13
'A Ghost Out of the Past'
Soon after sunrise Conan crossed the Argossean border. Of Beloso he hadseen no trace. Either the captain had made good his escape while theking lay senseless, or had fallen prey to the grim man-eaters of theZingaran forest. But Conan had seen no signs to indicate the latterpossibility. The fact that he had lain unmolested for so long seemed toindicate that the monsters had been engrossed in futile pursuit of thecaptain. And if the man lived, Conan felt certain that he was ridingalong the road somewhere ahead of him. Unless he had intended going intoArgos he would never have taken the eastward road in the first place.
The helmeted guards at the frontier did not question the Cimmerian. Asingle wandering mercenary required no passport nor safe-conduct,especially when his unadorned mail showed him to be in the service of nolord. Through the low, grassy hills where streams murmured and oakgroves dappled the sward with lights and shadows he rode, following thelong road that rose and fell away ahead of him over dales and rises inthe blue distance. It was an old, old road, this highway from Poitain tothe sea.
Argos was at peace; laden ox-wains rumbled along the road, and men withbare, brown, brawny arms toiled in orchards and fields that smiled awayunder the branches of the roadside trees. Old men on settles before innsunder spreading oak branches called greetings to the wayfarer.
From the men that worked the fields, from the garrulous old men in theinns where he slaked his thirst with great leathern jacks of foamingale, from the sharp-eyed silk-clad merchants he met upon the road, Conansought for news of Beloso.
Stories were conflicting, but this much Conan learned: that a lean, wiryZingaran with the dangerous black eyes and mustaches of the western folkwas somewhere on the road ahead of him, and apparently making forMessantia. It was a logical destination; all the sea-ports of Argos werecosmopolitan, in strong contrast with the inland provinces, andMessantia was the most polyglot of all. Craft of all the maritimenations rode in its harbor, and refugees and fugitives from many landsgathered there. Laws were lax; for Messantia thrived on the trade of thesea, and her citizens found it profitable to be somewhat blind on theirdealings with seamen. It was not only legitimate trade that flowed intoMessantia; smugglers and buccaneers played their part. All this Conanknew well, for had he not, in the days of old when he was a Barachanpirate, sailed by night into the harbor of Messantia to dischargestrange cargoes? Most of the pirates of the Barachan Isles--smallislands off the southwestern coast of Zingara--were Argossean sailors,and as long as they confined their attentions to the shipping of othernations, the authorities of Argos were not too strict in theirinterpretation of sea-laws.
But Conan had not limited his activities to those of the Barachans. Hehad also sailed with the Zingaran buccaneers, and even with those wildblack corsairs that swept up from the far south to harry the northerncoasts, and this put him beyond the pale of any law. If he wererecognized in any of the ports of Argos it would cost him his head. Butwithout hesitation he rode on to Messantia, halting day or night only torest the stallion and to snatch a few winks of sleep for himself.
* * * * *
He entered the city unquestioned, merging himself with the throngs thatpoured continually in and out of this great commercial center. No wallssurrounded Messantia. The sea and the ships of the sea guarded the greatsouthern trading city.
It was evening when Conan rode leisurely through the streets thatmarched down to the waterfront. At the ends of these streets he saw thewharves and the masts and sails of ships. He smelled salt water for thefirst time in years, heard the thrum of cordage and the creak of sparsin the breeze that was kicking up whitecaps out beyond the headlands.Again the urge of far wandering tugged at his heart.
But he did not go on to the wharves. He reined aside and rode up a steepflight of wide, worn stone steps, to a broad street where ornate whitemansions overlooked the waterfront and the harbor below. Here dwelt themen who had grown rich from the hard-won fat of the seas--a few oldsea-captains who had found treasure afar, many traders and merchants whonever trod the naked decks nor knew the roar of tempest or sea-fight.
Conan turned in his horse at a certain gold-worked gate, and rode into acourt where a fountain tinkled and pigeons fluttered from marble copingto marble flagging. A page in jagged silken jupon and hose came forwardinquiringly. The merchants of Messantia dealt with many strange andrough characters but most of these smacked of the sea. It was strangethat a mercenary trooper should so freely ride into the court of a lordof commerce.
'The merchant Publio dwells here?' It was more statement than question,and something in the timbre of the voice caused the page to doff hisfeather chaperon as he bowed and replied: 'Aye, so he does, my captain.'
Conan dismounted and the page called a servitor, who came running toreceive the stallion's rein.
'Your master is within?' Conan drew off his gauntlets and slapped thedust of the road from cloak and mail.
