The King

by John Norman

  "What are you?" inquired Urta.

  "I am a female slave," she said. "I have always known it, but I have not dared to speak it."

  "How is it that you dare to speak it now?" asked Urta.

  "I am now wholly, and secretly, within myself," she said. "I can now speak as I wish, and no one can possibly hear."

  "You were a slave of Heruls?"

  "Yes."

  "But you were found in the forest."

  "I fled the Heruls," she said.

  "Then you are a runaway slave."

  "Yes."

  "Perhaps you should be returned to Heruls," said Urta.

  She squirmed in the chair, miserably. "No, please, no, Master!" she said.

  "She calls him 'Master'!" said a free woman, angrily.

  "He is a free man. That is how a slave girl must address him," said a woman.

  "Yes," averred another.

  "How terrible to be a slave girl!" said a woman.

  "Yes," said another, thrilled.

  "Why did you run away?" asked Urta.

  "I feared the Heruls," she said. "They held me in contempt not only as a slave, which was suitable, but as a human. My beauty, if beauty it is, gave me little protection from them. They did not even give me to a single master, to whom I might then be devoted, whom I might then have endeavored with my whole helplessness and being to please, but to the camp, as a whole. Anyone there might have injured, or killed, me, even a woman or child, on a caprice, or in a fit of impatience. They are not human. They are a different species. Too, everything that I had been taught had told me to be not like a woman, but like a man, that I should be like a man! I thought, thusly, that it was expected of me to run away, and seek freedom. And, too, I need a human master, not a Herul master. I am a human female, and need a human master, someone who can understand me, and will master me as I require. Somewhere I know masters have been prepared for me by nature, just as I, in my heart, know that I have been prepared for them."

  "Do you like being a slave?" asked Urta.

  "Yes."

  "Do you love being a slave?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you want to be a slave?"

  "Yes, yes, yes!" she said. "I want to be a slave! I want to be a slave, totally, helplessly, to be overwhelmed, to be choice-less, to love and serve, to be at the will of my master, to kneel before him, to strive to do his bidding, to attempt to please him in all ways, to the best of my ability, to lie soft in his arms, grateful and timid, obedient and fearful, to be mastered, ruthlessly, uncompromisingly, to be owned!"

  "Heat an iron," said Urta to a man at the side. The fellow then turned away, and went back to the fire pit, and stirred the coals.

  "You do not mind if your slave is marked?" asked Urta of the giant.

  "Not if it is well, and cleanly, done," said the giant.

  "It will be so," said Urta.

  "Take the slave from the chair," said Urta. "Put her in the dirt. Remove the chair. Strip her. Bind her hands before her body, with a strand free. When she awakens, let her find herself naked and bound, as the slave she is."

  "I will give you five sheep for her," said a man.

  "Who are you?" asked the giant.

  "Citherix," said the man.

  "It seems he will have her after all," said a man.

  "But in the best possible way, as a slave," said another.

  There was general laughter.

  "But she is mine," said the giant.

  "I will make it seven sheep," said Citherix.

  "I will consider the offer," said the giant.

  "Let the fire be built up," said Urta. "Let the gutted boar be brought in, that it may be cooked, and the hero's portion decided."

  There was assent to this in the hall.

  Two large, four-legged iron supports were put in place, two legs of each on opposite sides of the fire pit, on which an iron spit could be laid, lengthwise, over the fire.

  Tables were set up, about the edges of the hall, and, to each side of the throne, upon the dais. These were planked tables, set on trestles. Such arrangements, or settings up, of eating boards is common in many halls, the trestles, and planked surfaces, being stored, sometimes the trestles folded, between meals. These materials are sometimes kept in ancillary chambers, but, quite commonly, are simply placed, or leaned, lengthwise against the walls. In this fashion space within a hall, or great room, may be adjusted, conveniently, to meet the requirements of diverse occasions. Benches are usually kept, too, to the side.

  Four men brought in, on its spit, the carcass of a giant, gutted boar.

