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By Root 315 0

was a constant bombardment of blue. He would not let me move to a different place, kept me standing beside him. Because I had led the victorious army, he gave me a glittering order I did not want: I had too many already. I told him I only wanted the girl. A gasp went up. The people round him waited to see me struck down. I was indifferent. I had lived half my life, seen as much as I wanted. I was sick of war, sick of serving this difficult, dangerous master who loved war and killing and nothing else. There was a kind of insanity in his war-making. Conquest was not enough. He wanted a war of extermination, all enemies slaughtered without exception, nobody left alive. He wanted to kill me. But, though he could not live without war, he was unable to plan a campaign, take a city; I had to do that. So he could not kill me. He wanted my war skills and he wanted me dead. Now he gave me a deadly glance, kept me at his side; but, at the same time, beckoned closer those standing around him. They formed a close sychophantic circle, the only gap was the point where I stood. A small man slipped in, crept under my arm, lifted a long-nosed face like a vicious dog ready to bite, cringing before his master, snarling at me. Now the circle was closed. But I could still watch the ring flashing blue, the gesticulations of the unquiet hands, their long thin white fingers and long pointed nails. The fingers curved inwards in a strange way, like a strangler's, the blue stone was anchored by the curved bone. Commands were given, too low for me to hear. Earlier, he had praised my skill and courage extravagantly, promised me great rewards, I was his guest of honour. I knew him well, could well imagine what sort of reward he planned for me now. I had already prepared my face.

Six guards brought her to him, bundled up in a soldier's cloak. These men had been taught a trick of grasping that left no bruises. I had never learnt it, did not see now how it was done. There was a moment's pause. I wondered if, after all, generosity might be shown ... in the circumstances, it seemed just possible.

Then I saw his hand move towards her, the curved predatory fingers, the blazing blue. She gave a small choked cry as the huge ring tore through her hair: it was the one time I heard her voice. I heard too the faint clank of the metal rings round her wrists and ankles when she fell with violence across his knees. I stood motionless, looking on with an expressionless face. That cold, hard, mad, murderous man; her soft young girl's body and dreaming eyes ... a pity, sad. . . .

I had decided to approach one of the servants who were still busy round the long tables. I was watching a scared-looking peasant girl, one of the youngest of them, slow, clumsy and obviously new to the work. She seemed frightened, downtrodden, the others teased her, slapped her, jeered, called her half-witted. She was tearful, kept making mistakes, I saw her drop things several times. Her sight could have been defective I went and stood in a doorway she had to pass, grabbed her and dragged her through, my hand over her mouth. Luckily the passage beyond was empty. While I was saying I would not harm her, only wanted her help, she looked at me in horror, her red eyes filling with tears; blinked, trembled, seemed too stupid to understand. There was no time, in a moment people would come looking for her, but she would not speak. I spoke to her kindly; argued with her; shook her; showed her a wad of notes. Absolutely no response, no reaction. Increasing the amount of money, I held it under her nose, told her: 'Here's your chance to get away from people who treat you badly. With this you won't have to work again for a long time.' Finally she saw the point, agreed to take me to the room.

We started off, but she was slow and kept hesitating, so that I began to wonder whether she really knew the way. My nerves were on edge, I wanted to hit her, it was hard to control myself. I was afraid of being too late. I said I had to speak to the warden, which would be impossible once the party had started. It