We argued that, whatever happened, the wisest course was to get some
sleep. Agathemer declared that we could fast over next day and night, if
necessary, and that we had best keep in our hole till next night, anyhow.
I acceded and we went to sleep.
We were waked by loud voices in altercation. The sky had cleared, the late
moon was half way up, and we conjectured that the time was about midway
between midnight and dawn, the time when all roads are most deserted.
Close to us, plain in the brilliant moonlight, were two stocky men on roan
or bay horses. The moonlight was bright enough to make it certain that
they were wearing the garb of Imperial couriers. The trappings of their
horses, frontlets, saddle cloths, saddle bags and all suited their attire.
But their actions, words, accents and everything about them was most
discordant with their horses and equipment.
Both were so drunk that they could just stick on their stationary and
impassive mounts, so drunk that they talked thickly. And they were
disputing and arguing and wrangling with their voices raised almost to a
shout. Thickly as they talked, we had listened to them but a few moments
when we were sure that they were low-class highwaymen who had robbed two
Imperial couriers, tied and gagged them, changed clothes with them and
ridden off on their horses, but had stopped to drink, raw and unmixed, the
couriers' overgenerous supply of heady wine; two kid-skins, by their
utterances.
Pages:
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409