by John Norman
Many slave girls, he knew, prayed to Dira, that she might help them to be more pleasing to their masters.
To be sure, she could not always hear their prayers for sometimes she must be attending to her own masters.
Often she was busy, bearing wine and such.
Too, more than once she had been punished by Orak or others, even she, for having failed on some occasion to be fully pleasing.
Even the fair back of Dira, it seems, had felt the lash.
Sometimes the fault was for having interceded for an unworthy slave girl.
It is little wonder she had her devotees.
“Stop here,” said the servitor.
At the purple-hung doorway there was a detection device, through which, slowly, Julian, Otto, and the servitor passed. Apparently its operator, at the desk console, screened from those at the device, did not detect anything calling for attention. No alarm, incidentally, would sound if there were some difficulty, for that might alert the individual, or individuals, at the device. Any difficulty would be registered by a silent, visual signal, read by the concealed operator. A variety of expedients, depending on the device, might then be activated, ranging from destructive beams to the sudden descent, traplike, of plastic cages.
Otto brushed away a fly, back, away from his head.
“Enter,” said the servitor.
The two great doors, with the purple hangings, swung back, and Otto saw, before him, at the end of a long carpet, on a dais, in a great room, four individuals on tall, solemn thrones.
“The empress mother,” whispered Julian, “the emperor, and the two sisters of the emperor.”
There were several other individuals, as well, within the chamber, which was lofty, and lit from windows high in its dome, through which light, in shafts, swarming with dust, fell. Otto’s attention was first, however, taken by the figures on the dais.
“Julian, your cousin, your majesty,” said the servitor, “and guest, one Ottonius, an auxiliary.”
“Have you brought me a toy?” asked the boy on the throne.
“No,” said Julian, angrily. He then addressed himself to the empress mother. “We have been waiting long,” he said.
The servitor gasped, as did several others in the room.
“There is no toy?” asked the boy, turning on the throne, looking at one of the men near the foot of the dais.
“Your majesty,” said the man, drawing from his dark robes a small globe, filled with numerous, tiny, brightly colored particles.
“See?” He turned the globe about, and the particles within it changed their position, seeming to float and swirl, and fall about, in a thousand manners.
“Give it to me!” said the boy, and, in an instant, it was within his grasp.
“You see, your cousin Julian loves you,” said the darkly clad man. “He brought you a toy.”
“No!” said the boy. “It is from you! It is from you, Iaachus!”
“You are right, your majesty,” said Julian, angrily. “It is from your dear Iaachus. I did not bring you a toy.”
“You should have brought him a toy,” said the empress mother, a stern, short, dour woman, with a wrinkled face, oddly contrasting with the stiff richness of her robes. “You know he is fond of toys.”
The emperor’s sisters exchanged amused glances.
The empress mother’s throne was just slightly behind that of the emperor, on the emperor’s right.
“Pretty!” said the emperor, turning the small globe about in his hands.
The emperor, Otto guessed, was some fifteen or sixteen years of age.
He had a sallow complexion, and there was something at the side of his mouth, which seemed to be saliva.
“I have come here on imperial business,” said Julian, addressing himself to the empress mother, “a business which, I believe, has been made clear to you in advance.”
Otto looked about the room. There were some well-armed guards in the room, but most of those present seemed to be civilians, of great wealth and station. This he conjectured from their garments and adornments. None of their apparel, of course, matched the richness and ornateness of that of those on the dais, that of the empress mother, that of the emperor, that of his two sisters. The women looked spoiled and pampered. The men looked bored and weak. He did not think the women would know how to give a man pleasure, but he supposed they could be taught, if necessary, with the whip. He was much surprised at the appearance of the men, that they should be counted among, as he supposed they were, the aristocracy of the empire. How different they were from the aristocracy of the barbarians, powerful men, hungry men, covetous, lustful, jealous, possessive, greedy, ruthless, ambitious, warlike, inured to hardships, accustomed to danger, eager for gain, zealous for adventure. I see now, thought Otto, how it is that men such as these need their armies and navies, others to do their fighting for them. Some, he thought, could not even lift the two-handed sword which, in the hands of a strong man, with two blows, could cut a horse in two, or the war ax which might with five blows shatter foot-thick timbers and the bar behind. The only man, other than the guards, who seemed to command attention, and awareness, was the darkly clad figure called Iaachus. His intelligence, Otto conjectured, would be extremely high. His influence, Otto suspected, would be considerable.
“Yes,” said the empress mother, “your request has been considered.”
The name of the empress mother was Atalana.
“Favorably, I trust,” said Julian.
The emperor continued to play with the toy, fascinated by the continually shifting variegations of its interior.
The name of the emperor was Aesilesius.
“Pretty, pretty,” said the emperor.
“Yes,” said the empress mother.
“I am awaiting your decision,” said Julian.
