He laughed, and drew his knife against his own brown throat in a significant gesture.
Zarâ said no word to him, but she went away with the child under some branches, on which was hung a tattered piece of awning, orange striped, that marked her own especial resting-place.
Out of the group about the fire, one man, rising, advanced, and looked Taric full in the eyes.
"Has the woman died by foul means?"
Taric, who never let any living soul molest or menace him, answered him without offense, and with a savage candor,—
"No—that I swear. I used no foul play against her. Go look at her if you like. I loved her well enough while she lived. But what does that matter? She is dead. So best. Women are as many as the mulberries."
"You loved her, and you will let the wolves eat her body?"
Taric laughed.
"There are no wolves in Liebana. Go and bury her if you choose, Phratos."
"I will," the other answered him; and he took his way to the cork-tree by the bridge.