# Prisoners of War/Chapter 9

pp. 49-55.

### CHAPTER IX
#### TROS STRIKES A BARGAIN

TROS slept until Caswallon came, full pelt, with a yell to the guard at the gate, reining in foaming stallions with their fore-feet over the porch and leaping along the pole between them into the house, Fflur following a moment later. The chief and Orwic were conferring when Tros rose sleepily and bulked through the leather curtains that divided inner-room from hall. Caswallon eyed him swiftly, searchingly, then smiled and strode to meet him.
"Brother Tros!" he said, embracing in the British fashion, one cheek then the other, each man's right hand patting the other's back.
Caswallon was as swift of resolution and as emotional as a boy beneath that rather noncommittal surface. His mustache hid lips that gave the lie to the high cheek-bones; he was gentler than he seemed, although a mighty man in battle and stronger than his two strongest men-at-arms.
He thrust the pawing dogs away, pretending anger, and took Fflur's hand, she watching Tros as if she could read thoughts before he formed them. Three children came and clung to Fflur, but she hardly noticed them, although they laughed at her because her hair was all blown from the chariot ride and she was mud-bespattered from Caswallon's trick of driving through and over anything he met.
"What is this about the Gaulish woman?" Caswallon asked, when he had waited for Tros to speak and Tros said nothing.
"She was Cæsar's slave," Tros answered. "She was not entitled to be anybody's guest. Cæsar insulted you, me, all of us, every Briton of the Trinobantes, when he sent a slave to intrigue among us as an equal!"
"So!" said Caswallon, and tugged his mustache.
He glanced at Fflur, but she looked away and gave him no counsel.
"A slave, eh? Do you know that?" Tros laughed.
"I will sell her to you, if you wish! She is mine, since Cæsar sent her to beguile me! I will write you a bill of sale for her and sign it with Cæsar's name and seal. To make it full and binding I will wear his cloak that I took with his seal and treasure-chest! Do you want her?"
He was watching Fflur sidewise, considering the drama that her eyes revealed. Suddenly he caught her full gaze and she nodded; they understood each other.
"If you are my friend, Tros," said Fflur in her quiet voice, "you will keep that woman from Caswallon!"
"What is to be done with her?" asked Tros.
But instead of answering, Caswallon let go Fflur's hand and strode a dozen paces up the hall and back again.
"Tros!" he said at last. "She was swift, she was swifter than death! She came by night in a chariot, with a tale of shipwreck and the friendship of the men of Hythe. She said nothing of Skell. By morning she had won half Lunden! She came to visit me with more than thirty young bloods fawning on her! She showed me Cæsar's letter, and she spoke of you.
"In an hour, nay, in less than an hour, she had offered to betray both you and Cæsar. She gave me that letter, and I burned it. It was Latin, and besides, you had been my friend. I did not choose to let my eyes see proof against you. Then—we were alone then—she spoke to me of you and Fflur."
"He believed it!" Fflur interrupted. There was almost hatred in her eyes. "He took that woman's word that I, the mother of his sons, was——"
"Fflur!" Caswallon did his best to smile, but the ire in her gray eyes chilled him. "You heard what the druid said. Did he not say an evil woman can corrupt the strongest man in a little while? Did the druid not say I was no more to be blamed than if I took a wound in battle? Have I not begged your forgiveness until my tongue stuttered against my teeth for lack of words?"
"Yes, words!" Fflur answered. "But you turned that woman loose to make worse mischief. You let her go and live with——"
"Should I have kept her in my house?" Caswallon almost yelled at her.
"No!" said Fflur.
"Should I have killed her? What would the druids have said to that? What would half Britain have said that is forever urging me to listen to Cæsar's terms! Lud knows, it's hard enough to rule, without new excuses for dissension! I had to say I would take time for thought. And before I could think, those Northmen came plundering the river-villages."
Tros tried to pour oil on the waves of argument.
"The question is, what shall be done with her."
