'What docs it mean?' asked Siristrou, listening carefully to the reiterated syllables.

'Well, let's see; it means "Shardik gave his life for the children, Shardik found them, Shardik saved them" - you know, anything that suits their rhythm.'

'Shardik - who's he?'

Another terrific lurch. Tan-Rion grinned, raised either hand in a gesture of helplessness and shrugged his shoulders. A few moments later he shouted, 'Nearly there!'

Gradually they came into slack water. Over the last hundred yards the men stopped chanting and pulled the raft in more easily. A coiled rope was thrown from the landing stage and a few moments later they had touched. Siristrou gripped an offered hand and for the first time in his life stepped ashore on the right bank of the Varin.

The raft had been drawn into a kind of dock made of stout stakes driven into the shallows. It was the sight of this from the opposite bank which had perplexed him earlier that morning. As the Deelguy labourers clambered to shore six or seven boys, the eldest no more than about thirteen years old, jumped aboard, unloaded the baggage and then, having opened the hinged rings, released the rope and began poling the raft down the dock towards a similar rope at the further end. Siristrou, turning away, saw Tan-Rion pointing back at himself and his party. He was standing a little way off, talking to a black-haired youth who seemed to have some kind of authority on the landing-stage, for he suddenly interrupted Tan-Rion to call out an order to the children aboard the raft. A crowd was gathering. Those working on the half-finished, warehouse-like sheds near by had apparently downed tools to come and stare. Siristrou stared back with a certain perplexity, for most of them were mere boys. However, he had no further opportunity to speculate, for Tan-Rion came up to him, together with the black-haired youth, who bowed rather formally and offered his hand. He was ugly, even forbidding, with a cast in one eye and a birthmark across his face; but his manner, as he uttered a few words of greeting, was courteous and welcoming enough. He was wearing some kind of badge or emblem - a bear's head between two corn-sheaves - and Siristrou, unable to understand his Beklan (which did not sound native), smiled, nodded and touched it with his forefinger by way of a friendly gesture.

'This young fellow's in charge of the harbour lads,' said Tan-Rion. 'His name's Kominion, but most of us just call him Shouter. I've sent a man to tell the governor of your arrival and ask for a house to be put at your disposal. As soon as we know where it is, Shouter will get your baggage up there - you can leave it quite safely with him. It'll take a little while, of course, and I'm afraid you may find your quarters rather rough: this is a frontier town, you see. But at least I can make sure that you get a meal and a fire while you have to wait. There's quite a decent tavern up here, where you can be comfortable and private - a place called "The Green Grove". Now come on, stand back, you lads,' he shouted. 'Leave the foreigners alone and get back to work!'

Glad at least of firm ground after the flood-race in the strait, Siristrou, walking beside his guide, led his men across the waterfront and up towards the town, which looked as busy and ramshackle as a rookery.

'- obliged to leave the horses on the eastern bank, and upon my re-crossing intend to despatch this letter by two or three horsemen: though I shall miss them, for all those with me have done well under hard conditions, and I commend them to Your Majesty's favour.

'For the Varin ferry crossing that these people have developed, it is ingenious and gives me hope that we may profit by commerce with so resourceful a people. The Varin here is relatively narrow, the strait being perhaps four and a half hundred yards directly across, from this town of Zeray to the opposite shore. The current, accordingly, flows very fast, too fast for navigation, while below lies the dangerous gorge known as Bereel, of which I have already written and which they greatly fear. Yet this current they have turned to account, for from Zeray they have contrived to stretch two ropes across the river, one to a point on the opposite bank some thousand yards upstream, while the other is secured a similar distance downstream. This, I am told, was effected with great difficulty in the first place by conveying one end of each rope across the river several miles upstream, in safer water, and then man-handling either end downstream along the banks, little by little, to their present anchoring points. Each rope is about twelve hundred yards long and took several months to make.

