 CHAPTER XVI. CHAPTER XVI. Summer had burned hot on the Asiatic uplands, but winter would be very cold. The day after he left the city Ancyra, Yoden felt the wind surge through his clothes and flesh toward his bones. Overhead the sky was leaden, with a dirty rack flying beneath it. Dust smoked off harvested fields. There were not many of these. The rest was wild brown pasture, cut by tiny streams and bare hills. He was on the edge of Axalon, the vast treeless plateau running south to Lacaonia, with little more sign of man than some sheep and goat herds. He rapped his cloak more tightly about him, and thought of autumn, gold and scarlet in Jutland, where forests roared on long ridges. Why had three Gallic tribes left such a country nearly two hundred years ago and wandered hither? But so they had, conquering Cappadocians and Phrygians until a new nation stood forth around the Hellas. They let the natives farm and trade as ever, save for taxes and a share in the crop. The invaders routed their three tribes in separate parts of the country, each divided into four cantons with a chief and a judge above it. A great council imagined it guided the entirety. Mithridates had remarked once, it was no mean feat to combine so carefully the worst features of a monarchy and a republic. The Gaul shunned cities, holding two fortified villages clustered around the castles of chiefs. There they practiced the skills of war, heard their beards and druids, remained in fact, under all the proud trumpets, a wistful fragment of the north. Maybe the powers were not so unkind after all, said Yoden. It might have been worse for the Simbri had they overcome Rome. Chor shook his head, puzzled. You are a strange one, Disa, he said. Half of what you speak these days I do not understand at all. They trotted on southward, into the wind off the high plains. Some miles ahead lay the Pontine army, where Mithridates was getting ready to march home. The Lancers who jingled after Yoden and Chor were a detachment sent to fetch certain hostages who would assure the behavior of Ancyrus Phrygians as well as of the tectosagic overlords. Yoden had recognized the commission, small though it was, as a mark of royal favor. For himself he was chiefly pleased that the Greek he had been studying as Chance offered was now good enough to serve him. He could not live in Asia without learning its universal second language. Chor glanced complacently at his own outfit. Like the Simbrian he wore the garb of a Persian cavalry officer, though he had added there too a treasure of golden bracelets. This has been a good war, he said. We have seen new lands and new folk, done some lively fighting. Ha! Do you remember how we attacked them at the river, drove them into the waters and fought them there? And those castles we won were stuffed with plunder. I saw them, replied Yoden shortly. He did not know why his mood should be so gray. It had indeed been a fine campaign, and he had learned more about war and leadership than he could reckon up, much of it simply from watching Mithridates, who was a noble chief to follow and often a good, mirthful, restless-minded friend to converse with. The battles had gone well. One could forget the unforgotten during a few clangorous hours of charge and fight and pursuit until the tectosages yielded the terms and indemnities demanded. He, Yoden, had been granted enough booty to pay the expenses of Sinop's court. Now his own star could follow that of Mithridates until both perhaps lit all the Orient sky. Nevertheless winter lay in his soul, and he rode to his king without gladness. Chor went on eagerly. The best of it is we've not to garrison here in winter. Back to Sinop or Trapezes? Here's a city. Do you remember how we stopped there? It had been politic to march eastward first, entering Galatia through the country of the Trachmy, who had already been subdued, for Rome watched jealously the stump of independent Paphlegonia that lay between Sinop and Ancyra. The Yoden smiled one-sidedly. I remember how you hired a body-house just for yourself. Oh, I invited my friends, of course. A pity the king wished to talk geography or astronomy or whatever it was with you that night. Still, we've picked up some nice winches here and there, not so. Chor sighed in reminiscence. Ah, Sattalu! She was as sweet and bouncy as a stack of new-mown clover. Not that I say anything against my concubine in Sinop, though I may buy another one or two for variety. He rubbed the hammer at his side. There's luck in this old mall, I tell you. Maybe even something of the lightning. Yoden's thoughts drifted pastward. Perhaps his forebodings were no more than a recollection. Now, when he was not too hurried to consider it, of how the captured Galatians had stumbled in clanking lines north to the slave-markets of Pontus. Or it might be a certain aloneness. Friny had not understood. Maybe no woman could understand how a man was driven to one after another by the ruthless force of the bull merely so that he could sleep afterward, when the only one he truly wanted had dwindled to a small burning star on a windy sea. Wherefore, Friny had coldly avoided him. In the bustle of an army that made ready to go, he had found no chance to seek her out and gain back a friendship he missed. There was little privacy in an eastern palace. He contended himself with making certain she would have an honourable, paid position in the household. Could I write, he thought, my words would have reached her during these months. But since I lacked that great witchcraft, I was only able to make sacrifices, hoping the gods would bring her a dream of me. He had offered to many powerful gods, Simberlin's bull, who was also in some way moon and sun, and Hertha, the earth-mother, whom they called Sibily down here. Even Jupiter and the forked-tongued thundersnake that shore invoked. He would have given Mithras precedents, that being the favourite god of Pontus, but the king explained it was forbidden to call on him unless one had been initiated into his mysteries, and thereafter. But you can be instructed this winter, when we have come home, and I myself will stand as your sponsor, for our hearts are much alike, Yoden. The Simberlin was ready enough to go under the banner of Mithras, who was not only strong, but consoling. He had been born of a virgin through the grace of Ahura Mazda, the good, that all his followers might live in heaven after death, which seemed a better fate than that granted the puzzled quiet shades of the Greeks. Perhaps Mithras could even call Wicca back from the night wind, though Yoden dared not hope it. The god's midwinter birthday was a cheerful occasion, where men feasted and exchanged gifts. One day, when evil Ahriman rose up for a last onslaught, all those warriors whom Mithras had been guesting in heaven would ride with him to battle. Yoden thought sometimes that the North might welcome such a god, more humanly brave than the dark, nearly formless wild powers of earth and sky. But it seemed unsure that he would ever again see the North. There now, shall we enter in the horseman's manner? Yoden looked up, blinking to awareness. The camp was in view, not very far ahead. Indeed, he said, wondering where the time had gone. It was mid-afternoon. He signaled his trumpeter, and the call rang out, cold and brassy, in the grey cold light. The wind made it ragged. But the troopers raised their lances and smote with their spurs. As one, they came agallop under streaming flags, through the tents and a burned village, to the castle walls. Yoden jumped to the ground and flung his reins at a groom. The captain of the watch saluted him before the gates. Let it be known, said Yoden, that the Cymbrian has returned from Ancyra as ordered, and will see the king when the king pleases. May the king live forever! After quartering the hostages, he walked toward his own tent. There was much he did not like in Asia, he reflected, and this crawling before the high, in both words and flesh, was not the least. Mithridates deserved respect, yes, but a man was not a dog. Nor was a woman an animal to be kept for breeding or pleasure alone. A few months of giggling eastern wenches had shown Yoden how sheer tedium could drive so many men to catamites. He thought a friny, born a slave, less chained in her soul than the high queen of Pontus. It is better in the north, he thought, overwhelmed by his earliest years. They are still free folk on Jutland's moors. Master! Yoden paused before his tent. Chor, who had just left him, returned quickly. A slave bent his knee to him. Master, the great king would see the Cymbrian at once. What? The Yoden looked down at his mail, flowing trousers, spurred boots, and flapping red cloak, all dulled with dust. Well, Mithridates was a soldier too. I come. What might it be? asked Chor, pacing him as he hurried back under the grassy earth wall. Has something happened? Surely it has, said Yoden, or the king would allow me a rest and a bite to eat first. Maybe a new war has begun somewhere. Yoden grinned with a sour humor. We are not so important, you and I, that we're summoned in person to plan the royal strategy. I think this concerns us, me at least, alone. He paused at the castle gate to surrender his longsword. Chor scowled unhappily. I shall wait here, he said. Perhaps my hammer will fend off bad luck. Yoden said, with the bleakness of wind and treeless uplands taking him. I think our luck has already passed these doors and is waiting inside. He crossed a flagged courtyard where guardsmen drilled among the lesser buildings. The keep was a gloomy stone hall, sod roofed and galleried. Beyond its entry-room was a long feasting chamber, where Mithridates had established his court. Fires burning in pits along the rush-strewn dirt floor gave some warmth, though not all their fumes went out the smoke holes. The king had added charcoal braziers and had hung his lamps from captured swords thrust into wooden pillars carved with gods. He sat in the canton chief's high seat, which was shaped like the lap of Staghorn Cernunnos. A robe of Cermation sable and African leopard warmed Mithridates' huge frame. His golden chaplet caught the unsure light like a looted halo. Around the room gleamed his unmoving hoplites, a few courtiers and some mismatched galls huddled at one end, where a boy plucked an unheeded lyre. The Odin put his helmet under his arm, strode to the king and bowed to one knee, a special favour granted for his blood of boyaric. What does my lord wish from his servant? Stand, Cymbrian! The Odin saw a troubled look on the heavy face. Today there came an embassy. Mithridates leaned toward a runner who crouched under the secretary's feet. Bring them in. The Odin waited. The king said slowly... You have been welcome at court and camp, not for your knowledge and tales of far places, though they delighted many hours of mine. Not for your sword, though it has sung me a gallant song. But for something that is yourself. What so ever may happen, Odin, remember what has been between us. The gods themselves cannot take away the past. A door at the far end was flung wide. Two came through it. One was a man in a toga. The Odin could not see his countenance by the dim unrestful light. But even through a long hooded mantle he would know the shape and gait of the other. His blood pulsed with a quick unreasonable gladness. He forgot himself in the king's presence and ran toward her with his hands outstretched. Friny! he cried. Reaching her he grasped her by the elbows and looked down into the pale, heart-shaped face and said in his lame Greek, Now I can tell you with your homeland's speech how I have missed you. Odin! she shivered violently as if winter had come with her all the way down from the north. Odin, my only gift to you, is woe. He raised his eyes most carefully and looked upon nius valerius flavius. The Odin howled. He sprang back, snatching for his