"And what do you think?" Yubra answered evasively: he was afraid of Heri who was said to be a spy.
Heri did not answer at once; he had a pull at his flask and then said, with a wink:
"The sword. Or, if there is no sword at hand, with an axe or a stick. Until we get the rich by the throat and give their fat bellies a shake, they won't give back what they have plundered.... But it's enough babbling, we must act!"
"How?"
"Raise a cry throughout the world, 'rise up, rebel, paupers, kill, plunder, burn!' A great fire will be kindled and a thing that has never been will happen; beggars will be as gods and then the earth will turn upside down like a potter's wheel!"
"You should not say such things, my son!" Ahiram stopped him. "You must not rail against the rulers even in your thoughts, nor speak evil against the rich in your own chamber, for a bird of the air may carry your words."
"A-ah, you are afraid? Well, then it's no use talking," Heri laughed and he drained the last drop out of his flask.
"But who are you, where do you come from?" Yubra asked with sudden alarm.
"And who are you and your prophet? Tramps, I expect, runaway slaves, rogues, game for the gallows, we have seen enough of such, ugh!"
He paused, looking round at them all with sleepy but still cunning eyes, and then spoke amiably again.