The King th-3 Page 4

  Abrogastes lifted his head.

  “The colleagues are in a splendid mood,” said the clerk. “They will be receptive to your proposal.”

  “It is not time,” said Abrogastes. “You have much to learn, yet, of the ways of the Alemanni, of the Drisriaks.”

  The Alemanni nation, as I have mentioned elsewhere, consists of eleven tribes. Representatives of all were present, as well as representatives of many other tribes, and groups, and species. The Drisriaks were the largest and fiercest of the Alemanni tribes. Abrogastes was king of the Drisriaks. The Alemanni nation was indisputably the most powerful of the barbarian nations, particularly since the decimation by the empire of their hereditary enemies, the Vandal peoples. Abrogastes thus, as king of the Drisriaks, occupied a very important position.

  “Yes, milord,” said the clerk, withdrawing.

  “For what purpose has this feast been called?” asked a nobleman, to the right of Abrogastes, of his fellow, to his own right.

  Abrogastes gave no sign that he had heard the question.

  “Perhaps to celebrate the victory of the Drisriaks over the Ortungen,” the first nobleman was told.

  A son of Abrogastes, one named Ortog, had broken away from the Drisriaks, with loyalties from his own retainers, from those who had taken rings from him, to form his own tribe, the Ortungs, or Ortungen. The Ortungs, and their ships, had been pursued relentlessly, and finally apprehended by Abrogastes, first on, and in the vicinity of, the world we know only by its number in the imperial records, 738.2, and later, others, in the vicinity of another world, one whose location, also, is unknown, a world, however, whose Alemanni name survives, Tenguthaxichai, possibly “Tengutha’s Camp,” or “Tengutha’s Lair.” Tengutha, incidentally, is a common name among several of the barbarian peoples, including the Alemanni. Justice, as viewed by Abrogastes, had been meted out on that world, on Tenguthaxichai.

  “I have many sons,” had said Abrogastes. He had then wiped his bloodied knife on his thigh, and returned it to its sheath. His traitorous daughter, Gerune, who had fled the Drisriaks with Ortog, the rebel, had been humbled, disowned, and enslaved. Abrogastes had permitted her to be claimed, and thusly owned, by one whom he had taken to be a tender of pigs.

  He looked about the tables. Yes, he had many sons. Two were Ingeld and Hrothgar.

  Are they loyal, wondered Abrogastes.

  His favorite had been Ortog.

  Hrothgar is simple, and cares for little but drink, and his horses and falcons, thought Abrogastes, and I do not fear him, but Ingeld is silent, and keeps his own counsel. His eyes are restless.

  I have never seen Ingeld drunk, he thought. If one is to be feared, it must be Ingeld. But Ingeld, he thought, did not seem likely to be a giver of rings. Men did not understand him. They did not seek out his hall. He was not, like Ortog, a leader, the likely founder of a line, a laughing, insouciant prince, one for whom hearty men would willingly die.

  “Yes,” said the addressed nobleman. “Perhaps that is the purpose of the feast, to commemorate the defeat of the secessionists.”

  “No,” said another. “That was done long ago, on the ships.”

  “What then is the purpose of the feast?” asked one of the noblemen.

  “I do not know,” said the man who had spoken.

  “It must be of great importance,” said one of the noblemen. “See who is here, so many, from so far!”

  “Yes,” said another.

  “I have many sons,” had said Abrogastes.

  He had then cleaned the knife.

  It was even now in its sheath, at his side.

  It is hard to know, thought Abrogastes, when one might need such a thing.

  “Milord?” inquired one of the noblemen of Abrogastes, the Far-Grasper.

  “Feast,” said Abrogastes, who had heard their conversation.

  “Yes, milord,” said the man.

  “Drink!” called another.

  And one of the former ladies of the empire hurried to him, to humbly, head down, her hair falling about the flagon and vessel, fill the giant drinking horn.

  As she leaned forward, between the feasters, she dared not protest the hand upon her flank.