sword, but the empty belt mocked him. The Roman lifted an arm. Ave! he said. His closed mouth, smile, creased cheeks groaned gaunt. The Odin could see how the bone stood forth in his face. The Odin remembered the king, motionless on the knees of a conquered god. He choked back his breath. One by one, easing muscles that had stiffened to leap at a certain throat, he wheeled and marched to the high seat and prostrated himself thrice. Great King, whose glory lights the world! he said thickly, returning to the Latin he could best use. Forgive your slave. This Roman slew my wife. Give him to me, Lord of all the earth, and I will afterward eat that fire for your amusement if you wish. Mithridates leaned back. He considered Flavius, who saluted him with no more respect than a high-born Roman was allowed to show any foreign despot. Lastly, his glance fell upon Franey, kissing the floor beside the Odin. Who is that? he asked. Then, with a sudden chuckle of pure pleasure, a laughter of a little boy shone some wholly unawaited novelty. Why, it is the Greek girl who fled with the two men. This I was not told. Rise, both of you. Woman, explain your arrival here. Odin stood up. His jaws were clenched, so they ached. He looked across a few feet at Flavius. No, he would not look. He shifted his eyes to Franey. He stood before the king, her bowed head shielding her face, and said in Greek, Merciful monarch, I am no one. Only a slave-girl named Franey, who escaped from Rome with the Cymbrian and is now free by your grace. May the sun never set upon you. As the king has heard, this Roman came to Sinop with armed escort, saying he had a commission to bring back the Cymbrian. When he learned that your majesty was being served by the Cymbrian down here, he arranged for horses and rode with the Pontine guides, for who would leave a Roman unwatched, through Paphlegonia and Galatia to find you. It went as a diplomatic party, but its purpose is hostile, that the king may be deprived of the Cymbrian services. All this I was told through the household. Some of your majesty's favour has come down to me. Your majesty made rich gifts to all our party when we arrived, though I was not summoned to thank you. And then there were my earnings and some gifts from the parents of children I instructed. With all this I was able to buy a strong eunuch to guard me. The captain of the Pontine escort kindly allowed me, on my plea, to accompany them. Did you have that much money, besides the slave's price? asked Mithridates dryly. I was to give him my eunuch when we reached the king's camp, whispered Friny. And be alone and penniless among soldiers? Mithridates clicked his tongue. Cymbrian, you have a loyal friend indeed. I did not believe any woman capable of it. He leaned forward. Come here, Friny, stand before me. His hand reached out, throwing back her hood, then reaching for her chin to tilt her face up to his. Yoden saw how the blue-black hair had grown in the summer, still too short but softly gathered above a slim neck. Yes, she was surely a woman. Why was I not told about you before now? murmured the king. Flavia said with a tone that jibed at Yoden. Your majesty, she would not speak to me all the trip, but when she found herself, as your majesty phrased it, alone and penniless among soldiers, with no way into the royal presence, it entertained me, as I hoped it might entertain your majesty, to offer her help and protection which she must accept. It was at my express desire that she was allowed to wait outside with me. He raised his shoulders and his brows. Of course it might have been more amusing to see what she would have tried to gain admittance. A woman is never quite penniless. She always has one commodity. Mithridates held Frany's head, watching the blood and the helpless anger rise in her. Finally he released the girl. The Flavius misunderstood me, he said. We shall let you speak your case, Frany. He nodded toward Yoden. However, that the Simbreen may know your mission, Roman, state it first. His head lifted as though on a spear shaft. His tone rang out, with more depth and harshness than Yoden had yet heard from him. Your majesty, this barbarian and his associates are more than runaway slaves. They have murdered free men, even citizens. There is a wise Roman law that orders that if a slave kills his owner, then all the slaves of that owner must die. How else shall free men and their wives and daughters be safe? No writ runs here but mine, said Mithridates calmly. Your majesty, pursued Flavius, the Simbreen and his allies did still worse. They committed piracy, and that is an offense against the law of all nations. I have heard his tale, said Mithridates. I feel it was more an act of war than of piracy. His teeth gleamed in the same child's delight as before. But if you are the very man whom the Simbreen overcame, tell me your story. What happened on that other vessel? We destroyed his mutineers great king and rode to Ikea, whence I returned overland as fast as horses would bear me. When the facts of this outrage were laid before the senate, it was decided that the Simbreen must be punished. Did not Neptune strike him down first? But not until lately did intelligence reach me, who had been given charge of the hunt that these outlaws had insinuated themselves into your majesty's grace. I came at once to free your majesty of such odious creatures. Now, enough! Mithridates turned to Franny. Well, girl, what is it you wish so badly to say to me? She might have fallen at his feet, but she stood before him like a visiting queen. Her tones fell soft. Great King, I would do no more than plead for the lives of two brave men. My own does not matter. For that, said Mithridates, I shall surely never let you go. Flavia said with a devouring bitterness. Your majesty, the senate of Rome does not feel this female slave is of great importance, or even the Atlantic barbarian. It is not recommended to your majesty that you leave them alive, but I feel the king will soon discover that for himself. However, the Simbreen, ringleader, and evil genius of them all must be done away with. We would prefer he die in Rome, but otherwise he must die here. I have already presented your majesty with the ridden consular decree of the Republic. May I say to the great king, in the friendliest of spirit, knowing that a word to the wise is sufficient, should I return with this decree unfulfilled, the senate may be forced to reckon it a cause for war. CHAPTER XVII You bid me surrender a guest who has fought well for me to boot, Mithridates said gravely. And then, with an imp's grin. Also, I doubt the reality of your threat. If the Simbre were all like this one, Europe must still be too shaken to go adventuring in the east. Ten years hence, perhaps, but no one would hazard so rich a province as Pergamum just to capture a man. I have read your official documents flavious, and they convey nothing but a strong request. Great king, it was never my intention to threaten, answered the Roman with a smooth quickness. Forgive clumsy words. We are blood folk in the Republic. But, of course, the king understands that the senate and the people of Rome will welcome so vital a token of a most powerful and splendid monarch's good will toward them. I am authorized to make a small material symbol of the state's gratitude to the amount of, I have seen what the bribe will be, said Mithridates. We shall discuss all this at leisure to-night. His gaze flickering between Yoden and Flavius he chuckled deeply. There will be a feast at which you two old friends may reminisce. In the meantime I forbid violence between you. Now I have work to do. You may go." Yoden backed out, taking Franey's arm at the door. Come to my tent, he said. You should not have been so reckless as to travel hither. I would not hold back from you even the littlest help, she whispered. She caught at his cloak and her tone became shrill. Yoden, will he give you up to them? I hardly think so, said the Cymbrian. Bitterness swelled in his throat. But neither will he give Flavius up to me. They started across the courtyard and the wind snatched at their mantles. Yoden looked back and saw Flavius emerging from the keep. Wait, he said to Franey. There are things I would talk about that no one else has a right to hear. You will disappoint the king, she said in an acrid voice. He is looking forward to the subtlest gladiatorial contest. Yoden strode from her. Flavius wrapped his toga more closely against the cold bluster of the air. He smiled, raising his brows and stood waiting. His dark, curly hair fluttered. But somehow no youth or merriment were left in him. Will you be kind enough to assault me? He asked. I am not a fool, grunted Yoden. No, not in such respects. Since your life hangs now on the king's pleasure, you will heal to his lightest whim like any well- trained dog. Flavius spoke quietly, choosing each word beforehand. Thus it is seen, he who is born to be a slave will always be a slave. Yoden held on to his soul with both hands. At last he got out. I will meet you somewhere beyond the power of both Rome and Pontus. Flavius skinned his teeth in a grin. Your destruction is more important to me than the dubious pleasures of single combat. You are afraid, then, said Yoden. You only fight women. Flavius clenched his free hand. His whittled face congealed. He said in a flat voice. I cannot help but smite those women whom you forever make your shields. Now it is a Greek slave girl. How many more have you crawled behind, even before you debouched my wife? I went through a door that stood unbarred to all, flared Yoden. Like unto like. Will it console you to know, Cymbrian, that she has divorced me? For she grows great with no child of mine, a brat I would surely drown where it dropped in my house. Yoden felt a dull pleasure. This was no decent way to hurt an enemy, yet what other way did he have? So now your hopes for the consulate are broken, he said. That much service have I done, Rome? Not so, Flavius told him. For I allow the divorce in an amicable way, not raising the charges of adultery I might. Thus her father is grateful to me. He nodded. There are troublous years coming. The plebs riot and the patricians fall out with each other. I shall rise high enough in the confusion so that I will have power to prescribe your bastard. It had never occurred to Yoden before to think about the by-blow of his women. He had set Wicca's authorick upon his knee and named him heir, but otherwise... Now, far down under the seething in him, he knew a tenderness. He could find no reason for it. There was a power here. He would have chanced Mithrideti's wrath and broken the neck of Flavius merely to save an unborn child, little and lonely in the dark, whom he would never see. But no, those guardsmen drilling beneath the walls would seize him before he finished the task. He asked in a sort of wonder, Is this why you pursue me? I bear the commission of the Republic. The king spoke truly. They are not that interested in one man. This decree is a gesture to please you, but like through your father-in-law. You are the one who has made it his life's work to destroy me. Well, then, if you wish, I am revenging Cordelia, said Flavius. His eyes shifted with a curious unease. I spared you at Arosio. And what was Cordelia to you ever? So now you call up the past and whine for your life. Oh, no, said Eoden softly. I thank all the high gods that we meet again, for you killed my wicca. I did, cried Flavius. His skin was chalky. Now the gods would shatter you, did they exist? Your sword struck her down, said Eoden. After you flung her upon it, shrieked Flavius, you are her murderer and none but you. I have heard enough of your filth. He whirled and almost ran. Frining, small and solitary at the gate, flinched aside from him. He vanished. Eoden stood for a while, staring after the Roman. It came to him finally, like a voice from