it, milord,” said the clerk.

“Accept it, milord,” said the shieldsman, with the golden helmet.

“You,” said Ortog, paying no attention to the others about him, “you, step forward.”

He was pointing at Julian.

Julian, reluctantly, stepped forward, from where he had been standing, rather behind the left shoulder of Otto.

“I see you have with you,” said Ortog to Otto, “a lowly, and despicable thrall.”

“He is, of course,” said Otto, “a free man, of the empire.”

“Step forward,” said Ortog to Julian.

Julian took another step forward.

“I think we have met before,” said Ortog.

“Yes,” said Julian.

“You are an officer in the imperial navy,” said Ortog, “but, I take it, no ordinary officer. I saw you on the Alaria, and noted your place of honor, and the deference accorded to you.”

“Who is he, milord?” inquired his shieldsman.

“As you see,” said Ortog, “a worthless dog, clad in rags.”

“Milord?” said the clerk.

“He has some relation to the imperial family,” said Ortog. “I am sure of it.”

Men gasped. Some even stepped back, so dreaded and awesome seemed the mysterious empire. It was one thing to mock and scorn the empire, but they were only too well aware of its power. Seldom would they stand against its ships. It would not have occurred to them to meet it in force. Its history, its deeds, its terrors, its terribleness, loomed large in their imagination and fears. One of the most potent defenses of the empire was its simple presence, so extensive and subtle, looming so mightily in titanic legend.

“Rope him, like a pig, and put him on his knees,” said Ortog.

Julian was rudely seized and bound, and thrown on his knees before Ortog.

Men breathed easier.

“You were, when last I saw you, as I recall, leveling a pistol at me, on an imperial ship,” said Ortog to Julian.

“Unfortunately,” said Julian, “I did not receive an opportunity to fire.”

It was at that time that the ship had been first struck by the pursuing Ortung fleet.

“I think you will bring an excellent ransom,” said Ortog.

Otto had not attempted to interfere with Julian’s discomfiture.

He did not care to be diverted from his purpose.

“The challenge has been issued,” Otto reminded Ortog.

“That is true, milord,” said the clerk to Ortog.

“On our camp world,” said Ortog to Julian, “you will tend pigs, but, as you are of high birth, your chains will be of gold.”

“On what world do you think it would be appropriate for your sister to be sold as a slave girl?” asked Otto.

Ortog regarded him, irritably.

“Her particular form of beauty might bring a higher or lower price on certain worlds,” speculated Otto.

This was true. Certain worlds preferred blondes, and certain worlds redheads, and so on. The princess Gerune was, as we have noted, blond. This tended to be a popular hair color on many worlds, for slaves.

“Take him away,” said Ortog, pointing to Julian. “It will take some time to arrange for his ransom.”

Julian was dragged to his feet, and rudely conducted, stumbling, from the tent.

“Secure recognition for us,” said a man, pleading, from the side.

“Such a recognition, by tribal custom, must carry weight even with your father, Abrogastes,” said a man.

“Accept the challenge,” urged the clerk.

“Accept the challenge,” urged the shieldsman, he with the golden helmet in his grasp.

“Accept the challenge,” pressed others.

Ortog regarded Otto, evenly. “The challenge, of course,” he said, “is accepted.”