The Captain th-2 Page 6

  “It is dark here,” said Julian.

  “One can see well enough,” said Otto.

  The creak of a rope was heard.

  Julian brushed back leaves. His hand was wet. There was the smell of crushed leaves, of wet, dark branches.

  There were many shadows. Rain dripped from the leaves and branches.

  “What manner of place is this?” asked Julian.

  There was at that moment, startling them, as they were now closer to the sound, again the clash of cymbals, and the sound of female voices, raised in song.

  “It is going to clear,” said Gundlicht, looking up, through the branches.

  Beneath the wet, dark matting of leaves, hidden in delicate tunnels, in fragile palaces, dwelt grubs.

  Julian stepped back, quickly, as a filch, its fur slick with rain skittered away.

  “Let us return to the path,” said Otto.

  “Wait,” said Julian.

  He proceeded more deeply into the grove.

  “Ai!” he cried suddenly, for in the darkness, and shadows, inadvertently coming upon it, he had literally struck against it, heavy, feeling the ribs through the fur, the fur wet. He pushed it back. It swung away, heavily. He stepped to the side, avoiding it as it returned to its place, suspended.

  “What is it?” asked Julian.

  “Speak softly,” said Hendrix.

  “Can you not see, Telnarian pig?” said Gundlicht.

  “It is a dog,” said Otto.

  There were several other bodies, too, nearby, and an indefinite number in the grove. The dog’s head was oddly pointed upward, the legs oddly dangling beside the body. The rope was about its throat.

  “There is a sheep,” said Otto.

  “Look there,” said Julian.

  “That is a horse sacrifice,” said Hendrix.

  “And here is a pig, Telnarian pig,” said Gundlicht to Julian.

  The porcine creature hung upside down, holes cut in its rear shanks, through which the rope had been run.

  Its throat was cut open.

  In places only the dangling end of a rope swung free from a branch.

  “Let us return to the path,” said Hendrix.

  It was at that time that they heard again the cymbals, and once more voices, those of women, raised in song.

  “What is the meaning of the cymbals?” asked Julian.

  “They mask other sounds,” said Otto.

  They turned about, and began to make their way back to the path.

  “Wait,” said Julian. “There, look.”

  “Yes,” said Gundlicht.

  “What is it?” asked Julian.

  “Go closer,” said Gundlicht.

  Julian regarded the object dangling from the branch.

  “Do not those of the empire perform sacrifices?” asked Otto.

  “Sometimes,” said Julian. “White bulls, fully grown beasts, with gilded horns and hoofs, such things.”

  “But it is done cleanly,” said Julian.

  The bronze blade, of course, bronze from immemorial tradition, moved swiftly in the sure hands of the priests, and the animal would sink to its knees or side, its head lolling, the lavers, held in the hands of neophytes, filling then with the hot blood.

  “Sometimes it is not so cleanly done, in the arena,” said Otto.

  “Those are not sacrifices,” said Julian.

  “These things are done in the manner of the Timbri,” said Hendrix.

  “We would not do things in this way,” said Gundlicht.

  “I am pleased to hear it,” said Julian.

  “We would have hung them more properly,” said Gundlicht.

  “Of course,” said Julian.

  “Their seeresses came to have influence over Ortog,” said Gundlicht.

  “It had to do with the readings, the prophecies,” said Hendrix.

  “I see,” said Julian.

  “Step carefully,” said Hendrix.

  Some bones, some knobs of vertebrae, and some ribs, like white branches, wet from the rain, lay among the dark, crumbled leaves. To one side there was a skull.

  “The ropes break, in time,” said Gundlicht.

  The eyes of a filch, beady and bright, observed them, peering up from beneath leaves, where it had taken refuge.

  In the grove there was no sound of birds. They were not now active, because of the rain.

  The filch drew back, quickly, under the leaves.

