by John Norman
“Surely you do not think this has anything to do with Floon,” said Sidonicus.
“No?” said Iaachus.
“No,” said Sidonicus, “Floon has nothing to do with this.”
“I see,” said Iaachus.
“I thought you would, eventually,” said Sidonicus.
“You shall not have the empire,” said Iaachus.
“I understand that your influence with the empress mother is waning,” said Sidonicus.
“Call back your people,” said Iaachus. “Free the streets.”
“Dogs, once unleashed,” said Sidonicus, “are often difficult to restrain.”
“I will have troops fire on them,” said Iaachus.
“And create a thousand martyrs?” asked the exarch.
“They are arsonists, looters, murderers,” said Iaachus.
“Floonians welcome martyrdom,” said the exarch. “It assures one a place at the table of Karch.”
“Perhaps you could become one such,” said Iaachus.
“As a humble man,” said the exarch, “I dare not aspire to so exalted a fate, so noble an end.”
“Even so,” said Iaachus.
“Touch me,” said the exarch, “and not only Telnar will burn, but the empire.”
“And how will you have the empire?” asked Iaachus.
“How would you like a million Floonians, on a hundred worlds, to take up arms on behalf of the empire?”
“I do not understand,” said Iaachus, “Floonians, as gentle, loving Floon, repudiate weaponry. They will die rather than bear arms. It is against their faith. They reject matters of the world. They live as parasites within walls built by, and defended by, others. They will not even look upon a standard or flag. They decline civic responsibility. They will not even participate in the councils of villages. They live for the koos, whatever that may be. They repudiate the gods of the empire, the ways of the empire. They have no love for the empire, no loyalty to the empire. They will not even burn a pinch of incense on the altar of the emperor.”
“A million Floonians on a hundred worlds,” smiled the exarch.
“You could do this?” asked Iaachus.
“Surely,” said the exarch. “Unfolding revelation.”
“I do not understand,” said Iaachus.
“You cannot expect Floonians to die for your empire,” said the exarch, “but, properly enlightened, suitably guided, they will die obediently, gladly, and unquestioningly for theirs.”
“For yours,” said Iaachus.
“If you wish,” said the exarch.
“Men will believe anything,” said Iaachus.
“Most,” said the exarch.
“The empire is to declare for Floon?” said Iaachus.
“The true faith,” said the exarch, “is to be the only faith. False faiths are to be banished.”
“Your views are to be spread by fire and sword?” asked Iaachus.
“Only where recalcitrance is met,” said the exarch.
“I see,” said Iaachus.
“It is a great wrong to spread a false faith by fire and sword, by the garrote and burning rack,” said the exarch, “but right to do so for the true faith. One must not risk men being misled. Superstition is pernicious. It places the koos in jeopardy. One must not, in so far as possible, risk the loss of a single koos.”
“And what is the relation of the state to the true faith in these matters?” asked Iaachus.
“It exists to do the work of the faith,” said the exarch. “The civil sword is to be unsheathed on behalf of the koos.”
“Soldiers are to gather faggots and ignite fires,” said Iaachus, “to hunt men like filchen, to redden blades you are too holy to touch.”
“You cannot expect ministrants of Floon to shed blood,” said the exarch.
“Only to have others do so, as they will have it done,” said Iaachus.
“There must be an order in things, a hierarchy,” said the exarch. “One must be first; one must be second. Accordingly, as the koos is highest, most holy, and supreme, it is to be first, and the state second. The secular sword is to be subordinate to the koosian sword.”
“There is no koos,” said Iaachus.
“It does not really matter, does it?” asked the exarch.
“I suppose not,” said Iaachus.
“Then go forth and conquer in the name of Floon,” said the exarch. “Go forth bravely, slaughtering and burning, singing hymns, doing righteous destruction on a thousand worlds.”
“And if we decline to accept this madness?”
“There are others who will,” said the exarch.
“Barbarians?” asked Iaachus.
“Possibly,” said the exarch.
“You will have the empire, even if it falls?” said Iaachus.
