Men of Ar cried out in misery. Many lay flat, covering their head with their hands.
I dipped my head briefly under the water, to wash flies from my face. Most of the flies that alight on one do not, of course, sting. If they did, I suppose, given the cumulative effect of so much venom, so much toxin, one might be dead in a matter of Ehn.
Then, suddenly it seemed the very air was filled with swiftly moving bodies, pelting, striking even into one another. I then swiftly, running, bent over, emerged from the marsh. In an Ehn I was to, and behind, the fellow lying on the bar, covered with rence. I knelt across his prone body and, before he was really aware of what was happening or could cry out, with my shackled hands forced his face down into the sand. In this fashion he could not breathe. He could, however, hear. He squirmed wildly for a moment but only for a moment. I think he understood almost instantly the hopelessness of his position, from my weight, my leverage and grip. He could not breathe unless I chose to permit it. He knew himself at my mercy. "Do not cry out," I whispered to him. "If you do," I said, "I will break your neck." There are various ways in which this may be done, given the strength. One is a heavy blow below the base of the skull, as with fists or a foot, another is a blow with the heel of the hand, or the foot, forcing the head to the side, particularly with the body fixed in a position where it cannot move with the blow, as, say, when it is being held immobile. I pulled his head up a little, not so much that his mouth could fully clear the sand, but so that he could take a little air through the nose, perhaps a bit through the mouth. His face was covered with sand, and his eyes. There was sand, I suppose, in his mouth. Then I thrust his head down again into the sand. "You will remain as you are for ten Ihn," I informed him. "Do you understand?" The face moved a little, in the sand. I then withdrew my manacled hands from his neck and head and withdrew his dagger from his belt. With the dagger I cut the sword belt from him, disarming him. "You may lift your head," I whispered to him. "A little." When he did so he felt his own knife at his throat. "You," he whispered, half choked with sand. He had felt the links of the manacles at the back of his neck. "Where is the key to the manacles?" I said. I assumed it was in his pouch but I did not care to ransack this article if it might lie elsewhere. It might be, for example, in his pack. Too, the key was kept on a string, with a tiny wooden float. Thus it might be worn about the neck, or, say, twisted about a wrist. The point of the float, of course, was in case the key might be dropped in the marsh, that it would be less likely to be lost.
"I do not have it!" he said.
"Do not lie!" I said to him, savagely. I almost moved the blade into his throat. I had not come this far to be disappointed.
"I do not have it," he wept.
For an instant then I became aware of the flies about. They were thick. I must be covered with them. I had been stung, I think, but in the intensity of my emotion, and given my concentration on my quest, I was not even sure of it.
"Who has it? Where is it?" I asked.
"Do not kill me!" he said.
"Where is the key?" I said.
"Plenius would know!" he said.
"We are going to call on him," I said. Plenius was the name of the fellow who had been my keeper.
"Rise to your knees, slowly," I said. I then, crouching behind him, slipped the linkage of the manacles about his neck, that he might be kept where I wished, also returning the blade to his throat. "Place your hands and forearms now within your tunic belt." I said, "Good." He looked down once at the sword in its sheath, lying to the side, where it had slipped, the sword belt earlier severed, when he had risen to his knees. "Now," I whispered to him, "let us find our friend, Plenius."
In a moment or two, he on his knees, I moving behind him, we had come to a figure huddled in a blanket.
"Call to him, softly," I said.
"Plenius!" he called. "Plenius!"
Angrily Plenius pulled aside the blanket, a little. Then, despite the flies, he threw it back from him. His hand went to his sword but my mien and the movement of the knife at my prisoner's throat gave him pause. The face of Plenius was a mass of swellings. One eye was swollen shut I could still see the mark on the side of his forehead where, earlier, I had struck him with the bow of the yoke.
"The key to the manacles," I said.
He stood up, kicking away the blanket.
Flies were much about. At times I could not see him clearly for their numbers.
