“Never!” cried yellow-haired Viviana, princess of Telnaria, recoiling, aghast, in her finery. “What am I doing here, here, in such a place, on this dirt, rush-strewn floor, in this wooden, high-roofed, rude hall?”
“Strip,” said Huta. “Now, instantly! Lest I be displeased!”
“Who are you?” demanded Viviana.
“Huta, in whose keeping you are,” said Huta.
“Despite your gown,” said Viviana, “there is a collar on your neck, which, I suspect, is a slave collar, and is locked on you! I would not be surprised, either, if your left thigh was marked with the slave rose!”
“I am the slave of Abrogastes, the Far-Grasper, king of Drisriaks, hegemonic tribe of the Aatii, the Alemanni,” said Huta, proudly.
“Slave!” hissed Viviana.
“The slave of a great king!” said Huta.
“A slave!” said Viviana. “I am Viviana, princess of Telnaria, sister to Aesilesius, emperor of Telnaria, sister to Alacida, princess of Telnaria, daughter to Atalana, the empress mother of Telnaria, and wedded against my will to Ingeld, prince of the Drisriaks.”
“Surely you hoped to profit from that liaison,” snarled Huta.
“I have seen no profit,” snapped Viviana.
“Aesilesius has been put aside,” said Huta. “A barbarian, an Otung, now sits upon the throne of Telnaria.”
“A usurper!” cried Viviana.
“It is a done thing,” said Huta.
“It is unrightful, contrary to custom and law!” said Viviana.
“It is done,” laughed Huta. “The spear, as always, prevails. Custom and law, as always, yield to steel. How could it be otherwise? The accession was even accepted by, and celebrated by, the senate.”
“Intimidated sycophants!” said Viviana.
“The first of your line was a usurper,” said Huta.
“No!” cried Viviana.
“Do you think time, tradition, and forgetfulness, bestow legitimacy?” asked Huta. “Strength bestows legitimacy. The throne belongs to he who can hold it. Your brother was a retarded, slobbering weakling, well put aside.”
“The Otung can be put aside!” said Viviana.
“That is the plan,” said Huta. “You are to deliver a son to Ingeld. The barbarian then, or another, is removed. The son, though in infancy, is emperor. And Ingeld holds the regency, and becomes, in effect, the emperor.”
“You forget,” said Viviana, “my sister, Alacida, too, and against her will, as well, was wedded to Hrothgar, Ingeld’s brother. Alacida may first bear a son.”
“Do not be naive,” said Huta. “Hrothgar is a jovial, simple fellow, thinking of little but his slaves and dogs, his horses and falcons. He will be easily duped.”
“I do not understand,” said Viviana.
“Do you truly think Ingeld would allow such a thing?” said Huta. “If Hrothgar has a son by Alacida, what do you think would be the chances of that offspring to survive the first month of its life?”
“I do not understand,” said Viviana.
“Poison, illness, a tragic accident,” said Huta.
“Surely not,” said Viviana.
“Why are you still clothed?” asked Huta, angrily.
“I do not understand,” stammered Viviana, uncertainly.
“You were instructed to remove your clothing, completely,” said Huta. “Get it off, strip, wholly, instantly, now!”
“Never!” exclaimed Viviana.
Huta, in a fury, whirled about, and rushed to the high seat, seizing up a whip, it looped about an arm of the high seat, on the right side of the high seat, where it would be convenient to a right-handed individual who might occupy that coign of power.
She then, half bent over, two hands on the staff of the whip, turned to face Viviana. “It seems you must be whipped, immediately, this moment, as a slave,” she said.
“No!” cried Viviana.
“Then, strip,” said Huta. “Now!”
Sobbing, trembling, Viviana complied.
“Stand straight,” said Huta.
Viviana raised her head and straightened her body.
Huta then straightened up, and walked about her, as might an appraising mistress, whip in hand, and then, again, faced her.
“You do not have a bad body,” she said. “You might make a slave.”
“Never!” said Viviana.
“I would love to see you naked on a slave block, in a mud world, being auctioned to lizard people,” said Huta.
