The Captain th-2 Page 9

  One was brought, and upon it the princess, reluctantly, took her seat.

  It was quiet in the tent.

  “Let the proceedings being,” said Ortog.

  A clerk came forward, who held a set of three waxed tablets, tied together at the top by string. On such tablets matters may be scraped away, put in other form, rearranged, and such, later to be copied in a proper hand on parchment, to which Ortog might put his sign.

  “The purpose of this court is to dispel scandalous rumors, uncomplimentary to the house of Ortog,” said the clerk.

  There was some laughter from among those of the assembly. There were doubtless several there who had witnessed, though unknowingly at the time, the discomfiture of the princess, Gerune.

  “Or to establish their veracity,” said Ortog.

  There was a murmur of assent to this among the men present.

  Gerune looked up, startled.

  “It is charged,” said the clerk, “that the body of the princess Gerune was, on the fourth day of the codung before last, publicly bared on the ship Alaria, as brazenly as that of an ordinary market slave.”

  “That is false!” cried Gerune, leaping to her feet.

  One of the blond slaves looked at her, with amusement, but kept her hands down, on her spread thighs.

  On most worlds in the galaxies pleasure slaves kneel with their knees spread, as this is a beautiful position and serves, too, to remind them that they are slaves. It also increases a sense of vulnerability in the woman, and is psychologically arousing. In some women this simple position, kneeling, and thusly, is all that is required for the conquest of frigidity.

  “No,” said Otto, his arms remaining folded upon his mighty chest. “It is true.”

  “Do you, Gerune, noble princess, recognize this man?” inquired the clerk, indicating Otto.

  “No!” she cried.

  “That is strange, Princess,” said Otto, “for I recall you well.”

  “Fool,” she cried. “Do you not know the danger in which you stand!”

  “Shall I describe her to you, intimately?” Otto asked Ortog.

  “Beast!” wept Gerune.

  “That will not be necessary,” said Ortog.

  “Permit me to be excused, milord!” said Gerune.

  “No,” said Ortog.

  “I have a grievous headache!” she wept.

  “Sit down,” said he, “woman.”

  The blond slaves laughed.

  “Lash them,” said Ortog.

  The lash fell amongst the former citizenesses of the empire.

  The slaves cried out with misery.

  Men laughed.

  “Enough,” said Ortog, not even glancing at the chastised slaves.

  The leather blade desisted then in its admonitory rebuke.

  The slaves then, in misery, weeping, gasping, shuddering, remained crouched down, keeping their heads to the earthen floor, making themselves small in their chains.

  There was more laughter, that of mighty masters.

  Julian was momentarily embarrassed for the women.

  But perhaps they now understood better that they were only slaves.

  Gerune had resumed her seat.

  Her face was set, angrily.

  She had been furious at the slaves, who had laughed at her discomfiture, laughing at her, clearly, as though she might be naught but another woman, a woman being put in her place by strong men, a woman no different, ultimately, than they. But, even more, she resented the fashion in which she had been treated by her brother, that she was to resume her seat, that she was to remain in the tent, that she was, despite her wishes, to await the outcome of the proceedings. Also, she was alarmed, for she had taken for granted that the court was so arranged that the charge against her, on her word, and on the expected denial of the chieftain of the Wolfungs, who surely was not mad, would be dismissed. But it seemed her word was not being taken as sufficient and, to her amazement, the Wolfung seemed determined to acknowledge his role in the alleged events of the fourth day of a recent codung. She might be a princess, but she was, when all was said and done, only a woman. She, like the slaves, and other women, were ultimately at the mercy of men. This thought, now brought home to her, more clearly than it had ever been before, save, of course, for a particular set of events on the Alaria, disturbed her, and, on some deep level, thrilled her. She was also apprehensive because she now realized that she did not understand, clearly, what was going on about her, or how she figured in these matters. There seemed to be political currents about her, deep, obscure currents which eluded her.

  “The princess,” said the clerk, “denies the allegations involved in the charge.”