'There are three ferry rafts, each perhaps five or six paces square, which make a circuit of three journeys. First, the crossing-rope having been secured through iron rings, it is drawn from Zeray across the river, the opposite point being so far downstream that it goes almost with the current. Upon its arrival they release the raft from the rope and then, once unloaded, it is drawn upstream by oxen in the slack water under the shore. The distance must be about a mile and a quarter and over this whole length they have dredged and cleared the inshore water, straightened the shore and paved it for the beasts' hooves. At the upstream point, a thousand yards above Zeray, the raft is secured to the second rope and thus makes the return crossing, once more having the current behind it.

'The ropes, I am told, will need to be renewed once a year, and this means that a principal labour of upkeep is the making, each year, of well over a mile of stout rope. The rafts - the first they have made - are as yet clumsy and precarious, but serve their purpose. The main impediment, I learned, is from floating branches and the like which, drifting down river, foul the ropes and have to be disengaged or cut loose; but these can be avoided to some extent by leaving the ropes slack when not in use.

'We are now installed in a house here: poor enough, for the whole town is but a rough place, but at least sound and clean. Later this afternoon I am to meet the governor and shall, of course, present Your Majesty's message of goodwill. Soon after, I believe, we are to travel westwards some thirty or forty miles to a town called Kabin where, if I have understood correctly, there is a reservoir supplying the city of Bekla. It is here, and in another city which they call Igat or Ikat, that we hope to speak with the rulers about trade with Zakalon.

'There is one feature of this town which Your Majesty, I am sure, would find as puzzling as I, and that is the great number of children who seem to work, sometimes without any grown man in charge, and to carry out on their own account much of the business of the place. Where a task requires skilled direction as, for example, the building of the new warehouses on the waterfront, they work under the bidding of the masons, but in other, simple tasks they seem often to have their own foremen, older children who direct them without other supervision. Their work, though serviceable, is, from what little I have seen, rough, but for this place it does well enough, and certainly the children seem for the most part in good spirits.

In this house we are looked after by three grave lasses of no more than eleven or twelve years of age, who take their task very seriously and clearly feel it an honour to have been chosen to tend the foreign strangers. My men stare, but the girls are not to be put out of countenance. They speak an argot and I can understand little of what they say, but it is no matter.'

There was a light knock at the door. Siristrou looked up and, not calling to mind the Beklan for 'Come in', made a noise which he hoped was expressive of encouragement and assent. One of the serving-children opened the door, raised her palm to her forehead and stood aside to admit the biggest man Siristrou had ever seen. His leather jerkin, which bore the emblem of the Bear and Corn-Sheaves, seemed ready to split across his massive chest, and his skin breeches - apparently made for a man of more normal size - reached about half-way down his calves. Over one shoulder he was carrying easily a large and extremely full-looking sack. He grinned cheerfully at Siristrou, raised his palm to his forehead and said, 'Crendro.'

This word was unknown to Siristrou, but as it was evidently a greeting he replied 'Crendro' and waited expectantly. His visitor's next utterance, however, beat him altogether and he could only conclude that he must be speaking in some strange tongue or dialect.

'Can you speak Beklan?' he asked haltingly. 'I understand - a little Beklan.'

'Why, me too, my lord,' answered the giant, dropping into mangled but comprehensible Beklan with another amiable smile. 'Living here, you can't help picking it up after a fashion. Ah, it's a strange town, this is, and that's the truth. So you're the foreign prince, eh, that's come over on the ferry? 'Going to make all our fortunes, I dare say - or so they tell us. Best respects, my lord, sir.'

By this time Siristrou had perceived that his visitor was evidently some kind of servant - from his manner, a privileged one; but one also who would need keeping in check if he were not to become garrulous to the point of presumption. Without a smile, therefore, and in a business-like manner, he said, 'You have a message for me?'

