“She is Viviana,” said Aesilesius.
“No, Master,” said Viviana.
“I met Viviana,” said Rurik, Tenth Consul of Larial VII, of the Larial Farnichi. “She was, in my assessment, forgive me, young friend, very different from this woman, who is obviously a slave, indeed, a natural slave. Viviana, as I recall her, was cold, stiff, awkward, selfish, short-tempered, vain, loftily spoken, contemptuous of inferiors, and concerned with little but her greed, pleasures, gowns, and jewels. This woman, on the other hand, is soft, feminine, graceful, and, doubtless, not only slave beautiful, but, I suspect, slave responsive.”
“‘Slave responsive’!” said Aesilesius. “She would not dare be so.”
“She may, and must,” said Rurik. “Do you not note the collar locked closely about her lovely neck.”
“It is true,” said Aesilesius. “This woman is very different.”
“Let her be gambled for,” said a man.
Aesilesius stepped back and looked about the table, and to Otto and Abrogastes, and then replaced the shawl about his shoulders, and resumed his seat. “Yes,” he said. “She is very different. She cannot be Viviana. Let her be gambled for.”
Several of the men expressed approval, uttering sounds of satisfaction. Two struck the table with their fists.
“Do you wish to draw a slip from the bowl, to join in the gambling?” asked the manipulator of the silver cups.
“No,” said Aesilesius.
“On your feet, slave,” said the manipulator of the silver cups. “Put your hands behind your head. Turn slowly.”
“Ah,” said more than one man.
Several of those present then hurried to join the line at the bowl, to draw forth, each in turn, slips, these marked with the numbers which would determine the order of the gambling.
Viviana, tears in her eyes, then stood still, lithe and slender, her head up, and her arms at her sides.
“It is they who are betting,” thought Viviana to herself, “but it is I who have lost, and I who have won.”
The manipulator of the silver cups reached to the cups.
At that moment there was clearly a disturbance of sorts in the great hall, cries of fear, anger, awe, and outrage, stirrings of guests coming to their feet, a cessation of music, a sudden absence of the sounds of dinnerware, an abeyance of the murmur of discourse and laughter, a woman’s scream, all this detectible through the still-opened doors of the emperor’s dining chamber, through which Aesilesius and Nika had entered, and through which the free women and other guests had taken their leave.
A tall figure stood framed in the portal.
Otto, Abrogastes, and Ortog rose to their feet.
Angrily, the tall figure in the portal shook himself loose from the two guards who held him.
“He is unarmed, your majesty!” called one of the guards.
“Let him approach,” said Otto.
The tall figure strode forward and then stopped, and stood still, his large arms folded across his chest.
On the table a slave lay prone, unconscious.
“We are honored by the presence of a prince of the Drisriaks,” said Otto.
“Ingeld,” said Iaachus.
Chapter Ninety-Three
“Torture!” cried a man.
“Ropes, irons!” cried others.
“Let the execution be public, and lengthy!” cried another.
Otto held up his arms for silence.
Ingeld regarded those who had cried out. In his eyes was contempt.
“We have sought you,” said Otto.
“He came alone, unarmed, to the steps of the palace, ascended them slowly, came to the great portal and made himself known, and demanded to be brought into the presence of the emperor,” said a guard.
“We determined he was unarmed, and then complied with his wish,” said another guard.
“Even so,” said another, “few would come near him, though he bore no arms. Conducted, he made his way through the tables. Men drew back. None approached him. We lay hands on him only at the entryway to the dining area, where he made it clear, disdaining our clasp, he did not care to be touched.”
“You have surrendered,” said Iaachus.
“I am your prisoner,” said Ingeld. “I have not surrendered.”
“He could not escape the city,” said Iaachus.
“I could have slipped away, a hundred times,” said Ingeld.
“How is it that you have come here?” asked Julian.
“My cause is lost, my war is done, my banner is furled, my sword is put aside,” said Ingeld. “I will not hide, as might a filch.”
