As she reached the bead curtain, the front door burst open, and she spun round to see, framed in the doorway, a short man, wearing a cape, the hood of which he threw back dramatically. Behind him, silhouetted in the driving rain and sleet, was a girl. In stark contrast to the man, she was almost entirely naked, wearing only a sleeveless tunic like Karenza's own, only smaller and more revealing, and a leather belt around her waist, depending from which were two pieces of cloth, one at the front, to cover her private parts, and one at the rear. She had long, golden hair, she wore earrings, and she wore a bracelet about her left ankle. The man entered the tavern and looked around for a table, a suitable table, eventually deciding that the one furthest away from the three old men would suffice. The girl entered after him, and closed the door quietly behind her. Karenza glanced at the three old men, who appeared to have taken no notice of the new arrivals, and were carrying on with their game of kamacha, and hurried over to take their order, dropping to one knee before the man. The golden-haired girl cowered behind him, apparently in fear of her life, glancing about her wildly, her eyes darting to every corner of the dingy room.

'Sulce and bread. And pastries.'

Karenza nodded and rushed into the kitchen. Now she would have to open a new carafe of sulce anyway! She breathed a sigh of relief and prepared a platter of crusty bread and cheese, another of iced pastries, and opened the carafe, placing two beakers on the tray, and returned to the little man's table. He, having removed his cape, glared up at her wiith small, beady eyes. His head was almost entirely devoid of hair, but his chin was covered in at least a week's growth of unshaven stubble. He wore about his neck a heavy silver chain from which depended a torque, some six inches in diameter, and bearing an inscription in a written language she did not recognise.

'Who told you to bring food and drink for two?' he demanded.

'I assumed......'

'I asked for food and drink. Can you not see that this woman is not free?'

Karenza dropped her head and gazed at the floor, embarrassed. Of course she had known that the half-naked woman was a slave. Gloriously beautiful, it was evident, although begrimed from several days on the road, but there were unmistakable signs which marked her as enslaved. In the first place she wore pendant earrings. On Heraklion, the wearing of earrings denotes the fact that a woman has been enslaved by a man. Secondly, the fact that she wore very little clothing. A free woman would have worn a similar cape to the one the man had worn. And thirdly, the ankle bracelet, silver, above her naked foot, another indication that this was no free woman.

'Forgive me.....'

'Take one of the beakers away. If she is to be fed, I will feed her. She is a recalcitrant, disobedient female. She is still under punishment.'

'I am sorry.....' Karenza said, and picked up the beaker. 'Shall I also take away the bread and the pastry I put up for her?'

'No, leave them. Is he the landlord?'

'Garikssen,' Karenza said. 'His name is Garikssen. He owns the tavern.'

'There are rooms? It is not simply a drinking house?'

'No, Sir. There are rooms.'

'Wake him and tell him to prepare me a room. And somewhere to chain the slave for the remainder of the night.'

'There is ample furniture to which she may be chained in your room.....'

'I have no wish to have her spend time in my room. She snores, and she smells! Find somewhere below stairs where she may be chained. I will do that myself. I do not trust her. She is disobedient, dirty and sullen.'

'I will wake Garikssen,' Karenza said, bowing her head and moving backwards away from the table. She shook the landlord roughly by the shoulder, and he raised his head, his eyes still unable to focus properly.

'What is it?'

'A guest, Master Garikssen. He requires a room and somewhere to chain his slave downstairs.'

Garikssen's eyes at last opened fully. He glared across the room, seeing the stranger sitting at table, devouring the bread and washing it down gustily with liberal quantities of sulce. He saw also the shadowy figure of the girl, half-naked, trembling with the cold, standing two paces away from the stranger's table. His lascivious eyes took in at once her long, golden hair, her gloriously rounded cleavage, barely concealed by the thin cotton tunic, her long, shapely legs, the fact that she wore earrings and a bracelet around her ankle. He roused himself to full awakening, and stood up, pushing over the chair which Karenza immediately set to rights. Garikssen was enormous. He was six inches over six feet tall and built like an ox, with a frame that barely went through the doorways of the tavern he had inherited from his father, Garrik. He lumbered unsteadily over to the stranger's table and towered over him, a glowering smile playing about his lips.

'A room, you say?'

'If you have one.'

'Of course. For how long would you require it?'

'That is none of your business.'

'It is my tavern.'

'It is my money that is paying for the room.'

'Ten copper coins.'

'Is that all? I expected to pay more. How much for the food and for the sulce?'

'Two copper coins.'

The stranger smiled.

'Cheap indeed.' He took out a purse from his belt and tossed a handful of coins onto the table. Garikssen's hand scooped them up and he examined them greedily.

'Keep the remainder. I will require more food in the morning.'

Garikssen nodded his head. He turned to Karenza, who waited two paces behind him.

'Prepare the room next to mine,' he ordered her. 'Hot water and towels, and soap.' She nodded and walked through the kitchen to the back staircase.

'A carafe of sulce to my room, if you please,' the stranger said.

'I would have your name,' Garikssen said, wheeling round.

'Why?'

'It is a house rule.'

'And if I choose not to give it you?'

'Then I regret that I can not accommodate you.'

'You have taken my money,' the stranger pointed out.

It was true. A transaction had been made. It was also true that Garikssen's house rule was that he did not let rooms to people who were not prepared to give their names. He cursed himself for being drunk at the time of the transaction, and shrugged his shoulders. He had pocketed the man's money, he could not renege.

'No matter,' he muttered coarsely. He turned to the three old men.

'We are closed.'

They muttered amongst themselves, but none was brave or young enough to challenge the landlord. He watched them shuffle towards the door, and once they were safely through it and out into the cold, sleety rain, slammed it shut behind them.

'My name is Phocas,' the stranger said.

Garikssen nodded, satisfied.

'You are welcome,' he said.

'What is this place called?' Phocas asked.

'It is a village called Rumen south of the city of Ryatt.'

'Is it near the border?'

'It is not too far. Where are you headed?'

'I wish to make my journey through Erzindjian and back to Barbessel, thence to the western continent which you call Zindora. I do not wish to enter Pekeesh.'

'I do not blame you for that. Those bronzed savages are not to be trusted, especially.....'

'You will draw me a map,' Phocas said. It was an instruction rather than a question. Garikssen nodded again.

'Of course.'

'You know a safe trail?'

'Provided you have nothing to fear from the Erzindjiani authorities.'

'Meaning?'

'Meaning just that. Are you a fugitive of some sort, and if so from what? Or are you a merchant? A slaver, perhaps?'

'I am not a slaver.'