A cold sneer came to the face of Gabriel Druse. "The way beneath the
trees!" he growled. "The way of the open road is enough. The way
beneath the trees is the way of the thief, and the skill of the horse is
the skill to cheat."

"There is no other way. It has been the way of the Romany since the time
of Timur Beg and centuries beyond Timur, so it is told. One man and all
men must do as the tribe has done since the beginning."

The old man pulled at his beard angrily. "You do not talk like a Romany,
but like a Gorgio of the schools."

The young man's manner became more confident as he replied. "Thinking on
what was to come to me, I read in the books as the Gorgio reads. I sat
in my tent and worked with a pen; I saw in the printed sheets what the
world was doing every day. This I did because of what was to come."

"And have you read of me in the printed sheets? Did they tell you where
I was to be found?" Gabriel Druse's eyes were angry, his manner was
authoritative.

The young man stretched out his hands eloquently. "Hail and blessing, my
Ry, was there need of printed pages to tell me that? Is not everything
known of the Ry to the Romany people without the written or printed
thing? How does the wind go? How does the star sweep across the sky?
Does not the whisper pass as the lightning flashes? Have you forgotten
all, my Ry? Is there a Romany camp at Scutari? Shall it not know what
is the news of the Bailies of Scotland and the Caravans by the Tagus? It
is known always where my lord is. All the Romanys everywhere know it,