The Chieftain

by John Norman

  “My chieftain,” said Astubux, appearing at the entrance to the chieftain’s hut.

  Otto then rose to his feet and went outside, to the open place.

  He lifted his hand to the Wolfungs, who cried out upon seeing him, who raised drinking horns and spears in salute.

  Janina, who was now clad in the long, loose garb of a Wolfung woman, hurried to kneel beside him.

  “Here,” said Astubux, gesturing toward the large chair, on a wooden dais, set up a few feet from the fire, where the chieftain was to have his seat. Across the back of the chair was flung the pelt of a forest lion. Skins of this beast, too, were strewn on the platform.

  Otto took his seat, and indicated that Janina, his slave, should kneel beside the seat, on its left.

  She hurried to do so.

  ***

  The officer of the court, the salesgirl and Oona, the woman in the pantsuit, knelt near a post in a hut, not far from the gate. It was dark in the hut but, clearly, outside, there were festivities. They could see, through the chinks in the daub-and-wattle siding of the hut, the flickering of a fire, the light of torches being carried about, such things. They could see bodies, too, like shadows, passing back and forth, the men in rough tunics of pelts, the women in their long dresses, of some plain cloth. There was an excellent reason why the three women knelt near the post. They had been roped to it, closely, by the neck. Their hands were still bound behind their bodies. The three women and the ensign, prisoners, had arrived in the village in the late afternoon. They had been immediately separated, the women put in this hut and the ensign taken elsewhere. Although the officer of the court would scarcely have admitted this to herself, she, and we may speculate the others as well, had been dismayed at the special selection, the special treatment, exhibited in this matter, at their being totally separated from the ensign. This keeping them together, without the ensign, did much to impress upon them, and quite acutely, that they were women. It made them, somehow, feel far more helpless and vulnerable than might otherwise have been the case. They were now merely captured women.

  Two large Wolfung females then entered the hut, one bearing a lamp.

  The one without the lamp removed the ropes from the prisoner’s necks. Then she untied their hands.

  She indicated that they should precede her out of the hut. In a moment they were conducted between numerous men and women into the vicinity of a large fire, and knelt down before a rude dais, on which a chair had been set.

  The officer of the court shrank down, and put her head down, for, to her consternation, her astonishment and horror, she recognized the figure in the chair.

  She lifted her head a little and looked about. She and her fellow prisoners were the object of much attention, of both the men and women.

  She gasped.

  She saw Janina beside the great chair. She was kneeling there. How fitting for a slave! She hoped that Janina would not recognize her.

  Where was the ensign, the young naval officer? He was nowhere in sight. She hoped he had not been killed.

  She knew barbarians thought little of death. They lived with it. They were familiar with it. She remembered what had been done by the Ortungs on the Alaria , to the officer who had sat with them at the entertainment, to the captain, to his first and second officers, doubtless to many others.

  But she, and the insolent, vain salesgirl, and Oona had not been killed, at least not yet.

  That could have been done at the capsule.

  It would have been easy enough there.

  What did that mean?

  Please spare me, she thought. I will do anything!

  “You!” said the barbaric figure; in regal pelts, sitting on the chair, pointing.

  The officer of the court thought she might die, but she realized, then, that it was not at her that he had been pointing.

  “Stand,” said the chieftain, “and come closer.”

  The salesgirl, in the slacks and jacket, these garments now foul with sweat and dirt, trembling, stood up.

  She approached the dais.

  “What is your name?” he asked.

  “Ellen, milord,” she said.

  “Free women,” he said, “will be killed. Slaves, if found acceptable, may be spared, at least for a time.”

  He regarded her.

  “Do you understand?” he asked.

  “Yes, milord,” she said.

  “What are you?” he asked.

  “I am a slave—Master,” she said.

  “Remove your clothing,” he said, “completely.”

  The men watched intently, and so, too, fearfully, and then in indignation, and then in envy, did the officer of the court. She gasped, seeing that garments much like those hidden beneath her “same garb” had been beneath the jacket and slacks. She is a slut! thought the officer of the court. But how beautiful she is! thought the officer of the court.

  “Shall we keep her, at least for a time?” called the chieftain to the assembled Wolfungs.

  “Yes, yes!” they cried. Some pounded on shields with spears.

  Ellen, the salesgirl, sank to her knees to one side of the dais, trembling.

  “You!” said the chieftain, pointing to the officer of the court.

  She shrank back, hoping she would not be recognized.

  “Stand,” said the chieftain, “and come closer.”

  Numbly the officer of the court, on this remote world, in the presence of barbarians, rose to her feet. She approached the dais, and stood before it. She did not dare to meet his eyes. She hoped that he would not recognize her.

  “Free women,” he said, “will be killed. Slaves, if found acceptable, may be spared, at least for a time.”

  He regarded her.

