And all the chains were fast. Then he saw something. The woman was asleep but her baby was dead. He wondered whether to take it from her now. No, it would only rouse the others. Tomorrow. He turned away with a shiver. His glance fell On the man who said he had been a king, the man Called Tarbarrel, the image of black stone Whose eyes were savage gods. The huge suave muscles Rippled like stretching cats as he changed posture, Magnificence in chains that yet was ease. The smolder in those eyes. The steady hate.

The mate made himself stare till the eyes dropped. Then he turned back to the companionway. His forehead was hot and sweaty. He wiped it off, But then the rough cloth of his sleeve smelt black.