  “Yes,” said Gerune, firmly.

  There was some laughter from the assembly. The slaves, their backs striped, kept their heads down.

  “Is he who putatively subjected the princess to this outrage present?” inquired the clerk.

  “There was no outrage. They are all lies. It is only a story,” said the princess.

  “I am he,” said Otto.

  There was a response in the assembly to this claim, one of satisfaction.

  The slaves dared to raise their heads, to look with awe upon Otto, one who had dared to treat a princess as though she might be no more than they, only a slave.

  “Two matters, it seems, must be clarified,” said the clerk. “First we must have assurance that this outrage was committed, and secondly, that he who so boldly claims this deed for his own is he who has that right.”

  “Who amongst you,” called Ortog to the assembly, “has witnessed the matter of the charge?”

  “None has witnessed it, as you can see, milord,” said Gerune.

  “It is my understanding, milord,” said a man, “that we may speak openly and freely.”

  “Such was the custom in the courts of the Drisriaks,” said Ortog, “and so, too, it is in the court of the Ortungs. It is thus among all the Alemanni.”

  “Hundreds witnessed the parade of one whom they took to be a captive or slave,” said the fellow, a tall fellow in a long cloak, with a ring of gold on his upper left arm.

  “But it was not I!” cried the princess. “It must have been another, not I!”

  “More than seventy yeomen have been marshaled outside,” said the man, “who are prepared to supply evidence in the matter, either positive or negative. Too, we have brought together the officer and his men who recovered the woman in question, in the corridors of the Alaria, the woman who, at that time, insisted vociferously and determinedly upon her identity as the princess Gerune.”

  “Dismiss this matter, my brother,” begged Gerune.

  “Bring in some of these men, and the officer and his men, those who recovered she who claimed to be the princess,” said Ortog.

  “Please!” protested Gerune.

  Several men were introduced into the tent, including those who had recovered the woman in question.

  “Hold your head up,” said Ortog to his sister.

  Tears in her eyes, clutching her robes about her, she did so.

  “Examine her closely,” said Ortog to the men. “Make no mistake in this matter.”

  Surely, thought Gerune, they will have been instructed to deny such a damaging identification.

  “Forgive me, milord,” said a man, “but it is she.”

  “Yes, milord,” said another, “it is she.”

  “No!” cried Gerune.

  “I am sorry, milady,” said a man.

  To her misery the men, and the officer and his men, as well, several of whom regarded her with great closeness, clearly intent on responsibly discharging their duty to the court, were unanimous, however regrettably so, in their testimony.

  Gerune paled, and then reddened, under this examination. She felt almost as though she might have been a slave. To be sure, there were many differences. For example, she was not naked, nor was she handled, nor her mouth forced open, that the quality and condition of her small, fine teeth be ascertaine
d.

  “It is she, undoubtedly, milord,” said the last of several witnesses.

  Gerune even remembered some of these men from the trek through the corridors, the jeering tones, the bestial leers, the approving looks, the gestures indicating what she might expect, if she had fallen into their hands, rather than into those of another.

  “Be it accepted then,” said Ortog, “that it was done onto the princess Gerune, on the Alaria, on the fourth day of the codung before last, substantially as was specified in the charge.”

  “Have you no feelings for me, my brother?” asked Gerune.

  “I must seek truth, and do justice,” said Ortog. “I am king.”

  “How you have reduced my value,” said Gerune. “I joined with you for love, fleeing with you and others the hall of our father.”

  “You joined with me, that you would be the highest woman in the Ortungs,” said Ortog.

  “Of what value am I now,” she asked. “How will you arrange my marriage? How will you mate me now to the advantage of the Ortungs?”

  “Such matters are no longer of importance,” said Ortog. “And you have already contributed to the advantage of the Ortungs.”

  “How so, milord?” she asked. “I do not understand.”

  “Proceed,” said Ortog to the clerk.

  “Milord!” protested Gerune.

