“I see,” said Iaachus.
“New blood for the empire,” said Julian.
“The empire totters,” said Otto. “Fear bestrides the times. In what quadrant might dawn the sun of hope? Foreign blood and might, conjoined with sophistication and civilization, might undo a thousand years of diffidence, subsidence, and retreat.”
“It will never be,” said Iaachus.
“And who might arrange, and sanctify, and with what in mind, such unions?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.
“Sidonicus, obviously,” said Iaachus.
“One must not allow the dark, ugly hand of these madmen to cheapen, soil, and pervert life,” said Julian.
“Many will welcome such things,” said Iaachus, “provided it is done in the name of right, of goodness, of justice, of love, and such.”
“What a meretricious pursuit of power,” said Julian.
“Better the fist and blade,” said Otto.
“They, at least, are honest,” said Iaachus.
“But in the world there are many mysteries,” said Otto.
“True,” said Iaachus. “Many things are mysterious. I fear the world does not speak our language, or have us much in mind.”
“If Sidonicus performs the marriages of the Princesses Viviana and Alacida to the sons of Abrogastes, and they have male issue, which, in time, seems likely,” said Tuvo Ausonius, “blood right to the throne will have been established.”
“Too,” said Iaachus, “such an act would much increase and enhance the prestige and power of the exarch, the high ministrant. He is so mighty that he may preside over the marriages of, so to speak, kings and queens. The next claim would surely be that ministrants alone have the right to ratify unions.”
“Quite possibly,” said Julian.
“And the hand of the exarch is laid ever more heavily on the empire,” said Iaachus.
“The sons of Abrogastes,” said Julian, “will further his schemes, as he has theirs. The exarch gives credence and legitimacy to their pretensions, and they, in turn, would lend him the support, and sword, of the state.”
“Would that we had an emperor!” said Iaachus.
“We do,” said Otto.
“A drooling, mindless child,” said Iaachus, “enamored of toys and terrified of insects.”
Otto was silent.
“What is to be done?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.
“The projected marriages must not take place,” said Julian. “We must recover the princesses.”
“We do not even know where they are,” said Iaachus. “They could be on any one of a thousand worlds.”
“Surely on a barbarian world,” said Julian, “one not too far, not too close, a world familiar to the Alemanni and their allies.”
“There may be dozens such,” said Iaachus.
“There are,” said Otto.
“There is little time,” said Julian.
“Let us suppose,” said Otto, “there is a likely world. How would one proceed?”
“Any attempt to extricate the princesses from their predicament,” said Iaachus, “would have to proceed with great delicacy and in great secrecy. This militates against a massive effort, which would be easily detectable and the bungling or clumsiness of which might result in the removal and concealment of the princesses, or, even, worse, Orak forbid, in their loss. This is work for the surgeon’s blade, not the woodsman’s ax. Too, it would seem to me unwise to invest imperial forces in this enterprise. Questions would arise; security might be breached.”
“Mercenaries, then?” said Julian.
“Surely,” said Iaachus. “Mercenaries, trustworthy, fresh from bloody wars, who owe the state much.”
“You have such men in mind?” said Julian.
“Yes,” said Iaachus, “but it avails naught, for we do not even know where to seek the princesses.”
“You will be dealing with barbarians,” said Otto. “I will command.”
“I will accompany you,” said Julian.
“And I,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“I do not understand,” said Iaachus, Arbiter of Protocol. “We do not even know where to look.”
“True,” said Otto. “But there is a likely world, a barbarian world, one not too far, not too close, one known to the Alemanni and their allies, a crossroads world, an assembly world, a rendezvous world, a meeting world.”
“What world is that?” asked Iaachus.
“Tenguthaxichai!” said Julian.
“Yes,” said Otto, “Tenguthaxichai.”
