Adventure Magazine Cover — page 45: what you’re looking at

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

Prisoners of War Rot you all! I vomit on you! Cesar may help himself to your wives and children! Let him enslave you! What do I care! War-r-r-ugh! You bickering fools—town against town—you are worse than my own Greeks! “Do you listen to your druids? No! Do you listen to your chiefs? No! What do you listen to? Your belly-rumblings! You believe your colic is a cosmic urge! You think your island is the middle of the universe! “You accuse your friends and make love to your enemies! You and your chariots! Look at your ships there, rotting! Look at me—” Tros struck his breast—“TI grieve! Look at me! I weep! Why? On your account? The gods forbid it! I hope Cesar treads you underfoot! I grieve that my father’s dust must mingle with the dirt of Britain! Wois me! Wo that I ever set foot in Britain!” “Peace!” said Orwic, but Tros turned away from him, shaking with fury. His violence had reopened the wound on his cheek and Helma stanched the blood, using the bandage he had tossed aside. Conops whispered to him; he struck Conops, hurling him headlong again between the benches. Then, black with anger, he strode up close to Orwic, hands behind him. “Tell .Caswallon, I attend my father’s funeral. Say this: By Zeus I'll solve his difficulties! Can he fight? Is he a man? Hah! Let him believe either me, or else Skell and these other liars! Let him waste no time about it! If he chooses to call me an enemy, he shall fight me before all Lunden!”’ Orwic forced a smile and tried to pour the oil of jest on anger. “How would that help? They would say you fought him for the kingdom, Tros!”’ “Caswallon’s kingdom? I? That for it!” Tros spat into the river. “Hah! Barter my freedom for the right to be disobeyed and chorused by long-haired horse-copers? Gods listen to him! Tell Caswallon I wouldn’t thank him for what he calls his kingdom! Tell him I doubt his friendship! Bid him haste and prove it or else fight me! Go tell him!”’ “Tros, those are unwise words!” said Orwic. “They are mine! This is my sword Tros answered, tapping the gilded hilt of his long weapon. ““Tros, you and I swore friendship.”’ }?? 43 “Swore? What is a man’s oath worth! Show me the friendship!”’ “Tros, I spoke you fair. I only told you how the matter lies. I asked an honest question.” | “Zeus! I gave an honest answer! Call me friend or enemy! By Zeus, it means nothing to me which way a fish jumps!” “Your eyes burn. You are tired, Tros.” “Aye! ‘Tired of you Britons and your ways! ‘Am I Cesar’s man!’ Ye gods of sea and earth! Get off my ship!” But Orwic did not move, except to smile and hold his hand out. | “Nay, Tros. I rule Lunden in Caswallon’s absence. Welcome to Lunden! I speak in Caswallon’s name.” He showed a great ring on this thumb. Tros glared at it. “T know you are not Cesar’s man,” said Orwic. | At which Tros flew into another fury. “Pantheon of Heaven! You! You know that? You, who saw me wreck all Casar’s ships! You, who were with me at Seine- mouth and saw me rape Cesar’s lair! You, who saw my father’s tortured body! You! You know I am not Cesar’s man—because I said it?” Orwic smiled again, his hand outheld. “You will admit, Tros, that you said it with a certain emphasis. A man may be excused if he believes you.” ‘“‘Take my message to Caswallon!” “T stand in Caswallon’s place. I speak for him. I have received the message. I prefer to call you friend.” ‘““‘Words again?” Tros asked. He felt disappointed. He had enjoyed the burst of anger. In the moment’s mood it would have suited him to carry challenge to conclusion. “No more words,” said Orwic. “Give me your hand, Tros. There.” He stepped close and embraced him, smearing his own cheek with Tros’ blood. “Welcome to Lunden! Now I go to make a good room ready for you in Caswallon’s ~ house.” “Young cockerel! Brave young cockerel!” Tros muttered, watching him overside, then turning suddenly to Helma: “That is the man you should have mar- ried! Shall I give you to him? Orwic is the best bred cockerel in Britain.” She looked puzzled, wondering whether he imagined that was humor. ecomicbooks.com