The Usurper (45 page)

“I do not understand,” said Julian.

“It might be politic for successful barbarians, if they wish to preserve the empire, to place a tool upon the throne, one which might preserve the illusion of continuity and stability.”

“One of high family, such as the Aureliani?” said Julian.

“Such things are not unknown in statecraft,” said Iaachus.

“In the forest,” said Otto, “such an insult would call for knives, and entry into the circle of death, from which only one contestant might leave alive.”

“My dear Ottonius,” said Iaachus, “I fear, in any such contest, I would be ill matched even with dear Julian, let alone with one such as yourself. In any event, we are not in the forest, but in the imperial palace in Telnar, with several guards within easy summoning distance, and, even if we were in the forest, I think I would prefer not a knife but a pistol, much as the one I now draw from the desk.”

“I came here in good faith,” said Julian, “that I might inform and be informed, and that we might engage in consultation. I assume that we both, in our ways, care for the empire.”

“I, at least,” said Iaachus.

“I, as well,” said Julian.

“You are spies,” said Iaachus, “testing resolve, assessing defenses, scouting for Abrogastes.”

“No,” said Julian.

“Clearly you are in league with him,” said Iaachus. “That is made evident by your presence here. No ship has penetrated his blockade.”

“One did, mine,” said Julian. “We were fired on in our passage, and disabled. We crashed in the delta of the Turning Serpent. We came west on a keel boat.”

Otto tensed.

“Do not move,” said Julian.

“I place you under arrest,” said Iaachus, “as enemies of the throne. As for your lord and ally, Abrogastes, he will be shortly destroyed, or in custody, as imperial cruisers approach from all quadrants.”

“Abrogastes is not our lord and ally but our common enemy,” said Julian. “If you were more familiar with barbarians you would know they are complex and diverse. Do not expect them to run about in skins and drink
bror
. Some speak several languages. Some design weapon systems. Some are at home on the bridges of Lion Ships. Abrogastes is the king of the Drisriaks, a tribe of the Aatii, or, as they know themselves, the Alemanni; Ottonius is the king of Otungs, a tribe of the Vandal peoples, and the Alemanni and the Vandals are hereditary enemies.”

“Where did you conceal your ship?” asked Iaachus.

“In the courtyard of the palace,” said Julian. “In the emperor's play garden. In the wardrobes of the imperial princesses. In the private quarters of the empress mother.”

“Come now,” said Iaachus.

“Look for it in the marshes of the delta, where it crashed,” said Julian.

“As you will, dear traitors,” said Iaachus. “Quarters will be arranged for you. I trust they will be to your liking. I shall now summon guards.”

At this moment there was, far off, a series of explosions.

“Do not move!” said Iaachus.

There was a heavy, frenzied pounding on the door of the chamber, and then it was thrown open, and a courtier, distraught and wild-eyed, was framed in the portal. “Exalted Lord,” he cried, “barbarians are in the streets, they approach. Guardsmen, poorly armed, flee. Rioters and looters, in their crowds, at first at ease, noncognizant, and complacent, fearing nothing, then startled, terrified, running, are fired on. Hundreds lie bloody in the streets.”

“Resistance?” cried Iaachus, standing, dazed, lowering the pistol.

“Little or none,” said the courtier. “What are bows and blades against the rumbling engines of war?”

“It cannot be!” said Iaachus. “The batteries!”

“The city batteries did not fire!” said the courtier.

Iaachus looked wildly at Julian and Otto.

“We know nothing of this,” said Julian.

“One can hire loyalty,” said Otto, “one can hire disloyalty.”

“Put away your pistol,” said Julian. “See to the safety of the emperor, the royal family.”

Iaachus raised the pistol, leveled it at Julian and Otto, and then lowered it.

“Hurry!” urged Julian.

There was another explosion, this one much closer.

“Hurry! Hurry!” said Julian.

“They are at the gate!” cried the courtier.

Chapter Forty

Cornhair lay on her left shoulder, on the steel flooring of the motorized vehicle. Her wrists were still tied behind her but now, looped within a thrice-circled cord, her ankles were fastened together.

“We cannot have you wandering about,” had said one of the vehicle's crew.

“No,” Cornhair thought, “you have seen to that. I will remain where you have put me, helpless.” Slaves, of all women, are most aware of their sex, for the sex of both men and women is defined most clearly by the relation of each to the other, the larger and stronger to the smaller and weaker, the taker to the taken, the captor to the captive, and so on. These relationships are, of course, much accentuated and intensified in the institution of bondage. As Master the man is most male, and, as slave, the woman is most female. Slavery permits the woman no lies or pretenses, no falsifications of her nature. She is at a man's feet, where she belongs.

