The men let go the hind and it swooped away, Mint pursuing. Fast and far they sped until no man’s gaze could discern them, but in a while Mint returned bearing the breathing hind upon his back. “Take off his shoes,” cried the King, “and fill them with gold.” But when this was done Mint spilled the gold back at the King’s feet.
“Give me,” said he, “this maiden Flaune.”
The King grinned and refused him.
“Was it not in the bond?” asked Mint.
“Ay,” replied Cumac, “but choose again.”
“Is this then a King’s bond?” sneered Mint.
“It was a living bond,” said the King, “but death can sever it. Let this dog be riven in sunder and his bowels spilled to the foxes.” Mint died on the moment, and Cumac continued ignorantly to woo his sister.
Then Flaune conferred with Tanil and with Yali about a means of escape. Tanil feared to be about this, but he loved Flaune, and his sister Yali persuaded him. He showed them a great door in the back of the palace, a concealed issue through the city wall, from which Flaune might go in a darkness could but the door be opened. But it had not been opened for a hundred years, and they feared the hinges would shriek and the wards grind in the lock and so discover them.
“Let us bring oil to-morrow,” they said, “and oil it.”
In the morning they brought oil to the hinge and brushed it with drops from a cock’s feather. The hinge gave up its squeak but yet it groaned. They filled Yali’s thimble that was made of tortoise horn and poured this upon it. The hinge gave up its groan but yet it sighed. They filled the eggshell of a goose with oil and poured upon the hinge until it was silent. Then they turned to the lock, which, as they threw back the wards, cried clack, clack. Tanil lapped the great key with ointment, but still the lock clattered. He filled his mouth with oil and spat into the hole, but still it clinked. Then Flaune caught a grasshopper which she dipped in oil and cast into the lock. After that the lock was silent too.