  In a few moments, the carcass turning, the smell of roast boar began to permeate the hall.

  The giant had resheathed the sword.

  He sat at one of the tables, with Ulrich, whom he had met in the forest, earlier, at his own encampment.

  One table, one of heavy planks, and resting on stout trestles, four of them, with no benches about it, was set up before the dais, lengthwise, one end facing the dais, the other pointing to the fire pit.

  "What table is that?" asked the giant.

  "The table upon which will be placed the roast boar," said Ulrich.

  "From which the hero's portion is to be cut?"

  "Yes."

  "Whose throne is that on the dais, on which no king sits?" asked the giant.

  "That is the throne of the Otungs," said Ulrich. "The last king to sit upon it was Genserix."

  "Who was he?"

  "He was the last true king of the Otungs," said Ulrich. "He died in battle. It was long ago. The Heruls respected him, though he was human. They built a pyre and burned his body upon it. To Genserix even the Heruls lifted their lances."

  "No one sits now upon the throne?"

  "No," said Ulrich.

  "And the medallion and chain of the king, the medallion and chain of the lordship of the Otungs, was lost, long ago," said a man.

  "I do not understand," said the giant.

  "It does not matter, not now," said Ulrich.

  "There are no longer true kings among the Otungs?"

  "They have been forbidden to us by the Heruls," said Ulrich. "We may have only year kings, kings who rule for a single year.''

  "That seems unwise," said the giant.

  "It is wise from the point of view of the Heruls," said Ulrich, "for the absence of a true king divides us, and spreads dissension among the lineages."

  "Who is the leader, he of the dais?"

  "That is Urta, the King Namer," said Ulrich.

  "He then is king, or the year king?"

  "No, he is the King Namer."

  "I do not understand."

  "This is not called the Killing Time because we would have the forests closed to strangers during this, our time of shame," said Ulrich, "but it is called the Killing Time because in this time it is common for the families, the lineages, sometimes the clans, to fight one another, to kill, for the possession of, for the prestige of, the kingship."

  "It is foolish to fight for an empty throne," said the giant.

  "One supposes so," he said.

  "What has the hero's portion to do with this?"

  "It is divisive," said Ulrich. "There is no king to bestow it, either to the satisfaction or dissatisfaction of the nobles, the lords. It is, in effect, thrown amongst us, that the strongest, the fiercest, may claim it for himself."

  "The strongest, the fiercest, of the lineages, of the clans?" said the giant.

  "That is much the way it is," said Ulrich. "What Otung lineage would grant itself less than any other?"

  "You are denied then not only a king, not only continuity of leadership, of policy and action," said the giant, "but must war with one another."

  "There has always been conflict among the Otungs, among the families," said Ulrich.

  "You need a king," said the giant.

  "Yes," said Ulrich. "That is true."

  "Where will you find one?"

  "Perhaps one day," said Ulrich, "someone will bring into the
forest the pelt of the giant white vi-cat."

  The giant looked at him.

  "Why else do you think I brought you to the hall?" asked Ulrich.

  …CHAPTER 27…

  "Your slave is awakening," called Urta, from the dais.

  Otto rose from the bench where he had been sitting with Ulrich, and walked behind the tables, toward the front of the hall. It was his habit to sit with his back to the wall. The high seats on the dais are similarly arranged.

  Some other men, and some women, too, hearing Urta's words, went to gather about the uneasily stirring slave. Among the men was Citherix. Ulrich accompanied Otto.

  "She is well curved, indeed," said a man to Citherix.

  "She is a beauty," said a man.

  "I had not expected so much," said Citherix.

  The girl lay in the dirt before the dais, between the long table on which the hero's portion was to be cut and the dais.

  She rolled about, a little.

  She was as naked as any item of livestock.

  She seemed puzzled, a little, that she could not separate her wrists. They were bound before her body, tightly, with leather thongs, with a strand, a yard or so in length, free. She made a tiny puzzled, protestive noise.

