Pelops nodded and wiped away his tears. Blade, after a moment, added, "Or, if it must be, I will suffer with you. I will not desert you."
Blade was an honest man. It would not do to promise more than he could deliver. He was in Sarma now, not Home Dimension. And still without clothing, arms, or shelter. This he mentioned to Pelops, who was beginning to watch the promontory with anxious eyes.
"Slaves are not permitted clothes." said the man. "Nor weapons. Except the battlemen, of course. They are permitted both clothing and arms, though they are still slaves."
Blade watched him. "Battlemen?"
Pelops nodded. "The ones who fight in public. For entertainment. Those who die to make a show for others. But you, as a stranger, would not know of this."
Blade snapped his fingers. "You are wrong. I, as a Stranger, do know of this." Gladiators. His agile mind, in that moment, began to weave a plan.
Pelops pointed to the spit of land. "No matter now. See there - the patrol is coming. They always search these marshes, without fail, for many foolish slaves hide here. They are always caught. We will be caught."
Pelops began to search the ground about him. "I must have a sharp stone - I will cut my veins. I will not be a slave again."
Blade scanned the sea. No sign of the galley now. The fog was about the same. He peered from beneath his hand at the file of foot soldiers and horsemen just winding down the far away cliff to the shingle below. He made a quick estimate. They had half an hour at most.
Blade plucked a tall reed and examined it. It was hollow. He blew a thin little tune through it. Pelops watched him.
Blade pointed to the sea a hundred yards away. "We will hide in there, beneath the water, and breathe through these. Select a good one."
Pelops did so, but his small shoulders were still hunched in dejection. "It may work," he admitted. "It is clever. I would never have thought of it. But we gain nothing but a little time - I told you, when they do not find my body the alarm will be spread all through Sarma. We will be hunted down. A slave hunt is a great festival in Sarma. And you, sire, because you are so - "
He broke off and would not look at Blade.
Blade smiled grimly. "You are thinking that I am too big? Because of my size I cannot hide easily and will be taken soon - and you will be taken all the easier with me? That is what you are thinking, Pelops!"
The little man did not deny it.
Blade said, "You must make up your mind about that, then. Stay with me or take your chances alone. I am going to hide in the sea while there is still time."
He began to crawl over the rough shingle to the sea. At the water's edge he glanced back. Pelops was coming along behind him.
The purple tinged water was tepid and so heavy with salt that they had difficulty staying under. Pelops especially, so light boned, kept popping to the top. He had trouble with his hollow reed and sputtered and thrashed about after a mouthful of water. Blade swore and helped him as best he could. He sounded the bottom until he found heavy rocks. By holding on to these they could stay under.
Blade sent Pelops under first and told him to stay there. Only a scant three inches of reed was above the waves, which were small, and Blade nodded in satisfaction. Barring bad luck it should work and the patrol pass them by. He lingered on the surface, his eyes and nose just above the water, and watched the slave patrol approach.
There was a double file of foot soldiers. Fifty of them. They wore kilts and short jerkins of leather, sandals cross-gaitered to the knee, and flat leather caps on which sparkled metal badges. Some carried long spears, some crossbows, and all carried shields of metal and leather. They were, Blade noted, all small men.
There were half a dozen horsemen. Or so Blade thought at first. Then he saw his mistake - there were five horsemen and one horsewoman. She rode well, her long mass of golden hair fluttering in the mild sea breeze. She alone rode without a saddle, her long white legs clinging securely to the prancing animal. She wore a short leathern skirt and metal breastplates that flashed like mirrors in the sun. She carried no weapons.
Blade delayed ducking under the waves. A little tableau now taking place on shore interested him. The foot soldiers and some of the horsemen were in the marsh, combing it out, walking and riding back and forth. The footmen poked their lances here and there into the rushes. All this was done with a mechanical efficiency that bespoke routine. They did not really expect to find any runaway slaves today.
Blade was watching the girl and a tall, thickset man who was obviously in command of the detail. He rode a white horse and now spurred it close to the girl's mount. Blade's eyes were 10-10 - a fact that none of the doctors in Home Dimension could quite believe - and though he was a hundred yards distant he easily made out the flash of white teeth under a great hooked nose in a dark bearded face. Jewels glinted from a spiked helmet. The big man said some thing to the girl, leaning close and placing a beringed hand on one slim leg.
She slashed at the hand with a riding crop and shouted at the man, her scarlet lips thin with fury. She pulled her mount around and went galloping down the beach. Equebus - blade knew it must be he - stared after her with a stony composure. His hand went to his belt and half drew a shiny dagger, then thrust it back into the scabbard. He shrugged, spat, and rose in his stirrups to bellow at his troops. Blade went under water and breathed through the reed.
When he surfaced the patrol was out of sight. He nudged Pelops with a foot and the little man came gasping to the surface. As they waded in to shore Blade said: "We will hide in the marsh again for a time. They will not think to search it twice."
He told Pelops of the incident between the patrol leader and the golden haired woman. Pelops grinned slyly and nodded.
"That was Equebus. A nose like a sword? And very dark of skin and beard? Yes - that would be Equebus the Cruel. And you say the girl struck him?" Pelops tittered. "I would like to have seen that."
Blade lay in the mud, brushing away a swarm of gnats. He was beginning to be very hungry and his longing for clothing and arms increased by the moment. Yet he knew he must bide his time and be patient. Wait and watch and listen. Reserve all value judgments. Survive.
His stomach growled. Blade scowled and slapped at the plague of insects. "The golden haired woman - can you also name her?"
Pelops narrowed his eyes at the big man. He appeared quite content in the marshy sludge and the gnats did not bother him. Now he favored Blade with a wry and mirthless smile.
"I think I know. Her name is Zeena and she is the daughter of Queen Pphira, she who rules Sarma in Bek's name. Equebus gets much above himself if he lays hands on Zeena. A bad mistake, that. Just as it is a mistake for you, sire, to think about women at a time like this. When we are naked and starving and unarmed. When I, for one, am terrified. This is no time to think about women!"
Blade's discomfort and empty belly nearly made him lose his temper. He checked himself in time. He stroked the dark stubble on his stubborn chin and regarded the little naked man. Then, because it was his nature, he could not restrain his laughter. The sound burbled up from his massive chest like thunder.
"In the first place, man, I am not thinking about women. I am thinking about food! Then weapons. Then clothing. In that order. But if I were thinking of women I do not see that it is your concern. I like women. I will have women when I please, and I do not need an undersized school master - for that is what you sound like - to say me yes or no. Neither do I need moralizing or philosophy, for neither of them will feed us or keep us alive. I hope all that is clear, Pelops? If it is, then answer my question and leave out the advice - who is this Zeena, a daughter of the Queen, you say? - and I suppose that makes her a Princess? - who is she that she rides with a slave patrol instead of adorning a palace?"