  Such a creature, though an omnivore, and surely not averse to scavenging, would profit little from the grisly trove introduced into its environment. There are temporal limits imposed on viable scavenging for mammalian and mammalianlike creatures. By the time portions of such weights might fall naturally to the leaves, the laws of chemistry would have had their say, producing cadaverine alkaloids. The taste of these is aversive to such creatures, apparently experienced as repelling and abhorrent. Those of their ancestors, or of generative life forms, for whom the taste was acceptable, or even reinforcive, presumably died, poisoned. We leave it to others to ponder on the interplay of that which is found marvelous in the living of it and healthfulness, and that which is found inhibiting, diminishing and depressing in the living of it, and disease and death.

  The party then returned to the path, where a number of Ortungen, from the ship, had been awaiting them.

  Shortly thereafter the sun came out.

  On the ascent, having resumed it, they noted more blood, dark in the gravel. It had washed down, with the water, from above. To be sure, there was not much of it.

  They continued to ply their way toward the top of the path.

  Birds sang.

  These creatures were again, now, active in the grove below.

  They, unlike the filchen, fluttering about, pecking, alighting, had no difficulty in reaching the weights prior to the formation of natural toxins.

  To be sure, the weights were not always without some profit even to the tiny filchen, as bits of matter might fall to the leaves, dropped by birds, perhaps lost in their small disputes, or even worms, or maggots, gorged, bright and swollen, like pearls.

  It was hot now.

  Otto shaded his eyes.

  Water steamed from the flat surfaces of rocks to the side.

  In a few minutes they had reached the top of the path.

  Several bodies lay there, some in the mud, near a cart, others on the cart. Much ropage was wrapped about these bodies. It seemed the bodies were otherwise naked. Their ankles had been crossed and bound. To the crossed, bound ankles of each was attached a length of rope, some ten feet in length. The throat of each was cut, a gash going back, deep into the neck. The eyes of some of these bodies was still open, quite widely.

  “Come along,” said Hendrix.

  The path had, at its height, debouched into a wide, circular area, and near the center of this area there was a small platform, something like a yard high, and, near the platform, was an altarlike structure, of flat stones. Above this structure there reared two vertical posts, one planted on each side of it, with a heavy crosspost lashed in place, high, between the two vertical posts.

  Two Ortungs, from within the clearing, were making their way rather in the direction of the group with which we have been concerned, but actually toward the vicinity of the cart. They dragged a body behind them, which Julian, looking back, saw them turn about, and then leave near the cart, with others.

  There were several individuals near the center of the clearing, some on the platform, some about it, others about the altar.

  “That is our king, Ortog, on the platform,” said Hendrix, “the tallest, he helmed in gold.”

  Otto said nothing.

  He had met the magnificent Ortog before, on the Alaria, on a measure of sand. Ortog had not known the stadium blade. It had not been a good match. The gladiator had declined to administer a death blow. Shortly thereafter the Alaria had come under attack by pursuing Ortung ships.

  From where they were, several yards away, they saw two of the Ortungs drag
a roped man toward the altar.

  About the altar were several women in long, white gowns. Some of these held sistrums and cymbals.

  The man did not protest.

  The sistrums began to jangle.

  Cymbals were poised.

  Ortungs threw a rope, attached to the man’s bound ankles, over the crossbar. The music became more agitated as he was drawn upward, by his ankles, until he hung, head down, over the altar. A curved object lay, flattish, to the right, on the altar. This object, as would be clearly observed shortly, was a large, bronze, sicklelike knife. One of the white-gowned women, she who seemed first among them, threw over her head the hood of her gown, covering her head, as is customary in such a rite. Four other women now crowded close about the suspended figure. They seized the roped body, to hold it in place. Two others brought forth a large bronze vessel, rather like a shallow caldron. It had three clawlike feet. It was carried by two circular rings, or handles, which, when released, hung down, beside the vessel. This low caldronlike vessel, on its clawlike feet, they placed on the altar. The head, as it hung downward, was almost within it, and much of the hair was actually within it, and could not be seen for its sides.

