When the pirates, unsuspecting, were within, and giving themselves to the wine, the door would be locked. Other vessels, too, were now being moored at the walk, and others, following them, were being tied up alongside the first. In a short time the sea yard, if all went well, would be almost filled with vessels. In such close harborage it would be possible to walk across the sea yard, moving from deck to deck.
More than two hundred pirates had now been welcomed and encouraged within the holding. Later crews, now, in smaller groups, in single file, would be conducted deeply within the holding. There, by larger numbers, the smaller groups would be disarmed, beaten and hurled into waiting, smooth-sided capture pits, prepared earlier by the captured pirates of Kliomenes. Narrow corridors, too, and blind passages, suddenly shut off by barred barricades, through which arrows might be fired by our men, served a similar purpose. Caught within, as helpless as penned vulos, subject vulnerably to the pleasure of our archers, pirates would surrender, stripping themselves and submitting themselves, one by one, to our chains.
"There must be twenty ships in the yard," I said.
"It goes well," said Callimachus.
Suddenly, reeling, his sword bloody, I saw he who had been the courier of Ragnar Voskjard, his clothing torn, emerge wildly from the interior of the holding.
"Go back! Go back!" he screamed. "It is a trap!"
Pirates looked at him, puzzled.
"Go back!" he screamed. "Go back!" There was then a confusion of oars. One galley tried to come about. Another, entering, grated against it. Men began to run about on the decks of the ships. There was consternation. The fellow who wore the mask, then, shouting, waving his sword, distraught, began to leap from ship to ship, trying to make his way toward the gate. Shouts of alarm now arose from the sea yard, though, I think, most were more perplexed than alarmed. Another vessel entered the sea yard.
"I do not wish to lose that man," said Callimachus, grimly. He lifted and lowered his hand. This signal was rapidly relayed to the west gate tower and, as the fellow below leapt into the water, to swim for the gate, it, with a thunderous rattle of weight and chaining, shaking and sliding, crashed downward, smiting and dividing a galley just aft of amidships, and then anchored itself in place. The courier of Ragnar Voskjard would not escape.
"Fire bombs!" called Callimachus. "Signal our fellows in the marshes! Let the attack flags be raised!" There was a cheer upon the walls. Men rose up on the walls, lighting fuses of oil-soaked rags, thrust into oil-filled, clay vessels; a smoke bomb, trailing red smoke, was lofted from a wall catapult high over the marshes. Red attack flags, torn by the wind, snapped on their lines. Vessels of clay, spreading broad sheets of flaming oil, shattered on the decks of the vessels in the yard. Soldiers of Ar's Station, emerging from the marshes on the left and right, screaming, hurled, too, such flaming missiles against the ships in the channel. Our men emerged through the iron door of the holding to command the walks lining the sea yard. They then began to board the moored vessels. A melee took place, even upon the flaming decks. Our men, too, from the wall, streamed down the steps to assist their fellows.
"Watch this man," I told a fellow, indicating Kliomenes.
"Onto your belly, Urt," said the man, "and cross your hands behind you."
Swiftly Kliomenes obeyed.
I hurried downward.
Already pirates, their weapons discarded, were kneeling before our men.
I went to the walk, near the great gate. "You there," I said, gesturing with my sword, "climb to the walk, and kneel."
The courier of Ragnar Voskjard, then, bedraggled, his weapon gone, still masked, knelt before me.
Callimachus, come down from the wall, joined me on the walls. "It goes well in the marshes," he said. "Ships are aflame. Pirates attempt to flee." He looked at the man kneeling, at the point of my sword. "So you are the courier of Ragnar Voskjard," he said, grimly. "Now you are where you belong, on your knees at the feet of honest men." The voice of Callimachus was heavy with rage. I feared he was going to run this fellow through. "It was to him, or to an agent of his," said Callimachus, "that we were betrayed by Peggy, the traitorous Earth slut, the paga slave of Tasdron."
I was silent.
"What do you think should be her punishment?" asked Callimachus of me.
"If she is guilty," I said, "whatever you wish, as she is a slave." This was in full accord with Gorean law. Indeed, anything, for whatever reason, or without a reason, may be done to a slave.
"If she is guilty?" inquired Callimachus.
"The Earth beauty," I said, "by our intent, in her servings of us, was seldom so placed as to be able to overhear our deliberations." Usually we had kept her at the far side of the room, where she might not hear, but might be immediately summoned, had we desired aught. "Though, doubtless, that we conspired was not unknown to her, I suspect she knew little or nothing of the specifics of our plans."
"Who, then, could it have been?" asked Callimachus.
"Too," I said, "I do not think she would betray you, for, in her heart, I believe her to be your slave."
"Impossible," said Callimachus.
"Buy her from Tasdron," I said, "and put her in your collar, and see."
"Who, then, could it have been?" asked Callimachus.
"Another," I said.
"But, who?" asked Callimachus.
"He," I said, drawing the mask from the head of the courier of Ragnar Voskjard.
The man looked up, angrily, his features exposed.
"Callisthenes!" cried Callimachus.
"Certainly," I said.
"How long have you known this?" asked Callimachus.
"I have suspected it for some time," I said. "I was attacked by him on the wharves. In defending myself I injured him. That night, in our meetings, he appeared with an injured shoulder, claiming to have fallen. In spite of this, and his resemblance to the courier of Ragnar Voskjard, I dismissed the possibility of his guilt. He was well known to you, and you vouched for him. He was, too, one of us, and a high officer of Port Cos. Then, again, when we were betrayed, because of the small number of individuals who knew of our plans, and his resemblance to the courier of Ragnar Voskjard, and the injury, it seemed it must be he. But then, again, because of his high position, and the confidence which you placed in him, I rejected this possibility. I decided that the traitor must be Peggy, the Earth-girl slave. It could only have been she. But, later, when the southern fleet of Port Cos did not support us in the battle, continually denying us her succor, in spite of our desperate need, I became at last fully confident of the justice of my suspicions. All things, then, fell into place."
"Why did you not speak to me?" asked Callimachus.
"The burdens of command were much upon you," I said."Little would have been served by my burdening you with cruel and unproven conjectures."
"You were wise," said Callimachus, sadly. "Doubtless I would not even have considered them."
"Nor would I, doubtless, in your place," I said. "But now, incontrovertibly, the proof kneels before you."
"What were done with the ships of Port Cos, your fleet?" asked Callimachus of Callisthenes.
"They are safe," said he. "I withdrew them to Port Cos, on the pretext of fending a threatened attack on the town. On the ruse of undertaking a mission of reconnaissance I then joined the fleet of the Voskjard."
"Where is the Voskjard?" asked Callimachus.
"He is journeying east on the river, in his black ship, _Spined Tharlarion_, to rendezvous with Policrates here, and then to take command of their joint forces in the control of the river."