  “Do you understand?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  She resolved to offer him defiance, to proclaim her freedom. Was she not in “same garb”? Was she not an officer of a court? Was she not of the honestori? Was she not of Terennia, where men and women were absolutely the same in all ways? Was she not of the blood itself?

  “What are you?” he asked.

  “I am a slave, Master,” she said.

  “That is known to me,” he said, in contempt.

  Her heart sank in misery. He knew her. He recognized her. Too, she had always known, even from the first moment his eyes had fallen upon her, seeming to see her, even though she was in the dark, voluminous robes of the court, as though she might be stripped and shackled on a slave block, that he had somehow pierced to the most profound secrets of her heart, discerning there her true self, the waiting, concealed, yearning slave.

  “Remove your clothing,” he said, “completely.”

  Almost fainting, wavering, her fingers fumbling with the closures, the officer of the court opened the drab, bulky “same garb” and then, shuddering, lowered it to her hips.

  “Ah,” said a man.

  “Slave, slave,” said a man.

  “You are beautiful,” whispered Oona.

  The men were intent.

  The officer of the court then lowered the same garb to her ankles, and stepped from it.

  She heard an intake of breath.

  She looked at the chieftain.

  Then she sat on the ground and removed the bootlike shoes she had worn, and the long dark stockings. These stockings, as we may recall, had some purple thread sewn at their top, to show that she was of the blood. Then she had removed the brassiere and the panties.

  She then stood before him, and them, a stripped slave.

  “What was your name?” he asked.

  “Surely you know,” she said. Then she said, “Tribonius Auresius.”

  “That is a man’s name,” he said.

  “It is—was—my name,” she said.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “My mother put it on me,” she said.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “I do not know,” she said. “Perhaps that I should think of myself as a man.”

  �
��Are you a man?” he asked.

  “No,” she said.

  “Did you try to think of yourself as a man?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “What are you?” he asked.

  “A woman,” she said.

  “You are no longer permitted to think of yourself as a man,” he said. “You must now think of yourself as what you are, a woman.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Yes, what?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master ,” she said.

  “This one,” he said to the crowd, “I will decide personally, whether she is to be kept or not, at least for a time.”

  There was assent to this.

  The officer of the court then, frightened, knelt beside Ellen, both at the foot of the dais, and a bit to the chieftain’s left. She did not even know if she would be kept, even for a time.

  Perhaps she could please him. Perhaps that is what he would want. Certainly he had looked upon her often enough in a way which suggested that he would not be displeased to have her at his feet.

  She shuddered, considering what it might be, to be at the feet of such a man.

  The woman in the pantsuit was then ordered to rise, and to approach the dais.

  She did so, slowly, frightened.

  The two slaves at the foot of the dais muchly feared for her.

  She, too, as the others, was questioned.

  “But none will be interested in me!” she wept.

  “Stand straight, put your shoulders back,” commanded Otto.

  There was a coursing through the crowd, of admiration.

  “I am a slave, Master,” she responded.

  “Remove your clothing, completely,” she was told.

  “Please, no, Master,” she said.

  “Strip,” she was ordered, “utterly.”

  She began to remove her garments.

  “And you will be whipped,” he said, “for having dallied in response to an order.”

  “No one will want me!” she wept.

  “Stand straight,” he said.

  A man clapped his hands with pleasure.

  “Ah!” cried Axel.

  Oona had a striking figure.

  She seemed surprised, even startled, at the response of the men. It had not even occurred to her that she might be of interest.

  “Shall we keep her, at least for a time?” inquired Otto, laughing.

  “Yes, yes!” called men.

  Axel stepped forward, towering over Oona. “Are you a good slave?” he asked.

  “She does not smell, like the others!” called a man.

  “I will try to be the best slave I can, Master,” said Oona, frightened.

  “I want her!” announced Axel.

  “Are there any objections?” asked Otto.

  There were none from the Wolfungs.

  “Kneel there, my slave,” said Axel, indicating a place near the other slaves.

  “Yes, my master,” said Oona, looking at him with awe, and stirred by feelings she had thought she might never again feel, save in her thoughts, and in her dreams.

  “Bring the other!” said Otto.

  In a few moments the ensign was brought, moving with short steps, before the dais. His ankles were shackled. It was the sound of the smith’s hammer shaping these devices to his ankles to which the chieftain had listened, before emerging from the hut. A cloth, simple and brief, had been twisted about the loins of the ensign. It was not such that it might conceal a weapon. He stood before the dais, his arms folded.

  “These are slaves,” said Otto, indicating the women kneeling to the left of the dais, as one would look outward from the chieftain’s chair.

  “At least two are,” said the ensign.

  “All are,” said Axel.

  “Is it true?” asked the ensign of the women.

  “Yes, Master,” said the former salesgirl.

  “Yes, Master,” said the former officer of a court.

