At the north end of the town we came to a wide open space, and on the farther side saw the white stone walls of Kyrlos’s palace, overlooking the river. They were loopholed and crenellated, and there was a guard at the gate; but the whole look of the place was peaceful, and the great doors stood wide open. It was clearly not the home of one who ruled his people by fear. In the gateway was a throng of folk--archers in uniform keeping back the crowd, archers in undress, servants, men, and women--all hurrying to greet their mistress, whom they had believed dead. They swarmed about Aryenis’s horse and kissed her hands, shouting, cheering, the women throwing her handfuls of winter flowers, until finally we pulled up at the big sweeping marble stairway that led up to the main building, and there they simply mobbed her. There were old grey-bearded men in the fawn tunics, evidently officials of sorts, hurrying down the stairs; some younger men in mail, doubtless officers there on business connected with the war; women servants with their short full skirts and embroidered short-sleeved bodices; grooms; indoor servants; two falconers; and an apple-visaged old woman, shrill-tongued, with keen old eyes, in heavily embroidered white clothes with turquoise-studded silver necklace and bangles, pushing her way through the crowd. Aryenis sat on her horse in the middle of them, laughing and smiling, and once, I think, furtively wiping away tears from her eyes as she tried to shake hands with about a dozen people per hand at once. Then the old woman forced her shrill way to the front, and Aryenis slipped from the saddle to be smothered in her old nurse’s ample embrace. After that she emerged from the throng, I don’t know quite how, and going up three steps waved the people back, calling for silence, which she quickly got. All Miletis seemed to do exactly what she told it. And while she stood there two great deerhounds leapt down the steps and fawned about her, jumping up to lick her hands. Then she petted them, and made them lie down at her feet. When there was silence, she proceeded to make a speech, which, although I could not understand, I gathered was a short résumé of her adventures, for I could see the people’s faces working, and grim-faced men clapping their hands to their weapons, as the silence grew and they hushed--listening to Aryenis’s clear voice. Then she stopped (I discovered later that she had just told them about the old chief’s death in the gate). “Harilek,” she called, looking at me over the heads of the crowd, who turned to see whom she was speaking to--“Harilek; come up here and stand by me while I talk to my people.”