But this soft radiance was lost in the bright illumination given out by thousands of lights of some kind which were placed about within the great dome—some round the rocky walls, others high up in the wide, lofty roof. Round the sides, below, were seats, rising tier upon tier, save at one place, where was a platform or dais, upon which were raised seats with a canopy over them. Just in front of the highest seat stood a man of commanding appearance, who gazed at the prisoners with a look of keen, searching scrutiny. This man, as they afterwards learned, was the chief of whom Malto had spoken—the one who was known as Fumenta. He was dressed as plainly as his followers—indeed, more plainly than some of them; but there was that in his face, in his manner, in his very pose, which singled him out from all the rest, and proclaimed the fact that he was their leader. That he must be old was apparent from the gray beard and the gray hair which showed beneath his head-covering—a kind of helmet. His face, too, was seamed and marked, and spoke eloquently of a life of hardship and adventure. But his tall figure was upright and stalwart, and exhibited no sign of failing strength; while his dark, piercing eyes were flashing with a fire almost as of youth. Duralda and Landris mounted, by means of three or four steps, on to the platform, and, after a respectful salutation, conferred in a low tone with their leader. Meantime, those seated around—of whom there must have been many hundreds—ceased their talk, and gazed in silence at the prisoners. Presently, Fumenta turned from his henchmen, and, fixing his eagle glance upon the captives, began to question them. ’Who are you?’ he asked. ’And what are you doing in these parts?’ His voice was sonorous, and, though stern, not unpleasing. He glanced from one to the other, as if to mark the effect of his question upon each in turn; but he evidently addressed himself more particularly to Malandris, who had been pointed out by Landris. ’We were storm-tossed travellers at the time we were captured, my lord,’ Malandris answered. ’We had lost our way. Apart from that, we were fugitives fleeing from’—— Fumenta’s eyes flashed and his brow grew dark. ’I want a plain answer,’ he interrupted warningly. ’You—you two—wear Agrando’s hated livery; you are evidently his servitors—some of his myrmidons! Woe to you if you have come here to play the part of spy for him!’