“Let the dead bury their dead, lad. I am sorry that your man should have been killed, but for the rest I am frankly glad that Fate—if you choose to call it so—has intervened to keep you among us longer. Indeed, being privileged as an old man to speak my mind, I hope Fate, or Fate’s Master, will keep you with us for ever.”
“And do what, Paulos? Live on charity? You would be tired of guests whose visit was a lifetime.”
“What talk is this of charity when you and your friends have built up such claims upon us that fifty years were too short to repay? I told you before you left that my people already spoke of you as one of ourselves. But now your name is sung by every bard at every fireside. Listen, Harilek. If when the war is over you and your friends should find you cannot recross the desert—or perchance feel that you would wish to cast in your lot with ours, as did Basil and his companions—then remember that Kyrlos and I have broad lands, and there is no shame for a soldier to take land and title he has won in war. You will be robbing no one, for there are many vacant fiefs in the Green Sakae country, whose rightful owners have passed through the Shaman gate. You have told me that such honours have been accepted by soldiers in your own land, and none, I am sure, can have earned them better than you have done here.”
“Thank you, Paulos; I will remember. But for myself just now the thought of a life in Sakaeland is somewhat hard. A month ago no second invitation would have been needed. But now—” I stopped.
“But now a certain Andros wears a plume of eagle feathers bound with mauve, and Harilek is bedridden like a foolish old man who sits opposite to him—thought-reading! But time brings many things. At all times and always that offer will be open.”
Then he turned to the war news, which was good, and we discussed the prospects of the campaign. He opined that the main struggle would come in the Shaman country itself, since Milos’s reports from the north showed that the Red Sakae—save for isolated raids—were too disorganized to do much, and the sympathies of the majority were with us rather than with the Shamans, of whose rule the country-folk were heartily tired.
We spent a pleasant day together discussing an infinity of subjects, for Paulos is a cultured talker, and the most shrewdly observant man I have ever met. It was a daily wonder to me that an old cripple among a nation of rather primitive fighting men should have retained such a vivid interest in life. Once or twice we were interrupted by visitors—old grey-headed village headmen, who rode in seeking news, and appeared kindly anxious to greet me. It seemed that Paulos’s statements as to his people’s feeling in my regard were not exaggerated, for the Sakae are very transparent, and make no pretence of dissimulating likes or dislikes.
The early afternoon brought Philos’s wife with her small son to ask after me, and to thank me for having saved her husband’s life. Philos had gone on with the army the day after the Astara, having apparently given her a most exaggerated account of my doings, and, woman-like, she would take no notice of my version of the real facts. The boy sat on the foot of my bed playing with the sword which the old archer reached down for him from the wall, and studying me with great blue eyes. I envied Philos very much when she left again—a slim girlish figure in her riding-clothes—smiling us a farewell, and telling the boy to salute us both with my sword, which he was not at all ready to relinquish.
Paulos and I had just finished our afternoon glass of wine, when his apple-cheeked, wrinkled, white-haired housekeeper entered and spoke to him. I gathered from his tone that he was giving her some instructions. Shortly after she left us in came the old archer, evidently with some news. A little later, as Paulos’s bearers came to carry him away, I heard horses’ feet outside, and then Forsyth’s voice calling to Payindah. I wondered if he had seen Ziné, and envied him being able to ride about. I picked up Basil once more, and studied the crabbed writing by the light of the lamp which had just been lit. But my thoughts were very far removed from the good bishop’s dissertation on Sakae customs. They were following a twisted chain, of which the nearest link was Philos’s wife and her stout, little blue-eyed son; an intermediate link was connected with a fireside in Aornos and a talk of dragons; while somewhere in the mists at the far end was a dream vision seen by a tired man sleeping out on the stones, while Wrexham and Payindah held the mouth of the Shamans’ gate. Then a footstep as some one pulled back the curtain and entered.
I looked up, and there, in the dim circle of the lamp and the bright glow of the fire—my lady herself, the big fur collar of her riding-coat thrown back, a sparkle in her eyes, and the glow of the winter wind in her cheeks, as she stood looking at me, pulling off her riding-gauntlets—my gauntlets.