'Aye, my captain. Whom shall I announce?'
'I'll announce myself,' grunted Conan. 'I know the way well enough. Bideyou here.'
And obeying that peremptory command the page stood still, staring afterConan as the latter climbed a short flight of marble steps, andwondering what connection his master might have with this giantfighting-man who had the aspect of a northern barbarian.
Menials at their tasks halted and gaped open-mouthed as Conan crossed awide, cool balcony overlooking the court and entered a broad corridorthrough which the sea-breeze swept. Halfway down this he heard a quillscratching, and turned into a broad room whose many wide casementsoverlooked the harbor.
Publio sat at a carved teakwood desk writing on rich parchment with agolden quill. He was a short man, with a massive head and quick darkeyes. His blue robe was of the finest watered silk, trimmed withcloth-of-gold, and from his thick white throat hung a heavy gold chain.
As the Cimmerian entered, the merchant looked up with a gesture ofannoyance. He froze in the midst of his gesture. His mouth opened; hestared as at a ghost out of the past. Unbelief and fear glimmered in hiswide eyes.
'Well,' said Conan, 'have you no word of greeting, Publio?'
Publio moistened his lips.
'Conan!' he whispered incredulously. 'Mitra! Conan! _Amra!_'
'Who else?' The Cimmerian unclasped his cloak and threw it with hisgauntlets down upon the desk. 'How man?' he exclaimed irritably. 'Can'tyou at least offer me a beaker of wine? My throat's caked with the dustof the highway.'
'Aye, wine!' echoed Publio mechanically. Instinctively his hand reachedfor a gong, then recoiled as from a hot coal, and he shuddered.
While Conan watched him with a flicker of grim amusement in his eyes,the merchant rose and hurriedly shut the door, first craning his neck upand down the corridor to be sure that no slave was loitering about.Then, returning, he took a gold vessel of wine from a near-by table andwas about to fill a slender goblet when Conan impatiently took thevessel from him and lifting it with both hands, drank deep and withgusto.
'Aye, it's Conan, right enough,' muttered Publio. 'Man, are you mad?'
'By Crom, Publio,' said Conan, lowering the vessel but retaining it inhis hands, 'you dwell in different quarters than of old. It takes anArgossean merchant to wring wealth out of a little waterfront shop thatstank of rotten fish and cheap wine.'
'The old days are past,' muttered Publio, drawing his robe about himwith a slight involuntary shudder. 'I have put off the past like aworn-out cloak.'
'Well,' retorted Conan, 'you can't put _me_ off like an old cloak. Itisn't much I want of you, but that much I do want. And you can't refuseme. We had too many dealings in the old days. Am I such a fool that I'mnot aware that this fine mansion was built on my sweat and blood? Howmany cargoes from my galleys passed through your shop?'
'All merchants of Messantia have dealt with the sea-rovers at one timeor another,' mumbled Publio nervously.
'But not with the black corsairs,' answered Conan grimly.
/>
'For Mitra's sake, be silent!' ejaculated Publio, sweat starting out onhis brow. His fingers jerked at the gilt-worked edge of his robe.
'Well, I only wished to recall it to your mind,' answered Conan. 'Don'tbe so fearful. You took plenty of risks in the past, when you werestruggling for life and wealth in that lousy little shop down by thewharves, and were hand-and-glove with every buccaneer and smuggler andpirate from here to the Barachan Isles. Prosperity must have softenedyou.'
'I am respectable,' began Publio.
'Meaning you're rich as hell,' snorted Conan. 'Why? Why did you growwealthy so much quicker than your competitors? Was it because you did abig business in ivory and ostrich feathers, copper and skins and pearlsand hammered gold ornaments, and other things from the coast of Kush?And where did you get them so cheaply, while other merchants were payingtheir weight in silver to the Stygians for them? I'll tell you, in caseyou've forgotten: you bought them from me, at considerably less thantheir value, and I took them from the tribes of the Black Coast, andfrom the ships of the Stygians--I, and the black corsairs.'
'In Mitra's name, cease!' begged Publio. 'I have not forgotten. But whatare you doing here? I am the only man in Argos who knew that the king ofAquilonia was once Conan the buccaneer, in the old days. But word hascome southward of the overthrow of Aquilonia and the death of the king.'
'My enemies have killed me a hundred times by rumors,' grunted Conan.'Yet here I sit and guzzle wine of Kyros.' And he suited the action tothe word.
Lowering the vessel, which was now nearly empty, he said: 'It's but asmall thing I ask of you, Publio. I know that you're aware of everythingthat goes on in Messantia. I want to know if a Zingaran named Beloso, orhe might call himself anything, is in this city. He's tall and lean anddark like all his race, and it's likely he'll seek to sell a very rarejewel.'