'Why, that's so, my lord,' replied the man. 'My name's Ankray -I look after the governor and his lady. Governor got back from Lak an hour or two after noon and heard you were here; so he says to me, "Ankray," he says, "if you're going down to the water-front you can just bring me back a sackful of those thick blocks they're using down there - the ones that came in from Tonilda the other day - and on your way home you can step in, like, to that there foreign prince gentleman and tell him I'll be happy to see him whenever it suits him to come." So if it's quite convenient to you, my lord, you might just be stepping along with me now, as you don't know the way, and I'll take you up there.'

'It sounds as though it's convenient to you, you, at all events,' said Siristrou, smiling in spite of himself. at all events,' said Siristrou, smiling in spite of himself.

'My lord?'

'Never mind,' answered Siristrou, who had now, with kindly shrewdness, grasped that his man was something of a simpleton. 'I will be ready to come with you directly.'

It was not the kind of summons to the governor that he had been expecting: but no matter, he thought; this was a small town; there was nothing of importance to be heard or done here; the real diplomacy would come later, in the cities to the westward. Nevertheless, one must be courteous to this governor, who might even be the man responsible for designing and constructing the ferry. As he thought of the probable number of such interviews ahead of him - to say nothing of all the uncomfortable travelling - he sighed. King Luin, in his way, had paid philosophers a compliment in sending one to find out about trade. Yet for all the King's notions, it was not trade, but ideas, that truly advanced civilization: and of those, in this country, there were likely to be about as many as stars in a pond. He sighed again, folded and pocketed his unfinished letter to the king, and called to Thyval to bring him his good cloak and make ready to attend him to the governor's house.

The giant led the way, conversing easily in his atrocious Beklan without apparently worrying in the least whether Siristrou understood him or not, and carrying his bulging sack as lightly as if it had been a fisherman's keep-net, 'Ah, now, this town's changed a great deal, my lord, you see. Now, the Baron, he always used to say, "Ankray," he used to say, "that ferry, once we get it put across the river, that ferry'll bring in a deal of foreigners, coming over for what they can find -" begging your pardon, my lord. "They'll bring all manner of things with them and one will be our prosperity, you mark my words." Of course, the Baron, very likely he'd be surprised out of his life to see all the children here now; though myself, I like them, and there's no denying they can often do very well with anything, once they understand what's to be done. I'd never have thought it possible, but it's these new-fangled ideas, you see, of the governor's. Now only the other day, down at the water-front -'

At this moment they became aware of a band of eight or nine quite young children, who were running after them and calling out to attract their attention. Two were carrying thick, heavy wreaths of flowers. Siristrou stopped, puzzled, and the children came up, panting.

'U-Ankray,' said one, a dark-haired girl of about twelve, putting her hand into the giant's, 'is this the foreign stranger - the prince who's come over the river?'

'Why, yes, that's so,' answered Ankray, 'and what of it? He's on his way to see the governor, so just don't you be hindering of him, now, my dear.'

The little girl turned to Siristrou, raised her palm to her forehead and addressed him in Beklan with a kind of confident joy, which both arrested and startled him.

'My lord,' she said, 'when we heard you were here we made wreaths, to welcome you and your servants to Zeray. We brought them to your house, but Lirrit told us you had just set out to see the governor. "But you run," she said, "and you'll catch him," so we came after you to give you the wreaths, and to say, "Welcome, my lord, to Zeray."'

'What are they saying, sir?' asked Thyval, who had been staring at the children in some bewilderment. 'Are they trying to sell us these flowers?'

'No, they're a gift, or so it seems,' answered Siristrou. Fond of children as he was, the situation was outside his experience and he found himself at something of a loss. He turned back to the dark-haired girl.

"Thank you,' he said. 'You're all very kind.' It occurred to him that he had probably better try to discover a little more. Some further acknowledgement of this rather charming courtesy might well be expected of him later by whoever was behind it. 'Tell me, who told you to bring the wreaths? Was it the governor?'