Although Cornhair had initially been quite distressed at the thought of approaching the palace, where she might encounter those who had known her as the Lady Publennia, particularly Iaachus, the Arbiter of Protocol, whom she had failed so signally in her attempt to assassinate a barbarian captain of auxiliaries, she was now far less concerned, as it seemed unlikely that such a harrowing encounter would take place. Who but barbarians would note her as she was, a mere tethered prize in a vehicle? And even if Telnarians, common citizens and such, should gaze upon her, they would see no more than what she now was, a common slave.

Cornhair lay quietly amongst the booted feet of the barbarians.

“That is the palace,” said one, pointing, standing on the level which permitted him to look over the slitted metal visor half circling the vehicle.

“It will be pleasant to own the empire,” said another.

“Rather, destroy it,” said another. “Burn it. Break it, world by world! Tear it down, stone by stone.”

“See the palace,” said another, impressed, “the portico, its columns, the steps, the pediment, the great portal, the sculptures.”

“There are many buildings about the great court,” said another.

“Fountains spraying colored water,” said another.

“Scented water,” said a man.

“So where are our noble Telnarians, so brave with their sticks and torches?”

“Fled, or resting in the streets, flooded with their blood,” said another.

A fellow laughed.

“What building is that?” asked one of the men.

“How should I know?” said another.

“Oh!” said Cornhair, the side of a boot striking on her thigh.

“Do you know Telnar?” asked the fellow whose boot was still at her thigh.

“She will know nothing,” said one of the men. “She is an outworlder, probably from Varna or Tesis II. She is stupid, too; they were going to garbage her outside the city.”

“A little, Master,” said Cornhair.

She was caught under the arms and lifted up, tied as she was, by the fellow whose boot had honored her with the attention of a free person. He then placed her on his shoulder, steadying her with one hand. In this fashion, she was held high, well over the slitted metal visor. Doubtless she would have preferred a less conspicuous ensconcement.

“There,” said the fellow, facing a building, pointing with his left hand.

“The senate house,” she said, “the supreme power in Telnaria.”

“Does it launch fleets, does it march armies?” asked a man.

“No, Master,” said Cornhair.

There was laughter.

“Beyond that, Master,” said Cornhair, “are houses of documents, of deeds and wills, the house of administration, that of law, the housings of the high courts.”

“What blackened shell of a building is that?” asked another, pointing.

“It was the temple of Orak Triumphant,” she said. “Emperors sacrificed there. Offerings were burned at the foot of the steps, that the temple not be stained, a hundred white bulls with gilded horns, the incense and smoke detectible for miles about.”

“It is now a hollow, burned shell,” said a man.

“It fell upon bad times,” said Cornhair.

“Look!” said a fellow, pointing back, beyond the broad court.

“Conceal the slave,” said another.

Cornhair was lowered to the floor of the vehicle. She drew up her legs.

“Lie still,” said one of the men.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

Cornhair heard cheers, cries of pleasure.

A large vehicle rumbled past. Turning about, she saw little more than a pennon atop a supple, swaying, metal rod.

“Hail, Abrogastes!” men cried.

“Behold,” said a man, “he has with him, lying at his feet, the slave, Huta.”

“I fear, and hate her,” said a man.

“She is nicely chained,” said a man.

“Why would he bring her?” asked a man.

“She is well curved,” said another.

“She makes a suitable display slave,” said a man.

“I have heard that Ingeld has noted her flanks,” said a man.

“Let Abrogastes not discover that,” laughed a fellow.

“She is dangerous,” said the fellow who had spoken before. “I fear her, and loathe her.”

“Once she was dangerous,” said a man. “But no longer. She is now a slave. Abrogastes has aroused her, caressed her into submission, into need and pleading, enflamed her belly. She now lies in chains, begging to be touched.”

Again the fellow's boot brushed Cornhair's thigh. “What of you, blond slut?” he asked.

“I am a slave, Master,” whispered Cornhair.

“I do not wish to dally here overlong,” said a man, uneasily.

“No,” said another, looking about.

“Enemy fleets approach,” said a man.

“Surely,” said another.

“If we are caught here,” said a man, “we will be stomped on, crushed like a ten-legged crawler under the hoof of an angry
torodont
.”

“There is time,” said another.

“Not enough,” said a man.

“Enough,” said another.

“Let the king be about his business quickly,” said a man.

“What is his business?” asked a man.

“I do not know,” said another. “He did not consult with me.”

This remark was followed by laughter.

Cornhair heard a woman's scream.

“Ho,” said one of the fellows, “we are not the only ones with a bauble.”

“There are two there,” said a man, “stripped, hands tied behind them, with rings in their noses, being led on their cords.”

