"Yes, but no Ortelgan did anything after Bekla had fallen either, although there must have been plenty of coming and going between Bekla and their Telthearna island. I find that terribly tedious as a subject for contemplation, don't you? It bores me to distraction."
"I hadn't considered it before in quite that way."
"Start now."
The boat, turning, had followed first the southern and then the eastern shore of the Barb and as it approached them the cranes flew up in a clattering, white-winged flock. Elleroth bent his head over the bow, idly running one finger through the water along the outline of his own shadow as it moved across the surface. After some time Mollo said, "I've never understood why the city fell. They took it by surprise and smashed in the Tamarrik Gate. Well, all right, so the Tamarrik Gate was military nonsense. But what was Santil-ke-Erketlis doing? Why didn't he try to hold the citadel? You could hold that place forever."
He pointed back at the sheer face of the quarry, three-quarters of a mile away, and the summit of Crandor above.
"He did hold it," answered Elleroth, "right through the rains and after--getting on for four months altogether. He was hoping for some relief from Ikat, or even from the troops at Kabin--the ones your trusty bull-breeding friend attended to. The Ortelgans let him alone for a long time--they'd come to have a healthy respect for him, I dare say--but when the rains were over and he was still there they began to worry. They needed to put an army in the field toward Ikat, you see, and there was no one to spare to keep Santil contained in the citadel. So they got rid of him."
"Got rid of him--just like that? What do you mean? How?"
Elleroth struck the surface lightly with the edge of his hand, so that a thin, pattering crescent of water drops flew backward along the side of the boat.
"Really, Mollo, you don't seem to have learned much about military methods during your travels. There were plenty of children in Bekla, even if all of them weren't children of the citadel garrison. They hanged two children every morning in sight of the citadel. And of course there were plenty of mothers too, at liberty to go up to the citadel and beg Erketlis to come to terms before the Ortelgans became even more inventive. After some days he offered to go, provided he was allowed to march out fully armed and proceed unmolested to Ikat. Those terms the Ortelgans accepted. Three days later they tried to attack him on the march, but he'd been expecting something of the sort and succeeded in discouraging them quite effectively. That happened near my home in Sarkid, as a matter of fact."
Mollo was about to reply when Elleroth, seated at the boatman's back, spoke again, without any alteration in his quiet tone.
"We are about to run into a large floating log, which will probably stave in the bow."
The boatman stopped rowing at once and turned his head.
"Where, sir?" he asked, in Beklan. "I don't see anything."
"Well, I see that you understand me when I am speaking Yeldashay," replied Elleroth, "but that is not a crime. It seems to have turned even more chilly, and the wind is fresher than it was. You had better take us back, I think, before we catch the Telthearna ague. You have done very well--here are another ten meld for you. I'm sure you never gossip."
"God bless you, sir," said the boatman, pulling on his right oar.
"Where now?" asked Mollo, as they stepped ashore in the garden. "Your room--or mine? We can go on talking there."
"Come, come, Mollo--the arrangements for eavesdropping will have been completed days ago. Dear me, those amateur instructors of yours in Deelguy! We will have a stroll through the town--hide a leaf in the forest, you know. Now that priestess woman who addressed us this morning--the one with a face like a nightjar--would you say that she--"
They made their way downhill, by way of the walled lane, to the Peacock Gate, and were shut into the little enclosed chamber called the Moon Room while the porter, unseen, operated the counterpoise that opened the postern. There was no way between the upper and lower cities except through this gate and the porters, vigilant and uncommunicative as hounds, opened for none whom they had not been instructed to recognize. As Elleroth followed Mollo out into the lower city, the gate closed behind them, heavy, smooth and flat, its iron flanges overlapping the walls on either side. For a few moments they stood alone above the din of the town, grinning at each other like two lads about to plunge together into a pool.
The Street of the Armorers led downhill into the colonnaded square called the Caravan Market, where all the goods coming into the city were weighed and checked by the customs officers. On one side stood the city warehouses, with their loading and unloading platforms, and Fleitil's brazen scales, which could weigh a cart and two oxen as easily as a sack of flour. Mollo was watching the weights being piled against forty ingots of Gelt iron when a grimy-faced, ragged boy, limping on a crutch, stumbled against him, stooped quickly sideways with a kind of clumsy, sweeping bow, and then began to beg from him.
