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Updated: May 21, 2025
There was a silence. Marco knew that his companion was pausing to turn something over in his mind. "So-o?" he said slowly, at length. "The Lamp is lighted. And you are sent to bear the Sign." Something in his voice made Marco feel that he was smiling. "What a race you are! What a race you Samavian Loristans!" He paused as if to think the thing over again. "I want to see your face," he said next.
His companion leaned forward to look through the window. When he caught sight of Marco, a singular expression crossed his face. "He does belong to an army, sir," he answered, "though he does not know it. His name is Marco Loristan." Then Marco saw him plainly for the first time. He was the man with the keen eyes who had spoken to him in Samavian.
It was evident that this helped the good fellow to control himself. Marco remembered that at the time he had actually turned pale, and had struck his forehead and poured forth a torrent of Samavian dialect in penitence and terror.
But so few had really known anything of poor little Samavia until the newspapers had begun to tell them of the horrors of its war and who but a Samavian could speak its language? It would be an interesting thing to tell his father that a man who knew the King had spoken to him in Samavian, and had sent that curious message. Later he found himself passing a side street and looked up it.
It seemed as if it might turn out badly." "Beloved one," Loristan said the words in their own Samavian, "until you are fed and at rest, you shall not talk at all." Afterward, when he was himself again and was allowed to tell his strange story, Marco found that both his father and Lazarus had at once had suspicions when he had not returned. They knew no ordinary event could have kept him.
He was a man of great stature, and was extraordinarily brave and silent. The nobleman who was his master made a sort of companion of him when they hunted together. Once he took him with him when he traveled to Samavia to hunt wild horses. He found that he knew the country strangely well, and that he was familiar with Samavian hunting and customs.
An observer might have thought he saw something which puzzled and surprised him. Marco didn't see him at all, and still moved forward, thinking of the shepherds and the prince. The well-dressed man began to walk still more slowly. When he was quite close to Marco, he stopped and spoke to him in the Samavian language. "What is your name?" he asked.
In the road outside there was the utter silence he had noticed the night of the Prince's first visit the only light was that of the lamp in the street, but he could see Loristan's face clearly enough to know that the mere intensity of his gaze had awakened him. The Rat was sleeping profoundly. Loristan spoke in Samavian and under his breath. "Beloved one," he said. "You are very young.
The larger countries are tired of the constant war and disorder in Samavia. Their interests are disturbed by them, and they are deciding that they must have peace and laws which can be counted on. There have been Samavian patriots who have spent their lives in trying to bring this about by making friends in the most powerful capitals, and working secretly for the future good of their own land.
You are a Samavian, and there have been Samavians who have died a thousand deaths rather than betray a secret. You must learn to obey without question, as if you were a soldier. Now you must take your oath of allegiance." He rose from his seat and went to a corner of the room. He knelt down, turned back the carpet, lifted a plank, and took something from beneath it.
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