  Abrogastes looked at the former ladies of the empire serving the feast.

  It was no mischance or coincidence that they were there, and as they were.

  He wanted the feasters to see them thusly, former ladies of the empire, now serving.

  Surely they were no different from other women.

  And surely they were not without interest.

  These things were in accord with his plan.

  To his left, he felt a soft cheek press itself to his boot. He did not, this time, thrust it to the side, angrily.

  He heard a tiny, grateful whimper.

  He felt tender kisses pressed against his foot, through the fur of the boot.

  The pet at his feet, to his left, did not know why it had been brought to the feast.

  It was fearful.

  It whimpered.

  There was a reason, of course.

  Abrogastes gave no sign that he was aware of the pathetic, tender pressings of lips on his boot.

  It is better, sometimes, that such things not be deigned to be noticed.

  That helps the pet to better understand all that it is.

  Later Abrogastes moved his foot to his right, away from the small, soft, chained object at his feet, its head to his left boot.

  As we have mentioned, there was a reason for its presence at the feast.

  It was, too, a part of the plan of Abrogastes.

  CHAPTER 4

  “I am detained, unaccountably,” said Julian, of the Aurelianii, to Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs.

  “I will go ahead,” said Otto.

  They stood on a loading dock, one of dozens at Point North, some nine miles north of Lisle, on Inez IV. Even so, the departure of the ships, several times a day, like thunder, could be heard in the city.

  Men, some carrying burdens, some with carts, hurried about them, under the supervision of officers, placing supplies in the hold.

  “It is unexpected business at court,” said Julian. “I will follow you as soon as possible. Do not proceed without me. Wait for me at Venitzia.”

  Otto had no intention of waiting at Venitzia.

  Hoverers were already loaded.

  “Way, way!” said a longshoreman, parting crowds for a treaded vehicle drawing flat trailers loaded with boxes.

  Too, if it must be known, Julian, even though delayed, had no intention of proceeding directly to Venitzia, the provincial capital on Tangara. It was his intention, rather, to visit an obscure festung village on Tangara, one at the eastern edge of the plain of Barrionuevo, at the foot of the heights of Barrionuevo, one in tithe to the remote festung, or fortress, of Sim Giadini, far above it, massive, but seemingly tiny from the plain, almost invisible amongst the dark, forbidding, snow-capped, cloud-encircled mountains, the heights of Barrionuevo.

  “I will get away as soon as I can,” said Julian.

  Otto nodded.

  The vehicle drawing the trailers passed them, moving toward the cargo hatch.

  Through another hatch, reached from a loading platform below, visible through the grille on which they stood, by means of trailers drawn by rumbling, motorized carts, gigantic drums of fuel were being taken aboard.

  They were on the second hatch level.

  Crew, and passengers, would ascend to the higher level, and board through the smaller entry way.

  “Watch out!” called a man.

  There was a roaring and a scratching and men struggled to lead wild-eyed mounts through the hatch.

  “Be gentle with them!” cried Julian.

  We shall call these creatures horses, for the sake of simplicity.

  Otto snatched a canvas from one of the carts near him and cast it over the head of the first of the skittish animals. It pawed and scratched at the grille, and cast its long-haired head about, beneath th
e canvas, and then stood uneasily on the grille, shifting a little, snarling.

  “Ho, fellow,” said Otto, quietly, patting the creature’s shaggy side, “ho!”

  He then seized the halter, taking it higher than its groom’s grip, near the jowls of the beast.

  “Ho,” he said again, gently.

  “You may take him now,” said Julian to the groom.

  Otto relinquished his hold on the halter.

  The groom then took the halter higher, where Otto had held it, his arm under the canvas.

  The groom then led the unprotesting animal through the hatch, into the ship.

  The beasts behind the first, seeing the first quiet, the contagion of their anxiety thus assuaged, seemingly contentedly, seemingly now unconcerned, followed it into the ship.

  “Put them carefully in their stalls,” called Julian.

  “Yes, sir,” said a man.

