“Ah!” said the cook handling the basket with satisfaction, “it is a pity, friend, that you did not bring this stuff here a while ago when we wanted it sorely and found it hard to come by in this barren, sword-wasted land.”
“Why?” asked Caleb carelessly.
“Oh! because of a prisoner we had here, a girl whose sufferings had made her sick in mind and body, and whose appetite I never knew how to tempt, for she turned from meat, and ever asked for fish, of which, of course, we had none, or failing that, for green food and fruits.”
“What were her name and story?” asked Caleb.
“As for her name I know it not. We called her Pearl-Maiden because of a collar of pearls she wore and because also she was white and beautiful as a pearl. Oh! beautiful indeed, and so gentle and sweet, even in her sickness, that the roughest brute of a legionary with a broken head could not choose but to love her. Much more then, that old bear, Gallus, who watched her as though she were his own cub.”
“Indeed? And where is this beautiful lady now? I should like to sell her something.”
“Gone, gone, and left us all mourning.”
“Not dead?” said Caleb in a new voice of eager dismay, “Oh! not dead?”
The fat cook looked at him calmly.
“You take a strange interest in our Pearl-Maiden, Cabbage-seller,” he said. “And, now that I come to think of it, you are a strange-looking man for a peasant.”