“Yes,” said the exarch. “Either way.”
“I shall return to the palace,” said Iaachus.
“Be careful in the streets,” said the exarch.
“I shall,” said the Arbiter of Protocol.
“Before you leave,” said Sidonicus, “you may kiss my ring.”
“I think not,” said Iaachus.
“Perhaps later,” said the exarch.
“I think not,” said Iaachus.
“As you wish,” said the exarch.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“It is so, Lord,” said Farrix.
“Does my father know?” inquired Ingeld.
“I think not, Lord,” said Farrix.
“I do not understand!” cried Ingeld. “Things were moving well. Pledges were made. Calendars were agreed upon. I had prepared rings to give. Now confusion reigns. The wretched Vandals are divided. Otungs will not move. Haakons and Darisi draw back. Basungs denounce us. Wolfungs will not rendezvous with our fleet.”
“Others hesitate, as well,” said Farrix. “Unaligned tribes now decline commitment. Neutral worlds refuse contact. Advance orders for thousands of Telnarian slaves are canceled. Consternation inhabits high offices. Curfews are established, roads patrolled, bridges closed. Administrations watch, and will not stir. And a thousand claimants to the medallion and chain struggle to summon troops, to lead movements.”
“A thousand claimants?” said Ingeld.
“Yes, Lord,” said Farrix.
He, Farrix, standing before the high seat of Ingeld, second son of Abrogastes, the Far Grasper, was a chieftain of the Teragar, or Long-River, Borkons. The Borkons were the third largest of the eleven tribes of the Alemanni nation, the second largest being the Dangars. There were several branches of the Borkons, the largest being the Lidanian, or Coastal, Borkons.
“And none will follow?”
“He who would follow one leader cannot follow a thousand.”
“I do not understand,” said Ingeld.
“Are you sure you possess the authentic talisman, the authentic medallion and chain?” asked Farrix.
“How can you ask that?” said Ingeld, angrily.
“I cast no aspersions, I perform no treason,” said Farrix. “But, as a chieftain of the Borkons, of the Teragar, I do ask it. Are you sure you possess the authentic talisman, the authentic medallion and chain?”
“Yes!” said Ingeld. “It was stolen from the festung of Sim Giadini by an Otung, Urta, after which the festung was destroyed, that the manner of its acquisition be concealed. It was then delivered to the Exarch of Telnar, one named Sidonicus. One of his subordinates, a legate and plenipotentiary, a ministrant named Fulvius, contacted me. Agreements were reached. Arrangements were made. The talisman was delivered here, to this hall, less than a month ago.”
“Here, Lord,” said Farrix, reaching within his cloak, and drawing forth a handful of dangling metal, “are two such medallions and chains.”
“They are false!” cried Ingeld.
“Undoubtedly, Lord,” said Farrix, “but these, and a thousand others, or more, on a hundred worlds, are proclaimed to be the one and only talisman of the Vandal nation. It is little wonder then that confusion abounds, that the Drisriaks are denounced, derided, and mocked. Who, who know little of these things, is in a position to know the authentic talisman? Vandals, wary of the Alemanni, were reluctant to begin with, to follow a Drisriak. And now, confronted with a thousand or more alleged talismans, in a thousand or more pairs of hands, what are they to do? Surely they will not call their fellows forth from the forests, will not march, will not man their ships. Vandals are no more willing to be deceived than we of the Alemanni, and they are certainly unwilling, in particular, to be our dupes. They speak of deceit, of trickery. Let us fear that the dreaded Vandals do not now plunge themselves into the arms of our enemies.”
“It is I who have been tricked,” said Ingeld.
“I have no doubt you possess the authentic talisman,” said Farrix, “but it is not difficult to understand doubt on the part of others.”
“It is not wise to trick Ingeld, of the Drisriaks,” said Ingeld.
“It seems, Lord,” said Farrix, “that it was not you alone who was treated so shabbily, so disgracefully, but others, as well, this Sidonicus, of Telnar, this Fulvius, of Telnar, and doubtless other members of their party.”
