He was right. The bandit undid him and hauled him down from his mount. As Kesley gratefully flexed his numbed arms, the bandit shoved him toward the waiting guard.
"Adios, norteamericano!" The six bandits grinned cheerfully, pocketing their bounty. They remounted, and rode away.
"Come with me," the guard said stiffly. He drew a pistol, but Kesley shook his head.
"I won't make trouble. You can put that thing away."
The great door swung open and Kesley was conducted into a vast courtyard lined with flowering shrubbery. At the far end of the yard, Kesley saw a small group of men standing in irregular formation.
"We go there," the guard said. He pointed, and Kesley started off in the direction indicated.
There were about ten men waiting there, under the surveillance of one of the Duke's guards, who watched them with drawn gun. As Kesley drew near, he saw that the men were, like himself, North Americans.
"Where are you from?" a white-haired man called. "Up north?"
"Iowa Province," Kesley said, joining the group. "You?"
"Illinois." The other's voice was bitter. "I'm from the court of Duke Winslow. He'll hear of this; he'll—"