"Hi, Mother Kathene," she called loudly. "Here are two strangers Beran has taken into the tribe."
The three hags tottered to their feet, and peered at us with bleared eyes.
"Strangers?" whined Mother Kathene. "Why strangers in the tribe? Haven't we enough fine young men to stab and steal for the chief? Heh-heh! I don't like strangers."
"Strangers are bad luck," pronounced a second beldame, whose name was Zitzi.
"Bad luck," echoed the third, who was called Lilli. "And I suppose we'll have to cook and scrub for the rascals, too."
Kara pinched her with a viciousness that made the poor old thing squeal.
"Don't talk of scrubbing to me!" she sneered. "You wouldn't touch water to a foul pot, let alone a man's clothes. You'd drown if you were rained on. Bah, Mother Lilli, you are lucky to have a chief like Beran, who gives the old ones work to do and shelter and food for the end of their days, instead of driving them out to seek the bounty of the Roumis and Franks. And you are luckier still to have a great thief like Giorgi Bordu to cook for. He is the greatest thief in the world. Why, he even caught me when I would have stolen from him!"
"If he steals well, he won't be a fighter," mumbled Mother Kathene. "What about the other one?"
"He took my knife from me without drawing his own," flared Kara. "No other man in the tribe could do that. The other? Oh, he is a Frank."
"More bad luck," wailed old Zitzi. "Tzigane folk who live with Franks are always spoiled. They worship the Christian goddess or they grow clumsy or they lose their courage or they take the spotted sickness."