elsewhere. So that is why he must hate me. He also loved wicca in his own way. Indeed, the soul of man is a forest at night. He thought coldly, it is well. Now I can be certain that Flavius will never depart my track until one of us has died. Friny joined him as he left. As they went mutely from the castle, Chor rushed up to them. There are Romans come, he bawled, a dozen Roman soldiers in camp. I'd swear I saw Flavius himself go by. Friny, you are here. Have you any further information?" asked the girl sweetly. They walked toward Eoden's tent and she explained to the Allen what had happened. Chor gripped his hammer. By the thunder, he said, it is well done of you. But what help did you think you could give us? I did not know, she answered unsteadily, nor am I certain yet. A word, perhaps. One more voice to plead, with a flattering a basement impossible to Eoden, or some scheme I could not stay away. Chor looked at the Symbrians unheeding back. Be not angry with him if he shows you cold thanks, he said. There has been a blackness in him of late and this cannot have lightened it. He has already rewarded me beyond measure, she said. By the way, he greeted me. She entered the tent. Eoden slumped on a heap of skins and wrapped solitude about himself. After some low voice talk with Friny, it occurred to Chor to take her out and show her to his and Eoden's personal guards, grooms, and other attendants. She is not to be insulted. Obey her, as you would obey me. Any who behaves otherwise, I'll break his head. Do you hear? When they came back, it was approaching sunset. Eoden was sitting before a small pile of silks, linens, and ornaments. A slave brought these for you, Friny, he said. The king commands your presence at his feast. The king! She stared bewildered. What would the king with me? Be not afraid, said Eoden. He is only cruel to his enemies. Chor's eyes glittered. But this is wonderful, he cried. Girl, your fortune may be made. I'll get a female to help you dress. When she had gone, he muttered, she did not appear overly glad of the king's favour. She is too frightened on our behalf, said Eoden. Do you think she has good reason to fear? I do not know, nor care, if I can only lay hands on Flavius. As twilight fell, an escort of torch-bearers came to bring them to the castle. Entering the feasting-hall, Eoden saw it aglow with lamps. Some attempt to make it worthy of the king was shown by plundered robes strewn on the floor. Musicians stood in the murk under the god-pillars and catter-walled. It was no large banquet Mithridates gave this night. Couches for a score of his officers, with Eoden on his right and shore beyond him, Flavius on the left. Cymbrian and Allen wore Persian dress to defy the plain white tunic of the Roman. The rest clad their Anatolian bodies in Greek style, save that the king had thrown a purple robe over his wide shoulders. The Eoden greeted Mithridates and the nobles as always, and reclined himself stiffly. The king helped himself to fruit from a crystal bowl. Never before has this place known such an assembly of the great, he declared with sardonic sententiousness. And yet our chief guest has not been summoned. Who might that be, Lord of the World? asked Apontein. It is not our custom that women dine with men, said Mithridates. We feel it a corruption of older and manlier ways. That was a malicious dart at Flavius, thought Eoden. Yet all you nobles would consider it no insult to guest a queen, and many philosophers assure us that royalty is a matter of the spirit rather than of birth. Though the great king shows that when spirit and birth unite, royalty comes near godhood, said an officer with practised readiness. I am therefore pleased to present to you all a veritable Atalanta, for an Amazon princess, or even an Athena, wise as well as valiant. Let Friny of Hellas stand forth. She walked from the inner door urged by a chamberlain. Her garb was dazzling, long lustrous gown and flowing silk and mantle, her hair and throat and arms of barbaric blaze of finery. It came as a wrenching in Eoden that she should look so unhappy. She advanced with downcast eyes and prostrated herself. No! Up! Up! boomed Mithridates. The king would have you share his place! Eoden heard a muffled snicker at the table's end. Blood beat thickly in his temples. What right had some Asiatic to laugh at a Greek? His eyes ranged in search of the man to deal with him later. By the time he looked back, Friny had reclined beside Mithridates on the royal couch. No! said the ruler in his customary Greek. She spent her last wealth and risked life, freedom and honor to journey here from sign-up that she might plead the case of her comrades. And before then she had shared the perils of flight from Rome and battle at sea, and she has learned it enough to instruct the children of noblemen. Therefore I say a queen's heart lies behind those fair breasts, and it shall have a queen's honor. Drink, Friny! He took up his huge silver chalice and gave it to her with his own hands, a low envious gasp sighed down the length of the table. Friny lifted her decorous veil to put the cup to her lips. Ha! Ha! shouted Mithridates. See! She is beautiful as well! Let the feast begin! It was no banquet at all compared to the leased meal in sign-up, little more than a roast ox and several kinds of fowl stuffed with rice and olives. No acrobats or trained women being available, some young gals offered a perilous sword dance, and a frigid wizard showed such tricks as releasing doves from an empty box. Thus Chor enjoyed it better than any he had attended before. His caffars rang between the guardsmen's shields until even Flavius had to smile a little. Yodan hardly noticed what passed his eyes and teeth. He was too aware of the Roman. When the meal was at last over, an expectant silence fell. Mithridates leaned toward Flavius. Your account of your adventures was ungraciously curt to-day, he said, smiling. Now we would hear more fully. You can be no ordinary man who so endangered the Cymbrian. Your majesty flatters me, said Flavius. I am a most ordinary Roman. Then you flatter your state, though you belittled it earlier in contending that one man might be so great a danger to it. Would not your majesty alone be the greatest danger to us? Were we so unfortunate as to lose your goodwill? Ha! Let it not be said, your race makes poor courtiers. Your compliments are only less polished than the orations in which you describe your own bluffness. Mithridates drained his chalice and set it down. At once a slave refilled it. His gaze went from Flavius to Yodan to Chor and back to Friny. Surely there is a purpose here, he mused. Lives are not often so entangled. I must take care to reach a decision that will accord with the will of the Most High. Yodan sat up. My lord, he said raggedly, give weapons to us too, or our bare hands, and watch who heaven favors. Mithridates murmured thoughtfully, I have heard you speak of yourself, Yodan, as a man whom the gods hate. For once he spoke the truth, your majesty, said Flavius. It would be an impiety if, if I at least, suffered him to live. Would you meet him in single combat, then? asked Mithridates. It is an uncouth German custom, your majesty, said Flavius. It is not worthy of a civilized man. You have not answered my question. Well, I would meet him, great king, if there were no better way. Yodan sprang to his feet. At once, he yelled. Give me my hammer, and I'll take care of his following, said Chor. Friny sat up on the couch. No, she gasped. Back, cried Mithridates. His face was flushed with the wine. He drained a second cup in three gulps. Back, lie down. I cannot have this. You are both my guests. The room grew very quiet, until only the crackling fires and the heavy breathing of men had voice. And outside the wind prowled under the walls. This may not be, said the king, finally. I am a civilized man, too. Let the world be sure, I am no barbarian. We shall settle this dispute by reason and principle. Hear me, and obey. The king has spoken, came whispers from around the long room. These people sought my roof, said Mithridates. And it was granted them to stay. They are under my protection. The hospitality of your majesty is known throughout the world, said Flavius. But no guest may remain for ever. Dismiss them from your presence, great Lord, and I will wait for them outside your borders. You have not yet given me a reason to send them away, Mithridates told him. Your majesty, said Flavius, becoming grave. I have charged them with revolt, murder, theft, and piracy. They are foes of civilization itself, and the Roman state is certain that all civilized men will recognize that fact. Let me tell the king at all. At their request the Simbri sent an embassy to Rome while they were still in Gaul. Their terms were refused, of course, should we allow wild men within our borders, but they were shown about the city. Has the king heard what they thought most wonderful? The feed-bags on dre-horses. It is truth, I tell. They could not take their eyes off. They laughed like children. They were also shown that Grecian statue called the Shepard, which the king has surely heard is one of our greatest treasures, the image of an old man with all the tragedy and dignity of age upon him. They wondered why anyone had trouble to picture a slave so old and lame as to be worthless. Flavius leaned forward, gesturing, his orator's voice filling the hall with richness and warmth. Great King! Beyond our realms are the barbarians, the howling folk without law or knowledge. We have thrilled at your exploits when you broke the Scythians. There you served Rome. Your Majesty, even as Rome served Pontus on the Raudian plain. Our forefathers were not the same, Great King. Yours were Persian Shahs, and mine were Latin freeholders. But the same mother bore us, hell us, and we honour her alike. He pointed at Yodan. There he sits, the enemy, who would stable his horses in the Parthenon and kindle a fire with Homer. It is more that I hunt than this one barbarian, O protector of the Greeks. It is barbarism itself. Stillness fell again. Mithridates drained another cup. Yodan crouched, waiting for he knew not what. The King looked at him. What have you to say to that? He asked. Yodan thought dimly. I might play upon his honour, as Flavius did on his pride. I daresay he would allow me to remain in Pontus the rest of my life. Did I show him a scar or two one in his service? But I am a Cymbrian. He said, heavily in his rough Greek. I ask no more than the rights of a man, my lord. A barbarian is not a man, snarled Flavius. Mithridates shifted the weight on his oboe till he stared down at Frany. Well, he said, we have one pure Helene here. What does she think? A greeking slave, exclaimed Flavius, the king jests. He knows a slave is even less a person than a barbarian. He sat up and flung at him. You were a better man's slave after Arasio. You needed the whole Roman army to make him yours in turn. Must we raise ancestors from Hades? Well, then, where were yours when mine fought at Salamis? Mithridates put on a frown. Mine were in Persian ships, he said. Yet now you are called the protector of the Greeks, she answered promptly. He grinned. Lord King, who deserved better of you, the man who freed even one little Greek, or the man whose people laid Corinth's waste? I cannot believe you are at feud with all the gods, Yoden, said Mithridates. At least one must love you to send you so fair an advocate. He sprawled lion-like, turning his main head toward Flavius. These people are still of my household, he said. Let no man do them harm. The king has spoken. Yoden's heart lifted, however somberly, as Flavius bent his stiff neck. I hear and obey your majesty, he mumbled. Well, said Mithridates, his solemnity leaping to become genial. Remain awhile. A company is back to sign up. There is much I would ask of you, and you shall not go home