“I shall have this Urta, a renegade Otung, this Fulvius, a pompous ministrant, torn apart, by horses, by wild horses.”
“It is not you alone who were duped, Lord,” said Farrix.
“I, Ingeld, of the Drisriaks, of the Alemanni, duped?” said Ingeld.
“Forgive me, Lord,” said Farrix. “I spoke carelessly. You were not duped, but betrayed.”
“Men now mock the Drisriaks?” asked Ingeld.
“I fear so, Lord,” said Farrix.
“Does my father know of this?” asked Ingeld.
“I do not think so, Lord,” said Farrix.
“Good,” said Ingeld.
“How proceed things with my beloved father?” asked Ingeld.
“His forces are well deployed,” said Farrix. “In effect, Telnaria is blockaded. It is dangerous at this time to move more quickly. Lord Abrogastes awaits reinforcements. His agents are active in Telnaria. They celebrate Abrogastes as a liberator. Many prepare to welcome him, with garlands and flowers. I think he is readying himself for a landing.”
“Surely there are imperial forces about,” said Ingeld.
“They are scattered, many are posted on far worlds.”
“My father is in the vicinity of Telnaria itself?”
“He forced a passage,” said Farrix. “He penetrated defenses. I think few expected him to avoid engagements, and move decisively to Telnaria itself.”
“He is a fool,” said Ingeld. “The war was to be fought on a thousand fields. No foe was to be left behind us. It was for this we needed the Vandals and our allies. He has put himself in a trap.”
“He has moved boldly,” said Farrix.
“How will this destroy the empire?” asked Ingeld.
“I fear, Lord,” said Farrix, “mighty Abrogastes does not wish to destroy the empire, but to possess it.”
“By seizing Telnaria?” said Ingeld.
“By seizing Telnar, the capital, by seizing the throne,” said Farrix.
“He must be mad,” said Ingeld.
“If he seizes the throne,” said Farrix, “he seizes the capital, if he seizes the capital, he seizes Telnaria, if he seizes Telnaria, he seizes the empire.”
“He embarks upon a dangerous course,” said Ingeld.
“He is Abrogastes,” said Farrix.
“If he fails?” asked Ingeld.
“What then?” asked Farrix.
“Ingeld is first amongst the Drisriaks,” said Ingeld.
“Precisely, Lord,” said Farrix.
“Perhaps mighty Abrogastes will fail,” said Ingeld.
“It is possible, Lord,” said Farrix.
“Perhaps it can be arranged,” said Ingeld.
“It is possible, Lord,” said Farrix.
“I shall not forget my faithful servitors, my liegemen,” said Ingeld.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Move!” said the river man.
The whip cracked.
Cornhair, and the others, twenty-one others, feet on the wet, graveled path, cried out in misery, and thrust their slight weight against their hempen harnessing, the towing lines stretching back to cleats on the keel boat, some five of six yard from shore. On the boat itself, on each side, men leaned on poles; these poles, thrusting against the river bottom, serve to propel the craft; they also serve to thrust away debris, to push the craft from sand bars, and to keep the banks of the river at bay. The sweep of such a pole, too, may discourage boarders; they can crush skulls and break ribs; and, jabbing, tear their way into an abdomen. The boat had a single mast, with a single yard, but its square-rigged sail, a fifteen-foot square of woven reeds, hung slack. The keel boat, as opposed to the flatboat, is designed to be used more than once, designed to sustain a passage both upstream and downstream. They are then, as one would expect, more sturdily crafted and better kept, than the flatboat, which is put together to make a single trip. The keel boats, also, are likely to be more ornamented and, as they are commonly painted, more colorful than flatboats. The paint, also, serves to protect the timbers of the keel boat, an important consideration as one hopes to utilize them for several years. Some keel boats even boast a deck cabin. Cargo, on both keel boats and flatboats, is stored on the single, open deck, and is commonly, boxes and barrels, lashed in place to prevent its dislodgement or loss should the craft spin or tip in rapids. A loose barrel, rolling and tumbling, descending a forty-five degree slope, can crash gunwales and break arms and legs. In addition to the roping and strapping of cargo in place, it is also commonly covered with canvas. This protects it from the weather, and also conceals it, should curious eyes, from trees on the bank, or in passing boats, notice it, and find it of interest, with perhaps unwelcome consequences. Too, keel boats, as flatboats, will usually have a rigged arrangement of canvas and stanchions to protect the crew from rain and hail, and the sun, which, in its heat, combined with the glare on the water, can produce a number of undesirable effects, ranging from disorientation and heat stroke to discomfort and the impairment of vision.
