THE LOST TEN by Harry Sidebottom

Author:Harry Sidebottom [Sidebottom, Harry]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Zaffre Publishing
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 20

Matiane

WHEN THE DOORS WERE FLUNG open from outside, the musicians stopped playing and the buzz of conversation ceased. All eyes were on the those who entered.

Valens marched into the room. Like the men at his back, he was helmeted and wore mail. The soldiers were equipped for any eventuality. Each had a shield in his left hand, a strung bow slung across his back, a sword on one hip, and an open quiver on the other. The right hand of all but Valens rested on the hilt of their blades. The young officer carried an evidently heavy leather sack.

Decimus and Aulus halted at the doors. The other four followed Valens into the centre of the circle of diners. Their boots thudded with a measured tread on the stone floor, the rattle of their martial panoply filling the silence.

Four armed retainers got up and stood behind the village headman. Some of the rest of the diners seemed to shrink back, but all remained cross-legged.

Valens stopped in front of the headman. Hairan closed up on his shoulder. Iudex, with Clemens and Narses, stood watchfully behind.

Valens dropped the sack. It landed with a weighty thump, and the eyes of the headman fixed upon it.

‘Tell him we have dealt with his daemon,’ Valens said to Hairan.

The translation by the Hatrene was longer than the original. Valens caught just the word ‘djinn’.

The headman listened, but appeared incapable of tearing his gaze from the stained leather bag.

‘We have brought proof.’

While Hairan spoke, Valens bent and untied the sack. He paused and looked up. The headman met his stare. Some deep and troubled thoughts flickered behind his eyes. Standing, Valens lifted out the contents of the sack.

There was a gasp from the diners.

Valens held the severed head by the hair.

The headman recoiled, unable to hide the horror and anger on his face.

Others at the feast were getting to their feet. Valens half turned, taking in each of them. Under his regard they stopped moving. There were about thirty at the meal, half of them women. All the men were armed, but the odds were no worse than two to one. Valens did not want this to end in bloodshed. Now was the time for careful words.

‘Tell him there was no daemon. His servant betrayed him.’

As Hairan translated, the gaze of the headman flitted around the room. He too perhaps was calculating the numbers, trying to predict the outcome of violence.

‘Tell him his people are safe again.’

One last glance at the hideous object in Valens’s hand, and the headman began to talk to Hairan.

‘He says he is in our debt. He could never have imagined such a thing. His soul is shocked.’

‘Is it now?’

The headman was talking faster, gaining confidence. His hands spread wide placatingly, his tone was oleaginous and ingratiating.

‘We are the saviours of his people. He begs us to accept his hospitality, and dine with him.’

‘Tell him it has been a hard day on the mountain, and we will eat and rest in our compound.’

Hairan’s translation brought forth a torrent of words from the native.

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