He walked to the door-flap, making them retreat before him, and lifted it. Noble Gagl bent instinctively to pass through it, and remained like that, staring Smahil in the face with his apoplectic eyes glaring. He felt very righteously furious and looked very silly.

“You send us away and keep this—this slut with you!” added the old noble. “Your lady foster-mother would have something to say if she knew!”

“I doubt it,” Smahil said dryly. “Come on, not gone yet?”

Noble Gagl’s lips drew down in a grimace of repugnance as if Smahil and I were deliberately a smell of rottenness. He bent himself out. Iren, about to follow him, snatched at my dress and tore it open again. She spat in my face. Her face was contorted; she was pretending to spit on me as a decent hostage spitting on a treacherous wanton, but it was an excuse to force her loathing on me. I felt nauseated at the poison of her face. My knees trembled. I must appear a coward, for I sank against Smahil's shoulder and did not even say anything to Iren.

“Your General shall hear of this morning,” Iren gloated over me. Smahil slapped her face and she bent her neck like a snake about to strike and slowly left the tent.

Trembling, I weakly pushed away Smahil’s arms and wiped Iren’s hate from my face.

“I’m sorry this had to happen,” Smahil actually-said.

“So am I. I’m glad you’re sorry.”

“Have this wine. Go on. I haven’t touched the top with my mouth, it’s a new bottle-skin. You should have told me it is the wrong time of the month.”

So that was what he thought must be the cause of my resistance. I don’t know why, but I always feel insulted when the supposition is wrongly applied to me, as if it were something people should think beyond me, though when it is true I accept their sympathy as my due. Now I remembered that from a man it really is an insult at any time, as men should pretend not to know of these things. No, men should not know of them in any case, there should be no reason for them to pretend.

“Once and for all, Smahil,” I said wearily, and the wine warming my throat only made me feel more disgusted with everything, “you are nothing to do with me and never will be.” Then I felt that was unfair, for he had just lost the friendship of the other hostages—what they were already making me think of as the “good hostages”—but then again, it was not my fault.

I stood up and went over to the flap. My knees were still trembling.

“You’re afraid of what she’ll tell the General.”

I shook my head in a final way to show him it wasn’t that. “No, Smahil, I’m not.” I went out.