“Bring chains,” said Otto.
“We acknowledged the wisdom of your flight,” said Ingeld. “We searched for days, only to discover you were at our elbow, so close as the house of the senate. It was clever of you to conceal yourselves almost within our grasp, where you would never be suspected. We did not understand, however, your surrender in the house of the senate. How odd that seemed for an Otung, not to die armed and fighting, but to surrender, to gain some days of shameful life, before the humiliation of a public execution. That seemed cowardice, a forfeiture of honor, a braving of the contempt of enemies. We did not realize until the day of the square the meaning of your ruse, the waiting, the winning of time. And who would have anticipated a conjoint action of Otungs and Heruls, blood enemies for centuries? We did not understand, until too late, the nature of the wager, even that there was a wager. You gambled; you won.”
In the presence of the guests, and slaves, Ingeld was shackled, hand and foot.
“It is pleasant to have one’s enemies thus,” said Rurik, Tenth Consul of Larial VII, of the Larial Farnichi.
“Conduct him to the side,” said Otto, “to the place where a slave danced, near where I put my chair, when considering the request of a Herul.”
Ingeld then stood in the dancing square, the place specified.
“Let a military court be convened,” said Iaachus.
Otto, Abrogastes, and Ortog resumed their seats.
“The supreme judge in the empire is the emperor,” said Titus Gelinus.
“Let it be burning irons, the flaming slivers, the thin needles!” said a man.
“The flesh saws,” said another. “The gouges, the thousand hooks, the scrapers!”
“Remove the skin, a ribbon at a time,” said another.
“Dangle him in a vat of tiny fang fish,” suggested another. These small fish were almost transparent until they fed.
“Stake him out, for filchen,” suggested yet another.
“Run him for dogs,” said another.
“No! No!” screamed a woman’s voice.
“A slave!” said a fellow, startled.
A distraught figure, slender, collared, blue-eyed and blonde-haired, in the brief, white, silken, degrading tunic of one of the girls from Varick’s Market, raced from the side of the table from which she had descended when she had recovered consciousness, and threw herself on her knees between Ingeld and the head of the table. “Be merciful, great Master, kind Master,” she cried. “Spare him! Be merciful! I beg it! Mercy! Mercy!”
“Who dares to interfere?” said a man.
“A slave,” said another.
“A beast, dabbling in the affairs of the free?” said a man.
“Strip her, rope her, and whip her,” said a man.
“Please, Master, be merciful!” said the slave.
“Take her to the kitchen and beat her,” said a man. “Let her remember that she is a slave.”
Ingeld looked away from the slave, angrily.
“This prisoner,” said Otto, rising, “betrayed, and would have had slain, his father, a king, and his brother, a prince. He is cunning and unscrupulous. He would have assumed the high seat of the Drisriaks, first
tribe amongst the Alemanni, and by means of conspiracy, subversion, and revolution seized the throne of Telnaria. Whom would he spare, what could restrain his greed, what could excuse or mitigate his treachery, what could limit his ambition?”
“Show him mercy!” begged the slave.
“Who begs on his behalf?” asked Otto.
“A poor, miserable slave,” wept Viviana, “but one who was once Viviana of Telnar, sister of Aesilesius, of royal blood!”
“Viviana!” cried Aesilesius, rising from his place at the table, tearing off his dinner shawl, and rushing to the side of the slave, over whom he cast the shawl.
“She is a slave,” said Otto, sternly. “Do not cover her.”
“Your majesty!” protested Aesilesius.
“Remove the shawl,” said Otto.
Aesilesius drew away the shawl and looked away from the slave.
“The slave is not Viviana,” said Ingeld. “I know the princess. This slave is not she. This is a lying slave. Take her away, and beat her.”
“No, Ingeld!” she wept. “Do not deny me!”
Ingeld turned to her, fiercely, and looked down upon her.