"That which should have first been done with her!" Fflur answered. "Send her back to Cæsar with a whipping, in a dress turned inside out and a whip in her hand as a gift to Cæsar! Bid her tell him that is Fflur's reply to Rome!"
Caswallon shrugged his shoulders hopelessly. His blundering, good-natured, gentlemanly sense of statecraft pulled him one way, his affection for his wife another.
"Fflur is forever positive," he grumbled, taking Tros by the shoulder. "But what would you do? Half my kingdom favors listening to Cæsar. Shall I ride it over them?"
Tros threw his hands behind him, legs apart, as if he stood deciding issues on his own poop.
"Let us hear Fflur. What says Fflur?" he answered.
"Lud! I have been hearing Fflur since——"
Fflur interrupted. She went to Caswallon's side and held his hand, then burst into speech as if a ten-day dam were down, word galloping on word with sobs between:
"He is the best king Britain ever had! Bravest of them all! Generous—too just to every one except himself! They take advantage. Kindness is weakness in a king. He should rule, and he won't! I told him when to kill Skell, but he did not even hunt him out of Britain! Now Skell is back again. They say Caswallon's friends are hunting him. Orwic bade them——"
"I thought of that!" said Tros.
"Yes, but it is your fault Skell is living, Tros—yours! You should have killed him when you had the chance! What kind of friend do you call yourself, if you can't slay Caswallon's enemies! Now Orwic says Skell has escaped them. Do you know what that means?"
She paused for breath; mastered a sob-shaken voice, and forced herself to speak with the slow, measured emphasis of tragedy:
"Skell will go—has gone to Black Glendwyr's place. Glendwyr craves Caswallon's shoes! Glendwyr leads the cowards who would live by Cæsar's leave! Skell will urge Glendwyr to revolt! He will speak of that Gaulish woman; he will lie about her; he will magnify her rank; he will tempt Glendwyr to win Cæsar's good will by befriending her and overthrowing you!"
She almost struck her husband, she was so bent on compelling him to understand his danger.
"Glendwyr will say you let the Northmen burn three villages. He will say you sent Tros against Cæsar, to irritate him when you should have sought peace. Father of my sons, Glendwyr will be in arms by tomorrow, with all the malcontents! I know it! I know it!"
"Pray Lud he is!" Caswallon answered.
"What have you done to be ready for him?" Fflur retorted. "Glendwyr has been brewing treason all these months! Did he help us against Cæsar on the beach? Not he! He saved his men to use them against you! Who helped this woman to reach Lunden with such speed? Skell? Whence should Skell get relays of swift horses? I tell you, Glendwyr did it!"
"How do you know that?" Caswallon asked, frowning.
"A druid said so."
"Lud rot the druids! They carry tales like kitchen-wenches!"
"The same druid told me that the woman came to Lunden in Glendwyr's chariot," Fflur went on, tight-lipped with anger, her eyes blazing.
"Why didn't you tell me that before?"
"I did. You didn't listen. You were in love with her dark eyes! You said no woman should be refused a hearing and you refused to hear me!"
"Mother of my sons, Lud knows my ears are full of your rebukes!" Caswallon answered, comically sorry for himself. "Peace, will you! Silence! Let us hear Orwic."
Orwic looked bored and smiled wanly, as usual when there was reason to be deadly serious, stroking his mustache as if good grooming were nine points of any problem.
"They've looted Skell's house. I think they'll burn it. Skell was gone, though, and they can't find him. Fifty or sixty others have gone, too. I daresay Fflur is right: They may have followed Skell to Glendwyr's place. But that needn't spoil the funeral. Glendwyr lives too far away to interrupt that."
"By Lud! He shall not interrupt it!" Caswallon exclaimed; and Fflur signed, as if it were no use trying to make her husband recognize danger.
She turned away and left them, making for the room where Tros had installed Helma and all his Northmen with the woman from Gaul under their close surveillance.