empty-handed. Now fill all flagans and drink with me." Friny stared at Yoden a moment, then her face sank into her hands. "'But what is the matter?' said the king. You have won your case, girl." "'Forgive me, Lord, that is why I weep. Come, drink of my cup. Those eyes are too beautiful to redden.' She accepted shakily. Jor plucked at Yoden's sleeve. "'We seem to have escaped that snare,' he muttered. Now we'll have to devise one for Flavius." Yoden glanced across at the Roman, who was shaking in rage but somehow achieving mannered discourse with a pontine officer. "'Hm. Perhaps the king will let me pursue him when he departs. No, I fear not. It would be an open act of war. It may be I shall have to wait until there is actual war with Rome.' His fingers strained crooked upon the cushions. Give it be otherwise.' "'Make not too free with such wishes,' cautioned Jor. "'They are often granted in ways we mortals did not look for.'" The Yoden drank deep, as it was one means of easing the hate and the hurt within himself. He saw Flavius do likewise. Mithridates was in conversation with Frani. None dared to interrupt him. Yoden drifted about, playing some pechisi with one man. He played badly to-night and talking of cavalry tactics with another. Time went. He heard Mithridates at last when the deep voice crashed through all the babble around. "'Come with me now.' He swung about, suddenly cold. The king was standing up. Frani had risen too. Her hands were lifted and behind her thin veil he saw horror. "'What does my lord mean?' she said, almost wildly. Mithridates threw back his head and bellowed laughter. You cannot be that much a maiden,' he whooped. They only raised them like that in Asia, for a novelty. She sank to her knees so that his bulk loomed up in shadow and she was only a little heap of gaily-colored clothes before him. "'Great king, I am not worthy,' she stammered. "'What the skull and bones is this?' muttered Chor at Yoden's ear. Her luck has found her and she won't go with it.' The Cybrian's gaze swept the hall. Most of the court was too drunk to heed the by-play. A few watched with liquorish interest. Flavius stood under a pillar grinning. Truly, thought Yoden in the darkness of his head, some god had rewarded Frani. A royal concubine was rich and honoured. It was by no means impossible to become a royal wife. And Mithridates, they said, was man enough to satisfy all his harem. The Cybrian took a step forward, feeling his skin prickle. He grew aware that his hand felt after a sword he did not have. Frani, huddled at the king's feet, looked sideways. Her look met Yoden's. It was black with ruin. He glided toward her, hardly knowing what he did. Frani shook her head at him and he jerked to a halt. Oh, bull of the Cymbry, what power used his limbs to-night! "'You have shown yourself well worthy,' said Mithridates, on an impatient note. Rise and come!' Perhaps only Yoden saw her lips tighten. She beat her head on the floor. Lord, forgive your slave! The moon forbids me!' "'Oh! Oh, indeed!' Mithridates stepped back, a primitive unease on his face. You should have told me that earlier.' "'I was too bedazzled by my lord,' she said. Her regained wit bespoke some resolution taken. The Yoden wondered with a chill what it had been. "'Well, rise!' Mithridates stooped for her hand and pulled her up as if she were weightless. She stood trembling before him. "'A week hence my tent will be decked with king's robes for you,' he said. "'In the meantime you shall have a tent and servants of your own and ride in the tetrarch's litter.' "'Crate King,' she whispered, had Yoden not been close he would not have heard it. "'If your hand-maid should in any way be displeasing to you, should somehow wrong her lord, you will not hold it the fault of her friends. They knew nothing of me, save, that I waited and sign up to do the king's will, even as they wished only to do it.' "'Indeed,' said Mithridates, roughly, "'I am no fool. And have I not raised my shield above them?' He clapped his hands. Let the Chamberlain see to her well-being. Find me a couple of Gallic girls for tonight.' Friene went past Yoden. She threw him only the quickest of glances, but never had he seen a look more lonely. The hurried whisper drifted to him. "'Do not be troubled on my account. I do what is best. Make your own way in the world.' He stared after her. The power drained from him. He felt tired and empty. He heard sure rumble answer to Mithridates. "'No, Lord. I'm sure she's not one of those women who hate the touch of men, even if she has stayed maidenly, uncommonly late. Ha! On the contrary, Lord, the man she likes will have enough to do.' "'I thought so myself,' said Mithridates. "'It is a good omen that she was kept for me alone.' It went through Yoden like a sickness. They dared speak thus of his oath sister. He would have challenged the king himself, if—if—an exile ate bitter bread. He had only changed one slavery for another. End of CHAPTER XVII. CHAPTER XVIII. OF THE GOLDEN SLAVE. BY POLL ANDERSON. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. THE GOLDEN SLAVE. CHAPTER XVIII. In the morning, after a few dark hours of wakefulness or nightmare, he was unsure which, Yoden rose to take up his officer's duties. The Pontines would start home at dawn the next day. Though the army itself could have struck camp in an hour, its train of plunder, its attribute was something else. Yoden was glad enough to lose himself in a whirl of horses. Now and then he glimpsed the Romans, fully armed before their little resting place, no more than a dequery, and yet they had crossed half Asia to make a demand upon the king and his host. It came to him, even in his anger, that he was honoured to have one child who would be Roman. This day was also cold and blustering. Dust flew about his boots up into his eyes and nose and gullet. The clash of iron and brass had a somehow wintry sound. Up over the axilon bulked monstrous blue-black clouds with rain or snow in their bellies, but the earth remained mummy dry. Tent canvas cracked in the wind. About mid-morning the Yoden saw a royal runner weave between the mules whose roundup he was overseeing. He thought nothing of it until the boy plucked at his foot. Then he looked down from the saddle and heard, Master Captain, the king demands your instant attendance. I hear and obey, said Yoden's training. He snapped in order to a younger horseman to continue the task and trotted through the scurry of the camp. Inwardly he felt a tightening. What would the ruler want of him now? When he yielded his sword he felt wholly alone. He had not even a mail-coat to-day, only dirt-streak tunic and breeches in the Persian manner, a plumed helmet to mark his rank. The guards at the gates squinted against the wind and dust, making their faces somehow inhuman. Yoden crossed the courtyard and entered the keep. The hall was nearly empty. One never thought of the rigid troopers around the walls, of the secretary with tablet and stylus or the runners crouched at his feet. Mithridates paced before a fire pit, where flame welled up. He himself was Persian clad, a ruby upon his brow gleamed like a red third eye. He wore a dagger at his hip. From time to time he half drew it and then snicked it back into the sheath as though into an enemy's heart. Yoden advanced until he caught the royal glance and made his usual obeisance. Down on your face, barbarian! roared Mithridates. That was no moment to haggle about pride. Yoden threw himself flat. How have I offended my lord? The upsurge of his own wrath came to him as a shock. He had thought this man was his friend. Where is the woman, Friny? The voice thundered over his head. Yoden leaped to his feet. Is she gone? he shouted. I gave you no command to rise, growled Mithridates. Is she gone? yelled the Cymbrian again, out of a feeling that fire had touched him. Mithridates stared at him for a long while. Slowly the king's visage softened. Then you did not know? he asked quietly. By my father's ghost, lord, I swear I do not. Here, then, her maids entered her tent this morning to help her arise. She was not there. The unicorn guard says he knows nothing. I believe him, though he shall still drink poison for his stupidity and be pardoned only if my new antidote saves him. There was a hold in the tent at the rear. She must have slashed it with a knife among her possessions. When word of this finally came to me I had inquiries made. An undergroom of your own, Cymbrian, says she came to him in the night, demanding horses, clothing, arms and food, and rode off. He says he had received orders to give her whatever she wished without question. That is true, great king, but I never thought. I never... Why would she have gone? Whose destiny had just blossomed? And into the axilon. She was last seen riding south on the road into the axilon. Surely there is witchcraft here, said Yoden. She never showed any sign of madness, lord. An evil spirit must have seized her or some spell. Inwardly, coldly, his mind raced and dodged, like a hare with wolves behind. He did not know what might haunt these dreary planes. Perhaps she was indeed harried out by a troll. He was thinly surprised that he did not cower at the thought, as once he would have done, but wished only to find that creature and sink iron into it. Yet maybe she had done this of her own will, for some reason unknown to him. He found it hard to imagine his cool friny, who knew what the stars were made of, seized by some misshapen, frigid shadow. Or was it just that he dared not imagine it? Whatever the truth he wanted to go after her himself. No yapping asiatics would carry her back in ropes to the king's bed. It was not meat. The Yoden's green gaze narrowed upon Mithridates. He saw the terrors of a thousand generations, who had muttered in dark huts and brood magic against a world that people with demons, flit over the lion-face. Let him dissect as many criminals and cast as many learned horoscopes as he wished. Mithridates remained only half a Greek. They deal in black arts here, said the king. His finger traced a sign against evil, the cross of light that stood on the banners of Mithras. I'll hail the wizard we saw up onto a rack before this hour is out. A scheme sprang into Yoden's head. His heart leaped with it. Or the Romans, he asked. What? No, their law forbids magic. I have seen much Roman law broken by Romans, great master. Also, this may not be sorcery after all. It may be some trick of theirs. Mithridates whirled on a runner. Bring me the Flavius, he rapped. Thereafter he paced up and down, up and down. The only noise being his boots thudding, the fire that hissed in the pits and the wind whining outside. There was much smoke in the hall to-day. It stung tears from Yoden's eyes. He thought back to the night before. How small she had been under the tower which was the king. And why had she been so afraid that his displeasure with her might be visited on her comrades? When the king tired of a concubine, even if she had only been with him one night, he did not rage about it. He always had enough women. He gave her to some noble as a special mark of favour, and of course the noble would never be anything but gentle towards such a token. Usually he made her his chief wife. So Frani's luck had come golden to roost on her shoulder by the mere fact of a royal command to bed. Yet she had looked upon Yoden with desolation, and she had thrown him a final furtive word, not to trouble himself about her, for she would do what was best. He thought stiffening. It was so little to her liking to enter a harem that she wrote forth alone. Out there is a land of wolf, bear, lynx and herdsmen, wilder than they. South are Laoconia and Parthia, where a woman is also only an animal. If she is not slain along the way, there will come a time when she must turn her dagger against herself. Flavius entered. Hail, king of the east, he said. He saw Yoden and