'Oh, no, my lord, we picked the flowers ourselves. No one sent us. You see, we were gardening not far from the water-front and then we heard -' and she ran off into a chattering, happy explanation which he could not follow, while two of her companions stood on tip-toe to hang the wreaths round his neck and Thyval's. Most of the flowers were of one kind, small and lavender-coloured, -with a light, sharp scent 'What do you call these?' he asked, smiling and touching them.

'Planella,' she answered, and kissed his hand. 'We call them planella. And these are trepsis, the red ones.'

'Let's sing to them,' shouted a limping, dark-skinned boy at the back of the little crowd. 'Come on, let's sing to them!'

And thereupon he began and the others took up his song, rather breadilessly and in several different keys. Thyval scratched his head.

'What are they singing, sir, can you make it out?'

'Hardly at all,1 replied Siristrou. 'They're singing in some other language, not Beklan - although a word or two here and there seems the same. "Something or other - pulls out - a fish" (I think) "along the river -" Oh, well, you know the kind of songs children sing everywhere.'

'They'll be wanting some money in a moment, I suppose,' said Thyval.

'Have you managed to get hold of any of their money yet?' 'No, sir.'

But the song ended and the children, taking each other's hands, ran away, laughing and waving and carrying the lame boy along with them and leaving Siristrou staring after them in the sunshine, with the scent of the planella all about him from the wreath round his neck.

'Funny sort of a go,' muttered Thyval, making to remove his wreath.

'Don't take it off,' said Siristrou quickly. 'We mustn't risk doing anything that might offend these people.'

Thyval shrugged his scented shoulders and they set off again, Ankray pointing the way up the slope to a stone house at the top. Although newly-built, it was not very large or imposing, thought Siristrou, looking at the upper storey visible over the surrounding wall. In Zakalon such a house might do well enough, perhaps, for a prosperous merchant, a market-governor or some such man. It was not a nobleman's house. However, from what Ankray had said, it was plain that the town had begun to grow only recently, no doubt upon the completion of the ferry. The governor, perhaps, if not himself the ferry-designer, might be an old soldier, or some similar kind of practical man appointed to get through the early, rough task of building up the working port. Whoever he was, he certainly had little idea of style.

The gate in the wall - a heavy, cross-ply affair, studded with the broad heads of iron nails - was standing half open and Siristrou, following Ankray as he turned in without ceremony, found himself in a courtyard half-resembling that of a farmer and half that of a builder's merchant Materials of one kind and another were stacked all round the place - sacks of what appeared to be seed-corn, raised off the ground on slatted boards, several newly-turned ox-yokes and some leather straps, an iron rain-water tank half-full, two heaps of stones, sorted large and small, a plough, a stack of logs and another of long poles, ten or twelve rough-cut paddles and a mass of caulking material, some coils of rope and a pile of planks. On the north side of the courtyard, against the south wall of the house itself, stood a carpenter's bench, and here a grizzled, ageing man, with something of the look of an old soldier, was holding up an arrow in one hand while with the other he carefully fixed a trimmed goose-quill below the notch. A younger man and a small crowd of rather ragged-looking boys were standing round him and it was plain that he was instructing them in fletching, for he was both speaking and illustrating his meaning by thrusting forward the arrow held between his finger and thumb, to demonstrate the effect of this particular style of fixing the flights. One of the lads asked a question and the man answered him, pointing to some feature of the arrow and then patting the boy's shoulder, evidently in commendation.

As Siristrou came further into the courtyard, still following Ankray and feeling uncommonly self-conscious with the great wreath tickling the lobes of his ears, they all looked round at him, and at once the younger man stepped out of the little group and approached, clapping saw-dust off his hands and calling over his shoulder, 'All right, Kavass, just carry on. When you've finished, have a look at those thick blocks that Ankray's brought, will you?'

Since Ankray did not seem to be going to say anything to announce their arrival Siristrou, summoning his faulty Beklan, said carefully, 'I am here to see the governor.'

'I'm the governor,' replied the man, smiling. He inclined his head, raised his hand to his forehead and then, as though a little nervous, wiped it on his sleeve before offering it to Siristrou, who took it instinctively but with a certain sense of bewilderment. Perhaps the word he had used for 'governor' was the wrong one? He tried again.