“Beware,” said Viviana, “I am the bride of Ingeld, prince of the Alemanni!”
Huta laughed. “You think you are wedded?” she asked.
“Against my will,” stammered Viviana.
“No horses, no gold was given,” said Huta. “There was no pledge of arms, no mingling of bloods, no swearing of fathers, or kinsmen, on the spear.”
“My sister and I were wedded in the great temple of Telnar, by holy Sidonicus, the exarch of Telnar himself.”
“Mumbled words, meaningless noises, germane to a foolish sect, one of thousands of such sects, all equally absurd, a vapid, political charade contrived to serve the ends of power.”
“I am of royal blood, of the empire,” said Viviana.
“You are a Telnarian slut,” said Huta, “worthy only, naked and collared, at best, to carry horns of mead to your Alemanni masters.”
“Villainess!” said Viviana.
Huta raised the whip and Viviana lowered her head. Huta lowered the whip.
“Do not think that the men of the Alemanni do not prize the women of the empire,” said Huta.
“Oh?” said Viviana.
“They are fond of their pretty bodies,” said Huta. “Such bodies look well, stripped and collared, crawling about, begging to kiss the feet of their masters.”
Viviana trembled, with rage, but did not speak.
“Some,” said Huta, “sell for as much as two dogs, a horse, or even a gold darin.”
“And the less attractive ones?” asked Viviana.
“We put them in rags and use them to tend our pigs,” said Huta.
“I see,” said Viviana.
“If I had my way,” said Huta, “that is where you would be, save without rags.”
“I see,” said Viviana.
“Are you hot?” asked Huta.
“I do not understand,” said Viviana.
“In the arms of Ingeld,” said Huta.
“I do not understand,” said Viviana.
“On the mattress, or slave mat,” said Huta, impatiently.
“Please do not speak so,” said Viviana, “lest I grow ill, and faint.”
“Ah, yes,” said Huta, “you are a free woman, of course. Forgive me. I was not thinking. Doubtless you are cold now, but, subdued, collared, and trained, perhaps with a taste of the whip, I wager your thighs will steam, and you will beg, and kick, with agreeable helplessness.”
“Beware, offensive slave,” said Viviana, “I shall complain to Ingeld!”
“And he would laugh, and scorn and mock you,” said Huta. “It was he who put you in my keeping.”
“Then,” said Viviana, “I shall complain to his father, Abrogastes, king of the Drisriaks, of the Alemanni!”
Huta stepped back, and laughed. “Abrogastes,” she said, “need not be feared.”
“Why is that?” asked Viviana.
“You need not know,” said Huta.
“You do not treat me well,” said Viviana.
“And why should you be treated well?” asked Huta. “You are shallow, empty-headed, meaningless, lazy, arrogant, vain, petty, and spoiled. While men went hungry in the streets, riots stormed markets, and borders flamed, you lived for garmenture, for gossip, and display, mindful only of gowns and jewels. You were a matter of public embarrassment, even scandal. But, too
, you are the sister of Aesilesius, the emperor.”
“So, too, is my sister, Alacida,” said Viviana.
“True,” said Huta.
“Surely she is as vain and shallow as I,” said Viviana.
“But you are eldest, and thus have dynastic preference,” said Huta.
“How fortunate I am,” said Viviana.
“I myself would prefer Alacida,” said Huta. “She has changed. She is now a hundred times the woman you are.”
“How is that?” asked Viviana.
“She has been in the arms of Hrothgar,” said Huta. “You should see her now, how she surreptitiously touches the sleeve of his jacket, how she hangs upon his every word, how she looks upon him, as might a slave.”
“Surely not!” said Viviana.
“In her heart, she is at his feet, where she belongs,” said Huta.
“She loves a barbarian?” asked Viviana, scornfully.
“Hrothgar is quite taken with her,” said Huta. “He is thinking of sending Aesilesius horses for her,” said Huta.
“So it would be a true wedding?” asked Viviana.
“Yes,” said Huta, “something meaningful, something genuine.”