stopped. The Cymbrian remained unmoving. Flavius bit his lip. Then... How may I serve your majesty? You can tell me what you know of Frani's vanishing, spat Mithridates. What? Flavius took a step backward. His eyes flickered to Yoden, then returned, and suddenly a faint smile quivered upon his mouth. I know nothing, lord, he murmured. Yet I would venture that she fled in the night. It is so told, Mithridates answered. Is this any work of yours? Of course not, great king. I suggest... He says it was not caused by him, snapped Yoden. Yet my master knows he was never a friend to me or mine, nor is Rome itself a friend of Pontus. What better way to harm us all at one blow? Flavius looked at Mithridates, who rumbled like a beast in the arena. Then slowly the Romans' ruddy brown eyes saw Yoden's, held them, and would not let go. This was your plan to strike at me, was it not? He murmured. I know nothing of it, shouted Yoden. I only know... Flavius shook his head, smiling. Simbrian, Simbrian, you have laid down your natural weapons and tried a womanish trick. You will gain no victory with it. There is never any luck in demeaning oneself. Yoden sought for words, but he found only a black mist of his rage and fear, and of his shame, that he should have tried to use Freini's plight as a dagger in a Roman back. Yes, he thought shaken, I have called down evil upon myself, and now I must somehow endure what comes. Flavius turned back to Mithridates. He flung out speech as crisp as though to an army. Great king, you are insulted by so clumsy an attempt at dividing me from your royal favour. Is it not likelier that this man, who knows the girl, we have only his word and hers that she is even a maiden, this man plotted with her to flee? Surely she had more chance to conspire with him and his friend than me. The caravan master who brought us here from Sinope will testify that she shunned me the whole trip, whereas she was in Yoden's tent yesterday afternoon. And would she go out into that desert with no hope of her succor? Would she not assure herself of an accomplice, a captain who could ride out from the army whenever and wherever he wished, to bring her food, protection, ultimately to smuggle her back? Mithridates hunched his thick frame. His knuckles stood forth white on the knife-hilt. He glared with three red eyes at Yoden and hawked out. What have you to say? That I serve the king and this Roman does not," answered the Simbrian frantically. He felt himself driven back by flavious marching phrases. Protector of the East, there is a simple explanation for what has occurred. Rather, there are two. First, the barbarian and the greekling feared what would happen when you, their master, learned she had lied to you and was only the leavings of a runaway slave. Thus he sent her out and will try to lead her back in the wake of the army. She may live with him disguised in Sinope itself. Or, conceivably, he lured her forth with some such promise, murdered and buried her. Second, it is possible that he himself speaks truth for once, and it was her decision alone to flee. Like unto like, she, a slave born, would rather lie with some frigid goat herd than with the king. Mithridates bellowed as though he had been speared. He seized a lamp, broke its chains with a jerk, and hurled it into the fire pit. When his working face came under Yoden's eyes, the Simbrian knew where he had seen such a look before, in small children about to scream from uncontrollable rage. She will follow that lamp into the flames, said the Pontine. It was almost a groan. The Roman lies! Yoden stalked toward Flavius, raising his hands. The worn eagle face waited for him with a smile of mastery. I will tear out his throat! Remembering himself, he turned about and cried, We do not know it was not witchcraft, Lord! Mithridates swallowed hard. He beat a fist into his palm, walked back and forth under the twisted Celtic gods, and inch by inch drew a cover across his wrath. Finally, his giant striding halted. He searched Yoden's countenance soberly and asked, Will you swear, by all witches holy to you, you have never known her body, and this is no work of yours? I swear it, my king, said Yoden. A barbarian's word sheared Flavius. Be still! crashed the voice of Mithridates. I know this man. Then for a while longer he brooded. Or does any man know another, or even himself? He asked the wooden gods. Decision hardened over the moltenness in him. Well, he said heavily, it seems that she went because of something in her own will, or an enchantment. In neither case is she a fit vessel for royal seed. Let the axilon have her. Yoden's muscles began to ease. He thought, in a remote part of himself, Flavius turned my own foolishness against me, but perhaps Frani left her good genius here to watch. For now it has all become as she must have wished, herself riding off unpursued and no disfavor caused chore or me. She is only another female, after all, said Mithridates. I could send men to fetch her back and let her die an example, but it is unworthy of a civilized man. She would doubtless kill herself when your riders came and view your majesty, said Flavius. Unless, of course, the barbarian here were sent after her. Would you truly split him from me? croaked Mithridates. Sweat studded his face. Yoden knew suddenly what a combat the king was waging in himself. Go, both of you. At once your majesty, said Flavius. The Lord of the East is wise, knowing that if she fled in rebelliousness she would be most amply punished. A herdsman who spied her from afar would know how to stalk her and pounce unsuspected. He bowed a little toward Yoden. If the king permits one more word from me I should like to withdraw my hints as to treason by the barbarian. It is clear that he has abandoned the girl to the axilon, so if he ever did conspire with her he is now aware of his rightful duty toward his true benefactor. The fires burned higher in the king's eyes. His tone cracked the bearish trifle. So, let neither Simrian nor Alan leave the army even for minutes until we come home. His lips writhed upward. It is not that I doubt your oath, Yoden. But you do mourn the thought through the Simrian's upsurging wrath, you do. Flavius knows well how to sew dragon's teeth. Merely, to silence tongues. Yoden saw Flavius' waiver. The hauled and its grinning gods became unreal. He threw back his head to Howell. And then everything drained from him. He stood empty of anger or hate or even sorrow. There was only a road with night at its end and the knowledge that he must walk it or cease to be himself. Lord, he said, let your servant depart. Mithridates started. What do you mean? I was honoured to serve the great king, but it cannot be any more. Let me go out upon the axilon. Flavius caught a gasp between his teeth. Mithridates drew his knife in a hand that shook. The slaves at the room's end cowered back into shadow. Some half-sensed ripple went along the lines of guardsmen and all their eyes swung inward toward Yoden. I must thank the Roman, he went on. I would have let her die out there or worse than die. He showed me my shame. I am not certain why she is gone. It may be a spellcast on her, or it may be of her own choosing. For some reason I do not understand. But she watched over me while I slept among foemen. I cannot offer her less now than my own help. You would bring her back here? Mithridates said with a stubbornness that dug in its heels. He would not believe anything else. Well, perhaps so. With the Alan kept hostage for his return, your Majesty. Put in Flavius. Yoden shook his head. Jor has nothing to do with this, my Lord. That is why I ask leave to depart the King's Service. I do not think it likely Friny wishes to return hither. And you would set her will above mine? asked Mithridates in a stunned voice. What I would like, said Yoden, is that you give her freely into my hands, so that I could bring her back here and let her do or not do whatever she wished. But I have no art of weedling. I ask merely for a dismissal. You will get your head on a gate-post, exclaimed Flavius in a blaze of victory. Mithridates stood stooped, his breath rattling in his lungs. His head swung back and forth as though he were a bull looking for a man to gore. Suddenly he leaped forward, his knife flashed. Yoden stepped aside. The knife struck a pillar, drove in and snapped off short. Guards! Bellow the King, seize this traitor! Yoden stood quietly. Hands fell upon him, spears touched his ribs. He glanced at Flavius. The Roman laughed aloud, bent close while Mithridates screamed and shredded his cloak and whispered, Do you think you fool, he would let you go? You have all but said before his household, frowny left because she would not be taken by him. You insulted more than the King's Majesty. You insulted his manhood. I knew what I said, Yoden answered. Mithridates raged up, flung Flavius and Guardsman aside and smote the Symbrian's face with his hand. Yoden shook a ringing head, licked the blood that ran from his mouth and said in Greek, I did not know it was the custom of civilized men to strike a guest. Mithridates fell back as though from a sword thrust. Then for a while he paced, snarling and mewing. Flavius began to talk but a lion roar silenced him. Wine! said the King at last. A slave hurried up with a flagon. Mithridates snatched it, kicked the kneely man in the stomach, drained the cup and crumbled its heavy silver between his fingers. Another! he commanded. It was brought him. He drank it with more care. He flung himself onto the high seat, slumped for a while, looked up into the darkness above the rafters and finally began to laugh. It was a raw, barking laugh, with little humor, but at the end he stood up and spoke calmly. Release him, he said. The guards fell back and Yoden waited. Mithridates folded his arms. After this he continued almost in a light tone. You will not care to stay. It is a delicate question whether you are my guest, my soldier or my slave, but civilized people must be generous. Let the Simbrane take the horse, the arms and the monies he got from me. Let him ride off wherever he wishes, so he come not back to this army. The wind piped around the hall, the fire pits roared. Well, be gone! cried Mithridates. Yoden bent his knee and backed out, as though he were leaving on some royal errand. And with the powers it were so, he thought dully, knowing a wound took hours to feel pain. He heard Flavius say, in a voice that quivered, Great King, will you also let this guest depart? As if from immensely far away the voice of Mithridates came. There is a destiny here. I would stay in its way if I dared, but I am only a man, even I. Tomorrow at dawn, when we march north, you may quit the camp. An animal scream. Now leave my eyes, all of you. Every man in here, leave the king to himself! They streamed out, almost running, terror written beneath the bright helmets. For the king sat at a heathen's god's feet and wept. Yoden saw Flavius stalk toward his own tent. They exchanged no words. He went to his place, clapped for a groom, and donned his Persian war-garb. A saddle-grey stallion was led forth. Yoden sprang upon it and trotted quickly from the camp. He would follow the highway south, hoping for a sign. An hour afterward, when the Pontine army was only smoke on a gray horizon, he saw the dust cloud behind. It neared until he could see the black horse that raised it, and finally he heard the drumbeat of its hoofs, and Chor's red beard flaunted itself in the wind. Oof! said the Alan, pulling up beside him. You might have waited! Yoden cried aloud. It was not needful. You should have stayed where your luck was. No. Now what luck would come to a man that forsook his oaths, said Chor. I was weary of Pontus anyhow. Now we will surely drink of my dawn again. End of Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Of The Golden Slave by Paul Anderson