48
Cornhair lay curled at the feet of her Master, Rurik, in the Farnichi enclave, overlooking the Turning Serpent, somewhat northeast of Telnar. A silver chain ran from the ring on her silver overcollar to the ring set in the floor to the left of his thronelike chair, in which he received visitors. Beneath the overcollar she wore a simple close-fitting collar bearing the Farnichi emblem, the five petaled Pin Flower, native to Larial VII. She was not clothed. This was partly, doubtless, because she was lovely, and her Master enjoyed seeing her naked, and partly because she had once been a scion of the Larial Calasalii.
“We await guests,” said Rurik.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“I am curious as to their business,” he said. “It is interesting. They come incognito.”
“Master may have me removed,” she said, “or he may unchain me, and I shall hurry to my cage, and crawl within.”
“You will remain,” he said. “I enjoy displaying you, a pretty slave, once a woman of the Calasalii.”
“As Master wills,” she said. “I am his slave.”
Some days ago Cornhair had been laden with heavy chains and put naked into a wagon. A few hours later the wagon had been admitted behind the first gate of a high-walled enclave. When the gate had been closed behind the wagon, Cornhair was relieved of her chains, and placed, kneeling, on the paving stones between the first and second gate. The officer in charge of the gate guard, which consisted of four men, made his mark on the delivery receipt and the wagon was turned about, and, the gate opened, took its departure. Cornhair heard the gate close behind her, but did not look, as she had been knelt facing the second gate. She saw a small door open in the second gate, which door would permit the passage of only one person at a time. Through this door emerged a fellow clad in normal Telnarian garb, perhaps a constable or bailiff. Dangling from his left hand was an opened collar.
He approached Cornhair and stood before her, and she lowered her head.
“Look up,” he said.
Cornhair looked up.
The collar was held before her.
“Do you know this design?” she was asked.
“It is the five-petaled Pin Flower,” she said.
“It is the mark of what great family?” he said.
“It is the mark of the Farnichi,” she said.
“So it is a Farnichi collar,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair.
“And you are going to wear it, are you not?”
“If Masters please,” she said.
“Assume the posture of a bitch,” he said, “slut of the Calasalii.”
Cornhair went to all fours, her head down.
The collar was then snapped about her neck.
“You are one of the few sluts of the Calasalii who have long avoided the collar,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair.
“But now you are in it, where you belong,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair.
“Wait here,” he said, “as you are.”
“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair.
He then exited through the small door in the larger gate.
As the reader may recall, the Calasalii and the Farnichi, both originally native to Larial VII, maintained private armies, devoted to their interests on more than one world, interests which were occasionally incompatible. These private armies, on more than one world, met in the fierce adjudications of war. Eventually the empire saw fit to intervene, an intervention apparently, at least partly, in response to an invitation of the Farnichi, which saw little profit to be reaped from a continuance of hostilities, hostilities which seemed likely to be indefinitely prolonged, with the obvious diminution of resources on both sides and an ever-mounting toll of burned and gutted cities and towns, and planetwide widths of barren, untilled fields. This invitation to imperial forces, it was rumored, this repast of harmony and conciliation, was sweetened by substantial condiments of Farnichi gold. Surely it was more in the interests of the empire, to restore order, to side with one foe or another, thereby increasing the power and leverage of the favored faction, rather than try to impose its will on two intransigent parties, each of which might, particularly on certain worlds, more than overmatch any imperial cohorts likely to be applied in the appropriate sectors. In any event, abetted by the empire, the Farnichi brought the war to a brief and bloody close. Calasalii forces were disbanded. Calasalii property was confiscated by the state, and divided between the empire and the Farnichi. In this way each of the original Farnichi gold pieces was multiplied several times, an outcome more than justifying the original investment. After the war the Calasalii family was stripped of rank, and the associated perquisites of rank. The family was reduced to the humiliori. Later, as we earlier noted, presumably at the instigation of the Farnichi, who may have had long memories and apprehensions concerning the future, the Calasalii were outlawed, an outlawry kept secret until its consequences were enacted without warning. Men and women of the Calasalii were seized by the state. The men were largely consigned to the mines and quarries, the women to the collar.