“I see,” said Viviana, coldly.
“Ingeld loves me,” said Huta.
“A slave?” said Viviana, scornfully.
“In his collar, I am his,” said Huta.
“What of he who owns you, mighty Abrogastes?” said Viviana.
Huta laughed.
“I do not understand,” said Viviana. “Why do you laugh?”
“Kneel, there,” said Huta, “before the high seat! There, head down!”
“Never!” cried Viviana.
Huta snapped the whip, viciously, and Viviana, terrified, hurried to the wooden dais on which reposed the high seat, and knelt down before it, a bit to its left, as she knelt. She kept her head down. She saw the boards of the dais, the long, narrow cracks between them. Too, she saw, as she knelt, a heavy ring fastened in the side of the high seat. To this ring was fastened a heavy chain, terminating with a large, heavy padlock.
Viviana noted that the chain would be within easy reach of an occupant of the high seat. By means of it, the occupant could pull whatever might be fastened to that chain to him.
“Lift the chain,” said Huta, “and kiss it, reverently.”
Viviana lifted the chain in two hands and put her lips to it.
“Kiss it,” said Huta.
Viviana put her lips quickly, angrily, to the chain and then pulled back.
“No,” said Huta, her voice laden with malice, “lengthily, reverently.”
“As a slave?” asked Viviana, angrily.
“Precisely,” said Huta.
Viviana kissed the chain, again, sullenly, as she had been directed, but, suddenly, was startled, as unfamiliar sensations suffused her body.
Huta laughed.
Had she detected some involuntary subtlety, some small acknowledgement of a reality, in the stripped body of fair Viviana?
Viviana trembled.
Had she been betrayed by her body?
Huta set aside her whip and looped the free end of the chain about Viviana’s neck, rather closely, and then, passing the lock’s shackle through two links of the chain, snapped the device shut, closing the loop.
“That is how the women of the empire should be,” said Huta, straightening up, and backing away, “naked, and chained.”
“I am chained,” whispered Viviana, wonderingly.
“Doubtless for the first time in your life,” said Huta. “But do not concern yourself. For any woman who is chained, there is always a first time. And doubtless, pretty Viviana, for you, it will not be the last time. Indeed, as time goes on, you may become quite familiar with being chained.”
Viviana was silent, trying to understand her feelings.
“Now,” said Huta, “who is the true barbarian, I, or you, you who are naked and chained, you who are at my mercy?”
“I hate you,” said Viviana.
“You are not important enough for me to hate you,” said Huta, “but I do hold you in contempt, as a naked, chained, meaningless Telnarian slut.”
“Vile creature!” cried Viviana.
Huta smiled, and picked up the whip.
“I am not afraid of you,” wept Viviana. She grasped, with both hands, the chain that held her by the neck to the side of the high seat in the rude hall.
“This is a whip, a slave whip,” said Huta, lifting the implement.
“What is that to me?” asked Viviana.
“Prepare to be whipped,” said Huta.
“No!” cried Viviana.
“—as a slave,” said Huta.
“No, no!” cried Viviana. “Do not! I will tell Ingeld, the prince!”
“Do you think I would dare do this, without orders?” asked Huta. “I do this on the orders of Ingeld, prince of the Drisriaks.”
“No!” said Viviana.
Ingeld regards you as insufficiently responsive,” said Huta.
“I loathe him!” said Viviana.
“And few orders, you cold, petty, greedy thing, would I obey with more pleasure,” said Huta.
“No!” said Viviana.
“The whip will teach you to be more responsive in the arms of a man, any man,” said Huta. “You will learn you are a woman under its lash!”
“No, no!” cried Viviana.
The lashing was brief, but instructive.
In those few moments Viviana, writhing and shrieking, aflame with pain, though a free woman, came to understand how it was that slaves so feared the whip, why they so struggled to escape its admonishment, why they strove so to please their masters wholly, in all ways.
“You will learn, proud princess, you are a woman,” said Huta.
“Please do not hurt me more,” begged Viviana.
Huta raised the whip again, menacingly.
“Mistress!” said Viviana.