The whip cracked, again, and, again, the twenty-two slaves, those who had served at the suppers in the villa of Lady Delia Cotina, including Cornhair, leaned into the traces. Each had fixed, on her right shoulder, under the hempen harness, a cushioning cloth, to prevent the rope from burning into their bodies. Rope burns, scars, and such, can reduce a girl’s likely block price. These slaves were not draft slaves, but slaves of the sort which had been so resented and loathed by the free women of the party of Lady Delia, slaves of the sort which free men are likely to buy, presumably having in mind the incredible pleasures derivable from such purchases.
The whip, though its report was startling, and menacing enough, had not struck the slaves. It would not do so unless one of the slaves proved a laggard, or cheater, shirking her share in the common effort, letting it be borne by her collar sisters. The occasional, unexpected snap, it seems, in itself provided the slaves with sufficient motivation. This was doubtless because, presumably, there was not one slave in the harnessing, struggling along the path beside the river, who had not, at one time or another, felt the stroke of such a device.
Cornhair, as the others, struggled forward, thrusting against the harnessing, moving west, upstream, toward Telnar.
She was pleased, that she was to be sold in Telnar. Was that not the dream of many slaves in the galaxy?
Interestingly, Cornhair did not much mind the rope harness, the dirt, the heat, and sweating, the strain of the labor, not that she liked it, you unders
tand, but, rather, that she did not mind it as a free woman might have minded it. She did not find it outrageous, unconscionable, inappropriate, humiliating, or such. She found it quite natural that she, and the others, would be put to such work. They were not free women, but slaves. Was it not natural that the free woman should stand and the slave kneel? Was it not natural that the free woman should command and the slave obey? Was it not natural that the slave, on her hands and knees, naked, should scrub the tiles while the free woman supervises her work, switch in hand? Was it not natural that the free woman, inert, haughty, and calculating, finding herself observed by a free man, might ponder what profit might be derived from his attention, whereas the slave, finding herself observed by a free man, might tremble, and kneel, hoping not to be beaten, but rather to be caressed, and as a slave is caressed? Certainly, Cornhair now had a very different relationship to men than any she had had as a free woman. This was natural. The slave sees men very differently from the way a free woman sees them. The slave sees them as Masters. She knows that this one, or that one, might buy her. She is likely to belong to one. Too, the slave, given her cultural realities, is very much alive, and rich with feeling; her garb, if she is permitted garb, is special, and symbolically significant, as well as unencumbering, aesthetic, and sexually simulating. It is slave garb, designating her as a slave. Too, she has doubtless been marked. Similarly, who could mistake the collar on her fair neck? The slave is a profoundly biological organism, a natural, sexual creature. It is natural then that she, a lovely, purchasable animal, is seen in terms of the pleasure she might provide, and that she sees the free man as a Master she must please, and one who may do with her as he wishes. It is little wonder then that she fears his whip, and hopes, in her service, that he, her Master, may consent, if only for his own amusement or pleasure, to subject her to those unspeakable ecstasies which may be inflicted on a slave, ecstasies for which she lives, ecstasies a thousand times beyond what a free woman can know. Is this not one of the secrets between Masters and slaves, which free women can only suspect? And what of other joys, such as those of kneeling, of serving, of yielding, and of pleasing? There are men and women, and, in a natural order, Masters and slaves.