' The - er - ruler - the ruler of the town.'

'Yes, I'm the ruler of the town. Aren't I, Ankray?'

'Yes, my lord. I've brought the thick blocks and this here foreign prince, just like you said. And that young fellow Shouter, he says to, to tell you -'

'Well, tell me that later. Will you let the saiyett know that the prince is here; and then ask Zilthe to bring some nuts and wine into the reception-room? See everything's as it should be; and take the prince's servant with you and look after him.'

'Very good, my lord.'

Walking beside his host into the house, Siristrou murmured, 'If I have the meaning of that word correctly, I ought to tell you that I am not a prince.'

'Never mind,' replied the governor cheerfully. 'If the people here think you are, it will please them and help you as well.'

For the first time in several days Siristrou laughed and, able now to look directly at his host without seeming over-curious or unmannerly, tried to size him up. At first glance he looked about thirty, but of this it was hard to be sure, for in spite of his cheerful demeanour there was in his manner a kind of gravity and responsibility which suggested that he might be older. Nor was it easy to guess whether he was primarily a practical or a thinking man, for his face suggested to the perceptive Siristrou experience both of danger and - if words must be found - of grief; of suffering, perhaps. To come down to less fanciful matters, he was almost certainly not a nobleman. To begin with he was not, to tell the truth, particularly clean, although his roughened hands, his sweat and streaks of grime suggested the craftsman, not the oaf. But there was something else about him - a kind of grave ardour, an air suggesting that the world was not yet altogether as he wished it to be and meant to see it become - that was less aristocratic than any amount of dirt. Altogether, thought the diplomatic Siristrou, a somewhat cryptic and paradoxical character, who might need careful handling. The lobe of one of his cars was pierced by an ugly, ragged hole which contained no earring, and his left arm was carried stiffly, as though affected by an old injury. What might his past be and how had he become governor of Zeray? He seemed neither a rough man lining his pocket nor an ambitious man eager to rise. An idealist? The only man who could be found to take the job? Oh well, thought Siristrou, one knew nothing about this entire country anyway and the man, whatever his history, was too small a fish for the net King Luin had sent him to spread. Later there would be others who mattered more, though no doubt the impression he made here would precede him inland.

They entered a plain, clean room, stone-floored and rush-strewn, where a fire was palely burning, dimmed by the afternoon sunlight. The governor, with another smile, gently lifted the wreath from Siristrou's shoulders and put it on the table beside him. It had not been very soundly made, and was already beginning to fall to pieces.

'Some of your townspeople's children came up and gave that to me while I was on the way here,* said Siristrou.

'Really - do you happen to know which children they were?' answered the governor.

'It was little Vasa, my lord,' said a girl's voice, 'so Ankray tells me, and some of her Ortelgan friends. Shall I pour the wine now?'

A young woman had entered, with silver cups and a flagon on a tray. As she set them down and, turning towards Siristrou, raised her palm to her forehead, he perceived, with a quickly-concealed frisson frisson of pity, that she was not entirely in her right mind. Her wide, smiling eyes, meeting his own with a disconcerting directness out of keeping both in a servant and in a woman, passed, without change of expression, first to a butterfly fanning its wings on the sunny wall and then to the governor, who reached out and took her two hands affectionately in his own. of pity, that she was not entirely in her right mind. Her wide, smiling eyes, meeting his own with a disconcerting directness out of keeping both in a servant and in a woman, passed, without change of expression, first to a butterfly fanning its wings on the sunny wall and then to the governor, who reached out and took her two hands affectionately in his own.

