Adventure Magazine Cover — page 32: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

he, CRASS. 2 af ee Fa phe, oy - _ “_ _~ 30 Adventure which set Tros studying the fear in Skell’s eyes. “That is true, Tros!” Skell went on. “TI sent a message to Caswallon. I brought a woman from Gaul with me, one of Czsar’s light o’ loves. She will make all Britain too hot to hold you! But Cesar thinks, and I think, you area man of sense. Czsar bade me win you over to his side, if I can. The Britons have turned against you, Tros.” Tros grinned. He grinned like an oger. Mirth oozed from him. “Hah! Go and +ell your new master, Skell, that I have his bireme and his gold: I gave him a cold swim at Seine-mouth, sunk his boats, drowned his men and wrecked his fleet! Say that is all prelimi- nary! Tell him I’m minded to make friends with him at about the time of the Greek Calends! Cesar will know what that means, he talks Greek very well.” “Would you care to trust me?” Skell asked. “No,” said Tros. “Because, ” Skell continued, as if he had not noticed the refusal, “for my part I would rather trust you than Cesar or the Britons. I have lived my life in Britain, but my father was Norse and I feel among these Britons like a fish on land. As for Cesar ———” “He is another alien, like me!” said Tros. “He and you were not bred under the same stars. Nor was I!” “Cesar is playing Cesar’s hand,” Skell answered. “He would use you and me, and then forget us.”’ “He shall never forget me!’ Tros re- marked with conviction, grinning again hugely. “I see you like Cesar no more than I do,” Skell began again; but Tros’ laugh interrupted him. “Like Cesar? I admire him more than all the kings lever met! Heis the greatest of Romans. Compared to him, Skell, you are a rat that gnaws holes in a rotten ship! Cesar is a scoundrel on a grand scale—a gentleman who measures continents, a gold-and-scarlet liar whom you can’t under- stand, you, who would tell lies just because your belly ached!”’ Sxell looked a mite bewildered, but Tros’ grin was good natured, so he tried again: “Let bygones be, Tros! I am no such fool as to believe in Cesar’s friendship; I \ would sooner trust you, though you call me liar to my face. Why not pretend with me to be Cesar’s catspaws, and snatch out a nice fortune for ourselves?” Tros stroked his beard reflectively. It formed no part of his philosophy to refuse to make use of a rascal, provided he could keep his own hands clean. Skell was a mere pawn in fortune’s game, not like Ca- sar, who used fortune for his mistress and debauched her with cynical assurance. There was nothing to be gained by trusting Skell, but not much sense. in incurring his spite; better to kill him and have done with it than to cultivate his enmity, and Tros preferred never to kill if he could help it. “You are afraid to go to Lunden?” he suggested, by way of plumbing Skell’s thoughts. mf SKELL was about to answer és. when the door of the cook-house ® opened and the blue-eyed Helma “came carrying a wooden dish of wheal and meat, her eyes fixed on it for fear of spilling. Skell whistled softly to himself, ‘That’ girl is no serving wench!’ he re- marked, eying the amber shoulder-orna- ments and the gold wire on her girdle. He seemed amused, and before Tros could prevent him he was speaking to her in the Norse tongue, she standing still be- cause she could not carry the dish and look upward at the poop. What he said did not’ please her; Tros noticed that. | Skell jumped down from the poop and took the dish from her, holding it while she climbed the ladder and then reaching up to set it on the poop edge; she had lifted it again in both hands and was facing Tros before Skell could climb up behind her. She appeared to be trying to shame Tros by her meekness, she a sea-king’s daughter and he making her cook and fetch and carry! But Tros curtly bade her set the dish down, sniffing, for he could smell the stuff was burned. “What did Skell say?” he demanded, glaring at Skell across her shoulder, silently daring him to interrupt. “Does it matter what he says?” she re- torted. ‘‘He is neither fish nor bird, a Bri- ton who talks Norsel’’ “Tell me!” Tros insisted. She turned and looked at Skell, and it appeared that her contempt for him offset her indignation at Tros’ bruskness. GEomicbooks.com Ts Sf eo ,