There was a sudden outcry of several of his men at the back gates. One of them came running and knelt before him on one knee to report that Rababull's many widows had escaped and were even now fleeing into the nearby city.
He scowled. They were to have been for him and his men, but now they might bring trouble instead. Too late now. The Emperor of the city would be too powerful to attack just to get back a few women, any of whom might easily be old enough to be his mother several times over.
With vile oaths and many despicable and filthy curses, and much spitting in the dirt, Conabar ordered the enslavement of all remaining women who were of noble birth and no longer virgin.
As for those women who were freeborn and had not yet known any man, they must be sorted through. The best would be his to keep or to sell off. His men could squabble over the rest.
There was even a tale told of a certain beautiful young slave girl who was an outcast even among her own kind, a redoubtable beauty whose flower of womanhood had only just begun to bud. A woman sworn never to speak for the remainder of her life. As soon as he could find the proper time to investigate this ridiculous old wives' tale, Conabar intended to go and find her.
A woman who was sworn never to talk back to any man, and was allegedly of such incomparable beauty; now there was a rare prize! As for the rumor of idol-breaking, that was a quandary to think about.
But for some reason, they were having trouble locating her.
In the meantime, the men must be given free rein to make merry, lest they riot.
"Red wine!" Conabar called out. "I want the best!"
A warrior clapped his chest and went out to go slap a few slaves around, abusively demanding where the wine vats were, and the women readily granted him his every wish as they pleaded tearfully for their lives and the lives of their children.