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My sleep was disturbed. I had a nightmare. There were puzzles and clues, but I didn’t understand them. Nothing was threatening in itself, but I felt dread, and heard an inarticulate voice calling out. I awoke suddenly, and the calling voice was that of Shaloud: ‘Master, master.’ Shaloud had never before called out for me at night. Anxious that he might be unwell, I got up at once, put on a chiton and belted it, and went to his room.
When I entered, I saw Shaloud naked on his knees on the floor, his hands tied behind his back. And Bardous was sitting on a stool beside him, gripping Shaloud’s long hair to keep his head still, and holding a cruel knife at his throat.
‘Sit,’ he said to me, pointing at a trestle. I did so, saying: ‘You escaped!’ He shrugged: ‘Sometimes,’ he said, ‘with enough determination, one can escape. Now, place your hands in front of you on the bench.’ I did so. ‘I should have done away with you years ago in Kaunos,’ he said. ‘Well, it’s never too late. First, I shall slit the throat of your pretty boy, then it will be your turn.’
I was on edge. Bardous would carry out his threats, judging by his eyes and demeanour. If I acted now, Shaloud would certainly die. At that point, Bardous would be momentarily distracted, and I might have an opportunity to attack him with the knife on my belt. But my chances would be slim. And Shaloud would be dead.
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