She looked round the hall with a slight smile, embracing Sotu in that sweeping glance before she stared once more at Ned. Poor Sotu shrank on his throne, while the male portion of the audience shook visibly.
“We hear you do not spend your leisure hours composing poetry and drinking wine, but that you run and wrestle as our women do. This is a new experience to us, of mankind, and we desire to see more of it.”
Like Napoleon the First, and some other great people, Queen Isori was accustomed to utter her thoughts and wishes without the slightest regard for her audience. She continued, as clearly and smoothly as before—
“This is our pleasure. Tomorrow we shall hold a tournament of racing and wrestling. We choose you as our antagonist, and those of our warriors who have had enough of their present husbands shall select a man from your followers. If you prevail over us, then we shall be your servants; but if we prevail over you, then you shall be our servants to do with as we please. I have spoken. You may kiss my hand.”
Yes; she had spoken, Ned thought, as he bent over the shapely ring-covered fingers extended to him, and touched them with his lips. She had spoken, and placed him in about as bad a fix as Paul Kruger had done.
He glanced at Sotu as he hastily retreated from the vicinity of Isori and her wild beasts. The king sat in a limp state of collapse most pitiful to see. His under jaw had fallen, his black eyes showed a bloodshot rim right round them, his saffron cheeks were bleached, and his sharp nose was blue. Already he felt the fatal noose closing round his thirsty throat.
“King Sotu gives a feast tonight, and we have promised then to listen to his powerful epic. Those warriors who intend competing tomorrow will be excused from this evening’s revel.”
Calm and smooth as ever was that dismissal uttered. Ned and his chums quitted that glorious hall in desperation.
Pylea went with them, with her company. They were all very silent and grave as they passed along the streets; nor did they utter a word until they were inside the garden walls. Then Ned could contain his feelings no longer.
“See here, Pylea; I cannot stand this sort of arrangement. Poor images as King Sotu and the other objects are; this is playing it too rough on them, and on us also. The stakes are too heavy. As a good chum, give us your advice.”