  The stalls for such beasts are commonly padded, as they are restless, energetic animals, and may injure themselves when they become active, as, for example, when they smell a female of their species.

  “Where did you learn the business with the canvas?” asked Julian.

  “In the school of Pulendius,” said Otto. “It is a common way of quieting female prisoners. But a blanket, not canvas, is commonly used.”

  “I see,” said Julian.

  “It may be buckled about their waist, tightly, their hands inside.”

  “Of course,” said Julian.

  The blindfold, too, of course, has such virtues. It may not silence the captive, but it tends to reduce her activity, as she does not know where she is, or where she might step, or what dangers lie about her, or, say, what she might strike against, or how she might injure herself if she were to move, and so on. She would not care, for example, to run against spikes or plunge, bound, into a pond of carnivorous eels. If one wishes to silence the captive, of course, a variety of arrangements can manage that easily.

  “Prisoners?” asked Julian. “At the school of Pulendius?”

  “They are rounded up, occasionally. Girls of the humiliori, of course, unless a mistake is made.”

  “I had not heard of this,” said Julian.

  “The practice is not widely publicized.”

  “That is understandable,” said Julian.

  “They are freed later, of course. And given a coin.”

  “Splendid,” said Julian.

  “Do not concern yourself with them,” said Otto. “They are only of the humiliori-and, too, only of the empire.”

  “I see,” said Julian.

  “We are nearly provisioned, sir,” said a mariner, with a manifest.

  “Good,” said Julian.

  “I thought,” said Julian, “that in schools such as those of Pulendius slaves were kept for satisfying the hungers of the fighters.”

  “They are,” said Otto, “and they grow furious when they are kenneled, and the others are brought in, as a change of pace. But it, too, is excellent for the slaves, as it makes them more diligent, and more helplessly needful, and the men, too, of course, after the timid, confused, untutored girls of the countryside, are eager to relish once again the marvelous feel of a true woman in their arms, a gasping, yielding, begging, helplessly aroused slave.”

  “The fuel is aboard, sir,” said another mariner.

  “Good,” said Julian.

  “The captain will be ready for departure shortly,” said a junior officer.

  “Good,” said Julian.

  Two men passed them, with sticks, herding cows.

  Four men followed, carrying poles. At the ends of each pole, balanced, swinging, were cages, filled with cackling poultry. These were destined for the small farms of Venitzia, tiny allotments within its fenced perimeter. In Venitzia an egg was a luxury. Outside the fence, occasionally seen on their mounts, in their furs, with their long lances held upright, against the sky, were Heruls.

  There was a point to the cows, too, of course, as fresh milk, like eggs, was a luxury in Venitzia.

  Outside the fence, as I have mentioned, were Heruls.

  Behind these men came others, other pairs, each pair here carrying, supported between themselves, a single pole, from which dangled, upside down, lines of the plucked, gutted bodies of similar fowl, these tied together in pairs, the narrow, scaled, clawed feet of each pair fastened together by string, the pair then thrown over the pole, held in place, swinging, by the string joining their feet.

  Quantities of dark-brown leaves of salted meat, baled with cord, went past, on carts.

  Great slabs of meat, too, were brought to the ship, on the shoulders of brawny porters.

  Much had already been loaded, such as casks of water; boxes of eggs, layered, cushioned in straw; tins of biscuits and bread; blocks of cheese, bearing the imprints of the manufacturers; butts of oil; crates of dried fish; potted ducks; spices; almonds; dates; sugar; confections; condiments; hampers of vegetables; barrels of fruits; skins of cheap wine, amphorae of fine wines; and quantities of butter, salt, and flour.

  “Tenting, charcoal, weaponry, ammunition, parts?” asked Julian. “Fodder and food for the beasts? Fuel for the hoverers?”

  “Yes, sir,” said a mariner.

  There was a squeal from within, ringing out from the metal, of one of the mounts, or horses.

  “Be careful in there!” called Julian.