'Oh, Vasa, was it? The prince was lucky, then, wasn't he? Thank you, Zilthe, yes, by all means pour the wine at once. But I'll delay mine for a while - I'm going to wash first, and change my clothes. You see, I mustn't disgrace your visit,' he said, turning to Siristrou. 'Your arrival in Zeray is of the greatest importance to all of us - to the whole country, in fact. I've already despatched a messenger to Kabin with the news. Will you excuse me for a short time? As you can see' - and he spread out his hands - 'I'm not fit to receive you, but my wife will look after you until I come back. She'll be here directly. Meanwhile, I hope you'll find this a good wine. It's one of our best, though you probably have better in your country. It comes from Yelda, in the south.'

He left the room and the girl Zilthe turned away to mend the fire and sweep up the hearth. Siristrou stood in the sunlight, still smelling the sharp, herbal scent of the planella in the wreath and hearing for a moment, at a distance, the rather arresting call of some unknown bird - two fluting notes, followed by a trill cut suddenly short. It certainly was a surprisingly good wine, as good as any in Zakalon: no doubt King Luin would be delighted with any trade agreement that included a consignment. He must bear it in mind. He looked up quickly as a second young woman came into the room.

Middle-aged or not, Siristrou retained an eye for a girl and this one caught it sharply. Upon her entry he was aware only of her remarkable grace of movement - a kind of smooth, almost ceremonial pacing, expressive of calm and self-possession. Then, as she came closer, he saw that, though no longer in the first bloom of youth, she was strikingly beautiful, with great, dark eyes and a rope of black hair gathered loosely and falling over one shoulder. Her deep-red, sheath-like robe bore across the entire front, from shoulder to ankle, the rampant figure of a bear, embroidered in gold and silver thread against a minutely-stitched, pictorial background of trees and water. Forceful, almost barbaric in style, the design, colouring and workmanship were so arresting that for a moment Siristrou was in danger of forgetting the sword for the scabbard, as the saying goes. Work like that, imported to Zakalon, would beyond doubt find a more than ready market. Meanwhile, however, what might be the conventions of this country with regard to women of rank? Free, evidently, for the governor had sent his wife to keep him company alone and therefore no doubt expected him to converse with her. Well, he was not complaining. Perhaps he had misjudged the country after all, though from what little he had seen of Zeray, it would be strange to find a cultured woman here.

The girl greeted him with grace and dignity, though her Beklan seemed a little halting and he guessed that she, like the gigantic servant, must speak some other as her native tongue. From the window embrasure where they were standing could be seen the sheds and landing-stage a quarter of a mile below, fronting the swiftly undulant water of the strait. She asked him, smiling, whether he had felt afraid during the crossing. Siristrou replied that he certainly had.

'I'm a great coward,' she said, pouring him a second cup of wine and one for herself. 'However long I live here, they'll never get me me across to the other side.' across to the other side.'

'I know this side is called Zeray,' said Siristrou. 'Has the place on the opposite side a name, or is it too new to have one?'

'It hardly exists yet, as you've seen,' she answered, tossing back her long fall of hair. 'I don't know what the Deelguy call it - Yoss Boss, or something like that, I expect. But we call it Bel-ka-Trazet.'

'That's a fine-sounding name. Has it a meaning?'

'It's the name of the man who conceived the idea of the ferry and saw how it could be made to work. But he's dead now, you know.'

'What a pity he couldn't have seen it complete. I drink to him.'

'I, too,' and she touched her silver cup to his, so that they rang faintly together.

'Tell me,' he said, finding the words slowly and with some difficulty, '- you understand I know nothing of your country, and need to learn as much as I can - what part do women play in - er -well, life; that is, public life? Can they own land, buy and sell, go to - to law and so on - or are they more - more secluded ?'

'They do none of those things.' She looked startled. 'Do they in your country?'

'Why, yes, these things are certainly possible for a woman - say, one with property whose husband has died - who wishes to stand on her rights and conduct her own affairs, you know.'

'I've never heard of anything like that.'

'But you - forgive me - I lack the word - your way way suggests to me that women may have a good deal of freedom here.' suggests to me that women may have a good deal of freedom here.'