  At the fire pit, behind one of the iron supports, more toward the stairs leading down into the hall, a man, with heavy gloves, lifted an iron from the coals. It was a slaving iron, and its termination, with its small, delicate design, perpendicular to the shaft, and the shaft itself, for some six inches upward from the design, glowed fiercely, whitely. He thrust it back into the coals.

  "She will awaken momentarily," said a man.

  "Bring a whip," said Urta.

  A man brought the implement, and he stood near the girl.

  "Oh, oh," moaned the slave, twisting in the dirt.

  She was then on her right side, her head rather toward the dais. She opened her eyes.

  "Where am I?" she said.

  "In the hall of the Otungs," said a man.

  "They tend to be disoriented, at first," said a man. "It is the lingering effects of the drink."

  "It passes almost immediately," said another.

  The girl, from her side, looked about, as she could, but could see little but the floor, the boots of men, the shoes, the hems of some of the skirts, of free women.

  It seemed she was trying to interpret what she saw, to make sense of what was about her.

  She then gently touched her thigh, and her left breast, with her bound hands.

  She tried, a little, to separate her hands.

  She then went to her stomach, and extended her arms, her head between them, her eyes again closed, and put the right side of her head, turned, on her upper right arm.

  The man with the whip lifted it, but, at a small gesture from Otto, he lowered it.

  "What has happened?" she said. "What has come about? It is all so strange. I do not understand. I do not understand."

  A man laughed.

  "I am dreaming," she said. "That is it," she said. "I am dreaming. I am dreaming that I am a slave girl, and am naked and bound."

  Several of the men laughed.

  She rolled to her right side, again, her hands lowered.

  She seemed unwilling to awaken.

  "That is it," she said. "I am dreaming that I am a slave girl, and am naked and bound."

  There was more laughter, from several of the men about.

  She opened her eyes, suddenly, startled.

  "Where am I?" she asked, again.

  "You are in the hall of the Otungs," said the man, again.

  Her eyes were now opened widely, disbelievingly.

  She squirmed, suddenly, wildly, in the dirt.

  "Why am I naked and bound!" she cried.

  She tried to scramble to her feet but a man's hand would permit her to rise no farther than to her knees.

  She lifted her bound wrists to Urta. "Why am I naked and bound!" she demanded.

  Urta regarded her, but did not reply, his face revealing no emotion.

  "I am Hortense, daughter of Thuron, noble of the Otungs!" she cried. "I am of noble birth. Release me, instantly! I am a noblewoman, a noblewoman!"

  "Did you not dream you were a slave girl, naked and bound?" asked a man.

  "Perhaps," she said, frightened.

  "Perhaps the dream has come true," said the man.

  "No!" she cried.

  "Surely you have had such dreams before," said another man.

  "Perhaps," she said.

  "Perhaps, now," said a man, "they have all come true."

  "No," she cried. "No! No!" She looked about, wildly. "Surely it is now that I am dreaming!"

  "No," said a man. "It is now that you are fully awake. It is now that you find yourself to be precisely what you are, and all you are, a slave."

  "I do not understand," she said. "How can it be?"

  "In any event it is your reality," said a man.

  "And its appropriateness has been revealed by the drink of truth," said another.

  She looked about, wildly, and then, unable to control herself, sank down, to the floor of the hall.

  The giant softly kicked her, with the side of his boot. "Kneel," said he gently, "Yata, slave girl."

  She struggled to her knees and knelt, trembling, amongst the men and women.

  "Put your head down," said the giant.

  The slave lowered her head.

  "She is a lying slave, and a runaway slave," said Urta.

  "True," said the giant.

  Urta took the whip from the fellow with the whip, and handed it to the giant.

  "She is to be lashed well," said Citherix.

  "Look up," said the giant.

  The slave looked up, quickly.

  The giant held the whip, coiled, before the slave, and she hastily pressed her lips to it, kissing it.