“And four there,” said another, turning about, “slaves, tunicked, not bound, save for a common neck rope.”

“The two must be free women,” said a man.

“They have not yet earned a rag,” said a man.

“I wonder if they are worth branding,” said a man.

“They had best hope so,” said another.

“They will soon grow accustomed to having their necks encircled with the badge of servitude,” said another.

“What shall we do with our little piece of sleek, well-turned garbage?” said a fellow.

“We can cast lots for her,” said a man.

“She will probably be put in a common bin,” said a man.

“We may leave them behind,” said a man. “We can always pick them up later, with other millions, when the empire is ours.”

Cornhair again felt the boot, the toe nudging her.

“Master?” she said.

“You are a slave, are you not?” she was asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“You want a Master, do you not?” she was asked.

“Must I speak?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“Yes,” she said, “I want a Master.”

“Why?” he asked.

“I am a slave,” she said.

“You do not even have a collar,” he said.

“It was taken away,” she said.

“But you will soon have another, will you not?” she was asked.

“Doubtless, Master,” she said. “I am a slave. I should be collared.”

“You want the collar?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Why?”

“Because I am a slave,” she said.

Chapter Forty-One

“Ho!” cried Abrogastes, seated on the throne of the emperor, “where is the sniveling child, Aesilesius, majestic ruler of worlds, where is the empress mother?”

“They are in the emperor's play room,” said a trembling courtier, “under guard, the emperor frightened, weeping in his mother's arms, she holding him closely, sheltering him, trying to comfort him. He is inconsolable, deprived of his playthings.”

“Give him toys,” said Abrogastes.

“Is he not to be brought forth, Lord,” asked a Drisriak officer, “to consign to you the empire, or be slain?”

“Such an act,” said Iaachus, boldly stepping forward, “would be an act performed under duress and thus nonbinding. Similarly, there are rules of succession. If the emperor should perish, Orak forbid, another would step forth, and another, and then another.”

“Who is this fellow?” asked Abrogastes, interested.

“I am Iaachus, Arbiter of Protocol,” said Iaachus. “In the absence of the emperor or empress mother I presume to speak for the throne.”

“And perhaps,” said Abrogastes, lifting a Telnarian pistol, “you and your robes may vanish in a burst of fire.”

“I but speak the law,” said Iaachus.

“And you speak it well,” said Abrogastes. “I like you.”

There were several people in the throne room, both Telnarians and barbarians. Julian, Otto, and Iaachus stood to one side, before a number of cowering courtiers. All were disarmed. Weapons were trained on them. No slaves were present, save one, Huta, tunicked and chained, kneeling at Abrogastes' left. Most of those of the palace, servitors, slaves, and such, and high officials, and generals, marshals, admirals, and such, were confined elsewhere. There were perhaps a hundred men in the room, some thirty of the palace, and the rest intruders.

“I think I know you,” said Abrogastes, eyes glinting, pistol on his knee, regarding Julian and Otto, from the throne.

“We know you, Drisriak,” said Julian.

“Tenguthaxichai!” said Abrogastes.

This barbarous expression can be variously translated. ‘Tengutha' is a common male name amongst several barbarian peoples. The expression, as a whole, would seem to signify “the place of Tengutha.” It is most often translated as “Tengutha's Camp,” “Tengutha's Lair,” or such.

“Yes,” said Julian.

“You have risen in the world,” laughed Abrogastes. “You were in rags, a prisoner, a tender of pigs, and now you are a neat, well-groomed, well-dressed, clean-shaven fellow, clad along military lines, it seems.”

“I am a lieutenant in the imperial navy,” said Julian.

“How is it I find one of so lowly a rank in so august a milieu?” asked Abrogastes.

“Perhaps you remember me, as well,” said Otto, standing better than a head above the others, his arms folded across his mighty chest.

“He speaks insolently,” said a barbarian, a Dangar. The Dangars were the second largest of the tribes constituting the Alemanni nation. Abrogastes' party, thus, was not limited to Drisriaks.

Several weapons were focused on Otto. As soon as he had spoken, they had turned toward him, quickly, like beasts of steel, noticing beasts, responsive to an unexpected sound.

“Chieftain of the Wolfungs,” said Abrogastes.

“Chieftain of the Wolfungs,” said Otto, “and king of the Otungs.”

“When the empire is on its knees, or prostrate, awash in its own blood,” said Abrogastes, “we will have time for Otungs.”

“Beware!” said Julian.

“And we for you,” said Otto.

“Little slave,” said Abrogastes, “with your white skin, dark hair, high cheek bones, and your eyes like black and burning velvet, perhaps you remember our friends, from Tenguthaxichai?”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“And we remember you, as well, false and scheming priestess,” said Julian.

