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Chakka eyed Ferethor’s knife coolly, and if he felt any fear, none who looked upon him could tell. He looked away from the Gondorian, refusing to rise to the bait. The slavedeck was indeed empty of guards, but that – Chakka knew – was but a momentary lapse. Even as he moved his eyes from off the madman he could hear shouts and boots upon the steps leading down to the slavehold.
Chakka’s indifference only made Ferethor wilder. He stepped down from the gangway into the rowing pit and grasped Chakka by his arm. “You are a traitor!” he hissed at him, his eyes rimmed with creeping desperation. “I heard you speaking with the Captain!” Beside Chakka, Jagar tensed at the revelation but said nothing.
Chakka chose his words carefully. “Listen to me very closely Man of Gondor. Even now our masters are on their way, do you not hear their cries? There can be no escape for you now – was not I myself unsuccessful in just such a bid last night? And I had the security of darkness and quiet to cloak me. If you want to save your life, you will shed those stolen garments and throw that blade into the water.” Corsairs burst through the doors and cried out in even greater alarm to see the unguarded slaves. Two men remained behind while a third ran off for re-enforcement. Chakka let go his oar and seized Ferethor by the scruff of his neck. The Man was powerful, but no match for the might of Chakka. He stuffed Ferethor beneath the benches, hiding him from the view of the two guards. Chakka spoke quickly now. “You see? You are doomed – be it to the oar or the blade, I care not, but doomed you are!”
For a moment it seemed as though Ferethor would continue in his madness, but whether it was the force of Chakka’s words or of his hand upon the man’s gullet, he relented. Quickly, he shed the sailor’s clothes and threw them out the porthole, but the knife he kept, attempting to hide it beneath his shift. Chakka said nothing, but as Ferethor emerged from his hiding place, Chakka’s hand flew out like a viper and snatched the knife to him. Ferethor’s cry of protest only gained the guards’ attention. Even as the cry went out for his capture, the re-enforcements poured into the hold. Soon Ferethor was surrounded and taken once more.
Chakka, for his part, kept his head low and attracted no attention in the frenzy. But the knife he had saved from the madman he quickly slid beneath his bench where he wedged it between the boards. It was far from an ideal hiding place, but unless someone was intentionally looking for something it would escape detection. As though nothing had happened, Chakka turned once more to Jagar. “I believe,” he said, “you were about to tell me about the life of a galley slave…”
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