A roll of drums beating the charge, and Constans started. "At last!" he said.
Piers Minor, keeping as closely as possible to cover, worked his way slowly to the northward and towards the Stockader camp, on the Palace Road. But, being unfamiliar with the topography of the district, he insensibly kept edging into dangerous proximity to the Citadel Square; suddenly he found himself within a short block of its eastern front. He turned to retreat, and came face to face with a slender, black-eyed youth who must have been following close upon his heels. Discovered, he tried to dodge, but Piers Minor was too quick, and they closed. The youth struggled gallantly, but the Stockader had all the advantage in strength; in another moment Piers Minor had his antagonist crushed helplessly into a corner. He looked at the boy contemptuously.
"Not a sound, mind, or I'll twist your throat as I would a meadow-lark's. Why were you following me?"
The black eyes snapped back at him unwinkingly.
"Let me speak, then—you hurt me."
Piers Minor loosened his hold upon the slender throat.
"Go on."
"You are a Stockader, and there is a young man with you, fair-haired and with dark eyes—Constans by name? Do you know him?"
"Well, and if I do?"