Maia thought that it might perhaps be-or once have been-the servants' quarters of some big house, but could not see, in the gathering darkness, whether there was any other building beyond. The surrounding silence, unbroken save for a late bellbird drowsily calling somewhere out of sight, hardly suggested it. One thing was clear: there was no hope of getting out of such a place on the sly-not even by night.

Looking up, she could see the stars beginning to twinkle in a clear sky. "O sweet Lespa," she prayed silently, "you see me from those stars. Send me help, great queen, for I'm alone, in trouble and afraid."

Her prayer was indeed to be answered, yet in no way she could have foreseen.

The sandy-haired man, pushing the door open with a thrust of his foot, led her into a candle-lit room. Before Maia's eyes had taken in anything, she felt on the soles of

her bare feet a kind of cool smoothness and, looking down, saw that the floor was made of slate flags-a luxury entirely out of her experience. Earth and rushes were what she was used to. Then, glancing round in the candlelight, she saw that the room, though dirty and untidy, was better appointed than any she had seen before. To Maia a room was the same thing as a dwelling, consisting of stick or mud-and-wattle walls and a plank door, enclosing an area of hard earth, a brick or stone hearth and chimney and a thatched roof. The room she was now in, however, was evidently one of several in the house. Its windows-two of them-were both set in the wall fronting on the courtyard. At each side were hinged shutters, left open on this night of late summer. Opposite was a second door which must lead into the rest of the house. The walls were wooden-panelled and the flat ceiling, darkened with smoke, was of close-fitting planks supported by cross-beams. The hearth, where a fire was burning, had a wide, iron fire-basket and beside it, in a recess, lay a pile of sawn logs and broken sticks. In the middle of the room was a heavy table which, though scratched and dirty, retained here and there a few faint traces of polish.

The general air of the room, even to Maia's inexperienced eyes, was of a once-handsome place fallen on shabby times. It smelt; not of clean prosperity, but of grime and neglect. The floor, plainly, was seldom swept. There were cobwebs round the windows and the table was covered with candle-droppings.

The broken-nosed man, Perdan, was already seated at supper. His two knives were stuck into the table beside him and he was now eating, with his fingers, the ham, eggs and onions which he had already cut up. At his elbow, beside one of the candles, lay a wineskin, its neck tied with twine.

As Maia entered with her guide, an old, black-clad woman, stooping and red-eyed, looked up from the fire. She seemed about to speak, but the sandy-haired man forestalled her.

"Come on, y' basting old bitch, where's my supper, then, supper, eh?"

Opening one of the horn panels in the lantern, he blew it out and then shut the door. He was about to bar it when the old woman stopped him with a gesture.

"There's another to come yet, U-Genshed," she said,

coughing as she spoke. "Megdon's bringin' another from Thettit; special one, coming alone. Be in later tonight, he said."

"All right, all right," answered Genshed, putting down the door-bar. "The basting supper, I said! And after that you can get out to those bullocks. I left 'em for yer special." He laughed, loosened the string of the wineskin, filled a clay cup and drank.

The old woman, however, remained staring at Maia where she stood dishevelled and haggard in the candlelight.

"Oh, that's a pretty one, isn't it?" she said quaveringly. "That's a beauty! She going up with this lot, then? 'Mother for Lalloc, is it?"

"Yer, and he don't know yet," answered Genshed. "We just happened to come by her, acting on information received, yer, yer. So she's still off the record, in't she?" Closing his fingers round Maia's upper arm, he led her to the bench opposite Perdan and sat down beside her.

The old woman, without replying, turned back to her cooking-pots and filled two wooden dishes, which she carried over and set down on the table.

"Bread," said Genshed, pulling one of them towards him. "And why don't you give her some basting knives, you old cow? Think she can cut it up without?"

The old woman obeyed him and then, wiping her hands on her skirt, muttered "See to the beasts, then," and went out into the yard.

Worn out and frightened to the point of collapse, Maia could scarcely have collected herself sufficiently to tell anyone even her name or where she came from. She tried to eat, but the food tasted like straw and she could not swallow. Every few seconds she shut her eyes, breathing in gasps and feeling her pulse pounding. She was now long past thinking about how to get out of the house. She was an exhausted, terrified child; and the worst of her fear was that while she now Jcnew that her situation could not be as she had supposed, she had no idea what it might really be, or what was likely to befall her. Yet it was bad; of that she felt sure. Each time she opened her eyes it was to see the baleful face and hunched shoulders of Perdan opposite. Each time she closed them, she felt Genshed's hands groping at her back, her neck or her arms.

Suddenly, just as the old woman reappeared, she rose to her feet, swayed, clutched the edge of the table and

then, before Genshed could catch her, slid to the floor unconscious.

Perdan stooped and lifted her bodily in his arms.

"Open the basting door, then," he said to Genshed, nodding across the room, "and bring a candle."

"Top room on the right, Perdan," said the old woman over her shoulder. "The left-hand room's for the other one-the one Megdon's bringing. There's blankets up there already, and the lock and chain's hanging on the wall inside."

6: THE BLACK GIRL

Waking in an instant, Maia started up in bed with alarm sharp as the snapping of a stick. Looking round her in the darkness, she could make out only a square of deep-blue sky, pricked with a star or two and crossed by the black lines of the window-bars. She was still dressed in her clothes, but covered by one or two coarse blankets. Some insect had bitten her right ankle and the place was itching. She scratched it quickly with the rough skin of her other heel.

After a moment she became aware of what must have woken her; a sound of stealthy movement somewhere close by. Simultaneously, she perceived the shape of a door facing her, a few feet beyond the foot of the bed-an ill-fitting door, with chinks between its planks and a chain passing through two holes, one in the edge of the door and the other beside it in the jamb. And this she could see because there was light outside; a flickering light which, throwing glimmers through the chinks, showed her that she was in a small room-no more than a cell-containing her bed, a stool and a bench against the wall under the window.

Someone outside the door had released the chain and was pulling it through the holes.

Sitting on the bed, knees drawn up, and biting her fingertips in her terror, she watched as the chain was slowly drawn out. To scream did not even occur to her, so complete was her unthinking conviction of the hostility-or at best the indifference-of anyone likely to hear her.

Creaking slightly, the door opened inwards, just clearing the foot of the bed, to reveal Genshed holding up a candle.

As their eyes met he smiled, as though pleased to find her awake. His hand, shaking slightly, sent shadows wavering along the walls.

"Y'all right, then?" he said in a whisper, stepping into the room and putting the candle down on the stool.

Maia made no reply, only shrinking back against the wall as Genshed sat down on the edge of the bed.