The Usurper

23

Huta stirred at the foot of the high seat, her hands on the neck chain fastened to the ring set in the planks to her right.

Ingeld, seated in the high seat, of his own hall, awaiting his guest, pressed his boot against her thigh.

“Oh, yes, Master,” she whispered, and leaned toward him, to press her lips, swiftly, to his knee.

“Back,” he said, and she whimpered, but quickly drew back. The lash is not pleasant.

Ingeld smiled to himself.

How different she was, from months ago, from the time when she had, as the proud, aloof, lofty, white-gowned high priestess of the Timbri, claimedly the servant of the ten thousand gods, by means of prophecies and false signs, abetted the ambitions of Ortog, first son of Abrogastes, or, as some would have it, led him astray into treason. Ortog had been popular, a lusty, laughing, hardy fellow, a natural leader of men, one born to rally followers, one from whom men would gladly accept rings. It seems, too, he was not only the first son of Abrogastes, but his favorite son, as well. But Ortog, it seems, was too like his father, a man of large appetites, a warrior of vaulting ambition, of sovereign interests, one not honed by nature to follow in the tracks of others, one who would be the lord of new, fresh countries. He would govern his own fleets, command his own armies, found his own nation. And so, as it happened, he had withdrawn his allegiance from his father, Abrogastes, the Far-Grasper, lord of the Drisriaks, the major tribe of the Alemanni nation, commonly known in the imperial records by the Telnarian name, the Aatii. He, Ortog, had founded the secessionist tribe to be known, from his name, as the Ortungen. And thus a prince of the Drisriaks had become a king. His venture had, however, not been long-lived, as, mere months following the secession, his forces had been defeated and scattered by the pursuing, implacable Abrogastes. He himself, Ortog, with several followers, unaware of the recent fate of his cohorts, had been surprised and apprehended on a meeting world, a neutral world, at a place called, in Alemanni, Tenguthaxichai, which, it seems, might be brought into Telnarian as, say, Tengutha’s Camp, or the Camp, or Lair, of Tengutha. The justice, or vengeance, of the betrayed Abrogastes had been violent and bloody, leaving few survivors. Abrogastes himself had dealt an apparently lethal blow to Ortog, his rebellious son. But Otto, a chieftain of the Wolfungs present, had cast a robe over the body, as it was to be borne from the meeting tent on blanket-wrapped spears. In this way it was concealed that the body borne away on the spears yet lived, at least at the time. It had been speculated that Abrogastes, no stranger to the killing of foes, had directed his stroke in such a manner as to convey to his followers the semblance of justice, while simultaneously permitting his son at least a tenuous possibility of life. The ties of blood are strong, and fast. It was generally understood amongst the Alemanni and their allies that Ortog had perished at Tenguthaxichai. Ingeld and Hrothgar, two other sons also, as we understand it, believed Ortog dead; on the other hand, Abrogastes himself, if we are correct, after dealing his grievous blow, would have remained unaware of his first son’s fate, being ignorant of either his demise or recovery.

Abrogastes, as the records have it, had several sons, doubtless by various wives. On the other hand, only three are dealt with by more than brief references in the Annals. Indeed, we know of some only by name. The three we encounter more substantially in the Annals are Ortog, the first son, Ingeld, the second son, and Hrothgar, who may have been the third or fourth son. Hrothgar seems to have been a straightforward, uncomplicated, congenial, cheerful, boorish fellow, one disinterested in politics and power, one surely more fond of the pleasures of the feasting board than of the intricacies of councils or the ardors of windswept, muddy fields; it is suggested, as well, that he was fond of drink, horses, falcons, and women. Ingeld, the second son of Abrogastes, on the other hand, seemed composed of a darker, less tangible, subtler stuff. He was apparently hard to know, hard to fathom. Perhaps none knew him; perhaps none fathomed him. Surely he kept his own counsel. He spoke little. It seems he was an unlikely giver of rings. Few sought his hall. Men were often uneasy in his presence. He was never seen drunk. Abrogastes feared Ingeld.

Ingeld, on the high seat in his hall, watched the large double-doors at the far end of the hall.

An unusual visitor had sued for an audience.

“Why not,” Ingeld wondered, “with my father, in his hall?”

Huta whimpered, again.

“Silence, pig,” said Ingeld.

But he was not displeased to hear her tiny signal of need.

It had been done to her.

“How helpless they are, and needful,” he thought, “once it is done to them, once Masters ignite their bellies, once they know themselves in collars.”

Yes, men had done it, clearly, transforming her, casually, routinely, giving the matter, though she had been a priestess, no more thought than would have been bestowed upon the least of block girls. She, as they, had been dragged down a path of reality and comprehension from which there was no return.

“How pleasant it is,” he thought, “to have them at your feet, as piteous, begging, kneeling beasts.”

He looked down on the former priestess, the white skin, the long black hair, now unbound, the chain on her neck.

“Good,” he thought. “Excellent,” he thought.