  “Is he who stands now before you, milady,” asked the clerk, “he who on the fourth day of the codung before last removed, or caused to be removed, your regal habiliments and placed you in bonds more suitable to a slave than a princess?”

  Gerune was silent.

  “Thence, and thusly, marching you, exhibited, through the corridors of the ship Alaria?”

  “No,” said Gerune.

  There was a stir of surprise in the assembly. Otto, too, regarded her with surprise.

  “Surely you desire some terrible vengeance, dear sister,” said Ortog.

  “It was not he,” murmured Gerune, her head down.

  “I do not understand,” said Ortog.

  “She is a woman,” said his shieldsman, who held the golden helmet. “She has felt the ropes.”

  “Strange,” said Ortog.

  Gerune lifted her head a little. Briefly she met the eyes of Otto, who was puzzled. She looked away from him. She then met the eyes of Julian, who, too, was puzzled. She then again lowered her head.

  “I can prove the matter,” said Otto.

  Gerune stiffened.

  “I did as it is thought with the princess,” said Otto, “as it was congenial to my plan for escape from the ship and, as she was a woman, as it pleased me. Her royal garments, too, in accord with my plan, and as it pleased me, and that she might understand herself and her relationship to me better, I put on a slave, one whom I had won in contest.”

  Gerune looked up, angrily.

  Ortog’s face flushed with fury. There was a cry of rage from the assembly.

  The chained slaves stole glances at one another. How pleased they were! How they hated Gerune!

  “These garments were on the slave when we made good our escape from the Alaria,” said Otto. “I kept them.” He pointed to the soiled bundle in the hand of Gundlicht. “Those are the garments,” said Otto. “Let them be examined, and identified. I returned them to your envoy on Varna.”

  Women of the princess were called forth and they, with others, confirmed that the garments were those of the princess, which she had had upon her on the fourth day of the codung before last. Some of these women had even sewn the garments themselves, and others had adorned the princess with them on the day in question. The jewelry, too, by certain merchants, and craftsmen, was identified, some even by their marks.

  “The court accepts,” said Ortog, “that he before us now, he who claims the deeds involved in these matters, is fully and lawfully entitled to do so, that they are, as he claims, his.”

  There was a response of satisfaction from the assembly.

  “You are a fool,” said Gerune to Otto.

  His eyes flashed for a moment, and Gerune, in spite of her position and power, and the men about her, shrank back. She could scarcely dare conjecture what it might be to be alone with such a man, and at his mercy.

  “You are Otto, who claims to be the chieftain of the Wolfungs.” said Ortog.

  “I am Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs,” said Otto.

  “They have no chieftains,” said Ortog.

  “I have been lifted on the shields,” said Otto.

  “We have forbidden the Wolfungs chieftains,” said Ortog. “Surely you know this. The Wolfungs, of the Vandals, are a tribe tributary to their betters, first the Drisriaks, now the Ortungs, and are permitted to exist only upon their sufferance.”

  “Do the Drisriaks know you come for the tribute of the Wolfungs?” asked Otto.

  “As it is explained to me, you refused the tribute,” said Ortog.

  “Yes, they did, milord,” said Hendrix.

  “Yes, milord,” said Gundlicht.

  “You returned, empty-handed, from Varna, bringing no grain, no pelts, no women.”

  “Yes, milord,” said Hendrix.

  “Yes, milord,” said Gundlicht.

  “They had no grain, no pelts?” asked Ortog.

  “They had such things,” said Hendrix.

  “And no satisfactory women?” inquired Ortog.

  “They had some beauties,” said Gundlicht.

  “But they are not now in our collars?”

  “No, milord,” said Gundlicht.

  “The tribute was refused?” said Ortog.

  “Yes, milord,” said Gundlicht.

  “Is this true?” Ortog asked Otto.

  “Yes,” said Otto.

  “Why?” asked Ortog.

  “The Wolfungs are no longer a tributary tribe to the Drisriaks, or the Ortungs,” said Otto.

  “And why is that?” asked Ortog.

  Otto shrugged. “I have been lifted upon the shields,” he said.

