Adventure Magazine Cover — page 66: what you’re looking at

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

64 kicked and bit while their owners clamored _ for young-Glendwyr’s death. But Caswallon waited, tugging his mus- tache, until the clamor died; it was not until men hardly breathed,.and they had some- how quieted the horses, that he spoke to the prisoner suddenly, and when he did speak his voice had a hammer-on-anvil note. “You hear what these say. Where is your father?”’ “Dead!” The youngster’s voice was _ insolent, hoarse with anger. He was possibly eight- een, but it was not easy to see his face because the mist came drifting like smoke on a faint wind and the torchlight cast fantastic shadows, distortang everything. He had black hair that fell on to stalwart shoulders, and he stood straight, with his chin high, although two men held his arms behind him and were at no pains to do it gently. “How did he die? asked. The youngster answered scornfully, as if Caswallon, not he, were the accused: “Lud’s mud! You are the one who should ask that! You, who sent Cesar’s woman to him! You who sent a lying messenger to challenge him after her dagger had done its work!” “Lud knows I would have fought him!” Caswallon answered pleasantly enough. “You! You lie! You sent word to him to meet you at the Druid’s Hill, and a wo- man to make sure he should never reach there!” “Like father, like son!’’ Caswallon an- swered. “If your father is dead, why didn’t you ride to fight me in his place, instead of snéaking through the dark to loot my Lunden Town? I have caught you in your father’s shoes! But how did he die?”’ “I say, she stabbed him!’ Caswallon made a hissing sound between his teeth. “Where is she now?” he demanded; and the youngster chose to misinterpret the flat note of dissatisfaction in his voice. “Aye,” he sneered back, “‘she has earned Fflur’s place! But you will have to win her first from Skell! Lud’s mud!. If there is any manhood in you, fight me before Skell comes with a dagger for your back!” “Boy, I would have fought your father gladly, or you in his place,” Caswallon an- swered. “I am vexed not to have slain him. When?” Caswallon Adventure — But as for you now, you will do well to bridle impudence. You are not free, so you have no right to challenge any one.” “Lud’s blood!” the youngster swore, “I came to burn your house! Ill ask no mercy!” He spat, and a Briton close beside him would have struck him in the face, but Caswallon prevented that: “Let him be. He has fire in his brain. Boy, I will not kill you, nor shall any wo- man kill you while you are at my charge. Will you lie in fetters until some foreign ship puts in needing rowers? Or shall I give you to my friend Tros?”’ The youngster nearly wrenched his two guards off their feet as he turned to glare at Tros, whose amber eyes met his and laughed at him. “Be still, boy!” Tros advised him. “If I say no to this, you will die of scurvy on some Phenician’s deck, or else be sold to be chained to an Egyptian oar.’’ The youngster bit a word in two and swallowed half of it. He did not like to be laughed at, but it had only just begun to dawn on him that he was lawfully Cas- wallon’s property, a prisoner caught in the act of rebellion, henceforth with no more rights than if he had been born a slave, not even the right to be hanged or burned alive. ‘“‘How many prisoners are taken?” Cas- wallon asked in a loud voice, and there was some calling to and fro through the mist before Orwic answered— | ‘“‘Nine-and-thirty; also a dozen or four- teen who are hurt so they will not live.” “Brother Tros, how many will you need to build and man this ship your heart de- sires?’’ Caswallon asked. ‘“‘Ten score, at the least,’ Tros answered. Caswallon laughed. “Well, you have your Northmen, and now nine-and-thirty Britons, forty of them counting young Glendwyr. Maybe my men will catch a few more rebels for you. However, a man needs enemies, so they shall let some go! Boy, you belong to my brother Tros, but all your father’s lands and property are mine.” Young Glendwyr hung his head and the men who held him would have tied his wrist if Tros had permitted; but Tros put two Northmen in charge of him, which stung the youngster less than if he had been tied, and mocked, by his own countrymen. Caswallon sent the other prisoners into Gomicbooks com