This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Golden Slave Chapter 19 Since gossip brought you the tale so swiftly, Yoden said, you must also have heard the Romans will be after us at dawn to-morrow. They have money, and the Gauls here favor them. They'll hire guides, dogs, and a string of remounts. I have hunted and been hunted on planes before now, replied Chor. A flock of sheep to confuse the scent, a trackless waste as soon as we leave this road. Oh, we can race them all the way to Parthia with good hope of winning. But that is what we may not do, and why you had best return before the king learns of your absence. I left only on Freini's account. I shall have to find her before undertaking such a trip, and it may consume all the time between me and the pursuit. Chor cocked an eye at him knowingly. Yoden felt his wind-beaten face grow hot. He said angrily. She is my oath, sister. Did she think I would forget what that means? Dah! nodded the Allen. Or she would have given herself to Mithridates with no fuss. He squinted down the rutted dirt road, which wound among boulders and seer grass until it lost itself in stormy black clouds. Now our task is to trail her, and she would have made herself hard to trail. We can only follow this, I think, till we come on someone who's seen a boyish-looking horse archer go by, for thus I take it she equipped herself. So my groom told me, and she was too frightened to make up a lie. Come then! They jingled through the unspeaking hours. At day's end they passed a goat herd in a stinking wool tunic and knitted frigid cap. He had given them a sullen look and mumbled his own language, which they did not understand, through greasy whiskers. The Odin felt grimness. Bad enough to be entering wilds where few, if any, could speak with him, but this was also a land where the half-Persian warriors had made themselves hated. He thought, as darkly and coldly as the whistling twilight, that Flavius might well overhaul him to-morrow before he had any word of friny. He might be wholly doomed. The gods feared proud men. Well, if such was his destiny, he would give no god the pleasure of seeing him writhe under it. Hoa! cried Jor. Odin looked up from his thoughts. The Allen pointed westward, where a single dirty red streak beneath steel and smoke colors marked sunset. A horse out there, he said. Odin spied the beast. It was trotting wearily north over the plane. Horrors stood up in him and screamed. He clamped back an answer of his own, struck spurs into his mouth, and left the highway. The wind snapped his cloak and tried to pull him from his seat. Once his horse stumbled on a rock unseen in the gloom, but he kept the saddle swaying lightly to help the animal muscles that flowed between his knees. And so he drew up to the other horse. It was a chestnut gilding with silvered harness. A light axe was sheathed at the saddle-bow, thus did the riders of Pontus equip themselves. The beast shivered in the heartless wind. Its tail streamed, but the mane was sweat plastered to a sunken neck. Worn out, it groped away back toward the king. The Odin felt as if the heart hadn't cut from him, leaving only a hollowness that bled. Hers, he said. None else, said Shor, a lone alien with arms and armor with ten years of a shepherd's work, a sling and the steed bolted. He looked down upon his useless hands. I am sorry, my sister. The Odin let the horse go. He began to follow the way it had come, as nearly as he could judge. He would not leave Frenny's bones to whiten on this plane. Surely the gods cared for her, if not for him. They would lead him to her and grant him the time to make a pyre and a cairn and to howl over her. Dusk thickened. After some part of an hour he heard a furtive scuttering in the grass. He rode after it and a naked man squeaked forlornly and dodged from him. It was a frigid, holy bear. He had not even a staff, but he clutched something to his breast as he ran. The Odin drew rain and watched him go. What happened to him? asked Shor, clasping his hammer, for this was an uncanny thing to meet on a treeless, autumnal plane at nightfall. I do not know, said Odin. Robbers, the same who killed Frenny, or some trolled him perhaps, for we are in no good country. We cannot speak with that man, so best we leave him alone to his weird. They trod it on. But it grew too dark to see, and Odin would not risk passing by his oath-sister. In the morning the kites would show him from afar where she lay. Then the Romans would come and he would stand by her grave and fight till they slew him. I would like a fire, said Shor. He fumbled in the murk, caring for his horse. The night-gangers would stay away. They will anyhow, the Odin told him. It is not fated that we should be devoured by witch-beasts. Shor said, with awe heavy in his tones, I will believe that. You are something more than a man to-night. I am a man with a goal, said Odin, nothing else. That is enough, said Shor. It is more than I could bear to be. I dare not touch you before dawn. Odin rolled himself into the saddle-blanket, put his head on his wadded cloak, and lay in cold, streaming darkness. The earth felt sick, yearning for rain, and the rain was withheld. He wondered if some of the lightning Shor called on had indeed been locked up in the hammer. When they died to-morrow, the rain might come. Or perhaps thought, Odin, the first snow, for he is the rain but I am the winter. I am the wind. He laid listening to himself, blow across the earth, in darkness, in darkness, with the unrestful slain simbery rushing through the sky behind him. He searched all these evil planes for Friny. The whole night became his search for Friny's ghost. There were many skulls strewn in the long dead grasses, for this land was very old. But none of them was hers, and none of them could tell him anything of her. They only gave him back his own empty whistling. He searched further, up over the Caucasus glaciers, and then down to a sea that roared under his lash, until finally he came riding past a bloody breasted hound, through sounding waves to the gates of hell. Hoofs rang hollow as he circled hell, calling Friny's name, but there was no answer. Though he shook his spear beneath black walls, no one stirred, no one spoke, even the echoes died. So he knew that hell was dead, it had long ago been deserted. And he rode back to the upper world, feeling loneliness horrible within him. And centuries had passed while he was gone. It was spring again. He rode by the grave mound of a warrior named Yoden, who stood out on the ledge of the world where the wind was forever blowing. And on the sheltered side he saw a little colt's foot bloom, the first flower of spring. Then he rested with gladness. The earth turned beneath him. He heard his cold creaking among a blaze of stars. Winter came again, and summer and winter once more, unendingly. But he had seen a colt's foot growing. There is light enough now. Yoden opened his eyes. The gale had slackened, he saw. The air felt a little warmer, and the wind had a wet smell to it. Southward the world was altogether murk. It must be snowing there, he thought dreamily. The wind would bring the snow here before evening. It seems that the first snow this year should come from the south. But then, perhaps, the land climbed more slowly than the eye could see. Yes, surely it did, for he had heard that the Taurus Mountains lay in that direction. The Mountains of the Bull, he said. It may be an omen. What do you mean? Chor was a blocky shadow in the one half-light squatting with a loaf of bread in his hands. We must cross the Mountains of the Bull to reach Parthia. If we lived that long, grunted the Allen. He ripped off a chunk of bread, touched it with his hammer, and threw it out into the dark. Perhaps some god or sprite or whatever lived here would accept the sacrifice. That is uncertain, agreed Yoden. He shivered and rolled out of his blanket. Best we be on our way. The enemy will start at sunrise. Chor regarded him carefully. You are a man again, he said. A mortal, I mean. You are no more beyond hope, and thus not beyond the fear of losing that hope. What happened? Friny lives, said Yoden. Chor reached for a leather wine-bottle and poured out a sizable libation. I would name the god this is for if you will tell me who sent you that vision, he said. I do not know, said Yoden. It might have been only myself. But I thought of Friny, who is wise and has too much life in her to yield it up needlessly. She would have known that one pontine soldier on a single jaded horse would invite a race between robbers and Romans. But who heeds a wandering frigid, some workless shepherd? He laughed aloud softly. Do you understand? She stopped that man we saw, at arrow-point, I would guess, and made him lay down all his garments. She could make her wish clear by gestures. Doubtless she flung him a coin. I remember how he held something near his heart. When he had fled, she rode on until her horse was too tired to be of use. Then she buried her archer's outfit, taking merely the bow and a knife, I suppose, and went on a foot. Chor whooped. Do you think so? Aye, aye, it must be. Well, let's saddle our nags and catch her." He ran after his own hobbled animal. When he had brought it back, he looked at Yoden for a moment in a very curious way. I am not so sure the witch-power I felt last night has left you, Disa, he murmured, or that it ever will. I have no arts of the mage, snapped Yoden. I only think. I have a feeling that to think is a witchcraft mightier than all others. Will you remember old Chor when they begin to sacrifice to you? You prattle like a baby, to horse. They moved briskly through the quickening light, Yoden ripping wolfishly at a sausage as he rode. Now Flavius was going forth to hunt. The Cymbrian would need strength this day. The brown grass whispered, here and there a leafless bush clawed in an agony of wind. A mile after a mile the sun, hidden by low flying gray, touched the axelon, until finally Yoden and Chor rode in the full great circle of the horizon. A hunter could see far in this land. They spied a sheep flock, larger than most, but spent no time on its watchers. Friny would be able to see at a distance, too. The need was to come within eye range of her. Close beyond, Yoden discerned what must be the home of the owner, or tenant, or whoever dwelt here. It was better than usual, being not of mud, but was still only a small stone house, windowless surely, with just one room, blowing smoke from a flat sod roof. There were a couple of rude little outbuildings, also of moss-chinked boulders, and some haystacks. Nothing else broke the emptiness, and nothing moved but a half-savage dog. The women and children must be huddled terrified behind their door as the gleaming mail-coats rode by. Yoden felt a sudden hurt. It was so strange to him he had to think a while before he recognized it. Yes, pity. How many human lives, throughout the boundless earth and time, were merely such a squalid desolation. A king, he thought, was rightfully more than power. He should be law. Yes, and a bringer of all goodly arts. A just man, who tamed wildfolk more with his law than his spear, though he was also the one who taught them how to make war when war was needed, so far as the jealous gods allowed, a king should be freedom. And afterward, he thought wryly, when the king was dead, the people would bring back all the reeking past in his now holy name. But no, not quite all of it. Doubtless men slid back two steps for every three they made. Nevertheless, that third step endured, and it was the king's. Friny could show me how, he thought. As if in answer, he saw the little figure rise from the bush where it had lain concealed. Dwarved by hundreds of yards, she came running in her frigid goat skin and rags. But Yoden's gray horse hammered those yards away, and he leaped from the saddle and caught her to him. She held him close, weeping