“Speak!” demanded Ortog.
“You have heard,” asked Iaachus, “of the medallion and chain?”
“Of course,” said Ortog, “it is important to the Vandalii.”
“Sidonicus, exarch of Telnar,” said Iaachus, “conspired to bring it into the possession of Ingeld, the Drisriak, that he might command not only the Aatii but, by means of the artifact or talisman, the Vandalii, as well, and thus overwhelm the empire.”
“How was my father involved in this?” asked Ortog.
“He was not,” said Iaachus.
“Ingeld then far exceeded his place,” said Ortog.
“What limits does ambition know?” asked Iaachus.
“And what price asked the exarch for this perfidy?” asked Ortog.
“Presumably the conversion of the conquered empire to his particular faith,” said Iaachus. “Sidonicus would bargain similarly with the empire. If the empire were to make his faith the official faith of the empire, enforce it on all citizens, and persecute and extirpate all other faiths, thus gathering all religious wealth to his own temples, he would rearrange dogma in such a way that millions of currently pacifistic Floonians, normally eschewing military service and withholding allegiance to the empire, refusing even the simplest of civic duties, would then spring to arms, prepared to die for a state, now holy, which they had hitherto repudiated.”
“What has this to do with the disappearance of my father?” asked Ortog.
“Would your father uproot and destroy thousands of religions, would he enforce one absurdity on an empire already familiar with thousands, would he deny the right of free belief and freedom of heart and conscience to millions, would he convert, change his life, give up his own mind and will, divert wealth to superstition, bow down to parasites, share power with charlatans, celebrate hypocrites who send others forth to do their torturing and killing, while they remain behind, housed in pompous, sanctified safety?”
“Never,” said Ortog. “I understand the sword, the spear, the pistol, the rifle, but I do not understand the things you speak of.”
“It is a new kind of war,” said Otto.
“I fear,” said Iaachus, “your father is dead.”
“Ingeld and Hrothgar would never permit it,” said Ortog.
“They may not know of it,” said Iaachus.
“I suspect,” said Otto, “Abrogastes is alive. He would presumably be of more value to captors as a prisoner, a possible hostage, something with which one might bargain, than dead.”
“My father,” said Ortog, “must be freed or avenged.”
“Barbaritas,” said Otto.
“Barbaritas,” said Ortog.
“We do not even know where he is,” said Julian.
“But how could my father be seized?” asked Ortog. “He is shrewd, wary, suspicious, dangerous.”
“Betrayal,” said Otto, “betrayal by those he trusted.”
“Ingeld?” said Julian.
“Possibly,” said Otto.
“Hrothgar?” asked Julian.
“No,” said Ortog. “Hrothgar is simple, jovial, and lusty. He cares for drink, dogs, horses, falcons, and slaves, not gold, not power.”
“Ingeld then?” said Julian.
“Possibly,” said Otto.
“But,” said Iaachus, “the presence and actions of Ingeld and Hrothgar are well known.”
“Then, more likely, others, less conspicuous, would act,” said Julian.
“Others,” said Otto, “who might have accompanied Abrogastes from Tenguthaxichai, and might act before his presence became public.”
“You speak as though you have someone in mind,” said Julian.
“A servant who betrays one master,” said Otto, “may well betray another.”
“Those who betrayed the batteries, making possible the raid of Abrogastes?” said Julian.
“Yes,” said Otto, “Phidias, Corelius, and Lysis.”
“Those who fled Tangara, thinking you slain, leaving the assassin slave to her fate?” said Julian.
“Yes,” said Otto.
“A third betrayal then,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“Do you think they are in Telnar?” asked Rurik.
“Yes,” said Otto, “but, doubtless, inconspicuously, unobtrusively.”
“You would hope, through them,” said Rurik, “to be led to Abrogastes.”
“It would be my hope,” said Otto.
“There must be many in Telnar who could recognize them,” said Julian.
“If it were known they were sought,” said Otto, “I suspect they would be whisked away, or found in some alley, their throats cut.”
“Then they must be sought inconspicuously, unobtrusively,” said Julian.
“Precisely,” said Otto.
“But who could do so?” asked Rurik.
“One who knows them well, one who has had dealings with them, one who could not fail to recognize them,” said Otto.
“Who?” asked Ortog.
“Rurik, friend,” said Otto, “have you not a slave, a Filene or Cornhair, a former Calasalii woman?”
“I have,” said Rurik, Tenth Consul of Larial VII.
Chapter Seventeen
“Stop struggling,” said the driver, turning back, looking back, into the canvased cart.
“Let her struggle,” said his fellow, sitting beside him on the wagon bench. “What does it matter?”
“Rope burns,” said the driver, returning his attention to the reins and horses.
“Is she that stupid?” said his fellow.
“Many are, at first,” said the driver. “They do not yet realize the rose is in their thigh, the collar on their neck.”
“They soon learn,” said his companion.
“You have seen her,” said the driver.
“So?” said his companion.
“Who would want her?” asked the driver.
“She is not bad,” said his companion.
