“All truly; but they do not all believe in your lordship. There are many sects, including the Bars, that consider you an imposter; but the rest—perhaps the most—believe you the Herald of the Day. All want to see you, for whatever motive.”
“These Bars; who are they?”
“The military priesthood, my lord. As priests they teach a literal interpretation of the prophecy; as soldiers they maintain their own aggrandisement. To be more specific, my lord, it is they who accuse you of being one of the false ones.”
“Why?”
“Because it is written in the prophecy, my lord, that we may expect impostors, and that we are to slay them.”
“Then this coming contest with the Senestro—” beginning to sense the drift of things.
“Yes, my lord; it will be a physical contest, in which the best man destroys the other!”
The guard was a tall, finely made and truly handsome chap of perhaps thirty-five. Watson liked the clear blue of his eyes and the openness of his manner. At the same time he felt that he was being weighed and balanced.
“My lord is not afraid?”
“Not at all! I was just thinking—when does this kill take place?”