Then she stopped (I discovered later that she had just told them about the old chief’s death in the gate).
“Harilek,” she called, looking at me over the heads of the crowd, who turned to see whom she was speaking to—“Harilek; come up here and stand by me while I talk to my people.”
So I slipped off my pony, giving it to the nearest man, and pushed my way through the crowd, who made way for me in silence, looking at me, doubtless wondering who I was. I walked up the steps to where she stood, the deerhounds at her feet, with the throng of servants and soldiers, men and women of all kinds in front, and the little circle of grave-visaged elders and mail-clad officers just above her.
“Stand there and let them see you, Harilek; I want them to know you. I’m going on talking.”
And on she went. She was evidently telling of her escape now, for the crowd began to cheer, while the men threw their caps into the air and the women shrilled their applause and clapped their hands softly in Sakae fashion.
Then suddenly, in her rather dramatic way, she stopped, turned, and pointed to me, standing there like a fool in Paulos’s mail with my bandaged face.
After that they mobbed us both, while the old lady nearly wrung my hands off, and I was glad when we got up the stairway to the building. Just as we reached the doors, Aryenis turned on me with eyes suspiciously bright and, I think, slightly moist.
“Welcome, Harilek, to the home I’d never have seen again except for you.”
And so we entered the wide doors, with Ziné and Milos behind us, and the deerhounds walking on either side of Aryenis trying to lick her hands.