“Better, royal slut,” said Huta.
“Dearest, beloved Mistress!” said Viviana.
“Excellent, Telnarian pig,” said Huta.
“Thank you, Mistress,” said Viviana.
“You will learn to please Ingeld, will you not?” asked Huta.
“Yes, Mistress,” whispered Viviana.
“Good,” said Huta. “Perhaps I will bring you some gruel tomorrow, or the next day, if you beg prettily enough.”
“Yes, Mistress,” said Viviana. “Thank you, Mistress.”
“But you will not please him too much,” said Huta, “for he is mine!”
“Yes, Mistress,” said Viviana. But she knew, in her heart, she would do her best to please Ingeld, and as a slave, he to whom she was wedded against her will, he whom she loathed above all men.
She, though a free woman, had felt a whip, the slave whip.
A woman who has felt it is never again the same.
Chapter Thirty-One
Small, exquisite, red-haired Nika, briefly tunicked and collared, once the slave of the Lady Publennia of the Larial Calasalii, now Filene, or Cornhair, the property of Rurik, the Tenth Consul of Larial VII, of the Larial Farnichi, shuddered, standing outside the heavy, closed portal, reached by one of the long passageways in the imperial palace.
Her body shook.
Tears ran down her cheeks.
Nika was one of six slaves recently brought to Telnar by imperial order. She had been brought from the provincial world, Tangara. Four of the six had been brought from a holding of Julian, of the Aureliani, on Vellmer. These were Flora and Renata, slaves of the emperor, Ottonius, the First; Gerune, the slave of Julian, of the Aureliani; and Sesella, the slave of Tuvo Ausonius, once a civil servant on Miton. The sixth slave, a lithe brunette with a dancer’s body, named Janina,
was owned by the emperor, as well. She had been brought from the forests of Varna, from an encampment of Wolfungs, the smallest of the five tribes of the Vandalii.
“We are here,” said Vandar, the Otung. “This is the portal.” He had been the first, long ago, on Tangara, in the Killing Time, in the Festival of Blood, when he was a young man, to accept meat from the hero’s portion, cut by a giant, blond stranger, one who had wielded a mighty sword, who had dared to bring the pelt of a white vi-cat, knowing its meaning, to the Hall of the King Naming. With him, in the background, stood Ulrich. He, too, had been present on that bloody night when, in the light of the long fire pit, a new king, the pelt of the vi-cat draped about his shoulders, had ascended the throne, the high seat, of the Otungs.
“May I speak?” asked Nika.
“Surely,” said Vandar.
“Will he not show me mercy?” she whispered.
“It has been decided,” said Vandar.
“The king has spoken,” said Ulrich.
Ulrich, too, was an Otung. He was well aware that Otto, or Ottonius, as Telnarians preferred, was emperor. He had, in a sense, been raised upon the shields. The spear, so to speak, had prevailed. He was acclaimed by, and accepted by, the people. Had not the senate, even, celebrated his accession? Yet, an Otung, he thought of Otto less as the emperor of the vast Telnarian Empire, and more as his king, the king of the Otungs, the largest of the five tribes of the Vandalii. Similarly, the Wolfungs, many remaining on Varna, thought of him less as the emperor of Telnaria, and more as their chieftain. Such things, however obscure to outsiders, are clear to tribesmen.
Sobbing, Nika sank to her knees before the heavy door.
Vandar pounded on the door twice, and then thrust a long key into the lock, turned the key, and moved the bolt.
Ulrich seized Nika by the arms and lifted her to her feet, holding her from behind. Without his grasp, she would have fallen. She twisted her head from side to side, as though such a gesture might cast a hideous fate to the side.
Vandar thrust open the door.
Nika screamed in misery.
“Behold, noble Aesilesius,” said Vandar. “The emperor, your friend, protector, and patron, Ottonius, the First, sends you a new toy. Be pleased. Amuse yourself.”
Nika screamed again, and Ulrich thrust her, she stumbling, inside. Within the portal, she recovered her balance, and regarded the scene before her, aghast.
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