“Certainly. I could do with several more pairs of gloves. Will you begin?”
“No, not yet. I shall wait till the thoughts require elucidating.”
“But why not now?”
“Because they’re not worthy of my skill at present, since you can read them yourself at the moment.”
“You’re very clever this morning, Sir Thought-Reader.”
“I was listening to you singing last night.”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“It was clear that you had resolved some tangled thoughts a bit more than at dinner-time. You are easier to read when you sing, even though I don’t know Sakae. Andros plays well, and you were in tune with him.”
“Yes; he was rather good last night.”
We had come out into the open space beyond the walls, where some of Milos’s levies were collecting. There were rows and rows of felt tents and lines of brushwood shelters, while beyond these a party of men were practising with their bows against wicker targets under the direction of some N.C.O.’s. The Sakae are fine bowmen; and, although much of the rest of the levies’ armament was crude, I fancied they would be able to give a good enough account of themselves when they got an opportunity of using their own pet weapon.