“Fifteen darins, twenty?” asked the driver.
“Perhaps,” said his companion.
On the rude, heavy, unvarnished planks of the wagon bed, behind the men, a small figure, muchly agitated, rolled and turned, struggling, trying absurdly to free itself, its body swathed with ropes, from ankles to shoulders. Whereas the ropage was plentiful and thick, it did little, as it was tight, to leave in doubt the nature of the contours it so snugly encircled, namely, that the figure they bound was that of a woman, and quite possibly one of interest, one of the sort for which men might pay, the sort they are accustomed to buy. The figure, though it was not easy to tell from the ropes, was naked, absolutely so, save, of course, for some strips of cloth, some of which were over her eyes and some of which, some back between her teeth, and some over her mouth as well, made it difficult for her to articulate her distress, should she have been concerned to make it known. She could utter tiny noises. One last item was a light, close-fitting metal collar. It was locked on her neck.
“Turn here,” said the driver’s companion. “This is the Lycon district.”
The driver and his companion were dressed nondescriptively. Few could have told them from common cartsmen. No longer were they in the livery of the palace. Even the cart, though canvased, to be sure, was plain, nondescript. It was not strikingly painted, that it might call attention to itself, and, surely, it bore no company emblem nor flew any company pennon. It was indistinguishable from hundreds of others, private wagons, rental wagons, cheap wagons, engaged in small-load haulings within the city and its environs.
“There,” said the driver’s fellow, or companion, “the house.”
“Yes,” said the driver.
The cart was drawn to the side, and the driver set the brake.
The small roped figure supine on the planking was lifted from the cart in the arms of the driver’s
fellow, and the driver strode to the door of the house, lifted the heavy metal knocker and struck it twice, politely, against its metal plate.
The door was answered by a young, strong, handsome fellow in a house tunic who invited the driver and his fellow within, and indicated that their delivery should be placed on the tiles of the atrium between the atrium basin and the door. As in many such houses, there was a chest in the atrium, placed within the atrium, to the right of the door as one would enter. The lid of this chest was chest-high, as most men might stand. Some objects were on this lid, amongst them two goblets, each filled with a draft of wine. The fellow in the house, after chatting briefly with the driver and his fellow, and receiving some papers from the driver, which he put aside, served the driver and his fellow with the wine. While these pleasantries were taking place, the small figure lay supine, neglected, on the tiles. It moved somewhat, but it no longer struggled violently; perhaps it now well realized the meaninglessness of such efforts, realized that it was utterly helpless, that it was well tied, indeed, even as a slave might be tied; perhaps, too, it was uncomfortable, the smooth, sensitive, silken skin, now raw and sore, fearing to do further contest with its thick, tight, rough, pitiless constraints. Even she knew that slaves, if bound, and not chained, shackled, or braceleted, were commonly bound with ribbons, silken cordage, thongs, or narrow, flat leather straps, that there would be no reduction in their market value. On the other hand, now that it had been delivered, perhaps it merely realized that it was well advised to be patient, to wait, and see what might ensue.
After a few minutes, the fellow in the house tunic, the goblets emptied, took some chaining from the lid of the chest and cast it to the floor beside the small figure, where the driver and his companion, preparing to take their leave, were bending down to remove its impediments, the many loops of rope with which it had been so closely encircled. “Shackle her,” he said, “and stand her.”
This was done and the small figure, still blindfolded and gagged, now shackled hand and foot, stood before the men, loops of rope like cast-aside vines to the side. The fellow in the house tunic walked about her.
“Is she satisfactory?” asked the driver.
“We must wait and see,” said the fellow in the house tunic.
“If she is not satisfactory,” said the driver, gathering up, and looping, rope, “she may be thrown to the dogs. She cost nothing.”
“In that sense, my dear,” said the fellow in the house tunic to the shackled figure, “costing nothing, you are worthless.”
Angry, muffled sounds greeted this assessment.
“She might be worth a darin or two,” said the driver, “on some mud world, as a work slut.”
The small figure, raging in frustration, violently shook the chains linking her wrists.
“It can be arranged,” said the driver.
The small figure was still. It trembled.
“We shall see how she works out,” said the fellow in the house tunic.
The driver had now gathered up and looped the rope. He left the loops wide enough to be looped over and about his body.
“Shall I remove the blindfold?” asked the driver’s companion.
“Certainly,” said the handsome fellow.
The rolls of obscuring cloth were unwrapped from the figure’s head, and her eyes, after blinking and darting about, blazed with fury.
She was held in place, firmly, by the upper left arm, by the driver’s fellow, lest she be tempted to rush forth, trying to attack, as she could, the young man in the house tunic.
“The mouth binding?” inquired the driver, the several loops of rope now looped over his body, from the right shoulder to the left hip.
“Yes,” said the young man.
In a moment the several bands of cloth, those covering her mouth, and those drawn back between her teeth, were removed.
“I knew your voice,” she screamed. “You, Titus Gelinus! Wretch! Abductor! What is the meaning of this! Release me, instantly!”