She laughed, evidently delighted. 'Don't go by me when you reach Bekla, or some husband will knife you. I'm a little unusual, though it would take too long to explain why. I was once a priestess, but apart from that I've lived a - very different sort of life from most women. And then again, this is still a remote, half-civilized province, and my husband can do with almost anyone, man or woman -especially when it comes to helping the children. I act freely on his behalf and people accept it, partly because it's me and partly because we need every head and every pair of hands we've got.'

Could she once have been some kind of sacred prostitute? thought Siristrou. It did not seem likely. There was a certain delicacy and sensitivity about her which suggested otherwise.

'A priestess?' he asked. 'Of the god of this country?'

'Of Lord Shardik. In a way I'm still his priestess - his servant, anyway. The girl you saw here just now, Zilthe, was also his priestess once. She was badly injured in his service - that's how she came to be as you see her now, poor girl. She came here from Bekla. She feels safer and happier with us.'

'I understand. But Shardik - that's the second time today I've heard his name. "Shardik gave his life for the children, Shardik saved them."' Siristrou had always had an excellent phonetic memory.

She clapped her hands, startled. 'Why, that's Deelguy you're speaking now! Wherever did you hear that?' 'The ferrymen were singing it on the raft this morning.' 'The Deelguy? Were they really?' 'Yes. But who is Shardik?'

She stood back, faced him squarely and spread her arms wide. 'This is Shardik.'

Siristrou, feeling slightly embarrassed, looked closely at the robe. Certainly the workmanship was quite unusual. The huge bear, red-eyed and rippling like a flame, stood snarling before a man armed with a bow, while behind, a group of ragged children were crouching upon what appeared to be a tree-lined river-bank. It was certainly a savage scene, but to its meaning there was no clue. Animal worship? Human sacrifice, perhaps ? He feared he might be getting drawn into deep water; and his command of the language was still so deficient. One must at all costs avoid wounding the susceptibilities of this high-spirited girl, who no doubt had great influence with her husband.

'I hope to learn more about him,' he said at length, 'That is certainly a splendid robe - most beautiful workmanship. Was it made in Bekla, or somewhere nearer here?'

She laughed again. 'Nearer here certainly. The cloth came from Yelda, but my women and I embroidered it in this house. It took us half a year.'

' Marvellous work - marvellous. Is it - er - sacred?'

'No, not sacred, but I keep it for - well, for occasions of importance. I put it on for you, as you see.'

'You honour me, and - and the robe deserves the lady. There - in a language I've been learning for only two months!' Siristrou was enjoying himself.

She answered nothing, replying to him only with a glance sharp, bright and humorous as a starling's. He felt a quick pang. Injured arm or no injured arm, the governor was younger than he.

'Robes like this - not so fine as yours, of course, but of this kind -could they be traded to my country, do you think?'

Now she was teasing him, rubbing her hands and bowing obsequiously, like some greasy old merchant flattering a wealthy customer.

'Why, surely, kind sir, not a doubt of it. Very most delighted. How many you like?' Then, seriously, 'You'll have to ask my husband about that. You'll find he can talk to you most knowledgeably about anything that's made or sold from Ortelga to Ikat. He's mad about trade - he believes in it passionately - he calls it the blood that circulates in the body of the world; and many other terms he has for it - especially when he's drinking this Yeldashay wine. Have some more.' And again she picked up the flagon. 'What is the name of your country?'

'Zakalon. It's very beautiful - the cities are full of flower-gardens. I hope one day you'll visit it, if only you can overcome your reluctance to crossing the strait.'

'Perhaps. It's little enough travelling I've ever done. Why, I've never even been to Bekla, let alone to Ikat-Yeldashay.'

'All the more reason to become the first woman to go to Zakalon. Come and make our ladies jealous. If you like ceremony, you must come for the great - er - midsummer festival, midsummer festival, if those are the right words.' if those are the right words.'

'Yes, they are. Well done! Well, perhaps - perhaps. Tell me, sir-'