“Very well. Say: To King Cymru, greeting from Luke of Winchester. I am well but need your help. Grant safe conduct to the bearer of this ring and message. Send him with . . .” I broke off and looked at Jan. “How many are your womenfolk?”
“More than a hundred. The Chief knows.”
“Then twice that number.” He looked at me inquiringly. “Two rings for each, you said.” He nodded, smiling. “Send him with so many rings, and this will secure my release from captivity. I will repay the debt. Do you have that clear?”
He repeated what I had said without hesitation. I offered the ring and he took it. I said:
“The minors and combs . . .”
“Oh, yes.”
“They would burden a running man.” Jan nodded in agreement. “But you can trust me to send them afterward.”
“Of course.” He laughed. “We can trust you! My poem, now—should it be ‘tempests,’ do you think, or does ‘winds’ sound better? ‘Winds from distant lands,’ perhaps?”
• • •
I calculated that it would not take the messenger more than six days to reach Klan Gothlen. Allowing two days’ sojourn and another six for the return journey made fourteen. I ticked them off in my mind. Sitting one evening just inside one of the huts, while rain dropped from the eaves and soaked away into the moss, I said to Jan:
“He will be there now.”
“Who is that, Luke? And where?”
“Your messenger. He will have reached the city.”
“Oh, yes.” He smiled. “And then he will come back with the rings and you will leave us. But not before the Celebration of Summer, I hope.”
“What is that?”
“We have two great festivals, one in the winter at the year’s turn and another in summer. There is feasting and singing, and we save our best poems to say then.”
I said with a brave attempt at enthusiasm: “A great festival, indeed. When does it take place?”
“In a few days.” He squeezed my arm reassuringly. “I am sure you will not miss it, Luke.”
• • •
Two days later there was excitement which obviously concerned something that had happened on the ground below the village because it centered on a man who emerged from one of the holes and ran to the Chief’s hut. When he came out gossip buzzed round him. It was just possible, I thought, that the messenger had returned. I said so to the two who were with me and they went across to see.
Someone had come from the world outside but not the messenger. It was a peddler, with cloth to sell. The Sky People made no cloth, though the men cut and sewed garments for both themselves and the women. They bought the material from itinerant merchants, and this was such a one. The Chief had commanded that he should be brought up with his wares. I saw her waddle from her hut and sit heavily on her special seat outside. I thought, though maybe it was fanciful, that the whole floor gave a creak of protest as she did so.
At the hole men were hauling ropes. Bundles were brought up and then the peddler. An ordinary dark-bearded man in a peddler’s cloak—but young, I thought, to be his own master. He was lifted clear and stood on the mossy floor. I saw with surprise that he was a dwarf. And in the next instant recognized him: It was Hans.
He did not see me for some time, though his gaze, while he spread bolts of cloth from the bundles, was covertly ranging round the village. The cage standing outside Jan’s hut obviously interested him. When he did catch sight of me he merely gave a small quick shake of the head. It was unnecessary: I had no intention of revealing that we knew each other.
I wondered how he would get a message to me, but in fact he did not try. When his business was finished—they bought several lengths of cloth in dull blues and browns—the bundles were tied up again and they and Hans dropped back through the hole.
I felt a keen disappointment at his departure. Later I reflected that this must have been a scouting trip. Greene and the rest would be hiding nearby, ready to attack at the right moment.
Jan came to me, smiling. “I am glad the peddler arrived at this time. Our Ladies will have new dresses for the Celebration of Summer.”
I said: “They will look beautiful in them, I am sure.”
He said approvingly: “You speak fine words, Luke. You will do us much honor at the feast.”
“If I am still here.”
He laughed. “Of course! If you are still here.”
• • •
I was wakened when my arm was touched by a hand that reached between the bars of the cage. As I jerked upright there was an urgent whisper:
“Captain! It is I. Hans.”
It was very dark, the waning moon hidden by clouds. I peered and saw the blur of his figure. I said, also whispering:
“Where are the others?”
“There are none.”
“But Greene, Edmund . . .”
“They went on, thinking you lost. Captain, I have two knives. Take one. We must cut the ropes and get you out.”
He handed me a knife and we set to work. It was harder than one would have thought. The ropes were deeply embedded in the corners of the cage. It was necessary to saw awkwardly at them and the darkness did not help. Nor did the fact that the knife slipped and cut the base of my thumb. This was painful, but the greater nuisance was that my hands became slippery with blood.
There was a cough from inside Jan’s hut and we hunched into immobility. When nothing more happened, Hans began hacking away again. I tried one of the bars; it seemed as firmly held as ever. I whispered:
“We are getting nowhere.”
“Patience, Captain. We will in time.”
“Listen,” I said. “I am not sure this is necessary.”
I told him, speaking softly through the bars, of the messenger who had gone to Cymru’s court for ransom. He would soon be back. If we were discovered in this attempt at escape they might call off the deal. And they might kill him—their ways were not predictable.
He heard me out, and said: “There will be no ransom.”
“But they have agreed it.”
“They were deceiving you. I have spoken to villagers in this region. In a day or two these people hold a feast . . .”
“They have told me of it.”
“But not all, I think. The women rule here. There is an ancient custom of the tribe. Twice a year they sacrifice. At one time it was a young man from among themselves. He was turned loose in the forest, hobbled so that he could not run, and the women hunted him. When they caught him he was tied to a stake and spit-roasted over a fire. Then eaten. The custom changed. The women grew too fat and idle even to hunt a shackled man. They let their men bring a victim from outside the village. So twice a year they run and make their capture. It is a point of honor to travel great distances—because of that the nearby villages do not fear them. They took you for this purpose.”
I could not believe him. I thought of Jan and the others, reciting their poems to me, and looking for approval. I said:
“But they have been friendly . . .”
“A farmer is kind to his cattle if he wants them to come fat to the knife.”
“But the ransom!”
“They wear no jewels or adornments. They despise them. This is well known. It is true of their women also. I was told not to waste my time offering them brightly colored cloths.”
Realizing this small truth convinced me of the larger one. I had been a fool not to see it. They had bargained with me as an amusement only, and all their seeming friendship had been a mocking lie. I remembered saying to Jan that he could trust me to make up the rest of the ransom. He had laughed as he agreed. Rage swelled in me. In that moment I would have thrown my life away just to have my hands around his throat.
Hans said: “A strand has parted. Keep on.”
I turned my fury into a renewed onslaught against the ropes. I cut myself again but paid it no heed. We sawed away and gradually, strand by strand, the ropes yielded.
Hans whispered: “Now, Captain! Push, and I’ll pull.”