There was presently much talk from beyond the wrinkled leather curtain, while Caswallon, Tros and Orwic stood face to face considering what next to say to one another. They three stood in silence for a long time.
Suddenly Helma came to them, blinking at the sunlight through the great door. Her combed hair hung like spun-gold to her waist, lighter and fairer than gold might be, yet not so colorless as flax.
"Marriage or funeral first?" Tros asked. "By Lud, Caswallon, I would hate to see you buried in my father's grave! Yet if I were Skell—and if this Glendwyr is the man Fflur thinks he is—there would be more buryings tonight than the druids have prepared for! Yet if you die, they must bury me too, because I like to stand with friends. I would rather leave this girl a widow than dowerless. There is kings' blood in her veins."
He laid a hand on Helma's shoulder.
"My lord Tros," she said, "you are my protector, and you have done me greater honor than befalls a many prisoners. A while ago I cried to my brother Sigurdsen to slay you on your own ship. Shall I speak now, or be silent?"
"Speak," said Tros, half-bowing to Caswallon for permission.
"She of Gaul—Cæsar's woman," Helma began, and Caswallon swore under his breath; he was sick of that, subject. But Tros pricked his ears.
"She combed my hair, swearing she would serve me, speaking presently of Cæsar, and of you, most highly praising you by inference, contrasting you with Cæsar. So, a little at a time, she found out that I know little concerning the lord Caswallon; and that if I must choose, I should follow you, refusing to acknowledge him. Thereafter for a long time she was silent, while she dressed my hair.
"When she began to speak again she asked about those of my people whom the lord Caswallon had made prisoners in the fighting in the woods. She knows they are now in a great barn near the stables within the wall that surrounds this house. I think she overheard the command to bring them here.
"She said she supposed I could influence them, and for a while after that she talked of a dozen things—mainly of Gaul and the fate of Cæsar's prisoners.
"Then, when she had done my hair, she sat at my feet making a great show of humility, and cried a little, and then exclaimed how much better destiny had treated me than her, me, who am to be a great sea-captain's wife, and she but a slave.
"But after a while she held my hand, studying the lines across the palm, saying darkly I should feel the contrast if the noble Tros were slain before what I hoped should happen.
"So I questioned her, pretending credence in her art of reading what is written in lines on the palm of the hand, although I know such stuff is witchcraft, and a lie invented to entrap fools. Presently, having made much talk of voyages, and money, and—I think she said—five sons, she grew excited and very earnest, saying there was a grave disaster impending, that I might prevent if I were wise enough. And she said there was wisdom written on my palm, but too much overlaid with other lines that signify a willingness to submit to whatever fate may inflict.
"She was very full of guile. It was little by little, holding my hand and forever pretending to read it, that she hinted and then spoke more plainly, and then urged. She said it was written in my hand—mine!—that a revolt is coming, and that you, her protector she called you, would be slain unless I bade the Northmen seize you and carry you to safety elsewhere.
"I questioning, she seemed to go into a trance. She stared at the wall, her body rigid and her breath in gasps. She spoke then of men who will revolt against the lord Caswallon, intending to slay him and set another in his place. She said my destiny, and yours, and hers lay with the new man; but she did not name him.
"She spoke of tonight's funeral. She said she could see me left in this house with the Northmen and a very small guard of Britons. She said she could see me leading away the Northmen through the woods, guided by her and a Briton, toward men who made ready to attack the lord Caswallon.
"She said she saw the funeral, and you beside the lord Caswallon. Men seized you, she said, because she and I insisted, and they bore you off to safety in the woods. But the lord Caswallon, and the rest, she said they slew.
"Then she came out of the trance and asked me what she had been saying. She said she never can remember afterwards what passed her lips when those strange spells possess her. So I told her what she had said, and she seemed to grow afraid, asserting that a god had spoken through her.
"Then she urged me to be guided by the voice of her trance, saying she understood now what it all meant, how a certain lord Glendwyr, who had lent her chariot and horses to reach Lunden, would attack the lord Caswallon and himself become king.
