Reginald hailed Kliomenes. Signals could not properly be exchanged. It seems the sealed documents pertaining to these signs and countersigns had been lost with the _Tamira_, that they were now in the mud at the bottom of the Vosk. The _Tamira_, we were informed, had been sunk while valiantly defending herself against an attacking fleet of a dozen ships. Naturally Kliomenes, quarrels trained on his back, saw fit to accept these explanations. Besides, strictly, surely, such signs were not necessary in the present circumstances. Reginald himself was recognized. He had conducted business in the holding before, with Policrates and Kliomenes.
We gave orders and the great gate began to rise. This time, in the room of the windlass, however, it was pirates who labored to lift that mighty weight. I regretted only that Kliomenes was not sweating with them, in rags, under a whip, chained to a windlass bar. The identity of the third man on the deck of the stem castle of the lead galley, we learned, in the exchange of identifications, was Alcibron, who had been the commander of the _Tuka_.
I was much pleased that we had removed the _Tuka_, as well as the _Tina_ and _Tais_ from the sea yard. Alcibron, and, doubtless, many others, might have immediately recognized her. Alerted thusly to their danger they would have attempted to withdraw. Our trap, presumably, would then have been fruitlessly sprung. Something else which had been Alcibron's, too, was not far away, a wench I had taken from him and made my own slave. She, Lola, with another of my slaves, Shirley, I was keeping, for my convenience, in the central room of the slave quarters, with the captured beauties of the pirates. These latter girls, such as the auburn-haired beauty in whom Miles of Vonda was interested, and the small brunet in whom I had some interest, were in ignorance as to what their disposition would be. This was appropriate. They were slaves.
I saw the lead galley drawing alongside the walk near the fortress wall, across the sea yard. Mooring lines were made fast. Pirates disembarked.
'You will never be successful,' snarled Kliomenes.
'Stand back on the ramparts,' I said, 'that the stern impediments locked upon your ankles not be visible.'
He stepped back a foot.
'Smile, and wave,' I encouraged him, 'unless you wish to die.'
He smiled and waved.
I saw Reginald and Alcibron wave to him, from the walk across the sea yard. He who had been the courier of Ragnar Voskjard looked about himself, suspiciously, and then, with the others, entered the holding. Inside, in a previously prepared room, on a great table, were aligned two hundred goblets of wine. Each contained Tassa powder.
When the pirates, unsuspecting, were within, and giving themselves to the wine, the door would be locked. Other vessels, too, were now being moored at the walk, and others, following them, were being tied up alongside the first. In a short time the sea yard, if all went well, would be almost filled with vessels. In such close harborage it would be possible to walk across the sea yard, moving from deck to deck.
More than two hundred pirates had now been welcomed and encouraged within the holding. Later crews, now, in smaller groups, in single file, would be conducted deeply within the holding. There, by larger numbers, the smaller groups would be disarmed, beaten and hurled into waiting, smooth-sided capture pits, prepared earlier by the captured pirates of Kliomenes. Narrow corridors, too, and blind passages, suddenly shut off by barred barricades, through which arrows might be fired by our men, served a similar purpose. Caught within, as helpless as penned vulos, subject vulnerably to the pleasure of our archers, pirates would surrender, stripping themselves and submitting themselves, one by one, to our chains.
'There must be twenty ships in the yard,' I said.
'It goes well,' said Callimachus.
Suddenly, reeling, his sword bloody, I saw he who had been the courier of Ragnar Voskjard, his clothing torn, emerge wildly from the interior of the holding.
'Go back! Go back!' he screamed. 'It is a trap!'
Pirates looked at him, puzzled.
'Go back!' he screamed. 'Go back!' There was then a confusion of oars. One galley tried to come about. Another, entering, grated against it. Men began to run about on the decks of the ships. There was consternation. The fellow who wore the mask, then, shouting, waving his sword, distraught, began to leap from ship to ship, trying to make his way toward the gate. Shouts of alarm now arose from the sea yard, though, I think, most were more perplexed than alarmed. Another vessel entered the sea yard.
'I do not wish to lose that man,' said Callimachus, grimly. He lifted and lowered his hand. This signal was rapidly relayed to the west gate tower and, as the fellow below leapt into the water, to swim for the gate, it, with a thunderous rattle of weight and chaining, shaking and sliding, crashed downward, smiting and dividing a galley just aft of amidships, and then anchored itself in place. The courier of Ragnar Voskjard would not escape.
'Fire bombs!' called Callimachus. 'Signal our fellows in the marshes! Let the attack flags be raised!' There was a cheer upon the walls. Men rose up on the walls, lighting fuses of oil-soaked rags, thrust into oil-filled, clay vessels; a smoke bomb, trailing red smoke, was lofted from a wall catapult high over the marshes. Red attack flags, torn by the wind, snapped on their lines. Vessels of clay, spreading broad sheets of flaming oil, shattered on the decks of the vessels in the yard. Soldiers of Ar's Station, emerging from the marshes on the left and right, screaming, hurled, too, such flaming missiles against the ships in the channel. Our men emerged through the iron door of the holding to command the walks lining the sea yard. They then began to board the moored vessels. A melee took place, even upon the flaming decks. Our men, too, from the wall, streamed down the steps to assist their fellows.
'Watch this man,' I told a fellow, indicating Kliomenes.
'Onto your belly, Urt,' said the man, 'and cross your hands behind you.'
Swiftly Kliomenes obeyed.
I hurried downward.
Already pirates, their weapons discarded, were kneeling before our men.
I went to the walk, near the great gate. 'You there,' I said, gesturing with my sword, 'climb to the walk, and kneel.'
The courier of Ragnar Voskjard, then, bedraggled, his weapon gone, still masked, knelt before me.
Callimachus, come down from the wall, joined me on the walls. 'It goes well in the marshes,' he said. 'Ships are aflame. Pirates attempt to flee.' He looked at the man kneeling, at the point of my sword. 'So you are the courier of Ragnar Voskjard,' he said, grimly. 'Now you are where you belong, on your knees at the feet of honest men.' The voice of Callimachus was heavy with rage. I feared he was going to run this fellow through. 'It was to him, or to an agent of his,' said Callimachus, 'that we were betrayed by Peggy, the traitorous Earth slut, the paga slave of Tasdron.'
I was silent.
'What do you think should be her punishment?' asked Callimachus of me.
'If she is guilty,' I said, 'whatever you wish, as she is a slave.' This was in full accord with Gorean law. Indeed, anything, for whatever reason, or without a reason, may be done to a slave.
'If she is guilty?' inquired Callimachus.
'The Earth beauty,' I said, 'by our intent, in her servings of us, was seldom so placed as to be able to overhear our deliberations.' Usually we had kept her at the far side of the room, where she might not hear, but might be immediately summoned, had we desired aught. 'Though, doubtless, that we conspired was not unknown to her, I suspect she knew little or nothing of the specifics of our plans.'
'Who, then, could it have been?' asked Callimachus.
'Too,' I said, 'I do not think she would betray you, for, in her heart, I believe her to be your slave.'
'Impossible,' said Callimachus.
'Buy her from Tasdron,' I said, 'and put her in your collar, and see.'
'Who, then, could it have been?' asked Callimachus.
'Another,' I said.
'But, who?' asked Callimachus.
'He,' I said, drawing the mask from the head of the courier of Ragnar Voskjard.
The man looked up, angrily, his features exposed.
'Callisthenes!' cried Callimachus.
