The King

CHAPTER 17

“You must forgive us,” said Brother Gregory, leading the way, carrying a small, shielded lamp in one appendage, descending the long, spiraling damp stairs, down, down into one of the humid, heated, murky depths of the festung, “but it is restorative, and, upon occasion, imperative, for several of the brothers to keep their skins moist.”

“I understand,” said Julian.

He had removed his jacket, and his shirt was soaked with dampness and sweat.

He could hear the chanting of the brothers.

Here and there, in niches, were small votive tablets.

***

“Is that a female?’’ had cried the gatesman in horror, pointing to the small figure with Julian and Tuvo Ausonius, all three long disembarked below, in the valley, from the hoverer.

The outer gate to the festung had creaked open, slowly, to admit the travelers.

It was a long, winding, tortuous trail up from the level, up from the valley, one of several miles, to the outer gate of the festung.

It was seldom traveled. Visitors were few at the festung of Sim Giadini.

At the village below they had learned that it would not be wise to approach the festung, save in this fashion, on foot and not obviously armed.

There were defenses, at various levels, which must be specifically, and consecutively, disarmed.

This was done from within the festung, the deactivations consequent, at given levels, upon judgments, given the data of diverse surveillance devices.

Too, a known man of the village had accompanied them, as a guide.

“Yes,” had said Julian.

“Nothing female may enter here,” said the gatesmen.

“This is the hospitality of the festung of Sim Giadini?” had asked Julian, irritatedly.

“She does not appear in desperate need of medical assistance, she is not bleeding, she is not dying,” said the gatesmen.

“No,” admitted Julian.

“She may not enter,” said the gatesmen.

He averted his eyes that he might not look upon, and perhaps be tempted by, what was now in the company of Julian and Tuvo Ausonius.

“Surely she is sufficiently concealed,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

The object of their discussion, small, fur-booted, and heavily bundled in furs, was kneeling on the stones before the gate, which posture she had assumed, correctly, suitably, while waiting for the response to the great metal ring, lifted and dropped three times, as the guide had advised, against the plate.

In her days with Julian and Tuvo Ausonius, thanks to their intensive training, she had made considerable progress in learning her slavery.

Her arms were not in the sleeves of her jacket but within the jacket, the wrists cuffed together, behind her back.

About her throat, over the furs there, there was a metal leash collar, from which, gracefully dangling, in loops, threaded through loops on the jacket, was a lovely, light, chain leash.

Commonly, in the transport of slaves by primitive peoples over the snow, in sleds, the slaves are simply, in their chains, wrapped naked in heavy furs. In this fashion there is little danger that they will be tempted to flee the sleds, or, huddling, chained, by the fires, the camps.

“It does not matter,” said the gatesman.

“She is only an animal, a slave,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

The woman looked up. Her head was muchly covered by the bundling of the fur hood, but it could be seen that her face was exquisite. Wisps of red hair peeked out from within the hood, framing her lovely features.

“Not even female animals are permitted within the festung,” said the gatesman. “Nothing female, no female bird, no hen, no ewe, no cow, no bitch, no mare, no sow, nothing female.”

“Put down your head,” said Julian.

The slave instantly lowered her head.

“You may look on her now,” said Julian. “You can see nothing.”

“No,” said the gatesman, “I can see furs, and it is not difficult to detect, from their configuration, that within them there is a female.”

“I fear he is right, milord,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

The small figure, the center of such attention, trembled a little, on her knees, her head down.

“Take her away!” cried the gatesman.

“Take her back to the valley, to the hoverer,” said Julian.

“Milord!” protested Tuvo Ausonius.

“It is all right,” said Julian. “I should have anticipated this.”

“I shall have to close the gate,” said the gatesman.

“She is leaving,” said Julian.

Julian gestured, with his head, to Tuvo Ausonius.

“On your feet, girl,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

She rose up and followed Tuvo Ausonius, head down, with small steps, deferentially, who drew away from the vicinity of the gate, to where the guide stood.

“May I now enter?” inquired Julian.

“Certainly,” said the gatesman.

Standing near the guide, and Tuvo Ausonius, she looked back, toward the gate.

