Again, laughter shook him. Surprises on both sides. What a shock that must have been to the attackers. Obviously, they had not prepared themselves for such a response.

Leto eased his cart out on to the roadway, dropped the wheels into position and rolled down to the bridge. He crossed the bridge with a sense of déjà vu, aware of the countless bridges in his memories, the crossings to view the aftermaths of battles. As he cleared the bridge, Idaho broke from the knot of guards and ran toward him, skipping and dodging the bodies. Leto stopped his cart and stared at the naked runner. The Duncan was like a Greek warrior-messenger dashing toward his commander to report the outcome of battle. The condensation of history stunned Leto’s memories.

Idaho skidded to a stop beside the cart. Leto opened the bubble cover.

“Face Dancers, every damned one!” Idaho panted.

Not trying to conceal his amusement, Leto asked: “Whose idea was it to strip off your uniform?”

“Mine! But they wouldn’t let me fight!”

Moneo came running up then with a group of guards. One of the Fish Speakers tossed a guard’s blue cloak to Idaho, calling out: “We’re trying to salvage a complete uniform from the bodies.”

“I ripped mine off,” Idaho explained.

“Did any of the Face Dancers escape?” Moneo asked.

“Not a one,” Idaho said. “I admit your women are good fighters, but why wouldn’t they let me get into…”

“Because they have instructions to protect you,” Leto said. “They always protect the most valuable…”

“Four of them died getting me out of there!” Idaho said.

“We lost more than thirty people all together, Lord,” Moneo said. “We’re still counting.”

“How many Face Dancers?” Leto asked.

“It looks like there were an even fifty of them, Lord,” Moneo said. He spoke softly, a stricken look on his face.

Leto began to chuckle.

“Why are you laughing?” Idaho demanded. “More than thirty of our people…”

“But the Tleilaxu were so inept,” Leto said. “Do you not realize that only about five hundred years ago they would’ve been far more efficient, far more dangerous. Imagine them daring that foolish masquerade! And not anticipating your brilliant response!”

“They had lasguns,” Idaho said.

Leto twisted his bulky forward segments around and pointed at a hole burned in his canopy almost at the cart’s midpoint. A melted and fused starburst surrounded the hole.

“They hit several other places underneath,” Leto said. “Fortunately, they did not damage any suspensors or wheels.”

Idaho stared at the hole in the canopy, noted that it lined up with Leto’s body.

“Didn’t it hit you?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” Leto said.

“Are you injured?”

“I am immune to lasguns,” Leto lied. “When we get time, I will demonstrate.”

“Well, I’m not immune,” Idaho said. “And neither are your guards. Every one of us should have a shield belt.”

“Shields are banned throughout the Empire,” Leto said. “It is a capital offence to have a shield.”

“The question of shields,” Moneo ventured.