be fed. I dared not speculate at what time we might be leaving in the morning. I hoped we could arouse Mincon and Hurtha at least by noon. There was even paga and ka-la-na. Mincon began to pick mushrooms off the plate and feed them to Tula. Did he not know she was a slave? 'Thank you, Master,' she said, being fed by hand. Sometimes slaves are not permitted touch food with their own hands. Sometimes, in such a case, they are fed by hand; at other times their food might be thrown to them or put out for them in pans, and such, from which then, not using their hands, on all fours, head down, they must feed, in the manner of she-quadrupeds, or slaves, if it be the master's pleasure.
Another mushroom disappeared. Had Tula not had some bread earlier?
'Have a mushroom,' said Hurtha. Mincon even gave a mushroom to Feiqa. I was watching. He was certainly a generous fellow with those mushrooms.
'No, thank you,' I said. I wondered if, in the eating of such a mushroom, one became an inadvertent accomplice in some heinous misadventure.
'They are good,' Hurtha insisted.
'I am sure they are,' I said. I was particularly fond of stuffed mushrooms. There was no problem for the slaves, of course. No one would blame them, any more than one would blame a pet sleen for eating something thrown his way. Mincon and Boabissia might get off, I thought, watching them eat. After all, they did not know where the food came from. Mincon was a trusted driver, and a well-known good fellow. Boabissia was fresh from the wagons, She might be forgiven. Too, she was pretty. Hurtha, of course, might be impaled. I wondered if I counted as being guilty in this business whether I ate a mushroom or not. I knew where they came from, for example. It would be too bad to be impaled, I thought, and not have had a mushroom, at all. 'What are they stuffed with?' I asked Hurtha.
'Sausage,' he said.
'Tarsk?' I asked.
'Of course,' he said.
'My favorite,' I said. 'I shall have one.'
'Alas,' said Hurtha. 'They are all gone.'
'Oh,' I said. 'Say,' I said, 'there seems to be a fellow lurking over there, by the wagons.'
Hurtha turned about, looking.
It was undoubtedly a supply officer. I supposed it would be wrong to put a knife between his ribs. I did, however for at least a moment, feverishly consider the practicalities that might be involved in doing so.
'Ho!' cried Hurtha, cheerfully, to the fellow.
The fellow, who was a bit portly, shrank back, as though in alarm, near one of the wagons. Perhaps he was not a supply officer. He did not have a dozen guardsmen at his back, for instance.
'Do you know him?' I asked. 'Of course,' said Hurtha. 'He is my benefactor!'
I looked again.
'Come,' called Hurtha, cheerily. 'Join us! Welcome!'
I feared the fellow was about to take to his heels.
'I am sorry the mushrooms are all gone,' said Hurtha to me.
'That is all right,' I said.
'Try a spiced verr cube,' he suggested.
'Perhaps later,' I said, uneasily. The portly fellow near the wagon had not approached, nor either had he left. He seemed to be signaling me, or attempting to attract my attention. But perhaps that was my imagination. When Hurtha glanced about he did not, certainly, seem to be doing so. I did not know him, as far as I knew.
'They are very good,' said Hurtha, 'though, to be sure, they are not a match for the stuffed mushrooms.'
'Excuse me,' said Mincon, 'but I think that fellow over there would like to speak to you.'
'Excuse me,' I said to Hurtha.
'Certainly,' he said.
In a moment I had approached the portly fellow by the wagon. 'Sir?' I asked. 'I do not mean to intrude,' he said, 'but by any chance, do you know the fellow sitting over there by the fire?'
'Why, yes,' I said. 'He is Mincon, a wagoner.'
'Not him,' said the fellow. 'The other one.'
'What other one?' I asked.
'The only other one,' he said, 'the big fellow, with yellow, braided hair, and the mustache.'
'That one,' I said.
'Yes,' said he.
'He is called Hurtha,' I said.
'Are you traveling with him?' he asked.
'I may have been,' I speculated. 'One sees many folks on the road. You know how it is.'
'Are you responsible for him?' he asked.
'I hope not,' I said. 'Why?'
'Not an ahn ago,' he said, 'he leaped out at me from behind a wagon in the darkness, brandishing an ax. 'The Alars, at least one, are upon you! he cried.'
'That sounds like Hurtha,' I admitted.
'It was he,' averred the fellow.
'You might be mistaken,' I said.
'There are not many like him with the wagons,' said the fellow.
'Perhaps there is at least one other,' I said.
'It was he,' said the fellow.
'You can't be sure,' I said.
'I am sure,' he said.
'Oh,' I said.
'He then, brandishing his ax, importuned me for a loan. I was speechless with terror. I feared he might mistake my reticence for hesitation.'
'I understand,' I said, sympathetically.
' 'Take it, ' I cried. ' 'Take my purse, my gold, all of it! ' ' 'As a gift, he asked, seemingly delighted, though perhaps somewhat puzzled. 'Yes, I cried. 'Yes!
'I see,' I said. To be sure, when Hurtha had seen this fellow a few moments ago, he had referred to him not as his 'creditor,' but rather, now that I recalled it, warmly, as his 'benefactor.'
'Shall I summon guardsmen from down the road?' he asked.
'I do not think that will be necessary,' I said.
'In that purse,' he said, 'there were eighteen golden staters, from Tyros, three golden tarn disks, one from Port Kar, and two from Ar, sixteen silver tarsks from Tabor, twenty copper tarsks, and some fifteen tarsk bits.'
'You keep very careful records,' I said.
'I am from Tabor,' he said.
'Probably you are a merchant, too,' I said.
'Yes,' he said.
I had feared as much. The merchants of Tabor are famed for the accuracy of their accounts. 'Well?' he said.
'Would you care to join us?' I asked.
'No,' he said.
'There is plenty to eat,' I said.
'I am not surprised,' he said.
'It is not my fault,' I said, 'if you, of your own free will, decided to make my friend a generous gift.'
'Shall I summon guardsmen?' he asked.
'No,' I said.
'Well?' said he.
'Do you have a witnessed, certified document attesting to the alleged contents of your purse?' I asked. 'Too,