Publio shook his head.
'I have not heard of such a man. But thousands come and go in Messantia.If he is here my agents will discover him.'
'Good. Send them to look for him. And in the meantime have my horsecared for, and have food served me here in this room.'
Publio assented volubly, and Conan emptied the wine vessel, tossed itcarelessly into a corner, and strode to a near-by casement,involuntarily expanding his chest as he breathed deep of the salt air.He was looking down upon the meandering waterfront streets. He swept theships in the harbor with an appreciative glance, then lifted his headand stared beyond the bay, far into the blue haze of the distance wheresea met sky. And his memory sped beyond that horizon, to the golden seasof the south, under flaming suns, where laws were not and life ranhotly. Some vagrant scent of spice or palm woke clear-etched images ofstrange coasts where mangroves grew and drums thundered, of ships lockedin battle and decks running blood, of smoke and flame and the crying ofslaughter.... Lost in his thoughts he scarcely noticed when Publio stolefrom the chamber.
Gathering up his robe, the merchant hurried along the corridors until hecame to a certain chamber where a tall, gaunt man with a scar upon histemple wrote continually upon parchment. There was something about thisman which made his clerkly occupation seem incongruous. To him Publiospoke abruptly:
'Conan has returned!'
'Conan?' The gaunt man started up and the quill fell from his fingers.'The corsair?'
'Aye!'
The gaunt man went livid. 'Is he mad? If he is discovered here we areruined! They will hang a man who shelters or trades with a corsair asquickly as they'll hang the corsair himself! What if the governor shouldlearn of our past connections with him?'
'He will not learn,' answered Publio grimly. 'Send your men into themarkets and wharfside dives and learn if one Beloso, a Zingaran, is inMessantia. Conan said he had a gem, which he will probably seek todispose of. The jewel merchants should know of him, if any do. And hereis another task for you: pick up a dozen or so desperate villains whocan be trusted to do away with a man and hold their tongues afterward.You understand me?'
'I understand.' The other nodded slowly and somberly.
'I have not stolen, cheated, lied and fought my way up from the gutterto be undone now by a ghost out of my past,' muttered Publio, and thesinister darkness of his countenance at that moment would have surprisedthe wealthy nobles and ladies who bought their silks and pearls from hismany stalls. But when he returned to Conan a short time later, bearingin his own hands a platter of fruit and meats, he presented a placidface to his unwelcome guest.
Conan still stood at the casement, staring down into the harbor at thepurple and crimson and vermilion and scarlet sails of galleons andcaracks and galleys and dromonds.
'There's a Stygian galley, if I'm not blind,' he remarked, pointing to along, low, slim black ship lying apart from the others, anchored off thelow broad sandy beach that curved round to the distant headland. 'Isthere peace, then, between Stygia and Argos?'
'The same sort that has existed before,' answered Publio, setting theplatter on the table with a sigh of relief, for it was heavily laden; heknew his guest of old. 'Stygian ports are temporarily open to our ships,as ours to theirs. But may no craft of mine meet their cursed galleysout of sight of land! That galley crept into the bay last night. Whatits masters wish I do not know. So far they have neither bought norsold. I distrust those dark-skinned devils. Treachery had its birth inthat dusky land.'
'I've made them howl,' said Conan carelessly, turning from the window.'In my galley manned by black corsairs I crept to the very bastions ofthe sea-washed castles of black-walled Khemi by night, and burned thegalleons anchored there. And speaking of treachery, mine host, supposeyou taste these viands and sip a bit of this wine, just to show me thatyour heart is on the right side.'
Publio complied so readily that Conan's suspicions were lulled, andwithout further hesitation he sat down and devoured enough for threemen.
And while he ate, men moved through the markets and along thewaterfront, searching for a Zingaran who had a jewel to sell or whosought for a ship to carry him to foreign ports. And a tall gaunt manwith a scar on his temple sat with his elbows on a wine-stained table ina squalid cellar with a brass lantern hanging from a smoke-blackenedbeam overhead, and held converse with ten desperate rogues whosesinister countenances and ragged garments proclaimed their profession.
And as the first stars blinked out, they shone on a strange bandspurring their mounts along the white road that led to Messantia fromthe west. They were four men, tall, gaunt, clad in black, hooded robes,and they did not speak. They forced their steeds mercilessly onward, andthose steeds were gaunt as themselves, and sweat-stained and weary as iffrom long travel and far wandering.