“And this,” said Julian, “is but one of several similar assortments.”
“Hand it to me,” said Farrix.
“May I not delineate the stones, and their value?” said Julian.
“Give it to me, now,” said Farrix.
“Of course,” said Julian, not pleased.
“Now,” repeated Farrix.
Julian then surrendered the box, reluctantly, to the Teragar Borkon.
Farrix hefted the case two or three times, then looked at Julian, and laughed. “I thought so,” he said. “Do you think this a plausible weight for a handful of stones? Rather, a plausible weight for a handful of stones and something else. The box obviously has a false bottom. How is it opened?”
“Permit me to show you,” said Julian.
“I will manage,” said Farrix. “Think now of horses.”
At this point there was the sound of a startled cry, from the back of the room, near the door. Armsmen spun about. Two of their numbers were slumped to the floor. The flash of a robe, like a banner, was seen. “After him!” cried Farrix. There was the sound of a key in a lock. Armsmen pounded on the door. “Break it down!” screamed Farrix. Julian lunged for the jewel box, but was struck unconscious. A knife was at the heart of Tuvo Ausonius. A moment later the door was forced asunder, and several armsmen streamed through, only to be halted at the further door, that leading to the waiting chamber. “Break it down!” screamed Farrix, again, but this was no easy task, for the barbarian, after turning the key in the second lock, securing the door, had thrust, and braced, against floor rings, in case slaves were being assessed in the room, more than one of the heavy trading tables against the door.
Armsmen flung their weight against the door.
“Open it, open it!” cried Farrix, in fury.
“It is blocked!” said a man.
“We need a ram!” cried another.
“Get it open!” cried Farrix.
One of the armsmen staggered back, grimacing in pain. “My shoulder!” he said. His arm hung useless at his side.
“Call out!” cried Farrix. “Some will hear!”
“There is no one to hear,” said an armsman. “The trading hall is empty!”
“More men!” said Farrix. “Rouse the two louts who let the prisoner escape!”
An armsman hurried to the two slumped figures, and tried to shake them awake.
“Hurry!” screamed Farrix. “Get them up!”
“I cannot do so, Lord Farrix,” said the man, looking up. “Their heads are broken.”
Meanwhile Otto, now walking swiftly, purposefully, made his way through the compound to one of the three small, temporary halls earlier reconnoitered, those serving as provisional quarters on Tenguthaxichai for Abrogastes, Ingeld, and Hrothgar.
“Hold!” cried an armsman, blocking Otto’s way with a spear.
“Victory to Abrogastes!” said Otto.
“Pass,” said the armsman, stepping back.
Otto then strode within the hall of Ingeld.
56
Otto looked quickly about.
Ingeld was not present.
He had hoped to get his hands on the throat of Ingeld.
Ingeld, he was sure, had something of value, even if he did not know its value.
The hall was bare, with few furnishings, only the high seat, and some benches. He saw no chests, no strong box.
Yet the hall had been guarded.
Did that not suggest that something of value might be about?
Otto looked carefully about the hall. However simple, primitive, and bare it might be, there must be a place to sleep, a place to store things.
And in such a place, a place to sleep, a place to store things, might there not be something of value?
Liegemen might sleep about, in their blankets and furs, on the floor, but surely not the liegelord himself.
Otto then noticed a small door, almost concealed in the rude, heavy planking of the wall. Such a door, he was sure, must lead to a small room, a storage room, a sleeping chamber.
He strode to this door, and flung it open.
“You!” cried Huta, spinning about in alarm.
She stood next to a couch, presumably the couch of Ingeld. There was a ring in its foot, but she was not chained to this ring.
“On your knees,” said Otto, “head to the rushes.”
Instantly, the former priestess knelt, thrusting her head, with the long, flowing dark hair cascading about it, to the rude flooring of the small room.
“Do not move,” said Otto, looking about.
“Yes, Master,” said Huta.
Otto saw no strongbox. Aside from the couch, the small room was not much different from the large chamber without.
Otto turned to regard the former priestess.
“She looks well as a kneeling slave,” he thought. “But then what woman does not?”
“Where is Ingeld?” he asked.
“He, Abrogastes, and Hrothgar,” she said, head down, “two days ago, took ship to Telnar.”
Otto clenched his fists, in frustration.
“With two prisoners?” he asked.
“The Princesses Viviana and Alacida,” said Huta.
“Surely it is dangerous for Drisriaks, and high Drisriaks, not agents, to venture to Telnaria,” said Otto.
“Not only to Telnaria, Master,” she whispered, “but to Telnar itself.”
“How can it be?” asked Otto.
“It is arranged through the empress mother and the Exarch of Telnar,” sobbed Huta, suddenly.
“To what end?” demanded Otto, wishing to hear the suspected answer from the slave herself.
“To celebrate the nuptials of the sons of Abrogastes to the princesses,” sobbed Huta.
“What is it to you, a slave?” asked Otto.
“Nothing, Master,” she sobbed. “I am a slave, only a slave.”
“You were taken for the collar long ago, here, on Tenguthaxichai,” said Otto, “in the time of Ortog, by Abrogastes. What are you doing here, in the hall of Ingeld?”
“I hate the princesses!” wept Huta.
“What are you doing here, in the hall of Ingeld?” said Otto, again.
“He did not take me with him!” sobbed Huta.
“Ingeld?” said Otto.
“Yes!” she said.
“What should that matter to you?” asked Otto.
“I love him!” she said.
“But you are a slave,” said Otto.
“Yes,” she said. “I am a slave!”
“By what right then?” asked Otto.
“By the right of a slave, to love her Master!” said Huta.
“Slaves have no rights,” said Otto.
“But we love, we love!” wept Huta.
“You can be bought and sold, like a pig,” said Otto.
“But we love, we do love!” wept Huta.
“You were a priestess,” said Otto, “superior to such things.”
“A collar was put on my neck,” she said. “I learned the weight of chains. I learned to crawl to a man, the switch between my teeth, whimpering for his touch. I learned to love, not as a free woman loves, but as a slave loves, without reservation or qualification, without expectations or demands, to love helplessly, completely, and abjectly, as is appropriate for one who is surrendered, submitted, and owned.”
“As you are here,” said Otto, “I take it that Ingeld is your Master.”
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
“Oh!” she cried, as her head was yanked up, and bent back.
“I cannot read,” said Otto, “but I know the sign of Abrogastes, and the sign of Ingeld. Your collar bears not the sign of Ingeld, but that of Abrogastes. And, could I read, I suspect that the legend on your collar in Drisriak, and that in Telnarian, attest not to the fact that you are the property of Ingeld, but that you are the property of Abrogastes.”
She clutched her collar futilely weeping. “My collar betrays me!” she wept.
“As it would any lying slave,” said Otto.
“Do not kill me, Master,” she begged, putting herself to her stomach and pressing her lips, again and again, piteously, desperately, to Otto’s boots.
Otto stepped back, pulling away from her, and she looked up, frightened, tears in her eyes.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.