Otto, standing behind Julian, his arms folded, considered the women in the room. He found them, pale as they were, of much greater interest than the men. Many were doubtless wives of senators, for most here would surely be of the senatorial class, but his attention was drawn more to the younger women. Some might be daughters of others in the room, but several, he supposed, would have some other function, such as that of serving as attendants to, or companions to, the empress mother, and the sisters of the emperor. They would be, in a sense, I suppose, to have recourse to a familiar expression, ladies-in-waiting. The eyes of some of these rested upon him. It was seldom, he supposed, that they had seen one here who was so far removed from their own class and kind. But he sensed, too, in the eyes of several of them, he was regarded with more than mere, or idle, curiosity. Perhaps they were curious to know what it might be like, to be in the arms of such a man, pressed helplessly to him, knowing that they would be used to quench, if only for a time, a passion greater than any they had ever known. Perhaps they wondered what it would be like to stand before him, in his tent, awaiting his pleasure, and then being commanded to divest themselves, completely, of those impediments to his assessment. Perhaps they wondered what it would be like to be examined by such a man, frankly, intimately, turned about, and posed, considered. Perhaps they wondered what it might be like to belong to such a man. Some of the women in the room wore simple, long gowns, white and woolen. They were sleeveless gowns. The feet of these women were bare. They, he did not doubt, though they wore no obvious sign of bondage, were slaves. He saw the parted lips of some, as they gazed upon him. Another, surreptitiously, thrust a bit to one side the strap on her gown, that at the left shoulder. It was the signal of a female in heat. He was familiar with it from the house of Pulendius. They were doubtless starved for the touch of masters. He did not doubt that beneath their simple gowns, commonly on the left thigh, beneath the hip, there would be a brand. He then let his eye rove to the two sisters of the emperor. Both were older than the emperor, who had perhaps been born late in the mother’s life. One was perhaps twenty-five and the other twenty-three. The older one was taller, and blond. Her throne was the farthest to the left, as
one looked toward the dais. The younger sister was shorter and dark-haired. Her throne was just to the right of her sister’s throne, as one would look toward the dais. The name of the older sister was Viviana. The name of the younger sister was Alacida.
“There are matters within your proposal which call for further clarification,” said the empress mother to Julian.
The sisters of the emperor seemed little concerned, as did the emperor, busy with the small chromatic globe, with the affairs of state.
The two young women, Otto noted, were regarding him, from within the layered walls, the high, rigid defenses, of those stiff, heavy, brocaded robes of state. He wondered if anything stirred, hot like blood or soft and warm like woman’s flesh, within those high, elaborate fortresses of fabric and gold. He wondered what they might look like, barefoot, in long, sleeveless, white woolen gowns, or less.
“The matter is quite simple,” said Julian. “I am requesting a commission, in the rank of captain, for Ottonius, my colleague, that he may recruit comitates, a company, drawn from various worlds, to function in an auxiliary capacity.”
“There are many units in the auxilia, already, your majesty,” said a man.
The auxilia were largely formed of barbarians, almost always from the same tribal groups. Later barbarians, of diverse tribes, would figure in the regular forces, as well.
“Why, dear Julian,” inquired the empress mother, “do we need yet another unit of such?”
“Since the senate and people of Telnaria,” said Julian, acidly, “have seen fit to extend the citizenship, unearned, gratuitously, to so many worlds, recruitment has dwindled, deplorably, to a trickle. Men of the empire refuse to touch steel, preferring gold, or even free bread and amusements.”
Citizenship in the empire, and its associated benefits, it might be remarked, were at one time, rare and muchly coveted. One route to citizenship was service in the armed forces, a route of which countless men of ambition and intelligence availed themselves. A citizenship earned is, of course, a citizenship respected and prized. When citizenship is regarded as something that is due one, on the basis of having been born, or such, the state suffers. Soon blocks of votes are being sold, in effect, to the highest bidder. Once again, I merely observe this, refraining from comment.
“The winds of what men prize have changed,” said Iaachus.
“Soon,” said Julian, “the armed forces will consist of barbarians!”
“They are hungry,” laughed a man. “They will work cheap.”
“Why should we weary ourselves with martial labors, when there are others who will serve us well, and cheaply.”
“Beware,” cried Julian, turning, pointing upward, back, “there are wolves among the stars!”
“Set wolves to fight wolves,” said a man.
“But they must be wolves as fierce, as terrible, as those who prowl even now at our borders!” said Julian.
“The empire has nothing to fear,” said a man.
“The empire is eternal,” said another.
“Our technology, our weapons, our ships will protect us,” said another.
“And what will you do when the barbarians, too, have such technologies, such weapons, such ships?” asked Julian, “Abrogastes, of the Alemanni, of the Drisriaks, already has lionships, which are the equal of our destroyers, and even faster.”
“I have never heard of Abrogastes,” said a man.
“Let us hope that you never do,” said Julian.
“Pretty,” said the emperor, looking into the small globe.
The empress mother rose from her throne and, with a cloth, wiped the side of the boy’s face, removing the saliva that ran there.
She then resumed her place.
“May I speak, your majesty?” inquired Iaachus.
“Surely,” said the empress mother.
“In what way, beloved Julian, noble scion of the Aurelianii, that family in whose debt we all so consciously and gratefully stand, would the commissioning of this colleague of yours, this Ottonius, serve the empire?”
