Adventure Magazine Cover — page 44: what you’re looking at

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

Adventure Tros did not answer. Orwic’s boat came hurrying out of the reeds, and Orwic hailed him ‘Tud!” exclaimed the visitor. ‘“Where’s my horse? Gone? No matter!’ He plunged into the river and swam shore- ward. Orwic, standing in a boat’s stern, could not help but see him; he stared hard, watched the yellow head go rippling like a water-rat, but said nothing. He boarded the longship, saluting Tros with a genial grin that, nevertheless, not more than masked a feeling of restraint. “Skell is here,”’ he said, pursing his lips, staring hard at Helma. “So is Cornelia, a Gaulish woman with Roman paint on her. She says she knows you, Tros.”’ “She lies. She lies,’ Tros answered calmly. So, does Skell!”” said Orwic. “But they both lie artfully! The woman says Cesar has appointed you his agent here in Britain. Skell says he preserved you from the river- pirates, in return for which you and he made peace. He says you grant him the pro- tection of your privilege. Is that true? Is there any truth in it?” “You were with me, Orwic. all I said to Cesar.” You heard “Aye, but I know no Latin, Tros! I. know you called mé off when I was hard at Ceesar with eight men in the bireme’s bows. What about Skell? Did you promise him anything?” Tros grew hot under the bandages that swathed his head. He tore them off. “TI promised you my friendship!” he said y. “Yes, I know you did. You beat me in fair fight, and I took your hand, Tros. Haven't I stood by you since? Caswallon ds your friend, too. But don’t forget, Tros, Caswallon is king here, and you are a foreigner. Your life and your goods are in our safe-keeping, but if you make diff- culties for us-we must think of ourselves first.”’ “tf I am not welcome, I will go!” Tros answered. Orwic hesitated, stroking his mustache. Tros’ thought leaped to the chest of Czsar’s gold that Fflur, Caswallon’s wife, was sup- posed to be keeping for him. Thoughtfully he eyed his Northmen prisoners, and won- dered whether he could manage the long- ship with that scant crew. There was the Belgian coast; he might make that. And there was the unknown Norse country, that his bones almost ached to explore. “T would bid you go,’ Orwic said at last “but I dare not. There are too many now who believe you bring Cesar’s message, and they want to hear it. There are too many who accuse Caswallon of having sent you to make overtures to Cesar; too many, again, who believe the contrary and blame Caswallon for having sent you to stir Cesar against us. We are all divided. “Some say Caswallon looks to Cesar to make him king over all Britain; others say Cesar will conquer Britain first and crucify Caswallon afterwards! There are some who want to kill you, Tros, and some who want - to honor you as Cesar’s messenger.” “What say the druids?” Tros asked. “That they will bury your father’s body. And that unless we can persuade you there will be none to answer all these tales. They say: If you should go, then all men would declare Caswallon was afraid of you, and would turn against him; but if you should stay, Britons will be at one another’s throats within a day or two!” He paused a moment, matciaed Tros’ eyes steadily, then suddenly advanced with a dramatic gesture. “Tros, I speak you frankly! If we, Cas- wallon’s friends, should treat you as less than an honored guest, your life would be in danger from our own hot-heads, who are ready to admire you if Caswallon does, or , to hate you if he doesn’t. They will follow his lead. “But if we honor you, then Caswallon’s enemies will hurl that as a charge against him. Nevertheless, those same men will befriend you, if you let them, and make use of you to attack Caswallon! What do you ~ say, Iros?”’ “T? What should I say?” Tros answered. “What do I care for the feuds of Briton against Briton? I come to attend my father’s funeral.” “Are you Cesar’s man?” asked Orwic, TROS flew into a rage at that. He clenched his fists and an- swered in a voice that made the Northmen jump and _ brought Conops knife in hand from between the benches. “No! By Zeus and the dome of heaven, no! Do you understand what no means? Rot you and your muddy Lud of Lunden! Gomichbooks.com