  “Ortog was betrayed some months ago,” said Hendrix. “He was captured by bounty hunters, with the aid of traitors. He was taken to Tinos, an outpost of the empire, and delivered there to his enemies.”

  “Such as this dog!” said Gundlicht, striking Julian, who drew back, angrily.

  “Desist,” said Otto.

  “He is only a half-naked thrall, in rags,” said Gundlicht, puzzled.

  “He is a free man, and with me,” said Otto.

  “You would defend a dog of the empire?” asked Gundlicht.

  “He is free. He is with me.” said Otto.

  “Ortog,” said Hendrix, “was rescued, while being conveyed to Telnaria.”

  “Yes,” said Otto.

  Otto did not mention that there had been no intention of conveying Ortog as far as Telnaria.

  “Do you know who those pigs are?” asked Hendrix of Otto, turning, indicating the bodies, in the mud, and on the cart, behind them some yards, to their left.

  “No,” said Otto.

  “Do you know who that is?” asked Hendrix, turning back toward the altar, indicating the rope-swathed figure dangling head down over the altar.

  “No,” said Otto.

  Then, in the midst of a din of cymbals, the white-gowned, hooded woman, who seemed chief among the others, who was a priestess, of the rites of the Timbri, her head now covered in the folds of her hood, drew back, by the hair, with her left hand, the man’s head, while with her right hand she lifted from the surface of the altar, where it lay near one of the three clawlike feet of the caldron, the large, bronze, sicklelike blade.

  There was a climactic clash of cymbals.

  “It is done,” said Hendrix.

  “It takes some time for them to die,” said Gundlicht.

  Once more Otto and Julian heard female voices raised in song, as they had earlier, on the trail, and in the grove.

  The officiant had now uncovered her head.

  “So who are these men?” asked Otto, looking back.

  “Ortog was given into the hands of bounty hunters, by traitors, and even those he thought his brothers,” said Hendrix.

  “And they were hunted down?” asked Otto.

  “To the last man,” said Hendrix.

  “I see,” said Otto.

  “And he,” said Hendrix, indicating the body dangling over the altar, and the bronze vessel, “was the leader of the bounty hunters.”

  “He died well,” said Otto.

  “And he was only a brigand, not even of a people,” said Hendrix.

  Otto shrugged.

  “I am proud of him,” said Hendrix.

  In a time two men removed the caldronlike vessel from the altar, that which had been brought to it by two women. They carried it to the side, where the two women were waiting. The women removed the lid from a large bronze vat, on a heavy wooden sledge, which would be drawn by chains. Into this vat the men emptied the contents of the caldronlike vessel, after which the women replaced the lid. The two men returned the caldronlike vessel to the vicinity of the altar. The two women in white came then to stand beside it. Other men were lowering the body from the framework at the altar. It was dragged past the group with which we have been concerned. The bloodied hair left streaks on the turf behind it.

  “I did not know the Ortungs practiced the rites of the Timbri,” said Otto.

  “It is the influence of the priestess, Huta, of the Timbri,” said Hendrix, with distaste. “She it is who with her tricks, and the readings, convinced Ortog that he should be king and not prince, who put it into his head that he should found his own tribe.”

  “But you, and Gundlicht, like Ortog, were Drisriak,” said Otto. “How is it that you followed him?”

  “We took rings from him,” said Hendrix. “We would die for him, he is our lord.”

  Loyalties among the barbarian peoples, it might be mentioned, are seldom simple. Seldom, unlike those of more civilized groups, are their loyalties to abstractions, such as institutions or states. Loyalties tend rather to be based on blood and debt, and are owed, in the final analysis, more to leaders, and, derivatively, to lines or families, than anything else. Indeed, it is out of these basic forms of primitive allegiance that the tribal forms tend to emerge. Even in the tribal matrix the primary loyalty is customarily viewed as being owed to one’s lord, the giver of shelter, the provider of loaves.

  There was a sudden howl of misery coming from behind the altar, and a twisting, struggling figure, but one almost totally covered with rope, was dragged into view.