“Am I requested to supply a justification,” asked Julian, “for what I am entitled to, as the smallest of favors, of considerations, given my lineage and my station?”
“Of course not,” said Iaachus. “Forgive me.”
“It is only a captaincy,” said another man. “It might have been granted without an audience.”
“I want the audience,” said Julian. “I want it clearly understood that the empire is not secure, that it is in grave danger, or will soon be in grave danger.”
“Revenues decrease,” said a man. “Planets grow less arable. It is hard to collect taxes. Men flee. Men leave their occupations.”
“The bindings will stabilize matters,” said a man. “They will guarantee the security of the tax base.”
“I am most regrettably forced to my proposal,” said Julian. “I, more than any, fear barbarians in the service of the empire. I, more than you, understand them. I realize the danger they pose. But these risks must be accepted. There is no choice. Civilization, civilitas itself, is at stake. Patriotism, civic duty, allegiance, are no longer mighty forces in the empire.”
“Nonsense!” cried a man.
“In what unit have you served?” asked Julian.
The man stepped back, and looked downward.
“He is only one man,” said a man, indicating Otto.
“It is the beginning,” said Julian. “It is a new concept. In the past the auxilia have been almost always recruited from particular tribes, allowed to settle within the borders of the empire, as federates, their land granted primarily in exchange for recruitments. These tended to be uniform units, keeping their own tribal structure and leadership. Their allegiance, in the last analysis, was to their own groups.”
“Surely there have been mutinies,” said a man.
“I envision,” said Julian, “barbarian mercenaries, drawn from various worlds, recruited on the basis not of tribal membership but of qualities and skills, however terrible and merciless these may be, men owing their allegiance not to tribes and tribal leaders, but to their own captains.”
“Who will be dependent upon our commissions, and pay,” said a man.
“Yes,” said Julian.
“Landless men, pure fighters, with no worlds,” said a man.
“Dependent on the empire,” said Julian.
“Warriors,” said a man, shuddering.
“Yes!” said Julian.
“Mercenary warriors,” said another.
“Yes, yes!” said Julian.
“What think you, noble Iaachus?” inquired the empress mother.
“An interesting, but dangerous, idea,” said Iaachus.
“It is too dangerous,” said the empress mother.
“There are no viable alternatives,” said Julian.
“Surely the assessment of he of the Aurelianii is overly pessimistic,” said a man.
“Not at all,” said Julian, angrily.
“The empire has always had its problems,” said a man.
“What think you, noble Iaachus?” asked the empress mother.
“I respect the views of Julian, whom we all dearly love,” said Iaachus, “even though I am sometimes pained to disagree with them.”
“Yes?” asked the empress mother.
“But I fear that the empire, or certain distant, unimportant parts of it, may now indeed be in some slight danger.”
“But there is nothing for us to fear?” asked the empress mother.
“No, of course not, your majesty, not here, nor in Telnaria itself.”
“Give us your counsel,” said the empress mother.
“We might begin slowly,” said Iaachus, “and then, if things did not seem auspicious, withhold support, simply abandon the project.”
“These men could go where we want, be sent to the points of greatest danger!” said Julian.
“They might prove a most useful arm in the service of the empire,” said Iaachus.
&nbs
p; “I am not convinced of the value, or necessity, of such a thing,” said the empress mother.
“No decision need be reached at this instant, of course,” said Iaachus.
“Pretty, pretty!” said the emperor, lifting up the globe.
“Yes,” said the empress mother. “It is very pretty.”
“Your friend is barbarian?” said a man.
“I think so,” said Julian.
“And what are his qualifications for such a captaincy?” asked me man.
“Assess them,” said Julian, angrily.
“Camarius,” said the man.
“Sir?” said one of the guards.
The man pointed at Otto and Camarius rushed upon Otto who seized his descending arm, twisting it, and kicking the man from him, but not releasing the arm, jerking it from the socket and the man cried out with horror and pain and then Otto, with an inhuman noise, at once a snarl and a cry of rage, for he was an impatient and easily angered man, jerked him by the injured arm to him as he screamed, and threw him, face upward, down, upon his knee, thrusting down, in fury, to break his back across that living fulcrum.
“No!” cried Julian. “No!”
The guard’s eyes were bulging and wild, one arm lifted helplessly, the other useless at his side.
“Civilitas!” screamed Julian.
Otto rose up, throwing the guard from him, angrily, to the carpet. The guard rose to his feet, half crouching, and hurried away, whimpering.
Otto’s eyes were terrible to behold.
“Civilitas,” said Julian, soothingly.
Otto then regarded the man who had ordered the soldier to approach him, but the man stepped back. The hands of guards were on their weapons.
“It is all right,” said Julian. “It is over now.” Then he faced the man who had ordered the soldier forward. “Have you further questions?” he asked.
“No,” said the man.
The assemblage in the court was stunned, and silent. Otto stood there, in a narrow shaft of light, it sparkling with dust, descendant from one of the high windows in the dome. All eyes were upon him. Even the emperor regarded him.