“Forgive me, Master!” she cried, frightened.
“I am shackled,” said Ingeld, angrily. “Punish this insolent, presumptuous slave, who dared address a free man by his name.”
A guard, at a nod from Otto, seized Viviana by the hair, she on her knees, and turned her to face him.
“Six strokes,” said Ingeld.
“No!” cried Aesilesius.
“Do not interfere,” said Otto. “Surely you can see there is a collar on her neck, and a palace collar. She is thus not only a slave, but a property of the state.”
“Six strokes,” said Ingeld.
The guard then struck Viviana six time across the face and mouth, first with the palm of his hand, and then with the back of his hand. Her cheeks burned and there was blood at her lip.
“Thank him, and suitably, for instructing you,” said Otto. “And be grateful you were not whipped, as you should have been.”
Viviana put her lips to the guard’s feet, kissing them.
“No!” cried Aesilesius.
“Thank you for instructing me, Master,” said Viviana to the guard.
“No!” said Aesilesius.
“Do not interfere with the discipline of a slave,” said Otto.
Viviana then crawled to Ingeld, licking and kissing his feet.
“Stop!” said Aesilesius.
“Do you truly not know me, Master?” she wept.
“Who is this importunate, meddlesome slave?” Ingeld snarled.
Viviana’s blonde hair lay about Ingeld’s boots.
“Take her away,” said Ingeld.
The guard drew Viviana back from Ingeld. She lay on her belly, sobbing, a yard from where he stood, on the dancing floor.
“Get up, be on your feet!” said Aesilesius.
“I dare not,” said Viviana. “I am in the presence of free men. Forgive me, Master.”
“Do not call me ‘Master’,” said Aesilesius.
“I must, Master,” she said, her face streaked with tears.
“She is not a slave!” said Aesilesius, turning to Otto.
“You are mistaken, my friend,” said Otto. “She is a slave, clearly, a palace slave, a property of the state.”
“No!” cried Aesilesius.
“You see the tunic, the collar,” said Otto. “Do you wish me to command her to reveal her thigh to you, that you may see the mark, burned there, the slave rose?”
“No!” said Aesilesius.
Abrogastes then rose to his feet. “The prisoner,” he said, “is a Drisriak. I am king of the Drisriaks.”
Ingeld stiffened.
“The prisoner is a prisoner of the Telnarian state,” said Otto.
“While we are dealing with recreants, culprits, and traitors,” said Abrogastes, “I might request consideration, a favor.”
“He, the other, will be shackled and brought forth,” said Otto.
“Two defendants may figure in the same action,” said Titus Gelinus, “though the charges differ. This is supported by ample precedent.”
“Your majesty,” said Aesilesius.
Otto turned toward Aesilesius.
“If she is truly a slave,” said Aesilesius, indicating prone Viviana, “give her to me!”
“No,” said Otto.
“Then let me buy her,” said Aesilesius, “to free her, instantly, and restore her to her dignities, honors, and privileges.”
“Despite her shame?” asked Otto.
“Even so,” said Aesilesius.
“You would forge weapons for dissidents, waiting to seize them?” asked Iaachus. “You would risk outrage, retaliation, revolution, divisions of populations, the loss of the empire?”
“We could seclude her in the palace,” said Aesilesius. “Let her not venture beyond its gates. Let her be confined to her quarters. None need know of her shame. She may live with it, alone. Nothing need proceed beyond troublesome, unverified rumors. Let this be kept a private affair.”
A wordless utterance of distress and protest escaped Viviana, prone on the smoothed, polished boards of the dancing square.
“Sell her to me,” demanded Aesilesius, “that I may free her, that her shame be wiped away.”
“Such shame can never be wiped away,” said Iaachus.
“That it be concealed then!” said Aesilesius.
“Such an approach might prove feasible,” said Iaachus.
“Sell her to me,” insisted Aesilesius.
“She is a slave,” said Otto. “She remains in her collar.”