on his cold steel coat. It was not what I wanted that you should come. It was not what I wanted. It was what I wanted, he said. He raised her chin until he could smile down into her violet eyes. I will hear no reproaches, enough that I found you. I shall never run from you again, she said, where you make your home, there shall hellas be. The wolves clumped at their backs. Sure, coughed. Ahum! The enemy is on his way, with hounds and remouts, and we've only two beasts, best we flee while we can. Yoden straightened. No, he said. I, too, have run far enough. End of CHAPTER XIX CHAPTER XX of THE GOLDEN SLAVE by Paul Anderson This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. THE GOLDEN SLAVE CHAPTER XXI They rode up to the shepherd's house. Friny struck the dog on the nose with her staff when it flew at her throat. It ran away, and she strung her bow and knocked an arrow. The Yoden stayed mounted, the Germans soared in his hand. Jor went a foot to the door and beat on it with his hammer. Open! he bawled. Nothing stirred. He hefted the maw, swung it high, and sent it crashing against the latch. The flimsy bolt cracked in two. Voices piped with fear in the dark hut. A shaking greybeard barred the entrance, holding a rusty old axe. Jor grabbed him by the tunic and threw him to the ground, not unkindly. Out! he said, gesturing. They shambled forth. There was only one woman, shapeless in a sack-like gown, and a dozen children. They looked so unlike that Yoden decided fatherhood was divided among the three herdsmen who had left their flock and were hovering timidly half a mile away. MUST WE TURN BAND IT? asked Friny in a troubled voice. Yoden considered her, clad in the same foul garments as the shepherds, but shining through it. He said, bluntly. This is no otherwise than smiting that welp they kept. But because of her look he remembered certain thoughts about a king and fumbled in his purse. He tossed some coins to the ground. The grand sire sucked in his breath and crawled to shaky feet. The three men edged closer. Does anyone here speak Greek? called Yoden. They stared. Well you shall understand my signs, then, with a kick if your minds lag, for our time is short. I will give you ten times the worth of these hovels. He turned to Friny. Do you watch over Chor and me. Let them not talk much among themselves. Shoot the first who shows treachery. And now let us work. Dismounting he peered into the house. Enough light came through the door and smoke-hole to show him a littered earth floor, filled sheepskins, a few stone tools and clay vessels, a dung fire. But the ceiling was what he looked at. Branches hauled from some remote forest many years ago were laid across the walls, and turf piled in them to make a roof. He nodded. Thus I thought, he said. Chor rounded up the family and made them watch him. A child whimpered as he climbed the rough wall to the roof and began throwing off its sod-layers. He flung the child a coin. At once the oldest boy grinned brashly, swarmed up and helped. Chor laughed, clambered down, and went to the shed. Using Friny's staff for a lever, he pried a few rocks out of its wall. The same child studied his face carefully and tried another whimper. Chor gave it another coin. The mother giggled. Chor urged her to the task. Then for some hours he and Yoden made the shepherd-folk demolish the roof and their outbuildings. Friny paced the dusty grounds watchfully, her bow always in her hand. The wind blew from the high country and the snow-clouds moved closer. There were stout wooden posts at the corners of the shed. Chor dug them out and dragged them to the roofless house. He set two of them upright on the floor, one close to the entrance and one a yard from the rear wall. Across them he laid a third. Then he put the branch rafters back, crossing his heavy timber-piece and heaped a layer of turf on as before. The shepherd-people gaped, blinked, made signs against the evil eye which these surely crazed men must have, but helped them after a few blows. He had them form a line and pass him stones from the wrecked outbuildings. These he laid on the turf, within a yard of the rear wall, layer upon layer. Finally the branches beneath sagged, and even the timber upbearing them started to groan. Quickly then he threw enough sod on his roof of boulders to hide what it was. Meanwhile Yoden was digging inside the house at its rear end. He sank a pit nearly eight feet deep and drove a shaft from that several yards outward so that it ended below the grounds. He left the wooden shovel there and came back out. Rather his crew of men and children did this, even as most of the roof work had sure merely overseeing. They would need their whole strength later. At the end hours past the time they began, Franey looked at the completed task. She saw merely a shepherd hut with a somewhat thicker roof than was common and wreckage behind it. Do our lives hang on no more than this? she asked, wonderingly. Would it not have been better to flee across the plain? Once they found our trail, said sure grimly, they could have changed horse and horse while our own ran themselves dead. No, our chances here are not good, but I think the Deces plan has made them better for us than if we played mouse to the Roman ferret. One more thing to do, said Yodan. He kindled a stick, went over and touched it to the haystacks. The shepherds moaned. Yodan grinned with a certain pity and tossed the grand sire his full purse. There's the price of your flocks and home and a winter's lodging. Go! He waved his sword and pointed south. They stumbled from him out onto the plain, looking back with frightened animal eyes. Why, those bonfires! asked Chor. Not that I don't like the warmth on this bitter day, but— Hey, could be stacked around the house and lit, said Yodan. I do not wish to die in an oven. Chor tugged his ruddy beard. I had not thought of that. Is it a heavy burden to be forever thinking, Deesa? Yodan did not hear him. He took Friney's hand in his. Have I any hope of making you depart until the fight is over? he asked. Her dark head shook. In all else will I obey you, she said, but I have a right to stand with my man. I made you a promise once. He began shaken. Oh, I hold you to it, she laughed. It was a very small and lonely laugh, torn by the wind. You shall not kiss me against my will. But, Yodan, it is now my will. He touched his lips to hers with an unhurried tenderness. If they lived there would be more than this. Chor said, I make out a dust cloud to the north, Deesa. I think horsemen. Then let us go within, said Yodan. It was dark in the hut. Stones covered the smoke-hole now and the sagging door was closed behind them. They sat on the earth and waited, Friney lying in the circle of Odin's arm. Presently hoofs rang on the ground outside and weapons clashed. They heard a dog bark. The place seems deserted, said a voice in Latin. Maybe the fire in that hay drove its people off. And they left two hobbled war-horses, snapped Flavius, look in and see if anyone lares. Chor planted himself by the doorway, raising his hammer. The door creaked open. Chilled gray light outlined a Roman helmet and shimmered off a Roman queris. Chor struck down and the helmet gonged. There was the noise of crunching bones. The man fell and did not move again. Here we are, Flavius! cried the Allen. He loosed an arrow out the door. Someone cursed. Yodan, glimpsing horses and men, sprang to the entrance and peered out. Ten living Romans and a couple of Gauls in battle harness. A dozen men, then, against two men and a woman. I reckon, Yodan, said Chor, you and I must each strike six blows. Flavius rode into the Cymbrian's view. His ravaged face stiffened beneath the plumed helmet. He spoke almost wearily. I still offer pardon, even liberty and reward to your companions. It is only you I want and only because you murdered Wicca. I would most gladly meet you in single combat, said Yodan. We have been over this ground before, said Flavius. Let me ask you instead. Do you really wish the Sarmatian and the Greek girl to die on your account? Would it not be most honorable of you to release them from whatever vows they gave you, even command them to depart? He is our king, said Frany from the darkness. There are some commands that no king may give. Flavius sighed. As you will, then. Decurion seized them. It was a narrow doorway. Only one person at a time could go through. The Roman Decurion advanced with an infantryman's long shield to guard him. Yodan waited. The Decurion charged in, behind him, a pikeman. Yodan smote at the first Roman's knees as the pike thrust for his face. Jor's hammer struck him from the right, knocked the pike aside and snapped its shaft against the doorway. The Decurion stopped Yodan's sword-blow and his own blade darted out. It hit the Persian mail-coat. Yodan chopped at the arm behind it. He lacked room for a real swing, but his edge hit. The Decurion went to one knee. Yodan struck at his neck, a hiss and a butcher sound in the air. Another man followed the Decurion, stepped up on the dying officer's back and thrust mightily. Yodan slipped aside. Overbalanced, the Roman stumbled and fell into the hut. Jor's hammer crashed on his helmet. One of the gulls sprang yelling through the undefended entrance. Friny fired an arrow and the gull staggered. It had caught him in the arm. Yodan attacked him from the side and the German sword went home in his leg. He fell down screaming. Jor finished him off while Yodan went back to the doorway. Nine men left, he patted. The Romans stood away from him, where he stood dripping Roman blood. Not one move for a while, although Flavius dismounted and paced. The other gull came into view. Yodan remembered now that he had heard thumpings overhead. "'This roof is made of stones, master,' said the gull to Flavius. "'We can tear it down, I suppose, but not easily. It would cost us men.'" "'Likewise to break through the walls,' said the Roman. He spoke impersonally as though this were no more than a school problem. Yodan wondered how much was left of the man of joy and hope and even hate. The demon's pacing Flavius had bitten him hollow. "'Arrows,' he said at last. Yodan watched them make ready. Four soldiers were shield to shield, a few yards away. If he made a dash, they would be on him and even a simrian could not hold off four good men in the open. Three more strung their bows and put arrows point down in the ground before them, slowly, carefully, grinning into Yodan's emotionless face. Flavius and the gull dragged a post from a torn-down shed into view. When everything was ready, Flavius stepped forth. "'Do you see what I plan?' he called. "'You can stand where you are and be filled with arrows, or you can close that door which is only leather hinges and wait for us to break it down.'" "'I think we will wait,' said Yodan. He shut the door and darkness clamped upon his eyes. He heard the Roman arrows smite and wondered what impulsive fury made Flavius order them fired. He trod on a dead man's hand and wondered what woman and child and horse would wait till time's end for its caress. "'Back,' he said, into the pit-frighty. She kissed him, a stolen instant among the shadows, and was gone. Feet thudded outside. The door, which had not been barred, flew open. Two black blots staggered through, the timber in their arms. Chor met them as they reeled. His hammer boomed on iron. "'Hoa!' he cried so it rang. "'Yok hae, sa, sa! Come in and be slain.'" He stood in the middle of the room with Yodan. Each had a Roman shield and his chosen weapon, maul or longsword. They waited. He seen a man pushed close to Yodan. His sword cut low, feeling for the Symbrians' legs. Yodan sprang back. His huge German blade whirled up so it touched the low ceiling. Down it came again, and the shield inch crumpled under it. Yodan raised his weapon once more, struck home and felt blood spurred over his hand. Another