The King

CHAPTER 29

“The meat will soon be cooked,” said Ulrich. “Then it will begin, the claiming.”

The giant nodded.

There was a tiny stirring beneath the table, to the giant’s left. There, beneath the table, head down, bent over, small, deliciously curved, her body oriented toward the center of the hall, her wrists bound together before her body, the right wrist bound over the left, the strand which had run from her bound wrists now taken back and used to fasten her crossed ankles together, knelt his slave, Yata.

He put one hand gently upon her.

She seemed afraid.

She whimpered.

“Be silent,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

He withdrew his hand.

He wondered why she was so afraid. She understands, perhaps better than I, he thought, the nature of this feast.

The fire in the fire pit, that long pit, was now sturdily ablaze.

The boar turned slowly, succulently, on the spit.

Its odor hung tantalizingly in the air.

But the men seemed dark, and tense.

Had it been another time and place, the giant thought, there might have been much fellowship in the hall, among such men.

But it was not so here, in this place, this Otung hall.

Perhaps he should dance the slave for them. Might that not please them?

She did not know the subtleties of slave dance, but she was beautiful, and, being female, could doubtless move well, and provocatively, before them. Even in her ignorance she might impress upon them, these lost, confused, defeated, isolated, forlorn, spiritless warriors, what might, on far worlds, as a consequence of successful adventuring, could they but recall the songs of their blood, and the lure of the stars, fall to their lot in the way of diverse booties, in the way of various riches, including such as she, such tender, delicious, exquisite loot. Too, of course, she would obey instantaneously and unquestioningly. He had seen to that but recently.

But somehow he did not think the men in the hall were now in the mood to consider such matters, pleasant as they might be in prospect.

“Which is the hero’s portion?” asked the giant.

“The right, back thigh,” said Ulrich.

“He whom you call Urta names the king?” asked the giant.

“Yes,” said Ulrich.

“How is it done?”

“He judges the dispute, the contest, the slaughter, if there is one,” said Ulrich. “He adjudicates it. Usually there is little to be judged, for commonly only one of the nobles, or the noble’s champions, remains on his feet.”

“But someone must name the winner?”

“Yes,” said Ulrich. “If it is a noble, then he is the year king. If it is a noble’s champion, then it is his lord who is the year king.”

“Who named Urta the King Namer?” asked the giant.

“Heruls,” said Ulrich.

“Is Urta loyal to the Otungs?”

“He is Otung,” said Ulrich. “He does what he must.”

“Who is the current year king?” asked the giant.

“Fuldan, the Old,” said Ulrich.

“He who was sent for?” asked Otto.

“Yes,” said Ulrich.

“I do not understand,” said Otto.

“The bloodshed and slaughter at the last king naming was so plenteous, the champions wounded, or slain, so numerous,’’ said Ulrich, “that, in the end, few were willing, or fit, to claim the kingship. Fuldan, the Old, seeing at last the madness of it, hobbled to the boar and thrust his knife into the right, rear thigh. ‘Who will kill me, who will kill one who rode with Genserix, who will kill one who has shed his blood a hundred times in the cause of Otungs, who will kill an old man?’ he asked. By that time the stomach for killing one another had been muchly abated. ‘Let him be king,’ said men. ‘You are king,’ said Urta, the King Namer, and thus came Fuldan, the Old, to the kingship of the Otungs.”

“But Fuldan is not here,” said Otto.

“‘I am king, but there is no king,’ had said Fuldan,” said Ulrich. “He avoids the hall. He avoids the folk.”

“Then there is no king, truly,” said Otto.

“There is one who was named king,” said Ulrich.

“If you would have no king, then name Fuldan king again,” said Otto.

“No,” said Ulrich. “A year king can be a king but for one year only, and now, after the year, the nobles are ready, once more, none willing to yield place to another, to fly at one another’s throats.”

“This must please the Heruls,” said Otto.

“They will have it no other way,” said Ulrich.

“I would have it otherwise,” said Otto.

“It is a long time since the pelt of a white vi-cat has been in the hall of the Otungs,” said Ulrich.

“It is here now,” said Otto.

“The meat will soon be done,” said Ulrich.

“I am hungry,” said Otto.

“One does not eat the meat, of course,” said Ulrich.

“Why not?”

“Its cost tends to dampen hunger,” said Ulrich. “Its price is high, and paid in blood. One tends to lose one’s appetite.”

“One should have a stronger appetite,” said Otto.

“Perhaps,” said Ulrich.

“There is no drink, no bread,” said Otto.

“We do not eat nor drink at the feast of the king naming,” said Ulrich.

“It is a poor feast,” said Otto.

“It is not a feast,” said Ulrich. “It is the Killing Time.”