"No mother, sir, no father--a hard life--two meld nothing to a gentleman like you--generous face--easy to see you're a lucky man--you like to meet a nice girl--be careful of rogues here--many rogues in Bekla--many thieves--perhaps one meld--need a fortuneteller--you like to gamble perhaps--I meet you here tonight--help a poor boy--no food today--"
His left leg had been severed above the ankle and the stump, bound in dirty cloth, hung a foot above the ground. As he shifted his weight the leg swung limply, as though there were no strength from the thigh down. He had lost a front tooth, and as he lisped out his monotonous, inexpressive offers and entreaties, red betel-stained spittle crept over his lower lip and down his chin. He had a shifty-eyed, wary look and kept his right arm slightly bent at his side, the hand open, the thumb and fingers crooked like claws.
Suddenly Elleroth stepped forward, gripped the boy's chin in his hand and jerked up his face to meet his own eyes. The boy gave a shrill cry and tried to back away, pouring out more words, distorted now by Elleroth's grip on his jaw.
"Poor boy, sir, no harm, gentleman won't hurt a poor boy, no work, very hard times, be of service--"
"How long have you followed this life?" asked Elleroth sternly.
The boy stammered with eyes averted.
"Don't know, sir, four years, sir, five years, done no wrong, sir, six years perhaps, whatever you say--"
Elleroth, with his free hand, pulled up the boy's sleeve. Bound round the forearm was a broad leather band and thrust beneath it by the blade was a handsome, silver-hilted knife. Elleroth pulled it out and handed it to Mollo.
"Didn't feel him take it, did you? That's the worst of wearing one's knife in a sheath on the hip. Now stop howling, my boy, or I'll see you flogged before the market warden--"
"I'll see him flogged, howling or no," interrupted Mollo. "I'll--"
"Wait a moment, my dear fellow." Elleroth, still grasping the boy's chin, turned his head to one side and with his other hand thrust back his dirty hair. The lobe of the ear was pierced by a round hole about as big as an orange pip. Elleroth touched it with his finger and the boy began to weep silently.
"Genshed u arkon lowt tha?" said Elleroth, speaking in Terekenalt, a tongue unknown to Mollo.
The boy, who was unable to speak for his tears, nodded wretchedly.
"Genshed varon, shu varon il pekeronta?" The boy nodded again.
"Listen," said Elleroth, reverting to Beklan. "I am going to give you some money. As I do so I shall curse you and pretend to hit you, for otherwise a hundred wretches will come like vultures from every hole in the market. Say nothing, hide it and go, you understand? Curse you!" he shouted, gripping the boy's shoulder and pushing him away. "Be off, get away from me! Filthy beggars--" He turned on his heel and walked away, with Mollo beside him.
"Now what the devil--?" began Mollo. He broke off. "Whatever's the matter, Elleroth? You're surely not--not weeping, are you?"
"My dear Mollo, if you can't observe a knife vanishing from its sheath on your own hip, how can you possibly expect to observe accurately the e
xpression on a face as foolish as mine? Let us turn in and have a drink--I feel I could do with one, and the sun's become rather warmer now. It will be pleasant to sit down."
25 The Green Grove
THE NEAREST TAVERN IN THE COLONNADE, whose sign proclaimed it to be "The Green Grove," was out of the wind but warmed nevertheless, at this early time of the year, by a charcoal brazier, low enough to keep floor drafts from chilling the feet. The tables were still damp from their morning scrubbing and the settle, facing toward the square, was spread with brightly colored rugs which, though somewhat worn, were clean and well brushed. The place appeared to be frequented chiefly by the better kind of men having work or business in the market--buyers, household stewards, caravan officers, merchants and one or two market officials, with their uniform green cloaks and round leather hats. There were pumpkins and dried tendrionas hanging in nets against the walls and pickled aubergines, cheeses, nuts and raisins set out in dishes. Through a door at the back could be caught a glimpse of the courtyard, with white doves and a fountain. Elleroth and Mollo sat down at one end of the settle and waited without impatience.
"Well, Death, don't come along just yet," cried a long-haired young caravaneer, flinging back his cloak to free his arm as he drank and looking over the top of his leather can as though half-expecting that unwelcome personage to make a sudden appearance round the corner. "I've got a bit more profit to make down south and a few more jars to empty here--haven't I, Tarys?" he added to a pretty girl with a long black plait and a necklace of silver coins, who set down before him a plate of hard-boiled eggs in sour cream.
"Ay, likely," she answered, "without you get yourself killed int' south one trip. Profit, profit--happen you'd go to Zeray for profit."