"She said, 'Let us plan so that all the Northmen in a band together shall seize the lord Tros and convey him to safety, since neither you, nor he, nor I, nor the Northmen owe the lord Caswallon anything, but the lord Glendwyr will be glad to have us with him.'"
Tros and Caswallon met each other's eyes.
"How long have you known this Northwoman of yours?" Caswallon asked.
"We have all lived many lives and destiny plays with us like pieces on the board," Tros answered. "I know the truth when I hear it."
He drew Helma closer to him in the hollow of his left arm.
"Truth when a woman speaks?" Caswallon answered. "Phagh! I grow sick of these cross-purposes! This is but a trick again. Northmen are all liars! This is a plan to gather all the Northmen in one place. They would gain my confidence, then break for liberty. Cæsar's woman has had no time to learn Glendwyr's plans, suppose he has any. And who would trust Glendwyr against me? Not more men than I can snap my fingers at."
He snapped his fingers, then flexed his muscles and threw his shoulders back.
"Give me one good excuse to burn Glendwyr's roost!" he exclaimed.
But Tros grinned. It was an aggravating grin, as he intended that it should be.
"I have heard you say, 'Fflur is always right!'" he answered. "Cæsar's woman has had five days. Cæsar, himself swifter than the wind to snatch advantage, doubtless picked her for her swiftness. Zeus! Have you and I not seen how swift she is! And it may be that Cæsar knew beforehand of Glendwyr's plans.
"Cæsar has spies, and there are Britons who trade back and forth with Gaul, as for instance the Atrebates, who are not your friends, Caswallon. Why, they tell me that half of the Atrebates live in Gaul.
"Would it be wonderful if Cæsar should have learned about dissension in your realm? Rome's very life is staked on other folks' dissensions! So is Cæsar's! A dead dog smells the same whichever way the wind blows! If he can keep Rome by the ears, faction against faction, for his own advantage, will he not do it here?"
CASWALLON turned and paced the hall a time or two, the blue-veined skin of his face and neck looking deathly white against the hangings. He chewed his mustache; his fingers worked behind his back as if he were kneading the dough of indecision. Tros let go of Helma, almost pushed her from him.
"Cast up the reckoning!" he said. "Let us strike one woman off against the other, trusting neither. But a third remains, How often have you told me, 'Fflur is always right!' I say, take Fflur's word for it, and look sharply to Glendwyr!"
Caswallon stood still, mid-length of the hall.
"It would suit me well to fight him!" he said.
And he looked the part.
"Then fight him now!" Tros answered. "Glendwyr thinks tonight's obsequies will hold you occupied. Is he mad enough to spare you while your back is turned? To me it looks simple enough."
Caswallon came and stood in front of him, arms folded on his breast.
"Simple?" he said. "How long have you known Britain? Twenty years now I have kinged it, and I—I don't know my Britons yet!"
"If I should stand in your shoes, I would teach them to know me!" Tros retorted. "Bah! It is as simple as a mutiny at sea! Pick out the ringleader and smash him! Thus, then Cæsar's woman! Fill her ears! Let her learn by listening when she thinks none watches her, that you and every man you trust will attend the obsequies tonight, leaving this town unguarded.
"I will urge you, in her hearing, to guard the town well; you poohpooh it, laughing at me, and bid Orwic gather all your men for the procession. Then help her to escape or let Fflur dismiss her in a fury. Let Fflur give her a chariot and send her to the coast to make her own way back to Cæsar.
"Trust Fflur to put sufficient sting in it to make that plausible! The woman will go to Glendwyr; she will hurry to tell him Lunden is undefended! Good. You postpone the obsequies. You march! You catch Glendwyr unready in the nervous hour between preparation and the casting of the dice! You smite him in the night! Hang him! Hang Skell! Hang the Gaulish woman!