  “You are well aware, I trust,” said Ortog, “that our ships could burn away your forests, and destroy the Wolfungs, once and for all.”

  “Some might escape,” said Otto.

  “We could destroy your world,” said Ortog.

  “Who are the Ortungs?” asked Otto.

  “We are Alemanni,” said Ortog.

  “You are not a true tribe,” said Otto. “You have no recognition, no legitimacy. It is only that you have broken away from the Drisriaks.”

  “We have ships, and cannon!” cried Ortog.

  “So, too, have bands of brigands,” said Otto.

  “You are bold,” said Ortog.

  Otto was silent.

  “We could destroy Varna,” said Ortog.

  “But that would not expunge the insult,” said Otto.

  “No,” mused Ortog, “that would not expunge the insult.” He looked at Gerune, who looked away.

  “You would be, I conjecture,” said Otto, “more than a band of brigands.”

  Men cried out, angrily. Some stepped forward, blades half drawn, from the side. Ortog motioned them back. Otto had not moved, but continued to stand, his arms folded across his chest, before Ortog, seated on the dais.

  “Antiquity, and custom, do not, in themselves, bestow legitimacy,” said Ortog.

  “But may be taken as the tokens thereof,” said Otto.

  “The most ancient, and honorable, of tribes must have had beginnings,” said Ortog, “though these beginnings may not have been understood at the time.”

  “Doubtless,” said Otto. “And I doubt not, as well, that at the foot of every dynasty, at the founding of every tribe, though we many not remember him, though his name may be lost, there was once a brigand, or soldier, or seeker of fortune, or pirate.”

  “Lying dog!” cried a man.

  “Do you object?” asked Ortog.

  “No,” said Otto.

  “I see you as such a man,” said Ortog.

  Otto shrugged.

  “We carr
y legitimacy in our holsters, in our scabbards,” said Ortog.

  “It is true that in the end,” said Otto, “there is only the weight of the rock, the point of the stick, the blade of the knife.”

  Ortog looked down at the soiled clothing, the garments, the jewelry, and such, which had been identified as that of the princess. These things lay across his knees.

  “But I have been lifted on the shields,” said Otto.

  “I, too, have been lifted on the shields,” said Ortog, looking up, angrily.

  “But only by renegades,” said Otto.

  “Slay him!” cried a man.

  “Hold,” said Ortog.

  “Legitimacy, in the normal course of things, is an accretion,” said Otto, “bestowed in a moment of forgetfulness, a gift of time, taken for granted thereafter.”

  Ortog did not speak.

  “But sometimes history may be hurried on a little,” said Otto.

  “Speak clearly,” said Ortog.

  “I come before you,” said Otto, “bearing a priceless gift, one I do not think you will care to refuse, the free and uncoerced recognition of the Ortungen as a tribe of the Alemanni nation.”

  Ortog looked closely at Otto.

  “I bring you legitimacy, or the supposition thereof, as though wrapped in a cloth of gold.”

  “That could be weighty, milord,” said the clerk. “The Wolfungs are a traditional and unquestioned tribe of the Vandal peoples.”

  “It is for such a purpose,” asked Ortog, skeptically, “to benefit the Ortungen, that you have entered into the ritual of the challenge?”

  “Not at all,” said Otto. “The Wolfungs are muchly at the mercy of the Ortungen, as hitherto of the Drisriaks. I would change that. It is for that reason that I have issued the challenge. You, or your champion, must meet me in combat. If you, or your champion, are victorious, I shall be slain, the Wolfungs will have no chieftain, which is what you have wished, and things will be as before. If, on the other hand, I am victorious, you will abandon all claims upon the lives and goods of the Wolfungs.”

  “You have done grievous insult onto my sister, the princess Gerune,” said Ortog.

  “Accept then the challenge,” said Otto.

  “I could have you slain now,” said Ortog.

  “But only as a brigand might order a killing,” said Otto.

  “It is the challenge of one chieftain to another, milord,” said the clerk.