Titus Gelinus moved to her, took her by the hair, and, holding her head in place, slapped her once quite sharply.
“Have you requested permission to speak?” he asked.
She may have then considered another outburst but, seeing the palm of his hand poised, she restrained what might have proved to be a most unfortunate impulse.
She looked at him for a long, troubled, moment. Then she said, “May I speak?”
“Certainly,” he said.
“You monster!” she screamed. “Surely this is some mad joke in the poorest of taste! Take away these chains! Reprimand these bumpkins! Chastise them, severely! Beware the perpetuation of follies such as this! Relieve me of these chains! I am a free woman! Get this collar off my neck! Do you think I am a slave? Bring me clothing! Let me go. Release me, instantly! Now! Now!”
“She is very loud,” said the driver.
“Perhaps she thinks she is a free woman,” said his fellow.
“I am a free woman!” screamed the occupant of the shackles, stamping her small foot on the tiles, which shook the chain on her ankles.
They were closely pinioned, separated by no more than five or six links. So pinioned a slave is quite helpless. She must move with care, lest she fall.
“You are to speak henceforth, my dear,” said Titus Gelinus, “softly, with respect, with deference, clearly, and with excellent diction. Women such as you are not permitted to be slovenly about such things.”
“Such as I?” she said.
“Yes,” he said. “Female slaves.”
“I am not a slave!” she said.
“In that conjecture, you are mistaken,” he said.
“With your permission, noble envoy?” said the driver, the foremost of the seeming cartsmen. “We have duties in the palace.”
“By all means,” said Titus Gelinus. “Be thanked for your prompt and efficient service.”
The driver and his companion then exited the house of Titus Gelinus.
“Are they truly of the palace?” asked the occupant of the shackles.
“Yes,” said Titus Gelinus.
“I do not understand,” she said.
“You need to understand little more, my dear,” said the rhetor, “than that there is now a brand incised in your thigh and a collar on your neck.”
“How dare you have me brought here?” she demanded.
“I thought you might wish to come,” he said.
“I did,” she said. “I was eager, but not to be conveyed hither as a roped captive.”
“A roped slave,” he said. “Recall the stop on the way here.”
“You did not truly fool me,” she said, “despite the blindfold. As soon as you spoke, I recognized your voice.”
“You will become quite familiar with my voice,” he said, “and you will learn to respond to it with alacrity.”
“Take off these chains,” she said.
“The point of the blindfold, and the gag, in your case,” he said, “was primarily instructional, namely, that you begin to familiarize yourself with a slave’s helplessness, being unable to see or speak.”
“This joke has gone far enough,” she said.
“Are you standing in the presence of a free man?” he asked.
“I shall call guardsmen!” she said.
“Do so,” said he. “They would return you to me, promptly, for punishment.”
“Beg my forgiveness!” she said. “I might forgive you. And sweeten your pleading with gold, a plenitude of gold!”
“But,” said he, “as a slave you can own nothing. You do not even own your own collar.”
“I cannot be enslaved,” she said. “I am a free woman.”
“You are enslaved,” he said. “And most slaves were once free women.”
“How could I be enslaved?” she asked.
&nbs
p; “Quite easily,” he said.
“With what justification?” she asked.
“With no justification,” he said. “Let me put your mind at rest. The matter is entirely arbitrary. One could, of course, if one wished, invent a number of pretexts, but this was not done, not in your case. For example, one might claim you were enslaved for the good of the empire, or, alternatively, that it is morally appropriate that cheap, dishonest, mercenary, scheming women such as you be enslaved, that you might become good for something, at last, or, again, that you be enslaved as a debtress, and given to me for having satisfied your debts which, incidentally, I did, but none of these pretexts were resorted to. As I said, the matter was quite arbitrary. In your case, I merely thought that you should be a slave and, if so, why should you not be my slave.”
“I shall appeal to the emperor,” she said.
“It might be difficult to make it through the guards,” he said. “Too, the emperor seldom grants audiences to slaves. If you wish, however, I could present you to the emperor.”
She looked at him, wildly.
“It was he,” said Titus Gelinus, “who selected you for slavery.”
“He does not even know me,” she said.
“But I do,” said Titus Gelinus, “and the emperor, happily, was pleased to look kindly on my suggestion.”
“You beast,” she said.
“Actually,” said he “it is you who are now the beast. I am a free man.”
“How could the emperor do such a thing?” she asked.
“Quite easily,” he said. “He is emperor.”
“But—” she said.
“The emperor is a barbarian, an Otung, I believe,” said Titus Gelinus, “and, as a barbarian, tends to view the reduction of free women to slavery not only with approval, but zest.”
“Please, kind and noble Gelinus,” she said, “remove my chains, free me, clothe me, and let us once more return to the delicacy of civilitas, for I am sure you know the warmth of my feelings for you, and, I suspect, I know those of you for me.”
“Do you wish to know what your collar reads?” asked Titus Gelinus.
“No,” she said.
“I shall tell you,” he said. “It reads ‘I am Pig. I am owned by Titus Gelinus, of Telnar’.”
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