“This is not he whom you seek!” said the pit master.
“And whom do we seek?” asked the leader of the black-tunicked men.
The pit master was silent.
“He whom we seek surely could not be confessedly in Treve,” laughed the leader of the black-tunicked men.
“This is not he,” said the pit master.
“Then it will not matter that he is killed,” said the leader of the black-tunicked men.
The lieutenant and several of the others with them laughed. It was the only time I had heard them laugh.
I saw the hand of the pit master steal toward his tunic.
“Someone is coming,” said one of the men outside the door.
The pit master drew his hand quickly away from his tunic.
The figures of the officer of Treve appeared in the doorway, he whom knew well, and he who had, in the manner of these men, known me well, and as a slave.
“We have found he whom we seek,” said the leader, “and we will brook no interference.”
“I do not come to offer you any,” said the officer. “Your papers are in order.”
“Where have you been?” said the pit master.
“I have set guards at all exits to the city,” he said.
“For what purpose?” asked the leader of the strangers.
“To prevent the possible escape or improper removed of a prisoner,” he said.
“You take great pains to guard the honor of your keeping,” said the pit master.
“Yes, and of yours,” he said.
“I have not betrayed my trust,” said the pit master.
“And I am here to see that you do not,” said the officer.
“It seems we have different senses of honor,” said the pit master.
“Honor has many voices, and many songs,” said the officer.
“It would seems o,” said the pit master.
“He does not even know what we will do with him,” said the leader of the black-tunicked men.
“Your papers are for transfer, for extradition,” said the pit master, “only that.”
“They do not specify that the prisoner is to be removed alive, or in his entirety,” said the leader.
“I am not fond of those of the black caste,” said the officer.
“Nor we of those of the scarlet caste,” said the leader.
“At least we have the common sense to go armed,” said the lieutenant.
“You do not share our Home Stone,” said the pit master. “You should not be armed in our city.”
“We have the authorization of the administration,” said the leader of the black-tunicked men.
“Who would disarm us?” asked the lieutenant.
“Stand back,” said the leader of the black tunicked men.
“I am reluctant to permit this,” said the officer of Treve. “It is one thing, in the honor of a keeping, your papers in order, to surrender a prisoner. It is another to see this done within our walls. I fear lest the Home Stone be stained.”
“Is it your intention to interfere?” inquired the leader of the back-tunicked men.
“It does not seem that I could,” said the officer. “Such would seem to constitute betrayal of my post.”
“It would, clearly,” the leader of the strangers assured him.
The leader of the strangers then returned his attention to the peasant.
“Is it time for the planting?” asked the peasant.
“Perhaps you would have us put more chains on him first?’ said the pit master, bitterly.
“That will not be necessary,” said the leader of the black tunicked men.
“You!” cried the pit master, addressing himself to the fellow called Gito. “He is not the one you know. Tell the captain!”
“Where is my friend Gito?” asked the peasant.
“Here,” said Gito, from back among those in the black tunics.
“Are you well, Gito?” asked the peasant.
“Yes,” said Gito.
“I am pleased to hear this,” said the peasant, approvingly, distantly.
“There is no doubt about it,” said the lieutenant. “He remembers him. He knows him.”
“He should,” said the leader of the strangers. “He once, on a hunting expedition, saved Gito from brigands who were torturing him. He took him, half dead, burned, defaced, into his own house, showered him with gifts, improved his fortunes, treated him as a kinsman. He loved few and trested few, as he loved and trusted Gito.”
Gito turned away.
“It is he, is it not?” said the lieutenant.
Gito covered his face with his hands.
“No!” said the pit master.
The lieutenant smiled.
The leader of the black-tunicked men then motioned the fellow with the sack to advance.
“No!” said the pit master, thrusting his own body between the knife and the peasant.
The leader of the black-tunicked men looked to the officer of Treve. “Order this obtuse brute to stand aside,” he said.
“Stand aside,” said the officer of Treve.
“No!” said the pit master.
“He is armed!” said the lieutenant.
The pit master, from within his tunic, had drawn forth the stiletto which I had seen yesterday in his quarters, that which he had concealed beneath the papers.
The leader of the black-tunicked men stepped back, carefully, slowly, not taking his eyes from the pit master. He made no quick moves. When he was a few feet back he stopped. He then transferred the dagger he carried to his left hand and drew his sword with his right. It left the sheath almost soundlessly. It was a typical blade of this world, small and wicked. Such blades are favored by those who prefer to work close to their men. They are also designed in such a way that they may, by a skilled swordsman, in virtue of their lightness, speed and flexibility, be worked within the guard of longer, heavier weapons. Their design is such, in short, as to overreach shorter weapons and yet, in virtue of the weights involved, penetrate the defenses of less wieldy blades. The lieutenant had also drawn his weapon.
“Please stand aside,” invited the leader of the strangers.
“Stand aside!” said the officer of Treve.
“No!” said the pit master.
Fina, amongst us, kneeling in the damp straw, bound, moaned.
The pit master did not glance at her. His eyes were on the leader of the strangers.
“Bowmen,” said the leader of the black-tunicked men.
Two black tunicked, helmeted fellows who had their bows set, quarrels ready within the guides, stepped forward.
“No!” screamed Fina.
“Do not lift your bows,” said the officer of Treve.
“He is armed!” said the lieutenant.
From within his robes the officer had drawn forth a blade. It had apparently been slung beneath his left arm. It had not been sheathed.
“The first man to lift a bow dies,” said the officer of Treve.
“Why do you interfere?” inquired the leader of the strangers.
“It will take only a moment to kill them both,” said the lieutenant.
“You are a captain,” said the leader of the strangers to the officer of Treve. “You hold rank in this city. Why would you defend this monster?”
“We share a Home Stone,” said the officer.
“Is it time for the planting?” inquired the peasant.
“Yes!” suddenly cried the pit master, over his shoulder. “It is time for the planting!”
“You have been kind to me,” said the peasant. “But I must now leave. It is time for the planting.”
“You may not leave,” said the pit master, speaking to the giant behind him, not taking his eyes from the leader of the strangers.
“I must,” said the peasant, simply.
“They will not let you!” said the pit master. “These men will not let you!”
“I am sorry,” said the peasant. “I must go.”
“You cannot!” cried the pit master, “They will not let you!”
“Not let me?” said the peasant, dully, uncomprehendingly.
“No, they will not let you!” said the pit master.
“Look,” said the lieutenant, amused. “He is getting up.”