  “Ortog! Ortog!” it cried. “Have mercy on me! Do not hurt me! Do not do this to me! We have played together as children! We have stood back-to-back, as men! Have mercy! Mercy!”

  Ortog raised his hand, to the women, and the cymbals began to clash.

  The mouth of the man continued to move, crying out. Tears streamed down his face. But he could not be heard, because of the sound of the cymbals.

  He was thrown across the altar, and, by the trailing rope on his ankles, hoisted by two men into position, the rope being then fastened in such a way as to suspend him, his head and throat at the convenience of the officiant.

  Otto inclined his head to Hendrix, who spoke to him, his lips close to the giant’s ear.

  “That is Andrax, leader of the conspirators,” said Hendrix. “He has been saved for last, and had been permitted, by intent to watch the fate of his predecessors.”

  Otto nodded.

  The mouth of the suspended man continued to move, frantically, wildly, but it was not clear if sound were being emitted, and was simply not audible because of the din, or if no sound were being emitted, perhaps because the vocal cords had failed him, and there was nothing remaining, then, but the frenzied, terror-stricken, wild movements of a contorted visage.

  Four women came to hold him steady, which they could do only with difficulty. Two other women brought the caldronlike vessel, which had been earlier emptied into the vat on the rude sledge, from the side of the altar and placed it on the altar, as they had before. The women holding the man, as he was taller, pulled his head up and back, and then released it, so that it was then partly within the rim of the vessel. The priestess, once again, with two hands, drew over her head the hood of her gown.

  There was a fiery climactic clash of cymbals.

  The figure then squirmed, twisting on the rope. No longer was there any question of its capacity to utter sound.

  “He is not dying well,” said Hendrix.

  “You are not proud of him,” said Otto.

  “No,” said Hendrix, “in spite of the fact that he is of the people.”

  “He is not of the people,” said Gundlicht. “He is a traitor.”

  “True,” said Hendrix.

  “Are you not all traitors?” asked Otto.

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sp; “We have followed Ortog, who is our lord,” said Hendrix.

  “We are of the people, still,” said Gundlicht, “of the Alemanni.”

  “But not of the Drisriaks,” said Otto.

  “No,” said Hendrix, “not of the Drisriaks.”

  “You do not approve of the rites of the Timbri,” speculated Otto.

  “No,” said Hendrix, “but we abide the will of Ortog, our lord.”

  “And what would you prefer?” asked Otto.

  “The old ways,” said Hendrix, shrugging. “The adz and the block.”

  The officiant had now thrown back the hood of her gown. She had high cheekbones. Her hair was long, and dark.

  “That is Huta, the priestess,” said Otto.

  “Yes,” said Hendrix.

  Once again, then, were the voices of the women, saving that of the high priestess, raised in song.

  “It is over now,” said Hendrix.

  “It is hot,” said Gundlicht.

  “It will be good for visibility,” said Hendrix.

  “Yes,” said Gundlicht.

  The tall figure on the platform, that in the golden helm, turned to regard the group with which we have been concerned. A man beside him lifted his hand.

  “We may approach,” said Hendrix. “Ortog, prince of the Drisriaks, king of the Ortungen, will see you now.”

  “I do not see Gerune, the sister of Ortog, on the platform,” said Otto.

  Hendrix stiffened.

  “She is with the women, in the tents,” said Gundlicht.

  “Remain in the background,” said Otto to Julian, “lest Ortog recognize you, from the Alaria.”

  Julian nodded.

  It was unlikely, however, that anyone who had been on the Alaria would have recognized in the barefoot, ragged fellow at the heel of Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs, the impeccably groomed young officer, in full dress uniform, with purple cords at the left shoulder, of the Alaria. Surely he could be no more than the meanest of servants and was perhaps even a field slave, fit for a collar and kennel at night, and shackles during the day.

  “Come along,” said Hendrix. “Ortog will see you now.”

  CHAPTER 6