The gatesman, with his weight, with two hands, was pressing the gate shut. He paused for a moment, Julian within, impatient, beyond him, to view the slave, even bundled as she was, angrily, and then shut the gate, firmly.

She heard the two heavy bars being slid through their brackets behind the gate, first one, and then the other.

She briefly met the eyes of the guide, a rude fellow, from below, and then looked away.

She had seen desire in his eyes.

He was a peasant, simple, brutal, rude, lustful.

She had become aware of her desirability here again, as she had on the patrol ship, serving the crew’s mess, barefoot, in a collar and slave rag, and in the appreciative glances of Julian and Tuvo Ausonius, as they sought to improve her posture, her movements and skills, until they would be likely to meet the requirements of even an unusually exacting master. And now here, again, she had become aware of her desirability, twice, in quite different ways, once in the loathing, the anger and disgust of the gatesman, fighting a naturalness and might which he had mistakenly, ignorantly, forsworn, he the deluded, self-tortured victim of a grotesque conditioning program, one promulgating, even celebrating, thwarted drives and suppressed desires, and that of the peasant, who had looked upon her with hardy approbation, much as he might have upon a fine pig.

She was aware now, from many indications, of her desirability, and its effect on men, and the power which she might, in virtue of it, under different circumstances, have held over men.

It is no wonder, she thought, that they strip us, and chain us, and cage us, and put us up for sale.

We are too beautiful, and too dangerous, to be free. It is wrong that we should be free! It is absurd that we should be free. We belong to them by nature, and they will see to it that they own us. It is no surprise then, she thought, that they do with us as they please.

We belong to them, she thought. I do not object. I love them. Let them be strong with us! I despise weak men. Oh, be strong with me, Masters!

“Come, girl!” called Tuvo Ausonius.

He and the guide were already several yards down the trail.

“Yes, Master!” she called, and hurried after them.

Tuvo Ausonius was a master of women. But he had not so much as put a hand on her. He cared, it seemed, for some other slave, a Sesella, back on Inez IV. But surely he could have two slaves. Some men had several! Lord Julian, too, whose identity she had learned, kneeling before him naked, in obeisance, on the patrol ship, she sensed was a natural master of women, but he had not touched her either, other than once to tie her, and whip her, for clumsiness. He had some barbarian slave, it seemed, of which he was fond. But she was sure she could compete, at least after more training, with a mere barbarian. Let him choose between us, she thought, or have both of us, and others! But she had not been given to the crew, either. She was a virgin, which was not unusual, as she had been purchased at an early age, fourteen, to be a woman’s slave.

That she was a virgin seemed to be of interest to some men. She was not certain why that was. To be sure, it was important to her. She would not have wanted to awaken in her cell, for example, and discover that her virginity was simply gone.

She hurried down the trail, to catch up with the men.

They were far ahead now, and were not looking back.

She fell once, heavily, twisting in her fall to her left shoulder, unable to break her fall because of the back-cuffing, confining her wrists. Whimpering, she regained her feet, and, pulling a little at her small, encircled, chained wrists, the leash chain striking against the furs, continued on down the trail, hastening after the men.

They were even farther ahead now.

She called out, “Wait, Masters! Please, wait!”

But they did not wait.

She hurried on.

She did not dare to call out again. She did not wish to risk being beaten.

***

“Brother Benjamin!” called Brother Gregory, gently.

Brother Gregory stood on damp stones, at the edge of a broad, dark, warm pool.

He lifted up his tiny lamp.

The chamber was itself lit, though dimly, with similar lamps, set here and there on a shallow, circular shelf, its structure following the perimeter of the chamber, which was round, and shallowly domed.

These lamps were brought to the depths by the brothers, and taken with them, when they ascended to the higher levels.

There was a gentle stirring in the dark waters, and several pairs of eyes surfaced, large, round eyes.

The eyes seemed to stare at Julian.

It was difficult to read any expression in such features, without clues from the body.

“I trust,” said Julian, “I am not disturbing their meditations, or devotions.”

“It is time for the seventh bell,” said Brother Gregory. “I would not have brought you here so soon, otherwise.”

“Oh,” said Julian.

“Not all brothers are of this species, of course,” said Brother Gregory.