  Otto had learned to ride such beasts near one of the holdings of Julian, a small fortresslike holding in the northern hemisphere of Vellmer.

  He had learned to master them with the bit and bridle, and quirt.

  It was at that holding that Otto had received his commission as a captain in the imperial auxilia, or auxiliary forces.

  Such beasts were not uncommon on Tangara, being ridden by peoples such as the Heruls, and, some said, the Otungs, one of the five tribes of the Vandals.

  We pause to remind the reader that the Ortungs, under Ortog, their king, were a secessionist tribe from the Drisriaks, and were decimated and scattered by Abrogastes. They are not to be confused with the Otungs, which was the leading tribe of the Vandal peoples. Five tribes, with their associated clans, constituted the Vandal nation. These tribes are the Darisi, the Haakons, the Basungs, the Wolfungs, and the Otungs. We apologize, incidentally, for what may seem the unnecessary reiteration of such particulars. We trust that the reader does not find this offensive. Surely it is not our intention to impose upon his patience. But we have noted that such matters are occasionally confused even in the imperial records.

  A single, shrill note sounded in the vicinity of the ship, from a device on the port master’s tower.

  Men lifted their heads, and looked to the tower. Many, below, visible through the grille on which they stood, backed away, though they were yards from the flat bottom of the blackened cement well, dozens of yards thick, below the ship.

  “It is the first warning,” said Julian.

  Below, visible through the grille on which they stood, at the level below, the lower hatch slid shut.

  “You must soon be aboard,” said Julian.

  “What is wrong?” asked Otto.

  “Ensign,” said Julian.

  “Yes, sir?” said the officer.

  “The lading is not complete,” said Julian.

  The ensign regarded him, startled.

  “It is not complete,” said Julian.

  The officer, puzzled, consulted his records, and his markings on them, added throughout the afternoon.

  The officer looked up.

  “There are some sheep, some goats, some pigs,” he said, “but they will be brought on momentarily.”

  “Your manifest is not complete,” said Julian. “Summon the chief supply officer.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the ensign, and hurried away, for the first warning had already sounded.

  There had already, with the first warning, been a change in the activity on the quay. It was much more subdued now. Fewer came and went now through the second hatch. Many now,
their work finished, stood or sat about, some on their carts and vehicles. This was not unusual, that they would linger for a time, to see the departure of the ship. Too, in the distance, one could see colors, and flutterings, at the railings. Individuals from the city, nearby Lisle, sometimes came down to the quays to watch. The departure of such a ship, an imperial starship, even of the freighter class, is an awesome sight.

  “I fear the intent of our mission to Tangara may be more widely suspected than I feared,” said Julian to Otto.

  “Why do you say that?” asked Otto.

  “There were two manifests, of course,” said Julian, “the public manifest, filed with the port officer, listing supplies, vehicles, mounts, ammunition, and such, typical supplies for an expedition supplying and reinforcing Venitzia, outfitting scouting expeditions, conducting small-scale reprisals and such, and the second manifest, which was classified.”

  “And what was its import?” asked Otto, puzzled.

  “Trade goods, gifts, and such, of course,” said Julian, “to smooth your way among barbarians.”

  “I am a barbarian,” said Otto.

  “But you come in the rank of an imperial officer,” said Julian.

  “It might be better, at first, if they did not know that,” said Otto.

  “You will need gifts, to interest them, to make yourself welcome,” said Julian.

  “No,” said Otto.

  Behind them men were hurrying a small number of sheep through the second hatch. Following them were other men, bringing four pairs of goats.

  Within the hatch a mariner was hastening them forward, with gestures.

  Julian regarded him, irritably.

  “I am not an ambassador, not a merchant,” said Otto.

  “What then are you?” asked Julian.

  “One who is chieftain of the Wolfungs,” said Otto, “one who was lifted upon shields.”

  “Without gifts, you will not be accepted,” said Julian.

  “The time for gifts,” said Otto, “is after one has been accepted.”

  “You do not understand barbarians,” said Julian.