shape, another thrust. He caught that one on his own shield, and the metal glided aside. The Roman shield pushed against the Symbrians' right arm, giving no room to use a sword. His hobnailed boot trampled down on Yodan's foot and pain jagged in its path. Yodan drove the boss of his shield into the Roman's face and he heard a splintering. The Romans sank to the floor, dazed. There were two more now in the belling, clanging gloom. They came in on either side to catch him between them. He kicked out to the right, and his spur flayed open a thigh. As the shield dropped a little in the man's anguish, Yodan smote. He struck a helmet, but the sheer force of it snapped the Romans' head down. The man went to his hands and knees and crawled away. Yodan had been holding the other off left-handed, keeping his shield as a barrier. Now whipping about, he slid the rim aside and then back again, so that he locked shields with his enemy and held him fast. He reached over the top with his longsword and drove the point home. Ho! yo! yo! chanted Chor, battering till it thundered. Yodan might have let out a simmering howl, but he had no more wish for it. Back! he gasped to the Allen. Back before they hem us in! Eyes were now used to the shifting twilight, the pale gray dazzle of the doorway. Yodan and Chor stood side by side, just in front of the rear support timber they had erected. Blood ran from their arms and painted their breasts. Blood stained the sweat on them, and it was not all Roman this time. But men lay stricken before them. Yodan did not count how many. He looked across three slippery red yards of trampled earth and saw five men still on their feet. None were unwounded. But weariness shuddered in him. His sword, nicked and blunted, had not bitten well. It was an iron bar in his hand, heavy as sorrow. He could barely hear the deep horse breathing of Chor. His own heartbeat and thirsty-throated breath were so loud. Now that all the hunters were inside his den, it was time to destroy them. Flavius crouched by the door. Form a line, he rapped, wall to wall. Drive them back and cut them down. Four Roman shields filled that narrow room, Flavius standing behind. Yodan raised his weapon and called, "'Will you not try the edge of this even once, murderer?' Flavius screamed. For one blink of time, over the advancing shields and helmets, through the wintry gloom, Yodan looked upon madness. It came to him that he should not have taunted an unbearable grief. The gods are too just." Flavius raised his sword and flung it above the soldiers. Yodan felt it strike him in the head. He staggered back, suddenly blinded with his own blood. The pain seared through his skull until he stood in a world that was all great whirling flame. He thought, as he toppled, this also must a king have known what it is to be slain. The Romans cried their victory and moved in on Chor. The Allen threw down his shield, picked Yodan up with one arm, and swung his hammer. Even as it hit the pillar he had raised, he leaped into the pit and the tunnel beyond. The timbers slipped sideways. The peace it had helped carry, running lengthwise, fell. The thin branches cracked and the roof of stones came down. The Yodan heard it dimly, from far away. Now the sky has been shattered, he thought, and gods and demons die in the wreck of their war. A star whirled by me and hissed into the sea. He lay in the tunnel, as though in a womb, while the stones buried his hunters. There followed a silence that told. He heard Chor and Friny calling to each other in utter night. Her hands groped for him. He lay in her hands and let the pain reach full tide. It ebbed again. Chor dug a few feet upward. Breaking out into the open, he reached down, hauled forth Yodan and Friny and whistled at what he saw. Best I catch the horses! he said awkwardly. You can see to him, can you not? She kissed her man for answer. Yodan looked up at the sky. Lie still, whispered Friny. Lie still. It is well. We are safe. The wind blew softly, almost warm. The first snow fell on his face. Have I been badly hurt? he asked. She told him plainly. Your left eye is gone. Now I must love the right one twice as much. Is it no more than that? he sighed. I thought my debt was greater. The powers are kind. The Golden Slave Chapter XXI North of the city Tenaeus the Don River wound like a shining snake, like the lightning itself on a guide-like calm, through rolling planes where horses pastured. In early summer the land blazed blue with cornflowers. On the west side of the Don, from the Azov sea as far northward as their might would take them, dwelt the Rukansa. They were a proud folk, warriors, horse-breeders, and weapon-makers. Their women walked with long, fair locks garlanded and dresses of linen, wind-blown around their tall bodies. Their chiefs rewarded a barred song with golden rings. Nonetheless, these were ill times, and when sure the red came home, folk sacrificed bullocks in the hope that he carried better luck. From wide about the chiefs came writing, until Belly's hall rang with their iron and the ale flowed merrily. They guested Belly not only to hear what his returned son could tell them of far farings, but because there had been tales of a king whom Chor had brought with him. Sorly did the Rukansa need a wise king. His was a strange band when it rode to the river's east bank and was ferried across with gifts from odd tribesmen. Chor himself did not lead it, though the red beard shone in Parthian mail and glittered with grecian silver. He was captain of the warriors, several-score Atlantic horsemen guarding a rich baggage train. His own wagon was full of gold, armor, and three lovely concubines. When he related how all this had come to him through the luck in his hammer, many folk went on their faces. Surely that hammer held lightning. And yet Chor acknowledged another man, his Disa, a very tall man with long, wheat-colored hair, a lean, withdrawn face, the sun written on his brow and one green eye. This Eoden did not dress much like a king. His mail was serviceable but unadorned. He claimed no troldom or godpower in his weapons. Moreover, he had only one wife, a slight girl with dark hair and violet eyes, who rode like a man but nursed a son in her arms and had one a year older in a carrying cradle on her saddle-bow. Eoden would not even accept the overnight loan of another woman. He smiled in his distant way, thanked his host, and then returned to his friny. So the Ruk Ansa wondered at Chor. Wondered even if the friny girl were not a witch who had ensnared both him and her husband. And then they would not come to speak with Eoden, and after a while they would understand why Chor called him king. Fires burned high in Belly's feasting hall. The chiefs of the Ruk Ansa clan sat at table and raised oxhorns heavy with silver and beer to the honor of Chor and Chor's lord. Gray Belly blinked dim eyes at his son. "'Will you not tell us the whole tale of your wanderings?' he asked. "'Not in one day,' said Chor. "'There are many winter's evenings worth of telling. Let it only be said now that I was sold through Greece and Italy until I ended in a Roman galley. But then Eoden and Frany freed me. We seized the ship and sailed eastward until we found the court of King Mithridates.' "'The same whose general hurled us back three summers ago from the Chorsonese?' asked Belly. "'Chor nodded. I—I wish I had fought with you, but at that very time, as the gods willed it, I was fighting on Mithridates' behalf down in Galatia. He was a good master to us. Why did you war on his realm?' Belly shrugged. "'It was a hungry year. We have had many hungry years of late. There are too many of us. But the raid failed, and now the Chorsonese is barred to our horses.' "'I will have somewhat to counsel you about that,' said Eoden. He had already learned the Atlantic tongue, as it was said he knew several others, besides reading and writing. "'Yes, a man of deep mind, with which powers he would not show to just any one. Yes, yes.' "'Where, then, did you go?' asked Belly. "'We fell out with the Mithridates,' said Chor, and for a while we were two men and a woman alone on a cold plain. But we had killed some Romans who had fat purses. So we bought huts and sheep from the Frigians, to live that winter. "'In spring we continue through La Caonia. It is too friendly with Rome these days, so we did not stay. Simply bribed our way past. There are tribes in the mountains of the bull, hunters and warriors, who made us welcome. We aided them and lived there a year since my king's first son had to be born. Next spring we came to Parthia with a following of young men and offered the Lord their our services, he being Rome's foe. There we had it well since the favour of nobles came to us, once they saw what a man they had in my king. We dealt in a fine city, and had only enough war-like missions on the border to keep us amused. Yet we longed to be among our own sort of men again. "'So this spring we got leave to go, and came up through Armenia and behind the Caucasus until we found Alans, and thus your home, my father?' "'Much you have seen,' said Belly. The war chiefs of the Rukansa clashed their ale horns under his words. "'I have seen less with two eyes than my king has with one,' he said sure humbly. "'He has learned the arts of many nations. He would teach his own people whatever of it they can use.' "'Where are your folk?' asked Belly of the stranger. "'North,' said Yodan. "'They were the Simbri once. Now there are any who dwell where heather blooms and beach forests blow.' "'We will go north, my king and I, to rule in his land,' said Chor. "'There are not many dwelling in it. No few of the Rukansa could follow us, find new homes in the north, and become great.' "'Some of the younger ones might,' agreed Belly. "'Might?' cried Chor. "'Why, if I know my clans, they will be at spearheads over the right to come.' "'Not all,' said Belly. "'Not even most. For if you fare north, you will become something else than what you are.' "'That is true,' said Yodan. "'Yet what is it to live than to become something else?' "'Forgive me,' said Belly. "'But there are men who would not follow a one-eyed king.' "'Let them stay home, then,' snorted Chor. "'I'll pasture my horses on the edge of the world if he leads me there.' "'Yes,' nodded Belly. "'Yes, there are such kings. "'But how did it happen you lost your eye, Lord?' Yodan smiled. "'It was a wry smile, not un-gentle, but holy without youth. "'He had known too much ever to be young again.' He said, "'I gave it for wisdom.'" End of Chapter 21. Epilogue of The Golden Slave by Paul Anderson This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Golden Slave. Epilogue. It was told from olden days and written in the books of Snorri Sturluson that the Asa or Ansefolk came from the land of Tanius to the north. They soon became overlords. From the high hall they raised at Uppsala their powers spread, until even the German tribes drew chieftains and learning from them. For they were good masters, who brought their new people not only wealth but knowledge. They gave to the north crafts of both peace and war, such as the building of longships and the breeding of fine horses, the writing of runes and the mustering of armies, foreign trade and foreign travel, much leachcraft and many wise laws. By all this the folk were strengthened and helped, so that they lifted themselves from rude forest dwellers to mighty nations who finally overthrew the Roman power and peopled Europe afresh in the times of the wanderings. Of all did they shape the country called England, and there they kept much of the old freedom-shielding law that the Asa men first brought. Every king in the north reckoned dissent from the Asa lords, who themselves came to be worshipped as gods after they died. The first Asa king was called Odin, and he was the chief of the gods. The End of The Golden Slave by Paul Anderson