“The fleet ones,” said Hunlaki, “the pine deer, the antelope, the tiernik, the gazelle, the spotted forest ram, and such, are swifter than the steers of Tung.”
“But one stroke of the horns of a steer of Tung can disembowel a fleet one,” said Brother Benjamin.
“Doubtless you frequented the library of the festung,” said Hunlaki.
“Yes,” said Brother Benjamin, “but some things are generally known.”
“I will speak for you,” said Hunlaki.
“I will speak for myself,” said Brother Benjamin.
“That is my fear,” said Hunlaki.
“Perhaps I may be able to instruct the Exarch of Venitzia, who, as I understand it, suffers from theological confusions, in the error of his ways,” said Brother Benjamin.
“Allow him to persist in his ignorance,” said Hunlaki.
“I would enlighten him, of course, in a kindly, gentle, loving way,” said Brother Benjamin.
“And pave the way to the burning rack, for both of us,” said Hunlaki.
“Is it not a beautiful thing to die for Floon?” inquired Brother Benjamin.
“Not, really,” said Hunlaki. “You will take a vow of silence.”
“A vow of silence?” said Brother Benjamin.
“You are not permitted to lie, are you?” asked Hunlaki.
“No,” said Brother Benjamin.
“I do not suffer from a similar impediment,” said Hunlaki, “except where those of the camp are concerned.”
“So I am to take a vow of silence?” said Brother Benjamin.
“Yes, but I will set its terms, conditions, limits, and such,” said Hunlaki.
“Would Floon approve of this?” asked Brother Benjamin.
“Wholly,” said Hunlaki.
“I see I am not of the camp,” said Brother Benjamin.
“Do not concern yourself,” said Hunlaki. “A great many are not. Few are so fortunate. I will now fetch you some broth, and you may rest. You must regain your strength.”
“What you propose is exceedingly dangerous, is it not?” asked Brother Benjamin.
“Yes,” said Hunlaki.
“Then I may yet die for Floon,” said Brother Benjamin.
“It is quite possible,” said Hunlaki.
“Good,” said Brother Benjamin.
“For myself, I would prefer to occupy myself otherwise,” said Hunlaki.
“Broth?” asked Brother Benjamin.
“I will fetch it,” said Hunlaki.
51
“Let us in! Let us in!” screamed Viviana, pounding on the stockade gate, outside the compound of Ingeld on Tenguthaxichai.
“Please! Please!” wept Alacida.
“We are cold!” cried Viviana.
“Give us clothing!” cried Alacida.
“We are hungry!” cried Viviana.
“We fear a beast is about!” cried Alacida.
It may be recalled that it was a dark, cold, stormy, windy night when Abrogastes entered the hall of Ingeld. It may also be recalled that the princesses had made known their disinclination, after what must have been a painful interview, to remain any longer the guests of Drisriaks. “Let us go!” had cried Viviana, to which request Alacida had readily and earnestly assented. To this request, as it may also be recalled, Abrogastes had acceded. “Well, then,” he had said, “let us release them.”
Shortly thereafter, at the hands of several willing Drisriaks, armsmen of Abrogastes, the clothing of the princesses had been torn from their bodies, and they had been conducted, stumbling, from the hall, bent over, the hair of each in the rude, tight grasp of a Drisriak armsman, their head held close at his right hip, a familiar leading position for slaves, but scarcely for princesses.
At that time it was still pouring, with a chill rain, and the yard was a sea of mud.
The gate in the palisade was opened, and the princesses were thrust outside. Viviana, we fear, fell. But she was soon again on her feet, and, followed by the weeping Alacida, sped into the darkness. The ground around the palisaded compound was cleared for something like a hundred yards on all sides, a military precaution to make a surreptitious approach difficult, and to provide defenders, on the catwalk behind the palisade, with a clear range of fire. In a few moments the girls, panting, and muddied, particularly Viviana, had made their way through the downpour, and reached the trees of the surrounding woods. It was quite dark. There was, at that time, no light at the palisade. There was, however, an occasional flash of lighting, which suddenly illuminated the terrain, the palisade in the distance, the falling rain, until the darkness fell again, accompanied by closer or more distant rumbles of thunder.
In the woods there was some shelter from the rain, but, given the ferocity of the storm, and the time of year, less than might have been desired. Leaves and branches can only sustain certain weights of rain, until they bend or turn, and the water spills to yet lower branches and leaves, and so on. Eventually much of the water, directly or indirectly, reaches the ground. Too, as it was late fall in this latitude of Tenguthaxichai many of the nearby trees were rather denuded of leaves.
“We have escaped!” announced Viviana, holding her arms about herself, shivering.
“To what, dear sister?” moaned Alacida.
“We can hide in the forest, no one will be able to find us,” said Viviana.
“They may not want to find us,” said Alacida.
“They will not do so,” said Viviana. “Rejoice, dear sister, we have escaped.”
“We did not escape,” said Alacida. “They put us out!”
“We will hide ourselves in the woods, until we are rescued,” said Viviana.
“We will not be rescued!” said Alacida. “No one knows where we are. There are thousands of worlds. Supposedly our absence has not even been made publicly known. It seems plausible, as the handsome, barbarian prince said, that ships remain in their housings. Why should they not? Where would they look for us? The empire must wait for word from our captors, issuing demands for ransom, or such. What else can they do? Surely resources essential to the defense of the empire cannot be randomly and extensively expended, perhaps for months, for years. It would be absurd, insane, inconceivable, suicidal. Indeed, some attempt in force to rescue us might result in our end, either in the attack or at the hands of our captors. We must return to the hall, and beg for admittance!”
“Never!” cried Viviana.
“We will die here, of cold and hunger,” wept Alacida.
“As princesses then,” said Viviana, “as princesses of the royal blood!”
“You think either to be rescued, or that the barbarians will relent,” said Alacida.
“We are prized, we are needed,” said Viviana, “by the empire, by the barbarians.”
“The empire does not need us,” said Alacida. “There are others who bear royal blood, as well, a hundred cousins!”
“The empire will seek us out,” said Viviana. “They dare not risk our mating with barbarians.”
“If we are destroyed,” said Alacida, “either in some massive attack by imperial ships or by the barbarians, it need not be concerned in such a matter.”
“Surely the barbarians need us,” said Viviana, shivering, “to further their vulgar, daring schemes.”
“We are no good to the barbarians, if we are not cooperative,” said Alacida. “The emperor and the senate would never recognize a forced marriage. If we do not accept these suits, we are useless to the barbarians. Do you not understand? They put us out. They will seek other stratagems. It is nothing to them if we should die in the woods!”
“Surely not,” said Viviana, shuddering, holding her arms about herself.
Suddenly branches, scattering chill, drenching water, shook about them, a torrent of wind, from the north, swirling through the crowded, dark trees.
“These are not men of civilization,” said Alacida, “sensitive and courteous, attentive and understanding, trained in etiquette, shaped by convention, who would never dare to let a free woman be displeased or uncomfortable. These are not like the men we know, not men as you think men are. These are barbarians, honestly self-seeking men, unapologetic, determined men, men of enterprise and will, men of decision and deeds, men of the hunt, of the battle, of the ax and sword, men who loathe the empire, and would not care if it perished in flames, men who despise such as we, and, if they cannot get from us what they desire, would view with equanimity our perishing in the woods.”