There was laughter from the helmeted men.
The peasant now stood. He looked down at the chains, from one side to the other, on his wrists, and ankles.
He pulled at them a little, not seeming to comprehend the impediment they imposed upon him.
“Free yourself!” said the lieutenant.
The peasant pulled against the chain on his left wrist. The links of the chain went straight, lifting the ring from the wall. He similarly tried the chain on his right wrist.
There was laughter from the men present.
“They mock you! They laugh at you! They will not let you do the planting!” said the pit master, not looking back.
“They are not my friends?” asked the peasant.
“No!” said the pit master. “They are not your friends! They would stop you from the planting.”
“I must do the planting,” he said.
“They will not let you!” cried the pit master.
Suddenly a strange, ugly, total, eerie transformation seemed to cove over the gigantic body of the peasant.
“Free yourself!” taunted another man.
“He is growing angry,” said another.
Suddenly the veins in the forehead of the giant seemed to swell with blood, like ropes under the skin. His eyes seemed suddenly inhuman, inflamed like those of a mad animal.
The men grew silent, uneasy.
He threw himself again and again against the chains. His wrists bled.
He uttered a low, terrible sound, not like anything even an animal might manage. More like something that might have sprung from the depths of the earth, a rumbling, as of a volcano.
There was an uneasy laugh from one of the helmeted men. The girls, keeling in the straw, bound, neglected, to the side, I among them, were tense. We shrank back a little. Our knees moved in the straw. It seemed we might be in the presence of a force of nature.
He strained against the chains, uttering terrible sounds, like no human.
“Ai,” said a man, watching.
Then it was suddenly, oddly, as though he grew in stature, in power, and strength.
Doubtless it was an optical illusion, given the confinement of the cell, his now being upright, not sitting, his pulsing to his full stature, then bending down, like a ball, straining, muscles bulging, pulling outward. Then straightening up, then again bending down, again pulling forward.
“He will tear his limbs from his body,” said a man.
But I did not think the peasant, that violent giant, that simple, outraged behemoth of a man, in his present state of mind, in his agitation, in the singleness of his purpose, in this ferocious, puissant concentration of all of his force, his power, against iron and rock, was troubled by pain, or even capable of feeling it.
Again and again the chains drew against the rings. It seemed that a draft beast of enormous size could have exerted little more stress on that metal.
Some of the men then laughed.
But almost at the same time there was heard the slippage of a bolt, and we saw, on his left, our right, as we looked upon him, the plate to which the ring was attached, jerk outward an inch.
“Ai,” said a man, in awe.
The men were then silent.
In the light I saw, on his right, our left, one of the links of the chain stretch a little, bending. I do not know if others saw this. The links there could have been slipped apart, but the peasant took no note of this, rather he continued to force himself against the chain, the link bending more.
“I have never seen anything like this,” said one of the black tunicked men, in awe.
“He is amazingly strong,” said another.
“The bolts are weak,” said another.
“They have been filed from the other side,” said another.
The peasant reached down and seized the chain on his right ankle with both his right and left hand. He then crouched down and then began, slowly, to straighten his legs.
“He will break his legs,” said a man.
Suddenly the chain snapped from the ring.
“It was rusted in the dampness,” said a man.
“We have seen enough of this,” said the leader of the black tunicked men.
“You know he cannot free himself,” said the pit master. “You know he cannot do that!”
“Bowmen,” said the leader of the strangers.
But the gaze of the bowmen seemed fixed, in awe, on the straining giant. Their bows, the quarrels set, were not elevated to fire, with a vibrating rattle of cable, to the heart. I did not think they even heard their captain.
“Bowmen!” said the leader of the strangers.
His cry shook the bowmen.
“Spare the pit master or die!” cried the officer of Treve.
“Hold your fire,” said the leader of the strangers. They had not, however, mindful of the proximity of the officer’s blade, raised their weapons, either to the pit master, or to the officer. One could presumably manage to fire. The other, whichever it was to be, would presumably die. The lieutenant moved a little to his left.
“Remain where you are,” cautioned the officer of Treve.
He could be outflanked by a thrust from his right.
“You have one stroke, that is all,” said the lieutenant.
“Remain where you are,” said the officer of Treve.
The lieutenant stayed where he was. He himself had not been authorized to strike by his captain, and the single stroke which the officer might be expected to initiate might well be intended for him.
“You have no objection, I trust,” said the leader of the strangers to the officer of Treve, “to the simple removed of your disobedient subordinate from the line of fire?”
“If he is unharmed,” said the officer.
“Stand with me!” said the pit master.
“Stand aside,” said the officer. “Their papers are in order. You know that as well as I. Be mindful of your post, its honor, and your duty.”
“Honor has many voices, many songs,” said the pit master.
“Get him out of the way,” said the leader of the strangers.
We suddenly heard a second chain snap, that which had been on the left ankle of the giant. The end at the ring with the force of the suddenly parting metal struck down at the stone like a snake, jerking and rattling. It had even struck a spark from the stone.
Several of the helmeted men, cautiously, began to approach the pit master. The officer of Treve stepped back.
“Stand aside,” said he to the pit master.
“Stand with me,” said the pit master.
“No,” said the officer of Treve.
The peasant, his legs free, save for the shackles and a length of chain on each, now turned about and grasped, with both hands, the chain on his neck. He put one foot against the wall. He began to tear back on the chain.
One of the black tunicked men lunged at the pit master. He cried out in pain, twisting, drawing back, his arm slashed. The pit master drew back his arm, before he could bring it forward again, three of the black tunicked men had hurled themselves upon him. Then others followed. The officer from Treve observed this, and did not observe the sign that was given by the leader of the black tunicked men. Then, suddenly, he himself was seized by two of them. A third wrenched open his hand, his blade fell to the floor. Almost at the same time there was a snap of a chain and the neck chain which was on the peasant dangled before him, from the ring on his collar, and he had turned about again, to face us, his eyes wild, saliva running at the sides of his mouth. His hands were bloody. Blood, too, was on the chain. The pit master’s grip on the stiletto was like iron. They could not pry it from his fingers. But sic men held him, helplessly, to the side. The way was now cleared to the peasant.
“Kill hi, kill him, kill him!” cried Gito, back by the door. “Do not wait! Kill him!”
In the commotion even those of the black tunics who had been in the corridor had entered the room. indeed, some had set aside their bows, to assist in the subduing of the pit master. Two, however, remained at the door. I had noted the anguish with which some of my sisters in bondage had observed this. They could not run past the men. They would remain, as we, the rest of us, slave girls kneeling in a cell, bound, our disposition, our lives, in the hands of men. And I am certain that they were as alarmed as I to be where we were. I think it required no great perception to understand that we beheld, unwilling though we might be, sensitive matters, matters which might prove delicate, matters which might deal, even, with states.