"Pack the three into a box and send it with your compliments to Cæsar! It will smell good by the time it reaches him! Then ride your bit of Britain with a rough hand, drilling, storing arrows, making ready! For Cæsar will invade again, Caswallon, as surely as you and I and Orwic stand here!"
"Clever! But you don't know Britain," Caswallon answered. "I am a king, but the druids say their Mysteries are more than kingdoms, even as a man's life is but a spark in the night of eternity.
"They have lighted the fires. They have informed the gods. They have found the right conjunction of the stars and set their altars accordingly. What the druids do, let no man interrupt."
"Lud rot the druids!" Orwic muttered.
But he was of a generation younger, that was more impatient with eternity.
"How many men has Glendwyr?" Tros asked.
"Maybe a hundred! Nor will he have more unless he can score an advantage. If I have hard work raising a handful to fight Northmen, what hope has he of raising an army? They might flock to him if he should win a battle, but not otherwise."
"And how many have you?" Tros asked.
"Maybe a hundred. I raised three hundred against the Northmen; but some were killed, some hurt and some have gone home. There will be a thousand in to-night's procession, and as many women, but nine-tenths would run.
"Britons are brave enough, but they say, 'A king should king it!' They leave their king to king it when the trouble starts. However, Glendwyr would never dare to interrupt the druids."
"Have you not watched Glendwyr? Have you no spies?" Tros asked.
"Yes. But my men go home to the feasting when a fight is over, whether they win or lose it! Glendwyr's men are feasting, too, I will stake my kingdom on it."
"I have seen kingdoms staked, and lost ere now!" said Tros.
Caswallon's indifference puzzled him. He suspected the chief of knowing more than he pretended, and yet, the almost stupid, bored look might be genuine. Orwic looked as bored and careless as Caswallon did.
Tros, both hands behind him, legs apart, considered how he might earn fair profit that should leave him free of obligation to the man who paid.
"I have a bride, a longship and a crew of thirteen men. I need more men," he remarked.
"Lud love me, I can spare none!" said Caswallon.
"You have three-and-twenty Northmen prisoners," said Tros, "and they once belonged to my man Sigurdsen. They are no good to you for ransom. They are seamen. They can build ships. I can use them. If Glendwyr should attack Lunden while your back is turned——"
Caswallon smiled, a little grimly, but said—nothing.
"—— they would naturally help Glendwyr if he turned them loose. But I have Sigurdsen, their former chief. And I have Helma, whom they love. If I should promise them their freedom under me, they would fight at my bidding. Will you give them to me, if I guard you tonight while your back is turned?"
Caswallon stared hard. "Will you not attend your father's obsequies?" he asked.
"That I would dearly love to do," said Tros, "but you are my friend. I think you are in danger. I would rather strike a hard blow for a living man than shed tears following a dead one to the grave. Give me the Northmen!"
"What will you do with them?" Caswallon asked.
"I will guard your back tonight."
"You mean, you will dare to hold Lunden Town for me with six-and-thirty men?" Caswallon asked.
He hid his mouth behind his hand as he watched Tros' eyes, and once, for about a second, he glanced at Orwic.
"Aye," Tros answered. "I am no fair-weather friend. As for my father, if he could come from the dead, he would bid me attend to the task of living and leave comfortably dead men to the druids!"
"You are mad, Tros!" said Caswallon. "But I like you, though I did doubt you a while back. You are a fool; Northmen are poor laborers on land. I will give you instead as much land as you can stride the length of on your own feet from dawn to sunset. With Cæsar's gold you can buy mares and cattle. I will give you the gray stallion I bought a month ago from the Iceni. Helma to wife and a holding in Britain, what more do you want?"
"Freedom! A ship and the sea!" Tros answered. "Nay, no bondage to the dirt! Will you give me the Northmen?"
"They are yours," Caswallon answered. "But you are more mad than a hare in the furrows in spring!"
Nevertheless, he nodded at Orwic as if Tros' bargain suited him, and Orwic smiled behind a hand that stroked his long mustache.