The merchant's face fell a little, and he produced a second bag, which he held out to the officer. "I must apologize," he said. "I am new to this land." "See that you learn its customs quickly, then." Gerda handed the bags to his clerk. "Check these, Lor," he ordered. "I make it a thousand, six hundred teloa." An expression of dismay crossed the merchant's face. "Your Honor," he wailed, "my cargo is of but six thousand valuation. I swear it." Gerda stepped forward swiftly. His hand raised, to swing in a violent, back-handed arc, his heavy rings furrowing the merchant's face. The man staggered back, involuntarily raising a hand to his injured cheek. As a couple of the men-at-arms raised their pikes to the ready, the merchant righted himself, folded his hands again, and bowed in obeisance. Blood trickled down his chin, a drop spattering on his clothing. He ignored it. "You would dispute my judgment?" Gerda drew his hand up for a second blow. "Here is no market place for your sharp bargaining. For your insolence, another five hundred teloa will be exacted. Make speed!" The merchant shook his head dazedly, but offered no word of protest. Silently, he dug into his possessions, to produce a third bag. For a moment, he weighed it in his hand, then reached into it, to remove a few loose coins. Without raising his head, he extended the bag to the officer of the guard. Gerda turned. Lor had gone into the guard house, to count the other two bags. The officer raised his voice. "Lor, get back out here. I've more for you to count." He tossed the bag to the clerk, then stood, glaring at the unfortunate trader. At last, he kicked the nearest bale. "Well," he growled, "get this stuff off the wharf. What are you waiting for?" He watched the barge crew load, then turned. Lor came from the guard house. "All is in order, My Captain." "Very well." Gerda looked at him approvingly. Then, he swung to the merchant, fixing him with a stern glare. "We shall make note of your name, Merchant. See thou that you make honest and accurate valuation in the future. Another time, we shall not be so lenient. The dungeon of Menstal is no pleasant place." He watched till the last of the bargeload was stowed, then nodded curtly. "You may shove off," he said. He turned his head toward the tower. "Down chain," he ordered loudly. * * * * * The windlass creaked protestingly and the heavy chain dropped slowly into the river. The barge steered to the center of the channel, gathering speed as it passed over the lowered chain. When the barge had cleared, serfs inside the tower strained at the windlass in obedience to the commands of their overseer, and the chain rose jerkily, to regain its former position across the stream. Gerda watched for a moment, then strode toward the guard house. He went inside, to look at the bags of coin on the counting table.