  "Slave!" snarled one woman. Soft cries of pleasure escaped several of the others.

  "I will give you ten sheep for her," said Citherix.

  "Do not sell me to him, Master!" cried the slave. "His birth is below mine!"

  There was laughter amongst the free persons.

  "Or was once below mine!" she said.

  "That is better," said the giant.

  "He has wanted me for years!" she said. "But I am, or was, Master, too good for him. I stood off his suits for years. I treated him with much condescension. I treated him with haughtiness. I demeaned him. I ridiculed him publicly. I loathe him! I cannot stand him! He makes my flesh crawl! I beg you, Master, do not let him aspire to me!"

  "Aspire, to a slave girl?" said the giant.

  "Forgive me, Master!" she said. "But do not sell me to him, beg you!"

  "I will give you eleven sheep for her," said Citherix.

  "Surely you would not want a lying, runaway slave," said the giant.

  "Lash her well," said Citherix, "and she will soon be brought into line."

  "Do not sell me to him, Master!" wept the girl.

  "Twelve sheep," said Citherix.

  "You must admit," said the giant to the slave, "that that is a fine price for a slave girl."

  "But she is well curved," said a man.

  "Please do not sell me to him, Master!" begged the girl.

  "Fifteen sheep," said Citherix.

  "I think she is not now for sale," said the giant.

  The girl gasped with relief.

  "You hold the whip," said Citherix to the giant, angrily. "She is at your feet. She is your slave. She is a lying slave, and a runaway slave. Punish her!"

  The giant looked at Citherix.

  "Or are you weak?" asked Citherix.

  Men drew back a little, from about them.

  The giant then held out the whip to Citherix. "Perhaps," he said, "you would care to whip her yourself?"

  Citherix drew back, angrily. "I am not a whip thrall," he said.

  "Bend down, Yata," said the giant.

  Trembling, she bent forward, putting her head to the dirt.r />
  "Do not think, in virtue of what I now do," said the giant to the slave, "that I am either a gentle or an indulgent master. You will find, if I keep you, that my standards are high and that I am not a patient man."

  "Yes, Master," she whispered, frightened.

  "Behold," said the giant to Citherix, "one blow is for her thousand lies, and her thousand faults, as yet uncorrected, and the second is for having run away."

  Men gasped.

  For he had barely touched, twice, not even tapping it, the back of the frightened, kneeling, bent slave, having merely, in effect, rested the whip, gently, twice, upon her back.

  Citherix seemed too puzzled to comment, too puzzled to express even contempt, or derision.

  In such a way did the giant prove to the hall that the slave was his, his to do with as he might wish, according to his own will, as his own will would have it, not as others might wish, or will, the matter. Also the slave understood, and at the moment to her relief and gratification, and only later to her chagrin and terror, that her master was not subject to the pressures of society or convention with respect to her treatment, but would decide such matters in his own way and according to his own views, and inclinations. In this sense she would soon come to understand that her fate was fully in his hands, and that she belonged to him completely, and in every way. This was a lesson, of course, which each of his slaves, each in her own time, and in her own way, learned.

  From her knees the girl lifted her head, and looked up, slyly, at Citherix, her lovely face suffused with triumph, and smiled.

  She had little to fear.

  And well, thought she, her beauty had conquered her master.

  "Leave, Citherix," she said.

  With a cry of rage the giant seized her hair in his left hand and pulled her upright, straightened on her knees, and then bent her head back, that she must look up at him, and she did, her eyes wide, in pain and terror. "Contemptible, displeasing slave!" he cried.

  "No, Master!" she begged.

  He then hurled her on her belly before him, her bound hands stretched outright, the stand of free leather flung before them, and lashed her, twice, with the whip, and then, angrily, he put the whip in his teeth and dragged her to one of the wooden columns, to the base of which he fastened her, head down, on her knees, by her long blond tresses, they encircling the column, and knotted behind it. He then lashed her, as befitted her crime, her impudence and foolishness.