  “Yes, Master,” said the other woman, the slave who had been put under claim by Axel, a counselor of the chieftain.

  “Are you a slave?” asked the chieftain of the ensign.

  “No,” said the ensign.

  “That is known to me,” said the chieftain.

  “What do you want of us?” asked the ensign.

  “The utility of female slaves is evident,” said Otto.

  “And what of me?” asked the ensign.

  “You will work in the fields,” said the chieftain.

  The ensign regarded him.

  “I think,” said the chieftain, “that, in time, you may be worth a ship.”

  “I am worth a thousand ships,” said the ensign.

  Men whistled in awe.

  “Who is this?” asked Astubux.

  “Your name,” said the chieftain.

  “I am Julian, of the Aurelianii,” said the ensign. The men and women about looked at one another. This name meant little to them. It was, however, much like the names one tended to associate with the remote, mysterious empire.

  “Know, slaves and prisoner,” said Otto to the four before the dais, the kneeling women, and the standing male, “that the forests about us are dangerous. They teem with beasts. Your safety, particularly in the night, depends on your being within the palisade. Too, there is nowhere to go, nowhere to run. There are no friendly forces, no imperial outposts, no escape for you, on this world. Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” said Julian, of the Aurelianii.

  “I understand, Master,” said the slaves, each, as his eyes fell upon them.

  “We will talk later,” said Otto to Julian, of the Aurelianii.

  Julian nodded.

  “This prisoner,” said Otto to men near him, “is to be kept in a log kennel at night. During the day he is to be used in the fields. See that he is worked long and hard.”

  “We will do so, our chieftain,” responded a man.

  “Take him away,” said Otto.

  The ensign was then turned about and conducted from the presence of the assembled Wolfungs.

  “Let these two stinking slaves be washed,” said the chieftain, indicating the former salesgirl and the former officer of the court. “Then let them all be tied at posts, to await the heating of the irons.”

  “Yes, my chieftain!” said a man.

  “Now,” said Otto, rising from the chair, and standing on the dais, “let the feasting begin!”

  ***

  “Please, no!” cried the former officer of the court, as she was forced down by two brawny Wolfung women into the wooden tub of cold water.

  She shrieked with misery, chilled, but was held in place. Sometimes she was bent double, her head forced under water, to make certain that the dirt in her hair might be soaked free. She rose sputtering from the water, shuddering and shivering. She moaned and protested, but was silenced with a blow, as heavy brushes were applied to her body, and not with gentleness by the free women, for she was a slave, and little love is lost between free women and slaves. In a nearby tub the former salesgirl, shivering, and whimpering and crying out, underwent a similarly abusive, rude scouring.

  The two slaves were then drawn from the tubs and dragged by their impatient attendants to short posts. There they were knelt down with their backs to the posts. Their ankles were tied together, behind the post, and their hands were taken up, and behind the posts, where their wrists were tied together, and fastened there, behind the post, to a ring.

  “I am cold!” wept the former officer of the court, but the women had left. Looking to her right she saw the former salesgirl at another post, similarly secured. Looking to the left she saw the woman who had been put under claim by Axel. She, too, was similarly secured. She had been there earlier, as she had not been subjected to a bath, it not having been deemed that she needed one.

  The former officer of the court looked up.

  “Master!” she said.

  Before her there stood, looking down upon her, a drinking horn in his hand, Otto,
the chieftain of the Wolfungs.

  “They bathed me!” she said, appealing to him.

  “You do not expect us to brand a filthy body, do you?” he asked.

  “Surely I am not to be branded!” she said.

  “Look,” said he, indicating, nearby, a brazier, glowing with heat. From the brazier there protruded the handles of three irons. Two men crouched near the brazier, tending it.

  “Please, no, Master,” she said.

  “The word ‘Master’ fits well on your lips, very naturally,” he observed.

  “You have known it would, have you not?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “How long have you known I was a slave?” she asked.

  “From the first moment I saw you,” he said.

  “How?” she asked.

  “From your body,” he said, “and from its movements, and from your least expressions.”

  “What is the brand?” she asked, fearfully.

  “It is one common in the galaxies,” he said, “the slave flower.”

  “Do not mark me with that,” she wept, “or I shall always be a slave. It is known everywhere!”

  “But you are a slave,” he said. “It is fitting that your body be marked with the flower of bondage. No longer is your inner truth to be hidden from the world. It is rather, now, to be proclaimed, to be made public, to all, by that mark.”

  “Will you keep me?” she asked.

  “Axel,” said he, “will tie his disk on her neck.” He pointed to the woman who was under Axel’s claimancy.

  “What of me?” she asked.

  “She,” said the chieftain, indicating the former salesgirl, “I will, at least for the time, take.”

  The salesgirl looked wildly over at him, from her post.

  “But what of me, Master?” asked the former officer of the court.