“I would counsel with you for I know not what to do.” Rodan stood stolidly, feet apart, hairy breast exposed by the gaping front of his leather jacket.
Mathon’s narrow sallow face smiled a friendly greeting. “What indiscretions hast done that thou shouldst seek the lender of gold? Hast been unlucky at the gaming table? Or hath some plump dame entangled thee? For many years have I known thee, yet never before hast sought me to aid thee in thy troubles.”
“No, no. Not such as that. I seek no gold. Instead I crave thy wise advice.”
“Hear! Hear! What this man does say. No one comes to the lender of gold for advice. My ears must play me false.”
“They listen true.”
“Can this be so? Rodan, the spearmaker, does display more cunning than all the rest, for he comes to Mathon not for gold, but for advice. Many men come to me for gold to pay for their follies, but as for advice, they want it not. Yet who is more able to advise than the lender of gold to whom many men come in trouble.
“Thou shalt eat with me, Rodan,” he exclaimed. “Thou shalt be my guest for the evening. “Ando!” he commanded of the black slave, “draw up a rug for my friend Rodan, the spearmaker who comes to the lender of gold not for gold, but for advice. He shall be mine honored guest. Bring to him much food and get for him my largest cup. Choose well of the best wine that he may have satisfaction in the drinking.”
“Tell me what troubles thee.”
“It is the king’s gift.”
“The king’s gift? The king did make thee a gift and it gives thee trouble? What manner of gift?
“Because he was much pleased with the design I did submit to him for a new point on the spears of the—20—
