Page 91 of Sword Dance

“We didn’t steal anything,” Helenos said silkily, at the same time that one of the other students, more loudly, said, “We don’t have it any more!”

“What do you mean, you don’t have it any more?”

“We sold it on to a buyer. It’s out of our hands.”

At this point several of the porters, who had been whispering among themselves, seemed to have come to a decision. One of them stepped forward and dropped heavily to his knees before Nione.

“If you’ll take us back, ma’am, we’ll accept whatever punishment we have coming to us. We’ve no quarrel with any Sasians. We’re sorry for our disloyalty. We were following Sesna, our overseer, and he’s dead.”

“I will take that into account,” said Nione sternly.

“You won’t let them do anything to me, will you, Nione?” Phaia tried to dredge up some of her old, insouciant charm, and failed.

Nione said nothing, but Damiskos saw her lips compress into a tight line as if there might have been many things she would like to say.

Before the fishermen could get organized to join in the requests for mercy, Helenos spoke again, his voice cutting across the confused babble.

“I should mention. We have hostages.”

There was another tense silence. Helenos’s expression was wolfish.

“No,” said a voice from the colonnade behind Helenos. “You don’t.”

Varazda strolled out of the deep shadow of the colonnade, one sword propped lightly on his shoulder. Except for the bandages on his right arm, he looked as fresh and relaxed as if he hadn’t just fought ten men on the shore with two blunt swords and run all the way up to the villa afterward. He was followed by the rest of Nione’s slaves, a dozen men and boys, bruised and haggard and blinking in the sunlight after spending two days in the cellars. Kleitos was with them, looking as bedraggled as the rest.

Helenos sagged visibly at the sight, and for once had nothing to say. Beside Damiskos, Aradne gave a little gasp and grabbed his arm.

“He got them out! How did he do that?”

“I don’t know,” Damiskos admitted, a smile spreading across his face. “I don’t know how he does half of what he does. He’s amazing.”

Varazda came on, flicking his sword down off his shoulder and twirling it gracefully around one hand. The men nearest him shuffled back.

Ah-yah, Damiskos thought.

“Tie their hands,” Varazda instructed the male slaves.

They came forward prepared with ropes and even a few pairs of shackles. The students were all quickly restrained, including Phaia, and Gelon had his good hand tied to his waist.

“I’m arresting you and taking you back to Boukos to stand trial for murder,” Varazda explained when one of the students demanded what he was doing. “I work for the Basileon, you know.”

Turning to Nione, he said, “I’ve no interest in the rest of them, but would you like to have them tied up too?”

“Do what you want with us,” one of the fishermen blurted. “Just don’t let the Sasians in the woods have us!”

There was a little pause while a glance flickered between Nione and Damiskos.

“I wonder,” she said, “if the Sasians in the woods should come out now?”

Damiskos looked over the prisoners, who were securely restrained and now quite outnumbered. He nodded.

“Why don’t you call them, Aradne?” Nione suggested.

“Girls! Time to show yourselves!”

The women of Nione’s household came out from the trees, grinning and giggling, some of them wearing Varazda’s clothes, one leading Damiskos’s horse. Damiskos felt his heart swell with pride in them, as if they really were a troop he had led into battle. They had played their part magnificently; it hadn’t been done better at Abadoka’s stronghold in the year ’93. He doubted it had been done better at Sumuz in the year ’75.

“I knew it!” Gelon wailed. “I knew there weren’t really any Sasians!”