"The key," I said.
The buzzing of the flies was monstrous.
I saw his hand, almost inadvertently, go to his tunic. He had it then, I supposed, within his tunic, about his neck. His one open eye gleamed wildly.
"I thought you might come back," he said.
"Speak softly," I said, the dagger at my prisoner's throat.
He pulled the key, on its string, out of the tunic. "It is for that reason," he said, "that I have myself kept the key, that you would have to come to me for it!"
"This fellow had it earlier, did he not?" I inquired.
"Yes," he said.
This pleased me, that I had not been mistaken about the matter.
"If you want it," he said, "you must get it from me."
"I should have realized that you would take it back," I said, "that you would accept its responsibility, the risk that I might return for it."
"I wanted you to come to me for it," he said.
"You have now received your wish," I said.
"You do not expect me to give it to you, surely?"
"Oh, yes, I do," I said. I moved the knife very close to the prisoner's throat. He had to pull back, that he not, by his own action, cut his own throat.
"Give him the key," whispered the prisoner. "Give it to him!"
"Never!" said the keeper.
"It seems to me a trade to your advantage," I said, "a bit of metal, on a string, for your fellow."
"Never!" said the keeper.
"Very well," I said.
"No!" said the keeper. "I will give you the key!"
"Put it on the sand," I said, "between us."
"Release Titus," he said.
"Place the key on the sand, first," I said.
"Perhaps you will kill him," he said, "once you have the key."
"Perhaps you will attack me," I said, "once he is free."
"I need only call out," be said, "and there will be a dozen men here."
"And Titus," I said, "will not be among them."
"Give him the key, Plenius," whispered Titus, his head back.
"Let him first free you," said Plenius, the keeper.
"Plenius!" begged my prisoner.
"Very well," I said. I lifted my chained wrists from about the neck of Titus and he, swiftly, falling, half crawling, moved away, scattering sand. He only stopped when he was a dozen feet from us. He withdrew his arms from his belt, where they had been held to his sides.
"Give him the key, Plenius," said Titus.
The keeper smiled. He brushed flies from his fate. He drew the key, on its string, from about his neck. "Fetch it!" he suddenly cried, and hurled it back, over my head. I turned to see it fall in the water and, at the same time, heard the swift departure of steel from a Gorean sheath.
"No, Plenius!" I heard.
I spun about, lifting my chained wrists and caught the descending blade on the linkage between the manacles. There were sparks sprung from the metals, among the swarming flies. Then the blade was withdrawn. I had been unable to twist it in the chain or secure it. I had slashed back with the knife but Plenius was even then beyond my reach. "Your honor!" I cried in fury. "There is nothing of honor owed to spies, to sleen of Cos!" he said. "Ho!" he cried. "Up! To arms!" Men sprang up. They had doubtless heard the cry of Titus, the clash of the metals, even before the cries of Plenius. Men were crying out, stung. I backed away, toward the water. "The flies!" cried a man. "What is wrong!" cried another. "I cannot see!" cried another. "Is the enemy upon us?" queried another. Plenius wiped flies from his face with his forearm, that of the hand clutching the sword. There were flies even on the blade. Plenius pushed toward me, through the flies. I saw Titus try to restrain him, but the keeper, a much larger, stronger man, thrust him away. "The spy is amongst us! Cut him down!" he cried. I backed into the water. Plenius waded into the water. Twice I turned the blade with the knife I carried. Then, suddenly, Plenius turned to the side and began to wade into the marsh. I saw that he was intent to retrieve the key, its position marked by the tiny float. I waded after him, stumbling. He turned and kept me at bay with the blade. I saw the float amidst the hundreds of tiny bodies swarming there over the water. I tried to circle Plenius, to my left, to get to the side where his eye was swollen shut. There was rage in my heart against him. I could not get within his guard. He swung the sword about. I slipped in the marsh, to one knee. He turned to face me. I heard other men wading toward us.