“I understand,” said Julian.

Brother Gregory himself, obviously, was not.

“But our redemptor, our Lord Floon, blessed be his holy name, was of such a species.”

“A bipedalian salamandrine?” said Julian.

“An ogg,” said Brother Gregory.

“It seems strange that your Karch would emanate, as I understand it, as an ogg,” said Julian.

“Why?” asked Brother Gregory.

“You’re right,” said Julian, shrugging. “Why not?”

“Perhaps you think he should have emanated as a man?”

Julian shrugged.

There had seemed a bit of testiness in Brother Gregory’s speculation.

Brother Gregory was an azure-pelted Vorite.

“He can emanate in whatever form he pleases,” said Julian.

“True,” said Brother Gregory.

“I would speak with one who is called Brother Benjamin,” said Julian, addressing himself to the occupants of the pool.

There was, at that time, as though from far off, the sound of a bell, its sounds making their way oddly about the stairwells, and down, to the chamber, and doubtless to others, as well, here and there, in the depths and heights, and throughout the labyrinthine corridors and chambers of the festung. It could probably be heard far below, in the valley.

“Turn about,” said Brother Gregory, “for the brothers must robe themselves.”

Julian turned about.

He heard sounds behind him, soft, of moving water, of bodies emerging from the pool, of dripping water, of the pat of feet on the stones.

“I am Brother Benjamin,” said a voice behind him.

“I am Julian, of the Aurelianii, of the patricians, of the senatorial class, kin to the emperor, Aesilesius,” said Julian, not turning about. “I have credentials to make that clear.”

“You are then Telnarian,” said the voice.

“Yes,” said Julian.

“He has come to inquire about ‘Dog,’ “said Brother Gregory.

“I have waited years for one to come,” said the voice behind Julian, “but I did not think it would be a Telnarian.”

“What then?” asked Julian.

“I thought it would be an Otung, a Vandal,” said the voice behind Julian.

Brother Gregory shuddered.

“Do you know the identity of the one you call ‘Dog’?” asked Julian.

“Yes,” said the voice behind him.

“Can you prove that identity?” asked Julian.

“Yes,” said the voice.

“May I turn about?” asked Julian.

“I would not,” said Brother Gregory. “He is half-garbed, but the wounds are still fresh, of the penitential exercises.”

“It is a mark of vanity,” added Brother Gregory, “to wear a stained habit.”

“Penitential exercises?” asked Julian.

“The stone saws, beneath the surface of the pool,” said Brother Gregory.

“How can you prove his identity?” asked Julian.

“I will show you,” said the voice. “Proceed me, up the stairs.”

Brother Gregory, with his lamp, led the way, Julian following. Behind them came the brothers, each with his lamp, and, together, intoning a hymn to Floon.

“Surely you will dine with us in the refectory, and stay the night,” said Brother Gregory.

“I would be soon gone,” said Julian.

“We get few visitors at the festung,” said Brother Gregory. “You are the first stranger in two years.”

“I must decline,” said Julian.

“Some of the brothers, the weaker ones, I fear, amongst whom I number myself,” said Brother Gregory, “will be eager to hear news of the outside world.”

“I am sorry,” said Julian.

“At night the trail is extremely dangerous, the activated defenses, set by automatic timers, at places, the dogs,” said Brother Gregory. “It is unlikely you would reach the village alive.”

“Then,” said Julian, “I am pleased to accept your gracious invitation.”

“Excellent,” said Brother Gregory.

Julian noted, as he climbed the stairs, and as he had earlier, in his descent, but had thought little of it, that they were darkly stained.

Julian noted, on the climb, in a niche, illuminated by a votive light, a representation of Floon in the electric chair, or, perhaps better, fastened on the burning rack, the pain represented in the twisted-body, the expression of misery on the countenance. It made Julian sick. How different it was from the bright sunlight and blue skies of the pantheon of Orak.

But it was here, in the festung of Sim Giadini, that there lay the secret to the identity of the peasant, or gladiator, or warrior, or chieftain, or captain, whom he knew as Otto, or Ottonius.

“What is the proof?” he asked.

“You will see,” said the voice behind him.