A shout went up. Blade stilled it with an upraised hand and grinned at Pelops. 'You have grown very bloodthirsty, little man. But I command here and I decide what is done with Equebus. Anyone who doubts that had better speak up now.'
There was only a little muttering.
Blade turned back to the Captain, still strutting and preening on his deck as though he had not lost a battle. Yet now Blade thought he saw terror in the man. Terror well masked, but terror just the same. If so, Blade was the only man who saw it.
Blade asked once again, 'Will you fight?'
Equebus smiled his smile and flung down his sword. It clattered at Blade's feet. Along with the smile of contempt there was honest puzzlement in the Captain's eyes.
'You will not kill me, Blade. What could it gain you? You are already, my strange friend, in a great deal of trouble. You have spoiled the games and slain a great many of the Queen's officers and freemen. You missed the point, Blade. You were to lose and so be spared your own life, for I know how the Queen feels about you. Or did feel about you. Now I am not so sure. Are you mad, Blade? Really mad?'
Equebus shot a glance at the pier, where Otto and Queen Pphira still watched from their thrones. He frowned.
'You are mad. Or it was a plot - you and Pphira! But would she dare so much against Otto?'
'You should know of plots,' said Blade. 'You were deep enough in one against your own Queen.'
Blade saw a flicker of movement in the cabin beneath the poop deck. He gave an order. 'In there and fetch me that priest. It is Kreed, I think, hoping to be overlooked.'
The young officer, a slave promoted by Blade only the day before on the word of Pelops, hesitated. Blade's smile was grim.
'Make up your mind, young man. Who do you fear more - Bek-Tor and his priests, or me?'
The officer led five men into the cabin and came out a moment later dragging Kreed, the High Priest, cringing and sniveling and begging for his life.
Blade gave the slaves time enough to take in the sight. 'There is your Bek-Tor,' he said. 'A false God and falser priests. As much a coward as the Captain there.'
A slave muttered, 'Too bad we are not on the plain - Kreed would burn well in the maw of his God.'
Kreed fell to his knees and began to gibber. . 'No fire for him,' said Blade. 'Water.'
He picked Kreed up by the scruff of the neck and carried him to the side and dropped him overboard. The ship roared with laughter.
Blade made a signal by prearrangement. A black flag was run to the masthead. He hoped the Queen would see it and understand.
The catapult officer who had been spared was taken to his huge sling and given instructions. A rock half as large as Blade himself was selected and placed in the basket.
Blade touched his sword. It quivered in the decking. 'For the last time, Equebus, will you have an honorable death? I will not ask again.'
The Captain was on the verge of breaking. He glanced at the chain across the harbor mouth, then back at Blade, and his mouth worked under the beard. His eyes were haunted. Yet he tried.
'I do not understand, Blade. You cannot escape. The chain bars that. In time you and all these slaves will be hunted down and slain. The quicker if you harm me. Why not take your victory, try to survive it if you can, and put your trust in Pphira? I doubt she can save you now, but she might try. Or if you let Otto have his way with you - ' And Equebus grinned lewdly through his terror.
Disgust filled Blade. Get it over with. He made a great lap up the ladder and seized Equebus and flung him down. The Captain did not so much as struggle. He was dazed, still not quite believing that Blade would dare what he feared Blade would dare.
Blade made a sign. A screen was raised before the catapult and Equebus hustled behind it. Blade looked shoreward. Queen Pphira had read the black flag and was not in view. She had made some excuse and left. Otto the Black, enormous blob of fat on his throne, was peering out at the harbor and fuming. A small boat was already halfway to the two locked ships. Otto's couriers coming to find out the truth of matters.
Equebus, gagged now, watched in growing fear and disbelieving wonder as he was bound to the great rock. His eyes widened and he made pitiful sounds behind the gag. He and the rock were readied for flight.
Blade put his sword to the throat of the catapult officer and explained: 'I have seen the accuracy of these weapons. I want it now. You will adjust and lever it so that the rock, and Equebus, falls directly on Otto the Black. Fail and you die. It is as simple as that.'
The officer blanched. His knees were knocking together. 'But I - that is, sire, one cannot always hit a target. Sometimes there is bad luck and the wind, er, yes, the wind. That is very chancy. The wind is - '
The wind was indeed rising, just as Ixion had promised. It was setting steadily from the land. Blade probed the man's throat with his sword point. 'Adjust for the wind. You are a expert - now save your own life. Get ready.'
He had no intention of killing the man. He knew how chancy the catapults could be at times, though they were marvelously accurate. Yet he wanted the officer's best efforts and fear would ensure that.
The long springy arm was twisted back, this being masked by the screen of matting. The levers were all in place and the trigger only awaited a slight tug of the cord. Equebus, staring over his gag in horror and supplication, trussed to his rock like any fowl, kept shaking his head and drooling horrible sounds.
'A low trajectory,' Blade ordered. 'I do not want his Fatness warned in time to run away - if he can run.' Slaves tittered.