She, Huta, the former priestess, was no longer a person, no longer the Mistress of her own body. She was now a beast, and her body was the body of a beast, an owned beast, a lovely, owned beast. She who had once prided herself on her superiority to sex, on her disdaining of biology, on her denial of nature, on her repudiation of her deepest self, on her immunity to need, on her frigidity and inertness, now found herself, originally to her shock and dismay, brought home to the fact that she was, and would be henceforth, profoundly, radically, helplessly, and needfully, a sexual creature. She was now, as others, the victim of her own needs, liberated and aroused, released and stimulated; she, as others, was now helplessly subject to the incendiary tortures of desire. She who had held men in contempt for their insatiable, brutish nature now found in herself the response to, and the complement of, whether she willed it or not, such gross, signal appetites. Not only that, but she found now that her responsiveness to the very presence of men, let alone to their touch, was weakness, helplessness, a readiness for yielding, and a hoping, and even a plea, to be wanted, and, given the touch of even a hand or tongue, this responsiveness could become uncontrollably explosive, even violent. It was difficult, moaning, crying out, whimpering, and thrashing, to even comprehend what she had become. Yet the answer was simple. She had become a slave.

“Is your body your own?” asked Ingeld.

“No, Master,” she said.

“Is anything your own?” he asked.

“No, Master,” she said.

“What of your least thought, or feeling?” he asked.

“They, too, are owned,” she said.

“Who owns you?” he asked.

“Men,” she said.

“But who, in particular?” he asked.

“Your father,” she said. “I am afraid to be here. Does he know I am here?”

“No,” said Ingeld.

“I am afraid,” she said.

“Why should you be afraid?” he said. “You are chained to a ring.”

“I fear Master wants Huta,” she said.

“Perhaps,” he said. “Would you object?”

“Master is young and handsome,” she said. “And I am only a slave.”

“You look much better now,” he said, “than when you were a priestess. Nudity and a chain become you.”

“I belong to your father,” she said.

“As of now,” he said.

“Your father,” she said, “is possessive, a man of great power, a man of temper, of wrath, of mighty fury.”

“As of now,” he said.

“Might we not both be slain?” she asked.

“I am heir apparent to the high seat in the great hall,” he said.

“So, too, was Ortog,” she said.

“Ortog did not plan well,” he said. “He managed his business badly.”

“There is your brother, Hrothgar,” she whispered.

“Hrothgar is a fool,” he said. “He is often in his cups. He would rather have a falcon on his wrist than a scepter in his hand.”

“I am afraid,” she said. “I fear your words, I fear your voice, your eyes.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Behind your eyes,” she whispered, “I think there are secret thoughts.”

“Nonsense,” said Ingeld, “I am merely another simple, pleasant fellow.”

“Subtle, ambitious thoughts,” she said.

“Of treason?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“I speak no treason,” he said.

“Who would be so unwise as to do so?” she said.

“Why are you afraid?” he asked.

“In the presence of treachery, or treason, who would not be afraid?”

“Only the free need be afraid,” he said. “Beasts, dogs, horses, slaves, need not be afraid.”

“Even the beast of a traitor, his dog or horse, might be slaughtered,” she said.

“True,” he said. “Once loosed, it is sometimes difficult to restrain the sword of anger and vengeance.”

“Too,” she said, “I am your father’s property. He does not know I am here. I do not belong here.”

“But you like the touch of a boot on your thigh, do you not?” he asked.

“Master Abrogastes, my Master,” she said, “hates me, and suspects it was I who seduced Ortog into the paths of secession.”

“Was it not?” asked Ingeld.

“One such as Ortog does not follow well, or long,” she said. “He wanted signs, and prophecies. Assurances of success. I supplied such things.”

“Hastening defection,” said Ingeld.

“I fear so,” she said.

“And hoped to gain concessions thereby, recognitions, status, and profits for your fraudulent rites and claims.”

“Yes, Master,” she said, “but now I am naked, on a chain.”

“If you were to be found here,” said Ingeld, “it is possible that Abrogastes would hold you accountable, suspecting that you hoped to ply your wiles once more, hoping to seduce yet another of his sons into the paths of secession, into the country of deceit and treachery.”

“It is not true, Master!” she said.

“You and I know that,” he said, “but my father does not.”

“Master?” she said.

“He might not be pleased to learn of your new stratagem,” said Ingeld.

“I have no stratagem,” she said. “I am a slave!”

“But perhaps a sly slave,” said Ingeld. “I need only hint such a thing to my father.”

“You would not do so!” she said.

Ingeld smiled.

“Have mercy on me, Master,” she said. “I am now only a girl, marked, and fastened to a ring at your feet.”

“You are afraid, are you not?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Do you know why you have been brought here?”

“No, Master!”

“Surely you suspect,” he said.

“No, Master!” she said.

“Are you not a slave?” he asked.

“I belong to your father!” she said.

“As of now,” he said.

“I beg to be sent back to my cage!”

“Perhaps I shall have you on the planks at the foot of the high seat,” he said.

“What if the shriek of my ecstasy should carry to the ears of Abrogastes?” she said.

“Surely, as a slave,” he said, “you are familiar with gags.”

“Have mercy on me, Master,” she wept. “Beat me, if you wish, but return me to my cage!”

“When I touched you,” he said, “you responded.”

“Forgive me, Master,” she said.

“Do not fear,” he said. “I will have you in my arms, and as the slave you are, when I wish. But I have not brought you here for such a purpose.”

“Master?”

“I am expecting a guest,” he said. “And when he is admitted, and welcomed, I want you at my feet.”

“As I am?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, “exactly as you are.”

At this point, there were three loud knocks on the left side of the double door, as one would face it from within, from the high seat, what would be the right side of the door, from the outside. These sounds were the result of the measured striking of a spear butt three times against the heavy wood. The Drisriaks, as many other peoples, even in a day of hoverers, rifles, and sky ships, were fond of traditions and antique usages. For example, the vaulted ceiling of the hall was of timbers, and its floor was of earth, strewn, in the ancient fashion, with rushes.

“Enter,” called Ingeld.