“Am I not your ally, your friend?” asked Aesilesius.
“I trust so,” said Otto.
“Then!” said Aesilesius.
“She remains in her collar,” said Otto.
Shortly thereafter there was a cry of misery, presumably from the kitchen or one of the pantries off the corridor leading to the dining area.
“Corelius is being fitted with shackles,” said Otto.
“I have come here voluntarily,” said Ingeld. “I am owed something for that. Let me then die as I wish, armed, at the hands of a professional killer, at the hands of the scourge of a hundred arenas on a dozen worlds, at the hands of the Wolf of Tangara, at the hands of the Lion of Varna, not at the hands of a Telnarian hangman or headsman, but at the hands of one like myself, of the forest, a hereditary enemy, a traditional foe, an Otung, even though, hair short and clad in robes, he sits upon a throne.”
“You have not earned a quick death,” said a man.
“Let the emperor not stain a blade with dishonorable blood,” said another.
“I am willing,” said Ingeld, “to do battle with any champion, or champions, of your choice, even though I be weighted and ill-armed.”
“He craves a merciful execution,” said a man.
“Whatever else I might be,” said Ingeld, “I am a prince, a prince of the Drisriaks.”
Corelius, pale, trembling, shackled, was conducted forth, to stand beside Ingeld.
“Put that one, the lowly one, on his knees,” said Otto.
Corelius was thrust down to his knees.
“We have two prisoners before us, one standing, one kneeling,” said Otto. “Their crimes are well known, their guilt transparent.”
“Mercy!” begged Corelius.
“I ask for no mercy,” said Ingeld, “nor do I expect any.”
“You will receive none!” cried a fellow at the table.
Viviana moaned.
“Great Abrogastes,” said Otto, “had you been granted custody of this prisoner, Ingeld, prince of the Drisriaks, this prisoner of the Telnarian state, how might he be dealt with, given the just
ice of the Drisriaks?”
“I have something in mind,” said Abrogastes.
A burst of anguish escaped Viviana.
Ingeld had not flinched.
“To act against one’s own father and brother,” said Otto, “is to betray one’s own blood. That seems more heinous than those who might, for gold, betray states or strangers.”
“Yes, yes!” said Corelius. “My faults, if any, do not compare. They are few, and surely less! I beg mercy!”
“Yet,” said Abrogastes, “Ingeld was consistent, in seeking his own advancement and power, brilliantly and with cunning, no matter the cost. I see him as a son of mine, as I see Ortog, as well, sons capable of mighty things and towering ambitions. This kneeling wretch, Corelius, fittingly in the tunic of a slave, in his diverse treacheries, sought not kingdoms and an empire but only gold, like a cheating peddler or dishonest merchant, his crimes not mitigated by the lure of vast temptation, not redeemed by breadth or vision.”
“Thus his crimes are less excusable,” said Otto.
“No!” cried Corelius.
“And his punishment should be more dire,” said Otto.
“No, no!” cried Corelius.
“Give him to me,” said Abrogastes.
“I may,” said Otto.
Corelius shrieked with fear.
“It is interesting, Otung, how you speak of justice,” said Ingeld, “you who deposed a child, subverted a senate, and seized a throne.”
“A difference exists between us,” said Otto. “I was successful.”
“Yes,” said Ingeld.
“No,” said Iaachus. “There was no choice. It was necessary, to save the empire.”
“There was an infant,” said Ingeld, “proposed as the child of the Princess Viviana, the child to be emperor, I, its putative father, to rule as regent until his majority. What became of it? Was it cast into a carnarium?”
“We found it,” said Otto. “It was healthy. It was sent away, to be safe and cared for, to be free of the tumults and dangers of politics. It need never fear the assassin’s knife. It will never know what might have been. No records were kept.”
“Proceed,” said Ingeld. “We must, perforce, abide your decision.”
“No!” cried Corelius. “Mercy!”
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