“I am no longer a priestess,” said Huta.

“You look well in chains,” said Julian.

“Thank you, Master,” she said.

“What woman does not?” asked a Borkon.

“True,” said several about.

“I trust you have been marked,” said Julian.

“My thigh has been well marked,” she said.

“You are obviously well subdued,” said Julian. “Are you also mastered?”

“Yes, Master,” she said. “I am mastered, well mastered.”

Abrogastes turned and held the barrel of his pistol to her lips, and she, trembling, licked and kissed the barrel.

“Master,” she whispered.

“Later,” he said, pulling the pistol away.

She knelt back on her heels, tears in her eyes, her small fists clenched in the chains she wore.

“How is it, noble Abrogastes,” asked Otto, “that you bespeak hostility to Otungs and, at the same time, sue for their support in war?”

“I do not understand,” said Abrogastes.

“The medallion and chain,” said Otto, “your intent to enlist Otungs, indeed, all Vandals, behind your banners.”

“I know nothing of a medallion and chain,” said Abrogastes. “Vandals and Alemanni are enemies, to the knife. Who would be so mad as to expose his throat to a treacherous and vile Otung?”

“Forgive me,” said Otto.

“Do you suggest there is treason amongst the Alemanni?” asked Abrogastes.

“He does not, noble Abrogastes,” said Julian.

“In high places?” asked Abrogastes.

“Certainly not,” said Julian.

“Perhaps, Lord,” said a Borkon, a Ledanian, or Coastal, Borkon, “the slave, Huta, is apprised of such a rumor.”

Uneasiness stirred amongst several of the barbarians in the chamber.

“Slave?” asked Abrogastes.

Huta turned white. “I know nothing of such things, Master,” she said.

“Do you think I cannot read the body I know so well?” he asked.

Huta put down her head and clutched her small arms tightly about her body.

“It seems you must be lashed,” said Abrogastes. “Fortunately for you, your flanks are still of interest. Else I might have you cut to pieces and fed to pigs.”

“My friend, Ottonius,” said Julian, “meant nothing.”

“Sometimes,” said Abrogastes, “those who mean nothing say much.”

“Surely,” said Julian. “You know that imperial cruisers hasten even now to Telnaria.”

“Hrothgar,” said Abrogastes, “is a good-hearted, jovial, much-laughing, loyal, hard-fighting, hard-drinking fool; he keeps his heart in his gut and his brains in his scabbard. He would die for me between the courses of a banquet, but not until a certain dish was served. Ingeld is clever and prone to dark thoughts. I am not well served in my sons.”

“You were well served in Ortog, my Lord,” said a Drisriak.

“Ortog was a traitor,” said Abrogastes.

“A secessionist,” said a man.

“He is gone now,” said Abrogastes.

“We could use his sword,” said a man.

“He is gone,” said Abrogastes.

“As my young friend, he in the uniform of the imperial navy, has pointed out,” said Iaachus, “you and your men are in jeopardy each hour you remain on Telnaria, or, indeed, in its vicinity. Imperial war ships approach with great speed. It is certain your forces, trapped in our space, would be grievously dealt with, quite possibly exterminated, to a man, to a ship.”

“You can accomplish little of serious effect here,” said Julian. “You might burn Telnar as a symbolic gesture, but I doubt that one of your perspicacity would see any point in doing so. You might destroy one city, but a hundred thousand would remain. And surely Telnar itself would be of more value as a prize than as a dozen districts of ashes. Too, as the Arbiter has pointed out, an act enforced on the emperor would be unavailing, and the murder of one emperor would mean nothing more than the succession of another, and then another, and so on.”

“I am aware of all this, young counselor,” said Abrogastes.

“And yet you are here,” said Julian.

“So, why?” said Abrogastes.

“Yes, why?” said Julian.

“I am patient,” said Abrogastes. “Succession proceeds immediately through the imperial line, does it not?”

“Yes,” said Iaachus.

“I think we may disregard the senate,” said Abrogastes.

“Possibly,” said Iaachus.

“The empress mother is weary, vain, malicious, unfit, old,” said Abrogastes.

“The emperor is young,” said Iaachus.

“He lives for his toys, but the empire is not a toy. He might surrender the empire, if permitted, for an attractive toy, one he would enjoy.”

“He would not be permitted to do so,” said Iaachus.

“Who knows under what conditions an emperor might abdicate,” said Abrogastes.

“Or die?” said Julian.

“Perhaps,” said Abrogastes.

“This is madness,” said Iaachus.

“Not at all,” said Abrogastes.

“I do not understand,” said Iaachus.

“Have the princesses, Viviana and Alacida, brought into our presence,” said Abrogastes.